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avidreider · 4 years ago

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Journals Part 4 ~ one life (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Journals Series

Based on the song, “One Life” by Justin Bieber.

CW: a little angsty (but with an eventual happy ending), mentions of Spencer’s addiction to Dilaudid, cursing, relationship drama.

Key: Y/N = your name, italicized = unspoken thoughts, bold = texts/emails/notes, bold + italicized = song lyrics.

-- I do not own any rights to the gif or the song. --

A couple days had passed since the incident with Lila, and both Spencer and Y/N were so grateful that they were at least on speaking terms with each other, but things weren’t the same. The tension was palpable; they spent time together watching television or eating dinner, but they both knew that something was off.

The entire team knew that something was going on with Spencer; they were under the impression that the two of you had gotten back together, but they weren’t convinced that that was the whole story.

“Spencer, is something going on in your life that you’d like to talk about?” Emily asked on a dull Wednesday morning - it was solely a paperwork day so the entire unit was working and chatting and drinking coffee.

“No, I’m fine. How are you, Emily?” Spencer deflected, politely.

“Don’t do that. Do not just change the subject. You know that you aren’t acting as though you won the love of your life back. What’s up?”

“I know...” Spencer sighed. “Things just aren’t the same. I don’t even know what we are. I thought that we were making up but...”

“But?” Emily prompted.

“But she’s distant. She’s so hesitant and careful with me. Like she doesn’t trust me. And I guess I understand, I just wish that there was something I could do.” Spencer admitted while looking down at his hands.

“There is something you can do, Reid. Give her time, and show her love. She was hurt, and the only way to thoroughly convince her is to just be there until she’s ready. She will come around.”

Spencer smiled genuinely at her as he thanked her.

After Emily walked away, JJ approached Spencer’s desk and hoisted herself up on it.

“Hey JJ, do you need something?” Spencer asked, without looking up her.

“No, I was just coming over to say hi and ask if there was anything going on between you and Y/N.”

“I thought you knew? We talked things out.”

“Yeah, but there’s more to that story, and I’d like to hear what it is,” she replied with a smile.

So was this something he was going to have to deal with all day? “JJ, I’m fine. She just hasn’t completely forgiven me yet.”

“So what have you done?”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked, with confusion clear on his face.

“Like what grand, extravagant gestures have you tried, and what’s next?”

Spencer couldn’t find the words quickly enough before Penelope, who was clearly eavesdropping, interrupted his thoughts.

“Oh my Gosh, you haven’t done anything yet! No wonder she hasn’t forgiven you! You haven’t bought her flowers, or taken her out, or covered her apartment with rose petals, or anything have you?!”

“Well, I did buy her flowers the night she left, but she never got them because she was gone before I got home. We also have gone out for coffee and lunch or dinner on several occasions,” Spencer responded.

“Okay Boy Genius that doesn’t count because she never got them, and you haven’t actually taken her out on the town; you got to have her get all dolled up and show her off, duh.”

“It’s okay, Spence, we will help you figure something out. But one thing I do know about her is she loves it when you call her cute little names. So do that a bit more than you used to,” JJ said to him.

Spencer was slightly surprised. “She likes that? She told you that?”

JJ smiled at the handsome brunette, “Yes, she told me that she adores it.” Spencer just smiled in return.

---MEANWHILE---

Y/N’s phone rang, and she answered it as soon as she saw that Lila was calling.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry about the other day; I didn’t mean to get so emotional, I just was shocked to hear Spencer talk like that. It is so unlike him.”

“Oh that’s okay, he’s just been going through a lot.”

“Did he relapse?”

You were shocked. “What?”

“I know he struggled with addiction. Dilaudid, right? Maybe he relapsed. Relapses typically cause the user to lash out.”

“I know the symptoms of relapse, Lila. But that’s not it.”

“Okay, I was just wondering. Have you and Spencer slept together since you began talking again?”

“What the hell, Lila? Not that it’s any of your business, but no, we haven’t.”

“I think I know why. Check your phone. I just sent you a photo, and you’re gonna want to see it.”

You did as she said and opened your messages to find that there was a photo of Spencer and JJ.

You knew that JJ and Spencer were really close friends, and you really liked her. She was sweet and caring, and she seemed to really care about Spencer. It was nice to know someone who wanted the best for Spencer just like you did. But you always had your doubts. JJ is extraordinarily beautiful, and you had heard rumors at a Rossi dinner party that JJ was the love of Spencer’s life. However, you gave him the benefit of the doubt, and things were fine until that dreadful night that he told you that he needed space. The same night that he told you he was volunteering at that high school where he met Lila. That was the one detail you were fixated on throughout this whole debacle. But now you realize that you’ve been overlooking the one fact that caused you and Spencer’s relationship to fizzle in the first place; he had been lying to you about working late in order to spend more time with JJ at the office. You couldn’t help but wonder if Lila was even worth worrying about. Perhaps the one you should’ve been worrying about is the beautiful blonde in the photo.

“Look at his hands! Why is he holding her like that? He is so clearly in love with her. That’s why I never wanted to pursue a relationship with him... I’d always have to compete with Jennifer,” Lila stated.

“Where did you get this?” you asked.

“He left his tablet here, he never came back to grab it after he stopped volunteering.”

“And you went through it?”

“Aren’t you glad that I did? He’s not good for you, Y/N. Kick him to the curb.”

“I got to go, Lila...” and with that, you ended the call.

You quickly dialed Spencer’s number.

“Hey, baby, how are you?” Spencer answered.

“Hi, I’m sorry to be calling you while you’re at work-”

“No it’s totally fine! We aren’t really busy today. Wanna join me for lunch?” he asked, before he muffled the phone and responded to someone else. “Oh, JJ and I have plans to go get Chinese, but you can join us!”

“No Spence, that’s okay. I just- I just wanted to talk to you about something... Are you in love with her?”

“Y/N, I told you that I don’t care about Lila at all -”

“Not Lila,” you interrupted, “JJ. Are you in love with JJ?”

“What would make you think that?”

“Maybe this photo that Lila found on your tablet,” you answered, as you forwarded the photo to him.

“Sweetheart, JJ is one of my best friends. She’s like a sister to me.”

“Yeah, Spence, but if you remember correctly, which I assume that you do, the reason that we started fighting in the first place was because you were always lying about having to go to work, when in actuality you were just going to spend more time with JJ,” you explained with tears in your voice. “Spencer, you can tell me the truth. I can’t handle any more of your lies. I can’t handle any more heartbreak.”

Spencer could almost hear his own heart shatter at your words. Of course you hadn’t forgiven him yet; there were far more problems and insecurities than he had recognized.

So girl, You just be honest with me I know we can make this work. I love you. I know that you’re afraid, babe. But you don't need to be saved, babe. You just need someone who understands, And I think I need the same, babe.

“Please come eat lunch with me,” was all that Spencer could reply. His heart felt like it mended itself when you agreed.

When you got to the unit, Spencer met you at the elevator. “So, where do you wanna go?”

“I thought we were getting Chinese,” you responded.

“I canceled the plans with JJ, so we can go wherever you want,” Spencer answered with a smile.

When you settled on the local Mexican restaurant, Spencer began talking. “So, baby, I think we need to talk. I mean, really talk. I am so sorry that I didn’t even realize the extent to which you were hurting. Hurting your feelings were never my intention, I was just worried that you and I would get complacent in our relationship, and I got scared. I know that I should have just been honest about how I was feeling instead of distancing myself from you, and I’m more sorry than I can tell you. But I never wanted space, I just didn’t want to lose you. I never wanted to lose you. I love you.”

Show me where you’re at, let's keep it honest. Home is where you’re at and that's a promise. Open up and never keep it from us, Nothing left between us, baby, nothing. Tell me what you want, let's keep it gangsta. Tell me who created you, I'd thank her. Open up and never keep it from us, Nothing left between us, baby.

You were thrilled at his words, but you weren’t sure what to say. You settled on, “I love you too, Spencer.”

“Can you forgive me?”

“I’ve already forgiven you.”

“No, but I mean, can you really forgive me? Can we be together again?”

Hopefully you'll give me a chance. All I want is love and romance. I wanna give it all- Give it all to you.

I wanna dream what you dream, go where you're going. I only have one life and I only wanna live it with you. I wanna sleep where you sleep, connect with your soul. The only thing I want in life, I only wanna live it with you.

“I’d like that,” you responded.

“Then you have to talk to me, honey. I need to know how you feel.”

At those words you completely broke down. Maybe it was the sadness that had seemed to envelope your entire body since the night that Spencer had asked for you to give him space. Maybe it was the warm fuzzy feeling your margarita was giving you. Maybe it was all of your doubt and insecurity finally bubbling up to the service. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. You told him how upset you were that he asked you for space, even though he already explained his reasoning. You explained how his job is so time consuming, as is yours, and how it makes it hard on you. You explained how the emails between he and Lila made you feel, especially when he praised her for being brilliant and made her feel as if she were more interesting than his own girlfriend. You explained how the fact that he made extra commitments without talking to you first made you feel like you weren’t a priority in his life. And lastly, you explained how you felt like you would never be good enough for him because of his crush on JJ.

Despite your crying, Spencer reassured you that you were the only one he wanted. He explained once again that he didn’t want space; he just didn’t want the relationship to end due to his complacency. He assured that he would spend as much time with you as he could. He explained that he no longer wanted nothing to do with Lila, while subtly mentioning how you should no longer associate with her either (because he believes with all his heart that she wants your relationship to fail, and he’s probably right). He assured you that you are incredibly brilliant yourself; you are smart, and beautiful, and so caring. He promised that any time he has the opportunity to take on extra activities, he will consult with you first. And, most importantly, he guaranteed that he only cared for JJ as a sister, and that she was one of his dearest friends.

Tell me what you want, I can't believe it. I know that if we make it there's a reason. Sometimes the sun shines, baby, Sometimes it ain't breezy. I hope that maybe this time it may be different. I told you I'mma make it, that commitment. Yeah, you took your shot and didn't miss it, Ain't nothing more attractive than ambition.

Hopefully you'll give me a chance. All I want is love and romance. I wanna give it all- Give it all to you.

After the two of you sat in silence as you ate, he looked up at you and said, “okay? Is that okay? Can we make it through this?”

If I came to your crib, would you open the door? I don't wanna go down that road, no more. Said you wanted it bad, but girl I wanted it more. You're the only one I wanna be with.

You nodded at him and said, “Yeah, I think we can try, Spencer.”

He smiled at you. “Good. Because I love you, Y/N. Will I see you tonight?”

“You’ll see me all night, if you play your cards right.”

“Oh baby, you know I will. I can stack the deck. I’m from Vegas, remember?” Spencer responded with a carefree laugh.

#spencer #spencer reid #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #doctor reid #dr. reid

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salixj · 4 years ago

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(December 21, 2020 / JNS) It’s one of the few rap videos around that features a lead singer in frockcoat, tallis and shtreimel—paired with a cascade of gold chains (one bearing a Magen David) and leopard-skin scarf—dancing with guys from the ‘hood facing off against others in Chassidic garb.

As such, “Mothaland Bounce,” where our hero proudly calls himself “Hitler’s worst nightmare,” reveals much about the man behind it and what it means to be a passionate and deeply committed Jew of color.

Because for Nissim Black—successful rapper, father of six and Orthodox Jew—the video makes a strong statement about how Jews of color merge their very disparate identities into a (nearly) seamless whole.

(Fans may want to check out Black’s newest rap video “Hava”—a thoroughly Nissim spin on the traditional “Hava Nagila”—its release timed for the first night of Hanukkah).

Black is perhaps the most famous of today’s Jews of color. (Readers of a certain age will recall when singer Sammy Davis Jr. could claim that honor).

Though the term itself has gained traction in the last decade, there have always been Jews of different races. Scan the globe today, and you’ll find Ethiopian Jews and the African Lemba tribe whose men test positive for the Kohen gene, a marker of the Jewish priests.

What’s more, many Sephardic, Cuban, Mexican and Yemenite Jews consider themselves Jews of color. Not to mention the murky waters surrounding pockets of the Black Hebrews found in Israel (largely in Dimona and Arad in the Negev Desert) and around the Diaspora, many of whom claim descent from the ancient Israelites.

The numbers are equally murky. Estimates range from 6 percent to 12 percent—or even as much as 15 percent—of today’s Jewish population being Jews of color. But there is little in the way of standardized definition of who is a Jew; some studies count all the members of a household as Jewish household when only one member actually is. But when researchers Arnold Dashefsky and Ira M. Sheskin held the disparate estimates of Jews of color up to the light of demographic standards earlier this year, they concluded that the percentage of Jews of color “is almost certainly closer to 6 percent nationally [from the 2013 Pew study] than 12 to 15 percent. And this percentage has not increased significantly since 1990, although it is likely to do so in the future.”

It stands to reason that this year of painful racial tensions across North America could trigger an internal debate in African-American Jews, especially those who came to the faith not through birth or adoption, but who, like Black, embraced Judaism as adults.

And embrace it many of them do—with passion, perseverance and a deep appreciation—often overcoming raised eyebrows, insensitivity and even downright racism in the process. With a surprising number of them finding their spiritual home in Orthodox Judaism.

Nissim Black

Damian Jamohl Black, whom the world knows now as rapper Nissim Black, was born into a family of Seattle drug dealers in 1986. His childhood was pockmarked by FBI raids on his home, his dad was taken away in handcuffs, and he was accustomed to assorted incidents of street violence and crime. By 9, he was smoking marijuana, and plants were growing in his room. By 12, he’d joined the family business.

The only faith Black was exposed to back then was his grandfather’s Islam. His first religious service? A mosque, which he attended until his grandfather went to prison.

But at 13, Black was pulled into Christianity by missionaries. He now says it was the best thing that could have happened to him. “This was the first time I was around people who had normal healthy relationships. No one sold drugs, they had a heart for kids from the inner city, and their summer camp was the most fun I’d had in my life,” he recalls. “Becoming religious saved me from the world of street gangs.”

By high school, he was “the poster child of the missionary center.” That’s when he met the woman who would become his wife. As a Seventh-Day Adventist, Jamie (now Adina) went to church on Saturdays. They wed in 2008 but remarried in an Orthodox ceremony after their conversion five years later.

By 19, Black was making rap music professionally, and his mother died of an overdose. But by 20, Christianity was beginning to feel foreign to him, and he began wondering what the Jews walking in his neighborhood on Saturday mornings were up to. “I went to Rabbi Google and found Chabad.org. And it all began to make sense,” he says. “I told my wife [they were newlyweds] that I didn’t want to celebrate Christmas and Easter anymore. Pretty soon, she was doing her own digging into Judaism.”

The couple’s conversion followed in 2013 and aliyah to Israel three years later. The Blacks now make their home in Ramat Beit Shemesh with their six children, ages 1 to 12. “I wanted my kids to grow up here,” he says, “where they’d see Jews of different shades all praying the same prayers.”

“I’ve checked every box, right?” he says with a laugh. “One rabbi at my yeshivah told me, ‘You have a lot of strikes against you: You’re black, you’re a convert and you’re a Breslov Chassid. And in all these things is your greatness.”

Maayan Zik

Maayan Zik was 13 when her soul woke her up. Growing up in Washington, D.C., with her mom and sister—her parents divorced when she was in first grade, and she didn’t see her dad for another 10 years—she attended Catholic schools and was close with her maternal grandparents, Jamaican immigrants who took her to museums and taught her the value of hard work and education.

Accompanying her Jamaican-born grandmother to church every Sunday, by 13, Zik had “begun to wonder if what my family believes is right for me.” She explored a number of world religions, but when she saw a photo of her light-skinned Jamaican great-grandmother Lilla Abrams, whom family lore says was Jewish, “I realized I had to go way back to find out who I am.”

When she moved to an apartment in 2005 in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, N.Y., she noticed the previous tenant had a left up a poster of a white-bearded man. “I said to myself, ‘I’m going to find out who you are.’ The man turned out to be the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Two years later, after courses and a summer seminary program, she converted. Thirteen years later, now 36, Zik remains there—with her Israeli-born husband and four children. “This somewhat awkward coexistence that lives inside me” fades into the background when she begins to pray, she says. “Having a personal conversation with God as part of the Jewish people, it’s who I’ve always been; I just didn’t know it.”

Mordechai Ben Avraham

Black and Mordechai Ben Avraham are both African-Americans from the West Coast (Seattle and Los Angeles, respectively), and both found Judaism in their 20s. But their early environment could hardly have been more different.

Growing up in an affluent neighborhood with a successful businessman father and a professor mother, “my focus was on how someday I could make more money than my dad.”

Ben Avraham’s spiritual journey took him from Sufism to the Kabbalah until at 22 he experienced Shabbat in a Carlebach-style minyan. “It was like I was floating in outer space. This is what Jews do? This is amazing! The Torah, the prayers, this beautiful spiritual system God gave to the Jews for people to transform themselves—they literally grabbed my heart.” His conversion was complete in 2013 with his move to Israel three years later.

Now 39, the former TV producer is living in the heart of Jerusalem’s religious Mea Shearim neighborhood, working towards his rabbinical degree and publishing a book on the joys of Torah as a black Jew.

But why would anyone who’s already making a huge leap religiously and culturally choose to embrace Orthodoxy with its full menu of mitzvot, accepting the Torah as Divine and committing to living within halachah (Jewish law)?

“If someone is going to make this big of a change completely based on their need to go beyond, there’s a very real tendency to go what many would consider ‘all the way,’ ” says Henry Abramson, dean of Brooklyn’s Touro College and author of The Kabbalah of Forgiveness: The Thirteen Levels of Mercy in Rabbi Moshe Cordovero’s Date Palm of Devorah (2014), among other titles.

A shared history

Much of this tendency to search spiritually can be traced to African-Americans’ religious experience in America, adds Abramson. “Since the 1960s, we’ve seen the phenomenon of questioning the Christianity foisted on their slave ancestors.”

And though Islam has attracted many of these disenfranchised souls—in part, he says, because the black Muslim culture permeated prisons beginning in the 1960s—Judaism offers another option.

Ben Avraham maintains that, in a spiritual sense, Judaism may feel familiar to those raised in the black church. “Like Judaism, gospel Christianity is an intense personal relationship with God without any intermediaries,” he says.

This is a connection Ben Avraham experiences every day of his life. “Living in Mea Shearim, in a fundamental way, I’m around people who are just like me. I just connect with my Chassidic neighbors.”

A growing fissure

But after the 1960s and ’70s, when Jews fought alongside blacks for civil rights in the United States and in South Africa, “there’s been a growing fissure between blacks and Jews,” says Rabbi Maury Kelman who, as director of Route 613, a New York City conversion program, has welcomed many students of different races into his classes.

And, with last summer’s rise in violence between the African-American community and the religious Jewish community, primarily in New York,” says Black, “lately, it’s gotten uglier.”

‘I cried all the way home’

Not everyone in the Jewish community rolls out the proverbial red carpet for someone of color.

After working up the courage to walk into synagogue on Shabbat, Zik couldn’t miss the two women glaring at her, eventually yelling at her to get out and threatening to call the police before giving chase.

“I cried all the way home, but my friends would not let me give up,” she says. “I also knew from everything I’d read about the Rebbe, with his emphasis on love and kindness, that eventually this would be the right place for me.”

“Unfortunately, like in all communities, you’ll find the occasional ignorant Jew or racist,” allows Kelman, who offers programs on the importance of accepting the convert.

A time of racial tensions

With this year’s heated racial debates and demonstrations following the May 25 killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis, where does that put Jews of color, with feet in both the African-American and Jewish worlds?

Zik, for one, helped lead a rally in Crown Heights this summer where black neighbors shared their experiences with racism. “It was a reminder,” she says, “that the Torah teaches us to protect the rights of all God’s children.”

And the learning goes both ways, she adds. “When black friends ask me if now that I’m Jewish, do I have money? I tell them about the Jews I know who struggle to pay for rent, food and their kids’ yeshivah tuitions. I tell them that, when I’ve had my babies, neighbors bring us meals and help furnish the nursery. People here always want to do another mitzvah.”

Ben Avraham also says he better appreciates African-American history because he is a Jew. “We can see our own story reflected in the Torah,” he says. “Our two peoples had so many struggles just to survive.”

Adds Black: “Just knowing there are black religious Jews can help the two communities see they aren’t completely separate after all—not to judge each other so quickly.”

Kelman agrees. “Black Jews can be a terrific bridge chiefly because they have credibility on both sides. It’s increasingly important to teach our fellow Jews that we’re a family that comes in different colors, that Judaism is colorblind,” he says. “Once they convert, they’re just as Jewish as any of us—and our diversity only strengthens us.”

‘Something bigger than myself’

By the end of “Mothaland Bounce,” the guys from the ’hood and the Chassids are dancing together with Black as ringmaster.

But it may be “A Million Years” that’s Black’s love letter to Judaism.

In this 2016 music video (with singer Yisroel Laub), Black takes a journey proudly carrying a Torah throughout Israel—archeological digs, mountain caves, a busy shuk (marketplace) and Jerusalem’s Old City—turning heads as he goes. (Don’t miss the moment when Black stops to let some haredi kids lovingly kiss the Torah), finally nestling it inside a synagogue’s ark.

“Since I was a kid, I was looking to be part of something bigger than myself,” says Black. “I prayed and prayed, and finally, I knew who I needed to be, a Jew, and where I needed to be, the Holy Land. It took time but now God’s answered my prayers. And one thing I know is that to God there is no such thing as color. He sees us for who we are inside.”

As he raps:

“I came from a distance Where everything was different … I called out to You And You showed me that You listened … I gave my all to You And You showed me who I am.”

#Israel #Jews of Color

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long-bodyswap · 5 years ago

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Yotta Life

(Im sorry I don’t have the credits, but if you know the author you can @)

It’s been an adjustment lately getting used to all this fame and attention since Adele’s new album came out. The whole world knew it would be huge, but even the most optimistic among us couldn’t have imagined that it would have the best selling first week sales of any album in history! With massive, iconic numbers like that, it was only natural that she would need more security while she goes on her whirlwind press promo, and I’m the best in the business- ermmm- I mean technically my host, Peter Van der Veen is the best in the business, but it’s not like anyone could tell the difference since the spell I used gave me access to all of his memories, training, and personality traits. No one has suspected a thing, and I’ve been inside Peter since he was Lady Gaga’s bodyguard!Possessing the top bodyguard for the stars has been a dream come true because I’ve met and spent time with almost all of my idols. Gaga is much more normal in private than people give her credit for, but my favorite client so far has been Adele, BY FAR. Never have I ever met such a witty, sweet, funny as shit, monumentally talented, and down to earth person. Rumor has it she used to be quite the drinker before she had her baby, but every now and then she’s whipped out a little reward for the road with her team, meaning I was naturally drawn into the fun. IIt’s been simply remarkable getting to know Adele and honestly consider her a friend. She’s so honest and personable that I catch myself shifting out of Peter’s stern persona, dropping sass and giggling to her jokes. I remind myself often that it’s only acceptable around Adele, but anyone who had previously known Peter would be immensely suspicious. Still, it’s been the single most meaningful (and lucrative) gig I’ve ever done. You can see that I try my hardest to remain stern and serious. It’s so hard because even her commentary during casual conversation is adorable and hilarious enough to make a stone gargoyle let out a good chuckle. Sometimes it honestly is too much and I can’t help but smile and join in the silliness. It’s comforting at least to know that Peter’s smile looks so fucking sexy- almost as sexy as his stern smolder.

The bulk of the promo circuit ended in December so now that it’s January 2016, I finally have some time to myself. Adele thanked me profusely for my service and friendship and begged me to free up my schedule so I could join her when her tour starts in April. I promised her I’d lock in the dates, but it’s going to be nice to have some time to have fun behind closed doors…At the very least it’ll be nice to show off this body.Fuck, what a great day. I’m rocking this perfect bronze and I can finally show off this sculpted body. I work ridiculously hard to keep it up to Peter’s standards, but it’s so worth it. Peter’s body looks sexy as hell in a suit, but it was meant to be seen and envied by others. And the Adele gig was so lucrative that I’m set to be enjoying the next four months shirtless and glistening at this Mexican resort. I used this morning to do a power workout of sprints and chest interval training in a nearby canyon, and then I rewarded myself with a nice afternoon spent relaxing at the beach.Peter’s sore muscles always made me horny for some reason, which meant that I was on edge almost all day every day…I didn’t mind though. It reminded me of how powerful and full of my vitality my host was. What I did mind though was burning in this hot sun. Noticing a cute boy eyeing me, I saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. The adorable fucker looked about my real age, but way better looking, not that that mattered since I was inhabiting Mr. Europe 2005. Being bisexual, I’ve been able to use Peter’s body to anonymously fuck around with hotties from all over the world, but I’ve gotta say I’ve developed a strong preference for boys, so let’s test the waters and see if this kid wants a taste of the premier bodyguard to the stars.“Hey, kid.” I said in a deep, yet friendly tone. “You got a sec to help me out with something?” I made sure to flash him a subtle smile, also pulling my shades down so he could see the twinkle in my beautiful eyes. It only took me a second to realize I had him hook, line, and sinker.That big smile was one thing, but I had also completely stopped him in his tracks. He was walking back over to me without a single hesitation. “What can I do for you?” The chap asked with a friendly tone that was masking what I, after maaaanyy similar encounters, knew was lust.“You see, I’m going to start burning soon, so could you help me with a fresh layer of sunblock?”He kept his jaw from dropping, but I knew he was shocked and ecstatic. “You mean, on your back?” He asked, treading cautiously.“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with the whole thing,” I said, pointing out my sculpted chest and abs before biting my lip in a fake show of nervous anticipation.

The boy paused to think for a second before smiling again and walking over. “Sure, I’d love to help out,” he said in a way that tried to make it sound like he was just doing a normal favor for a stranger.

I grinned in relief before putting my shades back on and getting out my tube of sunblock. I laid down, making sure to get comfortable before I took a second to adjust my junk since I was about a quarter hard from the sheer testosterone pumping through my veins.

“Sorry about that,” I said before getting relaxed again. “Had a brutal workout this morning. Always gets the testosterone flowing, if you know what I mean.”“I could tell you had a good workout this morning. You’ve got the pumped look. Maybe you can share some workout tips- I’m trying to bulk up, but it’s been kinda hard.”“Son, you don’t need to add a single pound of mass. The lean look is really sexy on you.” I said that right as he popped the cap open, making him blush before he squeezed a healthy helping of that cream into his hands.

“That’s easy for you to say,” he said before slathering that cream on my abs. I shivered and gasped from the cold, tightening my core from the surprise, but he kept talking. “Especially when you have a body like this.”As far as I could tell, he had no idea who I was, so it was safe to see if I could push his buttons a little.As he spread the cream over Peter’s ripped abs, I quietly moaned from the feeling of those smooth fingers rubbing that coconut scented goodness into my stolen skin. The look on this boy’s face was one of inner conflict. He didn’t know if he should go a little further, but he finally got my subtle hint and began rubbing me more purposefully until he was giving my abs a slow and deep massage.

“You have…so much definition,” he marveled as he worked his strong fingers more and more expertly. “mmmmmmm that feels so good, kid. Guess you could tell that yesterday was ab day,” By this point his constant touch had me more than half hard. He definitely noticed my long and thick cock growing in my shorts, but he didn’t back away. He started massaging me even more purposefully, sensually even. Damn, this kid had some kink in him.

“And I’d bet money you did a chest day today,” he said slowly and smoothly as he began working his magical hands up to my muscular slabs of pec perfection. I moaned louder this time as he worked his hands up to my chest so he was grabbing a pec with each hand, squeezing firmly enough to loosen up those stiff muscles. He squeezed harder, massaging my sore chest and making me groan in a mix of ecstasy and agony. I was shocked though as he, without stopping his deep tissue chest massage, began to gently flick and rub my nipples with his thumbs. I inhaled deeply, feeling my cock twitch and continue to engorge as this boy worked Peter’s incredibly sensitive nipples. My breathing picked up, getting slightly faster before this kid made his big move. I gasped loudly as he leaned down and began sucking on one of my nipples before reaching the other hand down to rub my cock through my shorts, making it pulsate and swell to full hardness.

“Unnnngggg,” I groaned as I looked down at this cutie with thick, bushy eyebrows give in to his hunger for cock, specifically my cock. I gasped again as he gripped my cock through the shorts, feeling the thickness of my girth and the obvious length before smiling, apparently satisfied with Peter’s thick 8.5 inches. “If you wanted me, you should have just said so,” he whispered seductively into my ear.

I knocked the big tube of sunscreen onto the sand before grabbing him and pulling him on top of my powerful chest, enjoying the weight of his body against my greased up chest. I brought my mouth to his and he eagerly opened as I locked our lips and brought our tongues into a dance of lust. Fuck, he tasted so minty. My rock hard cock pulsated as I humped my crotch up against his, feeling his hard dick rub back against mine as I let us get lost in the lust. FInally breaking the kiss, I told him, “I have a room,” barely having the breath to make the sentence. He just smiled before we made a mad dash to pick up our shit and cover our raging hard ons as we ran back to the hotel. I woke up the next morning alone int he bed except for a little note that had a phone number and the name Zac. Man, last night was crazy. I mean, I’ve done some kinky shit with Peter’s body, but I think I blew four of Peter’s loads into that boy last night. Yeah, there was the load when I was fucking him doggy style. Then another when I was fucking him missionary. The third one was when he was riding me. mmmmm, the last one was my favorite. I pinned that kid against the wall with my strong arms and bounced him up and down off my powerful thrusts until I finally blew that last load so deep inside him. On that one things got so intense. Zac was hollering and almost hyperventilating my cock made him feel so good. He didn’t even touch his dick that time since he was scratching at the wall the whole time, but his cock still blew a load all over the two of us. That was about when I hit my limit. I remember roaring so loud I thought the walls were vibrating before finally, dripping in sweat and muscles and veins bulging all over my body, I blew all of the remaining cum in Peter’s balls so deep into that boy. When I calmed down, I carried the boy back to the bed and we both laid there making out and squirming from the afterglow of our orgasms before passing out from our multi-hour fuckfest.

I smirked as I thought to myself how this would be my life for the next four months. I got up and walked over to mirror, admiring my boxer-clad vessel, still just as high off of the beauty of this stolen body as I was two years ago when I first took Peter over.

“You’re one sexy man,” I said to the reflection before winking. God damn, seeing Peter’s body respond to my actions was still so satisfying. I felt a fluttery sensation deep in my gut before blushing from the sight of the sexy body in front of me. Mmmmmm yeah, Peter might be a strong and tough man, but I can always make him do whatever I want because he’s powerless with me inside.

“Don’t ever forget that you’re too weak to resist me. You couldn’t do a thing to stop my soul from slipping inside you and stealing you,” I taunted his reflection as I leaned his head down to his pit and huffed in his manly sweat and stench from yesterday’s workout and fuckfest.

“You smell like a real man,” I said with appreciation before I stripped off the boxers and brought them up to my face which instantly scrunched up into one of ecstasy, huffing in the crotch area, almost coughing from the power of the manly muskiness. It was so fucking masculine and sexy, and it always got me hard.“That turns you on doesn’t it, you kinky queer?” I asked his reflection before I brought my lips to the mirror and pretended to make out with Peter. My heart sank though as the cold glass reminded me that I was on the other side. Sure, I could take over some other stud for a night and use my powers to mind control Peter into having a wild night of passion, but it takes me a lot of time to build up the energy to switch, so I only like to switch sparingly. I need at least three months to build up the necessary energy, so I don’t use the gift for casual flings. No. It’s a commitment, so the stolen life has to be perfect. I stayed in Peter for the last two years because life has been so perfect, but it would be nice to finally feel and taste his body from the other side…Still, I’d need to find the perfect body and life in the next week or two in order to have enough time to get back inside Peter in time for Adele’s tour. I guess I’ll just have to wait until after the tour…My frustration built, and I decided to take it out on Peter. Even though I knew he was blacked out, I liked to pretend he was aware of everything when I got mad. Grabbing his semi-hard cock, I pumped it until I got it back up to full hardness, watching myself make angry, yet sexy and turned on faces in the mirror as I pumped myself mercilessly.

“Yeah! You like that you queer slut?! I’m gonna make you eat every drop of this cum! unnnnngggggggg it’s gonna taste so fucking good, you fag! Who’s the tough guy now, you freaky fag? Can’t believe a tough guy like you is gonna eat your own load like some queer cum whore!” God, this always made me feel so turned on and so much better. I was getting close to orgasm when the phone rang. I instantly clicked ignore, but it started ringing again. I growled as I clicked ignore a second time, but the damn phone rang a third time. Cursing, I let go of Peter’s cock and switched to his professional voice as I answered the phone.

Even though I was initially annoyed, I was so glad I picked up the phone. Smiling from ear to ear, I listened to a very special new client ask for my services over the next three and a half months. Apparently he needed extra security for his wife, so tomorrow I would be on an early morning flight to Beverly Hills. My vacation wasn’t over, it was just moving to another locale…and I’d finally have the chance to taste Peter’s lips and mouth from another perspective.Fuck, I was so excited I went back to pumping Peter’s cock. I ate his load, this time to celebrate! Now it’s time for me to get cleaned up, buy tickets, and pack!It was so lucky to get that call from Bastian Gillmeier, or Bastian Yotta as the media and instagram know him. couldn’t help but enjoy one more early morning walk in Peter’s body, happily flaunting his muscles as I left shirtless and enjoyed the feeling of the breeze on his skin. But then I checked his watched and realized how late I was.

“Shit! Better get back and shower. Gotta get to the airport. Damn, I won’t even have time to yank out one last load!” I quickly cleaned up and called for a cab, and before I knew it I had checked in and boarded my plane en route to Beverly Hills. Still, I was frustrated by this libido and the desire, no, the NEED to feel Peter’s cock be relieved one last time. It was one of those rare flights where it was barely at half capacity, and somehow I was the only one in the first class section. This airline was my favorite too because instead of thin curtains separating first class from economy, there were actual doors, affording me a much greater sense of privacy. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable pumping a load out with that cute flight attendant around. With me being the only client, he was checking on me practically every ten minutes, and I wanted to make this last. I thought about going in the lavatory, but there was something so nasty and classless about that. No. I guess I’d need to test the sensibilities of this handsome flight attendant. Maybe he could even help me out.

I looked behind me and predictably saw him waiting there with a puppy like grin, waiting to please me. “Would you like another drink, sir?”I flashed him an enticing grin as I thought pensively. “That does sound refreshing,” I remark as I subtly relax in my seat, getting more comfortable and spreading my legs just a little. “Another barcardi and coke?”“I don’t know. I’m craving something a little different. I’m just so on edge. I could really use something to help me unwind,” I say breathy as I rub my hands in between my thighs and groan lightly. This boy gulps loudly, nervously adjusting his tie. “W-w-well…We have mojitos.”“No…that’s not what I want…” I say with a husky tone as I look him directly in his eyes, licking my lips while I rub my host’s crotch, groaning slightly more loudly as I feel this meat starting to get hard and strain within the confines of its denim prison.

“Sir! This is inappropriate! I’m going to need to ask you to-”“Shut up and touch it. I know you want to. Your cock can’t lie to me. “SIR. If you don’t stop I’m going to have to-HUH?!” he gasped as I grabbed a hold of his arm and yanked him close to me.He was speechless from the shock as I pulled him onto my lap, keeping him firmly locked in my grip thanks to Peter’s strong muscles as I went to work grinding my tented crotch against his backside and reaching my hand around to begin rubbing his engorging cock. “MMMMmmmmmmpppphhhhhhhhhhmmmmmnnngggggggg” he groaned through Peter’s big hand that was muffling his shouts.

He squealed as I grabbed a firm hold around his rod, stroking and pumping him through his soft uniform pants, breathing hot on his neck as I whispered into his ear. “You’re getting so horny, boy. I can feel you getting hard in my hand. mmmmmm a tasty boy like you is just the refreshment I needed.” I followed by licking up and down his neck, making him gasp as shivers coursed their way up and down his spine. “You liked that didn’t you?” I asked with a chuckle before experimenting and easing up my grip on his mouth.

He took several deep breaths before slowly turning his head to face me. It could have gone either way at this point as I saw the panic and indecision in his eyes. But then the look in his eyes focused in and I knew he has made his decision.

He lunged as he joined his mouth with mine, moaning loudly into my mouth as he wrestled his tongue past my lips and hungrily tasted me. I needed to remind him who the big man was in this steamy moment, so I forced Peter’s tongue into this boy’s mouth, reveling in the pleasurable moans echoing into my mouth as I ferociously tasted my mile high slut. Pulling back, he now had a look of hunger in his eyes. “I-I’ve never done this before at work…”“It’s just the two of us in here. No need to worry about anything.”He looked into my eyes briefly before biting his lip nervously.“Can I…taste it?” He asked with such anticipation in his eyes. I just smirked at him. “You think I’d say no to a hot mouth like yours? Get to work, boy.”I closed my eyes, smiling with satisfaction as this boy crawled down onto his knees, no longer able to suppress his desire as he unbuttoned my jeans and pulled down the zipper. I lifted my butt up to help him as he pulled down my pants and drawers, letting this big fat cock spring out, slapping him lightly in the face as he gawked at my host’s unveiled meat.

I shivered as he immediately went to work, grabbing me with one of his hands, pumping me softly as he wrapped his lips around the head, getting it nice and moist as he swirled his tongue around. My fingers were trembling, and the sensation crashing through my cockhead, down to my groin and down my thighs was so powerful that I had to bite my lip and focus on gripping the armrests just to keep from shouting out. This boy knew what he was doing, and he had just barely gotten started.

I felt the veins on Peter’s muscles expand, letting an intense surge of blood-flow crash through every part of his body. It was a euphoria like no other, and it only intensified as this mile high slut began bobbing his slick mouth up and down, up and down, picking up speed as he kept sucking that meat and swirling his tongue over all of Peter’s most sensitive spots. I cringed and scrunched my face it felt so fucking good, but I didn’t want to make too much noise. At this point though I think he was almost challenging me to give in and admit how good it felt. He finally had his wish as he all of a sudden jolted his head down, swallowing every inch of my meat as he scooped both hands up my shirt and found my sensitive nipples.

My eyes shot wide open as he began deepthroating me with ferocious speed, all while squeezing, twisting, and rubbing all over my massive pecs, and particularly, my tight and hard nipples. My back arched violently as a loud groan finally escaped my lips. I bit my lip though to shut myself up, scrunching my face up again and hyperventilating as this boy kept swallowing my entire length.

I couldn’t have hoped for a better last orgasm in Peter’s body, but I still wanted it to be at least partially on my own terms. Growling as I felt the testosterone levels in Peter’s body rising, I grabbed the boy’s head with both of my hand’s, getting no resistance from him as I began to pull him down onto my cock, harder and even faster than he was already going. Mmmmmmm it felt so satisfying as I used Peter’s strong arms to pull that mouth and tight throat down onto his juicy meat. Such a good throat fuck, but I couldn’t hold my hips back anymore, so it got even more intense. I know I might have been going rough on the boy, but he wasn’t complaining as I started bucking my hips up, thrusting into his mouth and thrusting powerfully down his throat. The boy kept squeezing my pecs and nipples, getting more intense as I added more and more power to my throat fuck. My toes were curling in my shoes as I looked down at this hungry mile high slut, and seeing the desperation in his eyes finally sent me over the edge. Groaning loudly, I slammed his mouth down onto one last powerful cock thrust after what had seemed like an eternity of building pressure in Peter’s massive balls. With that thrust, my pent up load was finally free, releasing stream after stream directly down the hungry throat that was so expertly milking my cock. I shivered as kept yanking his throat down onto each new ribbon of cum, milking out over a dozen shots before the stream finally slowed to mere droplets which we sucked straight out of me with that skilled mouth.

Attention Passengers, Please prepare for landing. We will be arriving in approximately five minutes.

“Damn, sorry boy. I guess I don’t have time to return the favor.”He just smiled adoringly at me though. “No, don’t be sorry. That was-That was amazing! I’ll be thinking about you and this later tonight. This will be on my mind for the next month at the very least!”He gave me one more passionate kiss before he straightened his tie and uniform, giving me a sexy wink as he made the landing preparations, leaving me in my golden orgasmic bliss. He was kind enough to point to my ankles though, reminding me my pants and boxers were still down, leaving my softening meat out for the world to see. I quickly pulled my pants back up as we began the descent.

I hopped in the cab at the airport, unable to contain my grin as I gave the driver the address of Bastian’s Beverly Hills mansion. The cab driver wasn’t particularly talkative, so I sat in eager silence as I mentally prepared for my transfer and mini vacation from Peter’s body.

The passing vistas and palm trees zoom by as I absentmindedly reach my hands underneath my shirt and begin rubbing and feeling Peter’s body. I know I’ll be feeling this body from the other side, but I’ll miss the feeling of ownership and possession. Something about feeling Peter Van der Veen’s abs and squeezing those massive pecs with his own strong hands was immensely satisfying. Taking over strong men and making them my hosts…my vessels…will always be my drug of choice.

“We’re here, Mister,” the taxi driver says, looking at me with an odd expression as I realize I’m still circling Peter’s hard nipples. I swoop my hands out from under Peter’s shirt, unable to help but go a little red in the face as I awkwardly thank and pay the guy. I pull out Peter’s wallet, so comfortable now seeing his ID and associating that image and identity as my own. That’s when you know you’ve found a keeper, when you look at your host’s ID and instinctively think, “Damn, I look hella fine.”

I tipped the guy well to mask the awkwardness and walked over to the front door, suitcases in tow. There was a note on the front door telling me to come on in and meet my new employers in the back. The note said to just keep on following the central corridor until I reached them. Opening the door, I was blown away by the extravagance of this massive and modern mansion.

“What a great place to vacation,” I said aloud to myself in shock as I plopped my bags on the marble floor, closed the door, and began the long walk down the central hallway. I passed by massive living and entertaining rooms, all decked out with expensive art, impeccable decoration, and state of the art technology. The kitchen and dining room was as large as most people’s whole apartments, and I think I walked passed a whole new set of entertainment and party/recreational rooms. It was simply unbelievable, but I got pulled back to reality as I heard light moaning emanating from the last room at the end of the hall.

The moaning was definitely deep, low, and masculine. Judging by the videos I had watched during my research, I knew it was Bastian who was cooing and making those sweet sounds of pleasure. I could hear him faintly egging on what I can only assume was his wife, Maria. That accent was still distinctly German, and thought some people thought it was a little harsh, I shivered from its foreign and exotic appeal. I had never taken over a foreigner before, so I wondered if I would have the joy of speaking with such a German flare. I kept walking cautiously towards the moans, concerned that I was going to interrupt a particularly private and intimate moment. Still, I advanced. That’s one of the great things about Peter’s body. I’m this massive tank of toned muscle, but he is so light on his feet. I barely make a sound as I walk right up to the cracked door and slowly push it open as I walk inside.

“Huh?” I asked aloud as I creaked the door open and saw Bastian, shirtless and laying down on a medical table as his wife performed a spa facial. She was dressed and made up to the nth degree with her pink mini dress, pumps, and full make up while she massaged her husband’s face, working the active ingredients deep into his skin that would help maintain his youth. He clearly found the experience very pleasurable as the sounds coming out of his mouth were almost orgasmic.

“That must be you, Peter,” he said in his sweet German accent and without even opening his eyes.

“We’re just finishing the last step,” Maria said with a smile as she spread the remaining moisture serum down his neck before clicking a button that brought the reclined medical table back up to a chair-like angle.

Bastian finally opened his eyes as he smiled at me, happy to see that he had been able to afford my services. My host was, after all, the most sought out bodyguard in Hollywood.

“Maria, can you give us some time? I need to show him the house and talk about the next three months. Here’s some cash–go buy something pretty,” he said as he casually handed her a thick strap of hundred dollar bills. She was almost giddy with joy as she collected the multi-thousand dollar wad of cash and left to go shop to her heart’s content at her favorite designer stores. “Now, that frees up some time for just us guys,” he said with a cheeky grin as he got up off the table and put his shirt back on.

This was going too perfectly. I tried to suppress my own giddy grin as he began to show me around the house, when like he said, it was just us guys.

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robinrunsfiction · 5 years ago

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Irresistible - Chapter 5

The following week Jennifer and I were putting our things away in the locker room before our pilates class when I heard something that caught my attention.

“Have you gone out with Pete recently?”

“No,” came the annoyed response. “He’s been going out with that jewelry store girl for a while now.” I’d heard that voice before. Trina.

By this point Jennifer was listening as well and looking at me with wide eyes. I just held up a finger to my lips to shush her.

“Which girl? Wait, is that the one from Bernard’s? Kinda cute, decent tits?”

I looked at Jennifer shocked and although tiny, she looked like she was ready to go fight them. I shook my head, more interested in hearing what they were going to say about me.

“Yea, that one. Obviously she’s just using him for the money or something.“

“And he’s probably just using her for sex,” the friend replied.

“Probably. He used to call me like once a week at least, now I haven’t heard from him in forever. Maybe I’ll call him soon. He’s gotta be bored by now.”

My blood was starting to boil at this point. How dare they assume I was using him for anything! This is why I never went out with guys who had a ton of money or status. I didn’t want to be a part of the gossip.

Just then another girl walked in, glancing at us before continuing to the next row of lockers. “Who are we talking about?”

“Pete and that nobody he’s been dating; I think her name is (YN).”

“You know she is like right over there?” The new girl said.

Jennifer and I both looked at each other again with panic written on both our faces. I decided to get up, rounded the corner, and looked at the group of Lululemon clad girls who had just finished the class before ours.

“Thanks for calling me cute, but only decent tits? Really? I think they’re better than that!” I said before I left the locker room with Jennifer giggling behind me.

“Did you see the looks on their faces?” Jennifer asked when we were out of the locker room. “Wait, are you ok?”

I shook my head and leaned against the wall. “I don’t want to have to deal with all this bullshit. I just wanna date a cool guy who is in to me too, but instead I get one who is all wrapped up in the society pages and real housewives wannabes who think they’re entitled and,” I could feel the tears start to well up. “Its not what I wanted and its exhausting.”

“Its ok to say you’re hurt by what they said,” Jennifer said quietly, rubbing my arm.

I nodded. “And it sucks because none of it is true.”

“I know. Come on, lets get to class.”

That night when I got home I kept staring at my phone. Pete and I didn’t have plans, because we were two individuals who liked each others company, but we weren’t a couple, we just went out, were dating, no big deal.

Except I just kept imagining Trina in her stupid Lululemon outfit calling Pete and him meeting up with her and them making out and then…

No, I had to stop myself. I was going off the rails. I picked up the phone.

Talk me down babe.

Whats up? Christine replied.

Tell me not to txt pete about what hes doing rn

Do NOT text Pete about what or who he is doing what now!

Why tf would you say that?

I thought you were being chill with him

Ugh I am. But I like him. I just dontlike all the girls who wanna get with him and his $$$

The money isn’t the problem, it’s the shit associated with the money that’s the problem, you know it

Youre right

I’m always right. So text him and be like hey, thinking of you lets hang when youre in town or whatever

I sighed. Christine was right very very often, and it was obnoxious. I picked up my phone again.

Just wanted to say hey

Ugh. That was dumb, but it was sent so there was nothing more I could do. A few minutes later as I was about a mile deep on some random Instagram, Pete called.

“Hey,” I answered, still feeling very self-conscious about how lame my text was.

“Hey beautiful, I saw your text and thought I’d call.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just landed back in Chicago, wanna grab dinner?”

“Oh, I didn’t think you were getting back for a while. Is there a problem?”

“Nothing major, but they need me in a meeting tomorrow morning, so here I am.”

“Well isn’t it my lucky day then,” I couldn’t help but smile.

“So, dinner?”

“As long as you don’t have any better offers.”

“God no. I’ll be the in a few.”

I felt a smug sense of relief wash over me. I needed to stop thinking about how Pete seemed like he would be on paper and focus on how he actually was.

I pulled on a purple wrap dress and quickly put on some makeup. Knowing Pete, he’d take us some place super nice and I’d feel all awkward and out of place if I didn’t. Not long after I buzzed Pete up to my apartment and somehow despite the fact that he had just been on a four-and-a-half-hour flight, he looked totally unruffled.

“How do you do it?” I asked as I shut the door behind me and headed to the elevator.

“Do what?”

“Look like you just rolled out a GQ photo shoot with your perfectly rolled up sleeves and just slightly undone tie and,” I trailed off because I was starting to get a little hot beneath the collar just looking at him like that.

“Perks of flying private I guess,” he replied with a laugh.

“Oh come on, how did I not see that coming?” I replied rolling my eyes as we got on the elevator. Of course he flew private, that’s how he got a flight home on such short notice.

“You should come with me some time, maybe an extended weekend getaway?” He asked as he took a step toward me and placing his hands on my waist.

“I think I could be convinced of that,” I replied as he leaned down and kissed me. All too soon the elevator doors dinged open and we headed out to his car.

“So where are we going tonight?” I asked as we slipped into the back seat.

“Just wait and see,” he said as we pulled away from the curb.

After a while we arrived at small, hole in the wall looking Mexican restaurant. Pete hopped out and opened the door for me as we went in.

“Just copying my ides now I see.”

“Not exactly,” he laughed. Then I realized that the place was empty, which I didn’t think anything of at first, it was kinda late on a weeknight. But then I noticed there were candles on a table right in the middle of the floor, and the lights were dimmed. I glanced back at the door and saw that the sign on the door was flipped so to passersby it would read closed.

“Oh, I see what you did!” I laughed, as he pulled out a chair for me. “So do you have some thing where you can’t eat in front of other people, so you just compulsively have to buy out entire restaurants?”

He laughed as the waiter set down menus. “No, I just like my privacy.”

That got my mind going back to earlier in the day and my stomach lurched at the memory, but I decided to confront it head on. “But people talk about you, and like your personal life and stuff.”

“I know that happens. But I don’t want to give people anything more to talk about than they already do, ya know?” Then he narrowed his eyes at me. “Why? Did someone say something to you?”

“No, I overheard that girl Trina and a couple others that I don’t know by name talking about me and you at the gym today.” My heart was racing. I felt like I was snitching on the mean girl at school. “She said we were both using each other, and she was gonna hit you up to hook up because you’d be bored with me by now.”

“(YN) you know that I would never use you for anything, and don’t believe that you would ever use me either,” he said reaching across the table and taking my hand.

“Obviously,” I replied.

“And I really don’t think I’d ever get bored of you. You keep me on my toes,” he said with a grin starting to spread across his face.

“Someone has to stop you from always getting your way. I can’t imagine life is exciting when you have your say all the time,” I replied with a smirk. “So how did you find this?”

“My friend Joe is a total foodie. He knows probably all your secret little spots, and then some. He recommended this place for some of the most authentic, delicious Mexican food in the Chicagoland area.”

“Wait, Joe Trohman, the food critic? I have thoughts on some of his reviews.”

“I’ll introduce you some time, I’m sure he’d like to hear them.”

“Hmm, I doubt it,” I laughed.

The rest of the evening in the restaurant went well. I really felt like we were getting to know each other, and we were connecting on a real level. And hearing Pete reassure me that he wasn’t using me, or going to get bored of me, really made me feel better, even though I know I was being paranoid about the whole thing. But sometimes you need to hear those things to make them stick.

When we finished our meals, we headed out to his waiting car. When we were inside, Pete pulled out his phone for first time all night and chuckled.

“Just like you said,” he said holding up the phone. “Trina.”

I almost rolled my eyes, but quickly scanned over the messages on the screen. The last one was from two months ago, before we met. A sense of relief washed over me. “Why don’t I ever hear from you anymore?” I read aloud. “What are you gonna say?”

“(YN).”

“What?”

“No, that’s what I’m telling her,” he said holding his phone up again and saw he had just texted my name back to her. Then her replied popped up.

“’Are you fucking kidding me?’” I read off the screen. “She seems so nice.”

“Screw it,” Pete muttered and blocked her number and I may have laughed a little too hard with delight, but he grinned back at me. “So, where to next?”

I shrugged. “The night is young and I don’t have to be in to work until later tomorrow so wherever you want.”

“Wanna come back to my place?” He asked tentatively.

“Will it make me feel like crap for my tiny apartment?”

“We don’t have to-”

“No, no, I wanna see the lifestyles of the rich and Chicago famous,” I interjected. “Let’s go.”

When we arrived at the ridiculously tall building on the shores of Lake Michigan, I again couldn’t say I was really surprised.

We took the elevator up what felt like a thousand floors, but Pete’s apartment wasn’t even on the top. When he opened the door, I was slightly stunned by the space. It was clean and modern, but not disgustingly so. The view from the living room was something to behold. Lake Michigan seemed to spread on forever in the inky darkness of the night as cars flew by on the street below. To the south, the sparkling lights of downtown Chicago illuminated the view from the dining room.

“I know I said you don’t need to impress me, but this is spectacular,” I said in awe as I took in the views.

“Obviously the lake is more beautiful in the daytime,” he started.

“So maybe I should be here to see it?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he said closing the distance between us, his hand cupping my cheek as I leaned in and kissed him. My arms draped over his shoulders so I could run my hands through his hair. The kiss deepened as he gripped my waist and our tongues moved against each other, trying to best the other, just like how we always interacted.

“Want to go someplace more comfortable?” He asked pulling back for air. I nodded and he took my hand, guiding me up the stairs. When we reached the next floor I glanced around, but it seemed we were in his home office.

“Come on, I’ll give you the full tour later,” he said giving a tug to my hand and I noticed there was another staircase.

“Three floors? For one man?”

“I got it for a steal, and it’s an investment in the future,” he replied as we made it up to third floor bedroom which had wide windows looking out on the lake. In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed that looked like it was going to be the softest thing I had ever sat on and I couldn’t wait.

“I assume there’s a bathroom around here?” I asked glancing around.

“Behind you,” he said with a nod.

“Be right back,” I replied and slipped inside. Of course the bathroom was as gorgeous as the rest of the apartment. Marble everything, but I noticed the floor was heated under my bare feet. I checked my hair and make up in the mirror, fixing my slightly smudged lipstick. I took a deep breath and got brave. I untied my dress, letting the material slip to the floor and glanced at myself in the mirror. “Nailed it,” I whispered to myself as I admired the matching black lace bra and panties I had the foresight to wear tonight. We’d been out enough times without things getting to this level, it was only natural it was going to happen any time now, and I was ready.

“Goddamn,” Pete muttered as I stepped out of the bathroom. He had already untucked his shirt, and undone the first few buttons on his shirt and I had to stop myself from pouncing on him right then. Instead I kept my composure and sauntered across the room and dragged my finger down his chest, looking at him through my eyelashes.

“(YN), you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Pete murmured before pressing his lips to mine again. I smiled as I started to unbutton his shirt and broke the kiss as I pushed back the material from his body. I gasped slightly as I took in his muscular body, with even more beautiful, bad ass, incredible tattoos than I had already gotten a glimpse of on his arms. If it was at all possible for him to get hotter, he just did.

“Oh my god,” I murmured, looking up at his cocky smirk.

“Don’t forget I’m full of surprises.”

“Ugh, shut up and kiss me,” I replied grabbing his face and pulling him to me. He spun us around, my back hitting the softness of the bed and I giggled. “Now let’s get to those surprises.”

Chapter 6

#pete wentz x reader #pete wentz fan fiction #pete wentz fan fic #pete wentz imagine #fall out boy fan fic #fall out boy fan fiction

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brulermag · 6 years ago

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An Immigrant Nation

I remember taking the Greyhound to Houston, Texas coming from New Jersey, and there was a long line. This was the third connection I'd made and I was exhausted. Carrying around a few bags, I listened to my music while I waited to check in. Suddenly, my headphones got caught on my jacket and snapped and I was visibly upset. The guy behind me who was Mexican, reached into his bag and without hesitation, handed me a pair of headphones. "There you go! I know how it is to be without music on these long rides." "Thank you so much!"

We proceeded to get on the bus and he sat next to me. "I'm heading back to Houston to see my wife. I've been gone for a while and I can't wait to see her." He pulled out a picture and said, "This is Kelly and my daughter Raye." This man seemed proud of his family and his eyes welled up when he spoke about them. His name was Guadalupe and he lived in Houston, Texas but was coming from Louisiana because of work there. He was undocumented and was trying to make a living for his family. Because Texas is predominantly Mexican-American, he said he was shunned by his own community because he could not afford paperwork and staying legally in this country.

"They say they are a community and help each other, but Mexicans who come here and have babies born here in the USA tell their kids to look and act white and to not speak Spanish. They don't ever tell you this but its true. They feel that it will give their children a better future to submit to White people rather than challenge the 'norm.' And then the ones that are newly undocumented, well they don't help much. Some people are very welcoming but my very own people have looked down on me. I don't expect people to help though, so I look for whatever work there is to support my family. This time around, it's in Louisiana. And pretty soon I'll move my family down here. Its hard because if I do the move and I lose my job because of ICE, or before I get my paperwork to be legal, I can be deported and what will happen of my family?" This was in 2000.

A few years later, I was a server at a very popular restaurant in Philadelphia and as I waited for patrons to come and dine, I stood next to one of the bus boys and talk to kill time. His name was Reimundo and he was an undocumented Mexican. He was super polite, soft spoken, well mannered and kind. He did everything with a smile and never asked questions. I asked him if he planned to go from bus boy to server because of his demeanor and professionalism.

He looked up and said, "I cannot." "How come?" I asked. "You'd be great!" As naive as I was, I asked those questions. I'm a Puerto Rican. We're American citizens. Born and raised in New Jersey. While I have faced racism I could never walk in the footsteps of Reimundo. I never had to move to a new place and learn a new language. In a place where they didn't want me. Where I don't really exist because I can't afford a visa/citizenship. That I would be giving myself away if I tried to apply because I was already in the country illegally...simply because I wanted a better life for myself and too often times my family. I can't even imagine how that feels. Where do I go? Where do I stay? What do I do? As Americans, we complain about a lot of things, but this is a whole other level.

If you're harassed or a victim of crime, who do you go to? Many undocumented people never see a doctor or a lawyer or a cop simply because they are afraid to be reported and taken away. Reimundo looked and me and said, "I begged for this job. I have friends who know the owner and they told him I was a hard worker. He liked me and here I am. I can't become a server. It's too suspicious." "So how long have you been in America?" "3 and a half years." "Did you come with your family?" "No. I came alone. My entire family is in Mexico. I came here for them. There was no jobs in Mexico. Nothing. My family was facing extreme poverty. My mother was getting sicker. I needed to do something. She told me not to come because she feared for my safety, but I would do anything for my mamita linda."

I didn't ask him how he got here because I felt like I was already being intrusive. But he told me anyway: "I ran. I ran and ran and it took a long time but I finally got over." He paused and walked over to a table to pour water. He came back and opened a small booklet he had in his back pocket. "This is my saint of a mother." "When was the last time you saw her? Does she come here to visit?" "I haven't seen my mother physically since I came here. 3 and a half years. And I miss them like crazy." "Don't you ever feel lonely and want to hug them? I know if it was me, I'd go crazy." "Well, yes of course! But I am here working hard for them. Every dime is for her and my brothers and sisters. I leave here and I go to my other job. I repeat. This is my life. I made this sacrifice for them. I don't regret it one bit."

With the hostility of The Trump Era almost 17 years later, you'd think being an illegal immigrant was the worst crime ever. But actually, early settlers of America were the first immigrants and basically claimed America for their own. There wasn't formal paperwork like there was to keep slaves or free them; there were no laws against them. And as they established their usurpation, they made their own laws according to land ownership and everything else. By the late 1800's, they sent for their families. It wasn't relatively easy to get on a boat and get here, because late 1800's immigrants faced racism themselves in America. But they eventually came over and made their place in every fiber of American History. Because of immigrants we have a melting pot of food, culture, jobs, education, art and everything else you can name of.

It seemed that if you were from Europe, America was a sure fire way to get ahead in life. But for Asians and existing African Americans this was not the case. There were rules in place during The Gold Rush of 1849. When The Chinese heard of these opportunities, they migrated to America but Americans weren't too happy about that. They put in place The Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 to exclude The Chinese from taking advantage of The Gold Rush. The opening of Ellis Island in 1892 was truly the first Federal Immigration Station. While Europeans struggled to make their place in America, they eventually fit right in by designating parts all over America where their like kind was. Laws favoring European countries for immigration ended in 1965 and allowed Asians and Latin Americans to make their way to America for a "Better Life."

But it wasn't a very good life for Latin Americans. They were stereotyped, made fun of in pop culture, were designated as "Lovers" and "Salsa Dancers" and were ridiculed for their accents. It's always been hard for Latin Americans to climb corporate ladders because a Latino was not seen as a formidable opponent in the business field. To this day, you can count on your fingers the number of Latinos who have won Oscars and in 60 years of The Grammys, very few Latinos have performed LIVE. In fact, you can count on your fingers how many have.

Latinos have been discounted in American History even when we make history in America. There have been limited views of immigrants and their descendants so how do we expect America to understand an illegal immigrant at all? It doesn't surprise me one bit when Middle American White People on The Right shake their finger at illegal immigrants. Those are the very people that employed them in fields, in the back of kitchens and everywhere else. As soon as a dictator like Trump stepped in and said they'd get tax breaks, they sold them out on a dime. That's the American way sometimes.

America is an Immigrant Nation. A rich, colorful nation that have borrowed from our customs, creativity, culture and the list goes on and on. I have to remind you that not every white person feels the same way many do about illegal or legal immigrants. And millions agree that we should be a country of opening our arms and welcoming all. But at the same time, they do need to be more vocal about it, especially during this time. These are the times where being white and vocal really matters. But do not mistake the rest of America and every race and ethnicity...WE do not need a white face to lead us; but we do not mind the allies.

Here are some reasons America should get off their moral high horse: Most of our cities, states and counties are named in Spanish, you just don't know it because white people butcher pronunciation of foreign language! All joking aside, some white people from the reddest of states live in counties that are either Spanish, Native American or of some foreign language. Remember America is rich in diversity even way before immigration became common. But that's another American History lesson on how The French, The British, The Spanish made their marks in America.

America is an Immigrant Nation. The most famous restaurants and foods white people absolutely love and frequent are Mexican Restaurants. In fact, they think every Latino in the world are Mexicans and think we all make mole and tacos. If we're in 2018 and most Americans didn't know Puerto Rico was part of The United States, you can imagine how immigrants of any nationality today are hesitant to come here.

And when we hear "We need things made in America again" these are from people who had no problem sending off their products to be made in China because it is cheaper. In fact, America has relied on China for a long time in terms of trade relations and everything else. Even Trump who co-signed on this slogan has his products made anywhere but America. And while some American companies boast they now make everything in America, its simply a fad and they will return to investing with The Chinese and everyone else. So where does this leave immigrants today?

Well, Trump is looking into keeping Illegal immigrants and probably legal ones from getting government benefits and government housing. He's trying to build a wall (which is really a verbal threat more than anything), he's bad mouthing immigrants of all kinds and he's trying to discredit ethnicity in general. He's stripping away sanctuary cities and wants Europeans to infiltrate Puerto Rico to boost the economy and migrate to America to replace immigrants. In other words, MORE WHITE FACES IS BETTER.

It all comes down to Trump's presidential victory and the true colors of a weak minority called White People; who will certainly do anything to destroy any race that isn't their own. Once a land of the free, America has become the most racist modern country in the world. Other countries laugh at us, our president and the policies. Trump is destroying everything with the help from half the country. But this doesn't kill the resilience of The American People (and by American People I mean those who aren't traitors); We will persevere, we will grow, we will continue to allow immigrants and we will celebrate every national and cultural tradition of ALL including white people.

America is an Immigrant Nation. Say it loud, hold it in your heart and cling to it. I leave you with this: O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea! O beautiful for pilgrim feet, Whose stern, impassioned stress A thoroughfare for freedom beat Across the wilderness! America! America! God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law! O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife, Who more than self their country loved And mercy more than life! America! America! May God thy gold refine, Till all success be nobleness, And every gain divine! O beautiful for patriot dream That sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam Undimmed by human tears! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea!

By: Xavii Matisse ©

#An Immigrant Nation #America #USA #Immigrants

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5hfanfiction · 7 years ago

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Love Drunk (Chapter 3)

chapter 3: those who fail to learn

A/N: just to be safe, trigger warning for slight drug use and panic attacks. also, this is going to be split into three different parts, so I hope you enjoy. Wattpad is ayyocabello :)

***

A year and a half ago.

Camila took her usual seat in the middle row of the lecture room and deposited her bag on the desk beside her. It was still relatively early; class didn’t start for another forty minutes, but Camila was incredibly meticulous about being on time when it came to school.

She rummaged through her—insanely cluttered—bag to find her notebook and a pencil. Triumphantly, she locates the correct notebook, but is still struggling to find a pencil.

Annoyance flares up in her chest when she still can’t find the damn pencil, “Where the fu—”

She’s startled out of her fight with the bag when a male hand holds out a pen in front of her face.

“Here, you can borrow my pen. By the looks of it, you must need it,” His lips are curved into a smile as he had obviously witnessed Camila’s struggle.

“I was trying to find a pencil, but thanks,” She murmurs out embarrassedly. Carefully plucking it from his fingers, she opens her notebook to a blank page and scribbles something on top of it.

The boy motions to the desk next to her, “Mind if I sit here?”

Camila hesitates for a moment and then shakes her head. It’s not like her answer really matters, he’ll probably sit there anyways.

But maybe he’ll leave her alone if she says yes.

He slips into the seat and continues to eye the flustered girl beside him. “So, you always here this early or are you just excited for this particular lecture today?”

Guess not.

Camila can’t help the blush the creeps up on her cheeks. “I take my education very seriously.”

“As you should,” He smirks at her again and her blush deepens. When he twists his body in the seat so he’s facing Camila, she knows the conversation isn’t going to end any time soon. “So,” He starts again, “I’ve seen you around a lot, and we have this class together, but we’ve never talked.”

“And?” It comes out a little harsher than intended.

Her tone doesn’t dispel the boy, instead he flashes her another charming smile, “And I think you’re cute. I also wanted to know your name. I’m Mason.”

That damn blush is back, and Camila nervously picks at her sweater sleeves. “Camila.”

“Cute,” Mason says simply. “Now, how would you like to accompany me on a date, Camila?”

“Uhm, I—I don’t know.”

“Aw,” He juts his bottom lip out in a pouting manner, “How about this Friday?”

“I’m working, sorry.”

“Saturday?”

“You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you’d say yes.”

Camila rubs her temples and relents, “Fine.”

Mason pumps a fist in the air dramatically—Camila can’t bite back her laugh—and takes his phone out to pull up the contact page.

She types her info in and hands the device back to him.

A sly smile graces his features and his hazel eyes narrow at the girl. “Didn’t give me a fake number, did you?”

Camila places a hand against her chest in mock offense. “You pretty much annoy me into going on a date with you, and then have the nerve to think I’d give you a fake number? How rude.”

Mason throws his head back and laughs loudly; the sound echoes off the walls of the empty lecture room. “I love a girl with a sense of humor.”

Camila rolls her eyes and laughs along with him. “I’m glad I can amuse you.”

“I bet you’ve got more up your sleeve,” He holds a hand up to halt her. “One sec.” Camila hears a camera shutter clicking as the boy takes a picture of himself. He taps on the screen a couple more times before he puts his phone on the desk. “Okay.”

Her phone vibrates in her pocket and when she opens the message from the number she knows is Mason’s, she scoffs. He’s sent her the selfie he just took.

“Wow, thanks for that,” She says sarcastically.

“You’re so welcome. Now you have a contact photo for me.” He winks at her and stands up. “I’m gonna dip out now, I’ll text you about the details of our date later.”

Camila’s eyebrows furrow, “Wait, why are you leaving? The lecture is starting soon.”

“The lecture was cancelled today,” He winks at her again. “Don’t you ever read your school email?”

“Cancelled?” Her eyes widen in disbelief. “Wait, so why are you here then?”

“I just came to save you from embarrassment.”

She continues to stare at him blankly, silently asking him to elaborate further.

“I came in to study a bit before the lecture started, but then I read the email saying it was cancelled. Professor just didn’t feel like showing up, I guess. I saw you come in here, though. It was the perfect opportunity and I couldn’t pass it up.”

The words sink in slowly and she doesn’t know how to feel.

“See you, Camila.” Then, he’s out the door and she’s alone again.

“For fucks sake,” She grumbles into the empty air as she shoves her shit back into her bag and storms out into the hallway.

***

Mason makes a better impression on the night he picks Camila up for their first date. It just so happened to be on the wrong person.

Dinah chose to hang around, so she could meet the guy that finally got Camila to 'unstick her ass from the couch and turn off that god damn TV for once in her life.’

And Camila wants to be offended. She really does.

But instead, she laughs because it’s true.

When Mason’s Jeep finally pulls into the driveway, Dinah has prepared herself for the assault. Camila gives her a pleading look as he strides to the door.

“Don’t embarrass me, Dinah Jane,” She manages to grit out before she swings the door open to greet him. Dinah sticks her tongue out at the Latina, silently accepting her challenge.

“Camila!” He exclaims cheerily, while looking her up and down. “You look great.”

Oh, god. Here comes the blushing again. “Thanks, Mason. You look nice too.” Camila steps aside to let him in.

Dinah studies the boy intently before she introduces herself. “Hi, I’m Dinah Jane. I’m Mila’s roommate and best friend.”

He shakes her hand and smiles. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Mason.”

“Nice to meet you, too. Now if you could just take a seat real quick,” She gestures to the couch, where a piece of paper is taped to the cushion with the words ’Dinah Jane’s hot seat’ scribbled in sharpie, “We can get started.”

Camila does a double take. How did she not notice that before?

“Dinah…” Camila starts to warn. Mason shakes his head at her.

“It’s okay, Mila,” He teases as he saunters past her. When he sits on the designated cushion, Dinah whips out a stack of flash cards.

An entire stack of flashcards.

When the hell did she have time to do this, Camila thinks.

“Okay, so first off,” Dinah thumbs through the cards. “What kind of grades do you get, Mason?”

“I have a B average,” Mason answers seriously. It’s so serious, it’s almost laughable.

Dinah nods her head in approval, “Great, great,” She flips to the next card. “Now, do you have a job?”

“I work at a car shop, I’m a mechanic. My dad taught me when I was younger.”

Dinah nods again. Camila’s face is so red at this point they might as well slap her on a plate and serve her with a side of butter.

This continues for at least another ten more minutes—Dinah’s somewhat surprised Camila actually let her go on this long. Some more questions consist of ’do you like dogs,’ and ’how do you feel about Ed Sheeran? And don’t talk shit because Mila loves him, by the way,’ and ’are you of any Cuban or Mexican descent?’ before Camila feels like she’s going to lose her mind.

“Enough, Dinah. We need to go now,” Camila whines as she grabs at Dinah’s arm.

Dinah fends off the small Cuban with swat of her hand, “Just a few more!”

“Do you have any STDs?” The blonde blurts out.

Mason’s face turns as red as Camila’s. He manages to squeak out quietly, “No, I get checked regularly.”

“Dinah Jane Hansen!” Camila yells and jumps at the Polynesian, latching onto her in the koala-like manner she often does. The blonde stumbles before she shoves Camila off and onto the floor.

“Okay, last one!” She huffs out as she straightens her shirt out. “You didn’t think to mention that your lecture was cancelled before you asked her out?”

Mason laughs.

Camila adds ’finding a new best friend’ to her To-Do list. “Dinah! I swear to God!” She scolds.

“What? That bothered you more than you want to admit. You love school,” Dinah crosses her arms against her chest. “You gotta be honest upfront, Mila.”

“Worst wing-woman ever,” Camila mutters under her breath. She grabs Mason’s arm to drag him towards the door. “We’re leaving now! Goodbye Dinah Jane!”

“Bye!” She waves with her hand that still has the flashcards in it. “Have fun!”

When the door shuts, Dinah does a little victory dance while she grins to herself.

“Mission accomplished.”

***

Mason takes her to the Aquarium.

It’s kind of cheesy, but it’s also incredibly romantic and Camila is a complete sucker for that kind of cliché shit.

They bond over their favorite tanks, otters being their absolute favorite, but the turtles take a close second. Mason also really likes the alligators; Camila likes that they look like tiny dinosaurs.

One thing that Camila doesn’t like about the Aquarium are the spiders, snakes and beetles. And of course, Mason wants to look at them more up close.

“I’m okay over here,” Camila says from at least ten feet away from the tarantula tank. She’s picking at her shirt sleeves like she was the day Mason asked her out.

She’s nervous.

“Hey,” Mason says gently. “It’s okay, she’s not gonna hurt you.” He looks back at the tank where the tarantula is sifting through the sand peacefully. “It’s kinda cool what she’s doing.”

“Really, I’m good.”

Camila sighs. Why couldn’t they have saved the otters and turtles for last?

Mason may be pushy, but he knows better than to play on someone else’s fear. “It’s okay,” He walks away from the tarantula tank and puts his arm over Camila’s shoulder. “Do you wanna go look at the frogs?”

Camila’s face lights up in a child-like manner, “Yeah, the frogs are so cute.”

After they look at the frogs—Camila deciding that the electric green one with little black dots on its back is her favorite—they move on to the touch-tank.

Camila leans against the banister as Mason takes a spot beside her to peer into the tank of stingrays. His hand rests against the small of her back. “They’re so cute,” She coos for the millionth time today.

Mason laughs softly. “You think everything is cute.”

Camila grimaces. “No, I don’t,” The Cuban starts to remind him. “Not the bugs, spiders or snakes.”

“Right,” Mason nods his head in agreement, his gaze trained on the brunette. “Do you wanna touch the stingrays now?”

“Yeah,” Camila easily agrees. She dips her hand into the tank and holds out two fingers when the stingrays swim by. Her fingers glide over one of the stingrays’ backs and she jerks her hand out of the water.

“Did it hurt you?” Mason asks quickly, bringing her hand to his face to survey for damage.

“No,” She breathes out an awkward giggle, “It just freaked me out a little. But it was cool, and I’m gonna try again. You should too.” After whispering an apology to the stingrays for possibly scaring them, Camila puts her hand back into the tank and waits.

Mason watches the smile grow on her face as the stingrays glide beneath her fingertips. Her enthusiasm to observe and learn from these creatures is endearing. He emerges his own hand into the water and feels a couple of stingrays swim beneath his fingers.

They continue with the touch-tank for a few more minutes before they wash their hands and move onto the next room.

In the next room is the shark tank. The tank covers one entire wall from floor to ceiling and contains at least forty sharks. There are also some smaller fish that swim around completely unbothered by the large predators. A healthy amount of sand covers the tank floor, along with a beautifully designed shipwreck replica.

The room is engulfed in a blue light from the reflection of the water and it just makes looking at Camila even more enticing. Mason’s eyes scower over her face and down to her neck as she happily observes the sharks.

She feels a pair of eyes on her and when she turns, Mason is still admiring her shamelessly.

“What?” She says shyly.

His hand comes up to trail down the side of her face and tuck some hair behind her ear. “Nothing,” He says soothingly. “You’re just so beautiful.”

Even when bathed in the blue light, the blush on her cheeks is noticeable.

His hand slides down to her neck and he leans in closer to her. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while. Do you mind?”

She licks her lips and shakes her head. He closes the gap between them and kisses her softly. It’s sweet, gentle, and his hands stay on her face the entire time.

Perhaps saying yes to a date wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened.

***

They’ve been dating for a month and half when Mason finally asks Camila to be his girlfriend.

He asks her while she’s pouting about a quiz she didn’t do so well on, and Camila shouts out ’yes’ without even letting him finish his sentence before she’s kissing him so hard that he can barely breathe.

***

“I can’t believe you have a boyfriend, Mila.”

Camila just spent the last hour and half recapping to Dinah how everything happened, all the while practically crying over how happy she was.

“I know,” She had the dopiest grin on her face and hasn’t been able to wipe it off since. “I really like him, Dinah. I think he might be the one for me.”

Dinah slings an arm around the girl’s shoulder and pulls her in for a tight hug. “That’s so cute, Mila. I’m so happy for you.”

“I’ve never been so happy.”

“Girl, just wait until you guys sleep together,” Dinah adds with a wink.

Camila’s cheeks flush and her hands shoot up to cover her mouth. “Dinah!”

The blonde shrugs and continues her channel-surfing. “I’m just saying. The sex is going to be even better now that you’re falling in love with him.”

Camila thinks for a second. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So, you are falling in love with him?”

Camila’s head swivels to look at Dinah, eyes widening in what the blonde takes as silent confirmation. “Uhm—”

“Oh my God.” Dinah’s eyes widen to match Camila’s. “You’re falling in love! My little Walz is falling in love!” She grabs Camila and pulls her into her lap. “My baby is growing up!”

Camila laughs and hugs Dinah back just as tight.

***

The first time they have sex, it’s just as amazing as Camila thought it would be.

They’re three months into their relationship and everything has been relatively smooth sailing.

Mason had invited Camila over for dinner after he got off work to celebrate his promotion and raise. He was now the head mechanic and was beaming when he opened the door for his equally as thrilled girlfriend.

After he loads the dishwasher, they settle onto the couch to watch a movie. Camila’s cuddled into his side, and he’s intently watching the screen. The brunette slides the hand that’s resting against his chest up to the side of his face and lightly presses her lips against the skin of his neck repeatedly.

His arm tightens around her waist when her kisses grow more intense and his breath hitches. “I thought you wanted to watch this?”

She bites down on his throat hard before she runs her tongue over it. Camila drags her lips ever so slowly over the shell of Mason’s ear as she breathily whispers into it, “I thought we could celebrate a better way,” then nips playfully at his earlobe. Her kisses travel back down to his jaw and he jerks his head to the side to bring their mouths together.

Immediately her tongue enters his mouth and she scrambles from his side to straddle him. His hands run down her back before they settle on her ass, kneading and squeezing gently. Camila moans into his mouth, and her hands tangle in his hair when he moves his lips to her neck.

“Bedroom,” Is the only thing she manages to breathe out in her hormonal-haze.

He hoists her up, hands never leaving her ass, and her legs instinctively lock around his waist. After she’s dropped onto the bed, Mason crawls on top of her to take his place between her legs and they continue kissing.

***

Unfortunately, when Camila wakes up the next morning, it’s really early and there’s no warm body lying beside her. She assumed Mason had already left to attend his classes. She rolls over into the middle of the bed and stretches out her deliciously aching limbs. A smile creeps up on her face as she recalls the way Mason would suck in a sharp breath every time her nails scraped against his skin a little too harshly; Or the way her own body would shiver and writhe when he worked on that little spot below her ear. Her face started to heat up and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself before she got worked up again. Throwing the sheets off her body, Camila collected her clothes from around the room and redressed to head back to her apartment.

***

Camila had every intention of telling Dinah about her sex-capades in any other way than the blonde catching her sneaking back in the quiet apartment at an ungodly hour of the morning.

It’s surprising she’s even awake.

“Mila?” Dinah rubs the sleep from her eyes and squints at her. “You don’t have class today. Why are you leaving?”

“Well—” The words die in Camila’s throat. Dinah yawns after she rubs her eyes again and steps closer to the young Cuban. Something was off. “Didn’t you wear that last night?”

Camila can practically see the wheels start to turn in Dinah’s head.

The Polynesian’s mouth drops almost in slow-motion, and her voice comes out shaky as she exclaims, “O—Oh my God! You just got back! You totally got laid last night!” When she trudges over to pull Camila further into the apartment, she spots the hickeys on her neck.

“Dinah—”

The blonde grabs a hold of Camila’s cheeks with one hand and tilts her head to inspect her friend. “Damn, he ate the fuck outta your neck. That must’ve been some kinky ass sex.” She squeezes the Cuban’s face together just for fun. Her lips jut out in an ‘o’ and Dinah giggles because she kind of looks like a fish. Camila slaps at her hand and jumps out of her grip.

“What the hell are you even doing awake, Dinah?”

Dinah waves a hand passively at her, “I’d ask you the same thing, but I already know you got dicked down, so…”

Camila slaps her arm again and gasps, scandalized. “Dinah!”

The blonde smirks knowingly, “What? It’s true. Like I said, must’ve been kinky.”

“We are not discussing this right now.”

Dinah looks thoughtful for a moment before she waves the girl off again and struts back to her bedroom. “You’re right, I need more sleep first. You can tell me all about your bedroom rodeo later. Goodnight.”

She bursts out laughing when the pillow from the couch Camila throws narrowly misses her and hits the wall.

***

The first time Camila says, 'I love you’ is after Mason picks her up from a particularly stressful day at work.

It had been one of the busiest days in the past month, and her feet were aching. All she wanted to do was sleep for the rest of the week, but sadly, she had to study and finish some assignments.

The first thing she does when she gets inside is flop face-first onto her couch and groans loudly into one of the pillows. Mason drops down beside her and moves her legs before draping them back over his lap.

His hand rests against her calf and he rubs a soothing circle against her skin with his thumb, “You okay, babe?”

Camila’s voice is still muffled by the pillows, “Yeah, I’m just really tired. It was a long day.” She twists herself around, so she’s lying on her back with her eyes closed.

“I can give you a foot massage.”

Camila nods, eyes still closed.

“Do you want me to run you a bath?”

Camila hums happily in response.

“Then later maybe I can help you work off some of that tension,” He adds seductively, his hand drifting up to her thigh.

Camila cuddles further into the couch cushions.

“And I’ll make you your favorite dinner tonight.”

Her arms fold over her chest while she mumbles sleepily, “I love you.”

Mason’s hand stills on her upper thigh as the words that have just spilled from Camila’s mouth begin to resonate with him. Camila is in love with him. This is real and she's in love with him. He stays silent as the excitement grows in his chest, and Camila doesn’t fully realize what she’s said until it becomes too quiet in the room for her taste.

When she cracks her eyes open, Mason isn’t looking at her, instead he’s staring off into the distance chewing on his lip. She isn’t sure of what that means.

Camila worriedly pulls her legs from his lap and props herself into a sitting position on the couch, “Mase—”

Mason’s hazel eyes meet hers and she can see the adoration shining in them. “I love you too,” Slips from his tongue easily. A huge grin spreads across his face and Camila’s heart can’t take it.

She cocks her foot back and kicks him lightly. “You could have said something. I thought you were about to freak out.”

He laughs. “Sorry, babe. I was just kind of shocked that you said it first.”

“Asshole,” She mutters.

Mason grabs her ankles and pulls her down the couch, eliciting a playful yelp from her, and lays in between her legs to kiss her deeply. “I love you,” He says again. Camila’s arms settle around his neck and she kisses him once more.

“I love you, too.”

***

Seven months later.

Camila has no idea how it got to this point.

In actuality, she does—the signs have been there for a while—she’s just chosen to ignore them in hopes everything would sort itself out.

She’s seen very little of Mason lately, and when she does he’s acting withdrawn, and he’s more hesitant when it comes to physical affection.

They haven’t had sex in a while, and it’s not even just that—he won’t even hold her hand, cuddle with her, or even kiss her as much anymore.

All Destiny’s Child jokes aside, he’s acting kind of shady.

It’s really starting to worry her.

The more she tries to talk about it with him, the more he insists that he’s ’fine’ and there’s ’nothing going on.’ Half of the time he spends back at his apartment like he hasn’t pretty much been living with her since they said, 'I love you.’

“That is pretty shady, Mila. When do you plan on talking to him about it?” Dinah asks from the other end of the phone.

“Well, I’m on my way right now to his apartment. I have a key, so I doubt he’ll mind if I come in.” She grips the steering wheel tighter. “What if he wants to break up, but he’s just too afraid to say anything?”

“Mila—”

“Maybe it was all too fast for him, you know how some guys get weirded out by that,” Camila continues to ramble. “I just hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You haven’t done anything to him, Camila. He’s the one pulling away from you.”

Camila sighs deeply. “You’re right.” She takes a turn around the block from his apartment and parks on the side of the road when she notices his Jeep in the driveway. “Here goes nothing. Wish me luck, DJ.”

“Good luck, Walz. Let me know if I have to give him a Poly beatdown later.”

Camila smiles quickly as she exits her vehicle. “Thanks, bye.”

She trudges her way up the driveway to the door and slides the key in. She hesitates to turn the knob when it occurs to her that she isn’t exactly sure of what to expect. What if he breaks up with her? What if they make up but he keeps acting like this? What is she even going to say?

She shakes the worrisome thoughts from her head as she enters and takes a tentative look around.

“Mase?” She calls out quietly. The living room is empty, and he doesn’t appear to be in the kitchen.

Her heartrate picks up when her head turns in the direction of his bedroom. She’s seen plenty of movies where this exact scenario plays out—unsuspecting girlfriend finds her boyfriend in a compromising position. She swallows hard and tries to push the rising feeling of dread from her chest, but as she steps closer to the door and hears the unmistakable sound of quiet moaning—the cliché doesn’t seem too far off from the truth.

Camila’s shoving the door open before she can manage to take another breath and her theory is proven correct. Two pairs of shell-shocked eyes lock with hers as a woman—she vaguely recognizes as Mason’s ex—scrambles from the lap of her half-naked boyfriend as he throws his shirt back on.

It’s so quiet Camila can almost hear their hearts pounding.

She wonders if they can hear hers breaking.

Camila can see Mason’s mouth moving, but she can’t hear anything he’s saying. She doesn’t register herself being pulled into the living room and the front door closing hastily—presumably as his ex leaves—and she sure as hell has no idea how she ends up sitting on the couch.

The only thing she can feel is the air trying to unsuccessfully claw its way into her lungs desperately as her shoulders shake and the tears drip down her chin.

Mason’s hands cup her face as his eyes frantically search hers, “Camila? Babe? Can you hear me?”

Camila knows he’s scared. Her body can’t respond.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Just breathe.”

If Camila weren’t in the middle of an anxiety attack she would probably laugh at him. He’s telling her to breathe when he’s the one holding her under water?

Mason pulls her tight against his chest as the sobs wrack her body and he rubs circles on her back. The touch is incredibly soothing after not having it for so long. However, she can’t allow herself to get too caught up in it.

His grip loosens when it seems like she’s calmed down enough to breathe properly again. His fingers instinctually come up to wipe her tears away.

She’s not sure why he has the audacity to look shocked when she slaps his hands away. After all, she’s the one who caught him cheating.

“Don’t touch me,” She hisses out.

“Camila, I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” She asks incredulously. “You're sorry?” Mason winces as the bitter laugh—a long with a fresh set of tears—breaks from her throat.

“Please, just let me explain,” The boy begs.

“I don’t need you to explain. It’s pretty obvious what you were doing.”

“She got inside my head, Mila,” He tries to lamely defend. “We started talking again and she just brought up all of this shit and it hit me, I got lost in the moment.”

“Wait—back up. You started talking to her again? How long ago?”

He hesitates as he tries to backtrack, “Very recently, it hasn’t been going on that—”

Camila’s face contorts into utter disgust. “You’ve been talking to her for weeks, haven’t you? This entire time you’ve been so distant with me, refusing to touch me, like I'm disgusting, you’ve been with her, haven’t you?”

Mason opens his mouth to say something then shuts it, unable to form a response.

Camila releases a deep sob and Mason looks away from her, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. “Why?” He makes out between her cries.

“I—I don’t know, Mila,” Is all he can say. “It just sort of happened. The old feelings resurfaced. But, I swear to God, I am so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Camila leans over, face buried in her hands as she breaks down. Her nose is running, and her eyes are throbbing. The room is quiet aside from her crying and Mason wants to comfort her, but he knows he can’t.

He can’t comfort her when he’s the one causing her so much pain.

“Camila,” He says softly.

Her face is still covered as her crying dies down to sniffles, but it’s clear that she’s still utterly heartbroken.

Mason scoots from his sitting position on the table in front of the brunette to sink down onto his knees in front of her. She doesn’t respond at all when he takes one of her hands between his and lowers his head into her lap.

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” He says, and Camila can hear the sincerity in his unsteady voice, his own tears spilling down onto her knees. “I’m gonna make this up to you, I promise.” He sniffles and buries his head farther into her lap. “I love you so much, Camila.”

Another wave of sadness and anguish rushes through Camila’s chest at his admission, and the heaving cries start back up. Mason’s head remains in her lap and he slinks an arm around her waist, allowing her to cry until she can’t any more.

And when she leans her head gently against his—despite the fact that she’s still crying—he thinks that maybe they’ll be okay.

***

It takes several weeks for Mason to gain any of Camila’s trust back.

He's really trying though—she appreciates the effort he’s putting in—but she’s sworn to herself that it won’t be easy.

He brings her lunch every other day while she’s working. He surprises her with dinner, flowers and sometimes the mini Reese’s peanut butter cups he knows she likes. He’s even gone as far as to rent her favorite movies and set up a theater-like experience in his living room complete with a blanket fort.

Camila loves blanket forts.

And she truly believes he’s sorry and knows that he fucked up, but a part of her is still hesitant.

When she first told Dinah about Mason’s betrayal, the blonde went ape shit. Camila had driven back from his apartment as quickly as she could and when she came storming through the door sobbing uncontrollably, unable to form a coherent sentence, Dinah knew Mason was going to get his ass beat.

“He’s been cheating on you? He’s fucking dead!”

She rose from the couch in a huff and disappeared into her room before she returned with a softball bat in her hand.

Camila’s eyes widen in an almost cartoon-like manner. Dinah has a fucking bat.

“I knew my lucky bat would come in handy one day,” Dinah swings the bat in her hand while admiring it. “I’m gonna go smash his windshield and then his face.” She makes a beeline for the door, but Camila jumps in front of her to block her path.

“Dinah, you can’t do that.”

“Why not? He fucked my best friend over, he should have known better than to pull some stupid shit like that.”

“You don’t need to get arrested for destruction of property and assault.”

Dinah scoffs incredulously, “I’ll just claim it was a crime of passion—they’ll go easy on me. I was simply protecting my best friend’s pride.”

“Dinah, please,” Camila pleads, her eyes welling up with more tears. “I don’t need you doing something stupid. I can’t lose you too.”

She’s crying again now, and Dinah feels horrible. Yeah, her plan wasn’t the most fool proof—it was really fucking stupid if she’s being honest, and she knows it—but she just felt that she needed to do something, anything, to let him know that he can’t hurt someone so precious and just away scot-free.

“Okay,” Dinah drops the softball bat on the floor and wraps Camila back up in a hug, “I’m not leaving you, Walz.” Camila hugs her back and continues to cry into her shirt.

The blonde walks her over to the couch and begins to stroke her hair. “But I am going to rip his head off one of these days. That I can promise you.”

“He said he didn’t mean it,” Camila murmurs through tears into the fabric of her shirt. “It was a mistake.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it, Mila. He chose to do it.”

Camila sniffles and the tears just continue to pour down her cheeks, “I love him, Dinah. I love him, and it hurts. It hurts so fucking much.” The Cuban pushes her face harder against Dinah’s chest. “I can’t breathe.”

Dinah rests her cheek against the crown of Camila’s head. “Ive got you, Mila. And I promise you he won’t get away with it.”

***

Camila didn’t even bother questioning Dinah when Mason’s windshield had been ’mysteriously’ broken later that same night.

Mason didn’t try to confront her about it either—he knew he deserved it.

The Latina couldn’t have been more thankful to have her as a best friend. She’d never been scared to tell Dinah anything before, but this was driving her heart rate through the roof.

So, when she finally plucked up the courage to tell the Polynesian, she braced herself for the worst.

Dinah stared at her with an exasperated look on her face for what must have been an eternity before she even attempted to speak. And when she did, her voice was oozing with venom and hatred as she spit out, “Are you serious? You’re going to take him back? After all of that?”

Camila winced and squeezed her eyes shut; she was prepared for the blonde’s onslaught. Dinah’s lips were pressed in a tight line as she waited for the girl’s reply. Camila opened her eyes and the look hadn’t altered on Dinah’s face. She gulped and her eyes retreated to the floor.

“Y-yes.”

It was squeaky and low, but Dinah caught it.

“Did you forget how badly he hurt you?” The blonde’s jaw clenched tightly. “Do you remember how many times I’ve had to hold you while I slept over because you couldn’t stop crying in the middle of the night?”

Camila chews on her lip and nods.

Dinah’s voice is a lot lower now, “Do you remember how long it took for you to start eating again?”

A jolt of pain punches Camila straight in the gut and her eyes fog over. “Yeah,” She says when she wipes at them with her sleeve.

“Then why?” Dinah’s voice cracks and Camila’s heart throbs against her ribs when she sees her best friend is now the one crying. “What if he hurts you again?”

Camila swallows back her tears and does everything in her power to stay strong. “It’s a risk I have to take, D. I love him. He broke my heart, but he’s been trying so hard to prove that he’s sorry—and I know that he is. I want to give him another chance. He’s shown me that he deserves it.” She lets out a deep breath. “I promise you that I’m not going to make it easy for him, he still has to jump through hoops to earn my trust back. But he’s getting there.” Two pairs of sad, brown eyes lock and Camila knows that Dinah’s resolve is crumbling. “I can’t give up on this, DJ.”

Dinah wipes her tears away and Camila can see the most microscopic hint of smile forming on her lips. Camila’s resilient heart and willingness to give others a second chance even when they don’t deserve it is so like her. “I just hope you know what you’re doing, Mila,” Dina says. “I don’t want to see you like that ever again. And if he fucks up,” The blonde grits her teeth. “I’m going to break more than his fucking windshield this time, and I swear to god, you will not stop me.”

Camila nods, the tension in the air being replaced by a more light-hearted feeling, “Deal.”

“I have a condition before you take him back, though.”

The brunette shoots her a questioning look.

“I want to talk to him first.”

It’s not unreasonable, so Camila nods.

***

Another Eight Months Later

Camila’s given a fair amount of second chances to people in her life.

One moment in particular, being when she was eight. Her best friend had broken one of her favorite toys, Camila’s father fixed it for her and later returned it. After that, Camila wasn’t too keen on letting her friend play with it again, but eventually she relented. The toy remained unbroken for the rest of the time she had it.

That was one of the first few times in her life that she learned it was okay to try to trust someone again after they’ve hurt you.

The first time Mason had betrayed her, Camila had somehow found it within herself to give the boy another chance. In a way, she knew he didn’t deserve it, but her heart wouldn’t allow her to give up so easily on him.

Now that he’s standing in front of her and—once again—breaking her heart, she wishes she had.

This time around, he isn’t very remorseful. He seems almost happy to be dumping her right now. Atleast, that’s the feeling she’s getting from behind his cold demeanor.

“I can’t do this anymore, Camila. We haven’t been happy in a while. She makes me happy, I want to be with her.”

They’ve been arguing for what feels like years. After Camila came home to try to fix whatever the problem was between them this time, she saw Mason’s phone light up on the table with an incoming call from his ex. He didn’t even try to deny it, instead insisting on coming right out with it.

Camila thinks, in a way, she should have known this would happen again. There’s some sort of saying about it, right?

Once a cheater, always a cheater.

She regrets that she didn’t listen to Dinah’s warning. Instead, Mason played her once again and she fell for it.

“You need to go,” Camila says as she gathers her jacket in one hand, her keys in the other. She’s keeping herself busy, so he doesn’t notice the waver in her voice when another sob threatens to wrack through her. “Please just take your stuff and get out.”

“I’m planning on it.”

Even though this—much like the first time—is his fault, he’s being an asshole. A snarky fucking asshole.

His tone makes Camila flinch and she’s grinding her teeth together to stop from yelling any more when she reaches to turn the door knob. “Just get the fuck out. And I would suggest you don’t try to steal anything of mine. I’ll let Dinah at you this time.”

With that, she slams the door shut and stalks off down the street.

The sign for the bar called J&J’s that she always passes by on her way home catches her eye. She doesn’t drink very often, but the urge to do so right now is very appealing. Maybe it’ll calm her nerves and she can forget for a while.

Camila pushes through the front door and makes a beeline for the bar. The place isn’t very busy, there’s just a few customers scattered around (now that she’s thinking about it, this place has never looked that busy). None of them seem to take notice of her, and she’s beyond relieved.

She wipes the few stray tears from her cheeks and flags down a bartender. He approaches her and doesn’t get a chance to ask what she would like to order, or for her ID, before she’s spitting out, “A shot of whiskey, please.”

***

Present Day

Lauren exhales softly as her eyes trail from the textbook in her hand to the eggshell-colored walls in front of her.

She’s been simultaneously trying to study for an upcoming test while redecorating her apartment; her definition of redecorating includes dragging out all the boxes she has yet to unpack, opening them and sifting through their contents before moving onto another project, which would be painting. The boring color slapped on the walls was really starting to depress her; she’s happily opted to repaint them a light blue, to which her landlord was surprisingly keen about.

Probably because it’s free labor, Lauren laughs to herself.

And here she is; her favorite playlist on in the background, plastic covering the floors, paint tray laying on a chair in the middle of the room—while the rest is a disaster—and a roller in one hand while her textbook rests in the other.

Lauren’s always enjoyed painting, even if she is just painting the walls a single color. Her thick eyebrows scrunch together, and her tongue pokes out as she scans the page for where she left off.

The phone goes off on the table right as she finds her spot again.

Returning the roller to its tray, she tucks her book under one arm and grabs the device. Camila’s name is flashing on the screen and she smiles. She accepts the call and brings the phone to her ear.

“Hi, Camz.”

“Hey, Lauren. Are you busy?”

Lauren gazes around at the huge mess that is now her apartment. “Uhm, not really. What’s up?”

“Can I come over?”

It’s subtle, but Lauren picks up on how Camila’s voice wavers. She settles on letting it go for now; she doesn’t want to push the girl, and Camila will tell her when (and if) she’s ready.

“Yeah, of course,” She sets the book down on the table and takes a seat on her couch. “I’ll text you my address, okay?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you.” The line clicks, and Lauren fires off her text before she slides the phone back onto the table.

Camila arrives at her apartment about twenty minutes later. Lauren immediately smiles at how her hoodie is two sizes too big for her and the fact that she’s wearing socks with her sandals. Ushering Camila inside, she shuts the door and the girl stills in the middle of her living room, no doubt surveying the huge mess in front of her.

“I thought you said you weren’t busy?” She says hesitantly looking around at the clutter.

Lauren shakes her head, trying to unsuccessfully assure Camila that she isn’t busy, “I’m not. I was just doing some redecorating and studying a little bit. It’s not a big deal.”

Camila throws her a look over her shoulder and smiles gently. “Can I have a tour then?”

“Sure.” Lauren leads her to the kitchen first; It’s small and simple, not much decoration around aside from the magnets holding family pictures all over the fridge, and a few, small potted plants in random spots everywhere. A small, wooden table resides by the only window. It’s very ideal for someone who lives alone.

“You’ve seen the living room,” Lauren comments passively as they drift through the mess again, heading in the direction of her bedroom. She twists the knob and steps through the threshold.

The first thing that Camila notices, is how Lauren everything is. Even though she hasn’t known Lauren for that long, she can see that the room is very fitting of her personality.

There are posters of The 1975 and Lana Del Rey plastered everywhere. Her bed is a little messy and unmade, but other than that, the room is tidy. She has a record player in the corner, vinyl’s piled underneath it, almost as if they’re a makeshift table.

There’s a desk against the wall opposite her bed with her laptop sitting on it and a few books lined up beside the desk lamp. She recognizes one of the books as To Kill A Mockingbird.

The only other pieces of furniture she has are a bookshelf and a nighstand.

“Your room is cute,” Camila murmurs. “It’s very you.” When she spins on her heel, her eye catches something resting against the wall in the corner. She approaches it and her entire face lights up theatrically.

“What?” Lauren asks.

“You play guitar? I didn’t know.”

Lauren rubs her forearm nervously, “Sort of. I’m not that good. I try to play in my free time, but I’ve been pretty busy lately.” She leans against the door frame as she watches Camila. “Can you play?”

“Yeah, I’ve been playing since I was twelve. I love acoustic music.” Lauren motions for her to grab it. Her fingers wrap around the neck of the guitar and she hoists it up into her arms before she sits cross-legged on the bed. Lauren saunters over and sits next to her.

“Play me something?” Her green eyes glimmer; a reflection of diamonds and Camila finds that she can’t deny Lauren anything.

Her fingers move instinctually over the chords; playing guitar has always been second nature to her. Lauren can’t tear her eyes from Camila’s face. Her eyes are closed, brow is furrowed, and her lip tucked between pearly teeth as she concentrates on the feeling of the music.

It’s breathtaking to see Camila lose herself in something she truly enjoys.

When she strums the last chord, her eyes open and Lauren focuses on how they remind her of the coffee she had this morning; a deep mocha color complete with a splash of milk and a teaspoon of honey.

Camila clears her throat when Lauren seems to be staring at her in a daze.

“That was beautiful,” Lauren rasps out. You’re beautiful.

Camila blushes and tries to hide behind her curtain of hair. “Thank you,” She mumbles genuinely. She rises from the bed and places the guitar back against the wall in the corner.

Lauren strides past her, brushing against her shoulder as she steps back into the living room. Camila follows and finds Lauren rooted in place, staring at the wall, a finger pressed against her chin. A thoughtful look is plastered on her face.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” She says suddenly.

Camila is confused by the lack of relevance to the question and shakes her head. Lauren pads softly into the kitchen. Camila can hear Lauren rifling around through a drawer when she mutters a quick ’aha!’ then has returned in no time. When Camila spins around, there’s a joint in one of Lauren’s hands and a lighter in the other.

Camila eyes her hand then chuckles. “You keep your weed in the kitchen?”

Lauren shoots her a lop-sided smile, “I rolled it up earlier, but I forgot about it when I started studying.” She lights the joint and takes a deep drag. The smoke rolls from her mouth when she exhales, and her arm extends, offering the joint to Camila. “Do you want some?”

Camila contemplates for a second. She’s smoked weed a few times before, and she didn’t really care for it. Then again, she wasn’t in great company. But this is Lauren, and Lauren is different. She shrugs and takes the joint between her fingers.

She takes a drag and then passes it back to the older cuban.

The continue passing the joint back and forth for a while before it’s burnt out and Lauren deposits it in the ashtray in the kitchen. There’s a glass of water in her hand for Camila when she returns and takes takes a seat on the couch next to her.

Camila accepts the water gratefully and pretty much chugs the entire thing.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode, Ms. Camila Cabello?” Lauren says as her lips curve into a playful smile. Her usually green eyes are now a hazy shade of grey; they remind Camila of the clouds before a rainstorm.

Camila bites her lip as she thinks of how to answer. Should she tell Lauren about her nightmare and inability to sleep after? Or should she just pretend everything is okay and tell her she just wanted to spend time with her?

She doesn’t want to talk about it. But she doesn’t want to lie.

She can’t lie to Lauren.

'I,“ She inhales a shaky breath, and pulls her knees into her chest, "I had a horrible dream. I haven’t been able to sleep since.” She tries to swallow the lump now forming in her throat. “Ive been awake since five-thirty this morning. I just needed something to distract myself from the thoughts.”

Lauren frowns at the fact that Camila only sees her as a distraction.

Camila watches the sadness pass through her stormy eyes and nearly jumps out of her skin. “I didn’t mean it like that, Lauren.” She chews hard on her lip, “I feel better when I’m with you. My heart doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.” When Lauren won’t make eye contact, Camila frets that she’s already fucked everything up.

“Really?” It comes out so quietly that Camila almost doesn’t hear it.

“Really,” She confirms instantly, eager to let Lauren know that she’s becoming important to her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She declines with the shake of her head. Lauren doesn’t push any further; she simply comforts Camila by intertwining their fingers and letting them rest in the space between them.

The air is a little awkward and tense, so Camila squeezes the girl’s fingers and with the smallest of smiles on her face asks, “Did you need some help painting?”

Lauren grins brightly back at Camila and tugs their joined hands, pulling her from the couch to lead her over to the tray of paint. Letting go of her hand, she crouches and digs through a bag on the floor to produce another paint roller.

“Alright,” Camila says as she dips her roller in the paint. “Let’s do this.”

#UPDATE #series #AU #trigger warning #camren #angst drama #humour #romance fluff #submission #Love Drunk

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deliverydefresas · 8 years ago

Text

now i’m speechless, over the edge i’m just breathless

SIMBAR FICWEEK IS HERE AND IM SO DAMN HAPPY I MIGHT JUST AS WELL CRY OKAY

yes, hi. this is day one, and i’m so excited even tho i only have a total of a day and a half ready and 1000% sure this all will be written the day before so im sorry in advance y’all

anywayyyyy hope you enjoy this not even close to be proofread mess:

DAY ONE: “You’re unfairly good at everything, but I’m strong enough to carry you bride-style and this for some reason renders you speechless”

Ámbar was getting more and more annoyed by the second, waiting for him to arrive.

The guitarist wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t the best either; and always, always late.

She was the strongest out of the two; it was easy to outshine him when skating (not that she didn’t do that already when she skated with Matteo, but now it was laughable how easy it was) However, Simón being weak was also a risk; because then her safety would be compromised if he lifted her the wrong way, or dropped her by accident if he stepped wrong.

So far none of that had happened because they hadn’t practiced those parts yet; Tamara wanting to help them ‘connect’ with each other had taken most of their rehearsing time with the easy steps first, leaving the most complicated ones for last (which was stupid and a waste of time, she had made it known but, of course, “take it easy” was the team’s motto).

Another problem was that he was easily distracted all the time; if she had to count the number of times she had to snap him out of his Luna-induced-state, she’d fall asleep very quickly at night.

Him not giving her enough attention bothered her a lot.

And her vanity was wounded. She was used to shine, to be the sun on the rink, everyone’s attention on her, awed by her talent, envying her because her steps were as flawless as it could be; and he, foolishly, would rather focus on a stupid moon who couldn’t care less was his center of gravitation.

Yes, it bothered a lot.

Ámbar huffed once she finished tying her quads’ laces, angry at herself for letting that boy’s obliviousness affect her, when Simón stumbled into the lockers, in a rush.

“Am I late?” he asked, breathing heavily. She didn’t know what was with him and Luna being late to everything, but she was reaching her limit of patience, always waiting. Was this a Mexican thing, or were they just oh so connected that shared the same flaws?

“Not yet.” She scowled him, standing up to allow him lace up his own skates. Simón had the decency to look ashamed.

“I’m sorry, but with the band we’re still choo-”

She interrupted him, scowl intact, “I honestly don’t care.”

Ámbar waited for him to be offended by her response, like a normal person would; he, of course, being all Mr. Nice Guy, just smiled at her, sitting down with his quads to begin putting them on. “Fair enough.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that.

She wanted to ask him what he meant, why he didn’t seem to mind her bashing his band; but she just huffed again (which she did a lot around him), and skated to the rink, not before shouting a “hurry up” in his direction, to, well, hurry him up.

She stepped in the rink in seconds, unsurprised that the only people from the team that were there, were Ramiro, Matteo and her. Ámbar, of course, couldn’t stop from complaining.

“Your partners aren’t here yet? So unprofessional.”

Matteo was the first to react, rolling his eyes at her comment, and jumped to defend his lover girl “Luna had to stay at school a little longer today, she’ll be here soon.”

“Ah, of course.”

She could see her ex’s mouth turning upwards for a second, before she started her usual warm ups around the rink, not bothering to hear what Ramiro had to say about Jim’s whereabouts. She could care less about whatever those losers were doing, probably moping around some guy; because they were that desperate.

Matteo caught up with her a moment later, “where’s the guitarist, anyway? I don’t see him here either.”

“Miss him already?” she changed her course, standing in front of him to now skate backwards, smirk well put on her face. “Worried that he’s actually with your little Luna-love?”

“Ámbar.” His face turned blank, not entertained at all (which in Matteo terms, meant he was jealous and wasn’t willing to let the world know)

“Luckily for us, though,” she nodded towards the lockers’ doorframe, where Simón was already there, about to step into the rink, “he’s here, alone.”

Matteo didn’t look back, didn’t even tilt his head to look behind him, but kept his eyes on her face. His eyes turned from emotionless to amused in a second, and a smile appeared just as fast, “I see.”

“But you don’t.” She retorted, confused at his answer. Was today a “tell Ámbar weird responses to confuse her” day or something? Or were they just idiots?

“Or do I?” he teased, circling around her. Ámbar glared at him, crossing her arms.

He was acting ridiculous now. From experience, she could tell he was trying to get something out of her, by making her want to lash out and admit something. What exactly, she wasn’t sure. Balsano knew her better than most people, so the probability of him catching up with something about her before she could even think about it first was high.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Matteo circled her one more time before shrugging off, “you’re smart, you’ll figure it out.” With that, he left her side to go to the bleachers, where Gastón was now with Ramiro, Jim and Yam.

Nevertheless, Ámbar was annoyed. “What the- Matteo!” she called after him, ready to skate in his direction when Simón appeared in front of her, blocking her way from demanding answers out of her ex-boyfriend.

“Have you warmed up yet?” he asked, half scaring her to death, half actually killing her by nearly making her fall from the scare. Basically, he almost murders her.

He did save her, though, by holding her by the shoulders before she could meet the ground.

“I was in the middle of that,” she shrugged him off, literally, to get his hands off her. He took a step back, and smiled down at her, making her slightly uncomfortable.

Personally, she thought he looked ridiculous. Crooked beanie, horrible blue hoodie, and creepy smile. She was reminded of her best friend’s stupid crush when he first appeared in their lives; for someone who loved fashion, how could Jazmín had ever been interested in him? A real mystery she was not set to solve.

He had a nice enough body and face, but there was something that just made her hesitate about him. Unknown territory she had no intention to step on.

“Want to warm up together? We could even practice the lifts this time.” Simón pulled her out of her thoughts. So, of course, taken out in a shock, she blurted out the first thing that came out from her brain.

“Do you like Jazmín?”

He blinked, once, twice, “what?”

The heat from her cheeks was unwelcome. She knew she was embarrassed.

Fortunately for her, it was then when Mariano came and ordered them to start skating around the rink again, so they did.

They circled around fourteenth times, stretching and practicing a couple easy steps on the way. Lunita joined them when they hit the fourth round, shouting apologies nobody (her) cared to listen, and she huffed once more.

Fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth.

On the eighteenth turn, Simón finally caught up with her, skating along her and trying to follow whatever step she was making. She got annoyed soon, and went past him, increasing her speed until it was safe to do an axel without falling on her face for lack of impulse.

She heard her friends cheer on the background, clapping loudly. When had they arrived, she had no idea, but she still flipped her hair in acknowledgement, smirking proudly.

When she looked back she found Simón’s eyes on her, smiling and clapping along. The image was so weird, so unusual to her, she lost her balance for a second, and fell on her butt. His face turned concerned immediately and, rushed to her side; the rest of the team plus their coaches close behind.

His face was in front of hers in a minute, “you’re okay?”

She gulped at the closeness, her stomach getting unsettled all of the sudden, “I think so.”

Tamara came behind Simón, who had kneeled down beside her, and asked, “can you stand? Does it hurt anywhere?”

It was then when Ámbar noticed her ankle was actually in pain, wincing. “I think my ankle might be hurt.”

Mariano cursed loudly, and ordered for anyone to bring ice quickly, while he ran to his cellphone to call a doctor. With Tamara and Simón’s help, they took her quads off, the former examining her left ankle as soon as the sock was off.

“I think it might just be a bruise,” she spoke sweetly, after a few minutes, “still, it’d be better if you just sit down and ice it for today.” Ámbar was more than ready to complain, but Tamara’s look shut her up before she could, “now, one of you please take her to the bleachers so she can sit down there.”

On the corner of her eye, she saw Matteo taking a step, ready to offer himself. Simón beat him at it, surprising them both, but made her ex smile for some reason.

“I will.” Without giving her time to protest, he lifted her up, securing her in his arms; bride-style.

Ámbar was speechless. He even had his freaking quads on! She didn’t know if she was scared he’d let her fall or just plain shocked he volunteered to carry her, but she couldn’t form a sentence.

Once they reached the stands, he accommodated her on a chair, before allowing Delfi and Jazmín to bombarded with questions about her wellbeing.

“Hey, hey, let her breath.” He nudged them softly, shutting them up effectively for a total of two seconds, because then they proceeded to apologize non-stop.

Somehow she found her voice again, “just shut up already.” They did this time, “if you want to be useful go and bring me water or something.”

They were gone in a flash, so she looked up to the boy, who looked more amused than anything. “What?” she asked, but he just shrugged, avoiding an answer.

“Simón! Get back to practice!” Mariano yelled at him, snapping his fingers to let him know there was no time to waste.

“I hate that guy,” he told her secretively, making the corners of her mouth twitch.

“SIMÓN!”

The boy rolled his eyes, but still didn’t move, “are you going to be okay by yourself for now?” she nodded in response, “feel better, yeah? Can’t let this rink be without its queen.” Simón winked, and left her to go with a very pissed Mariano, finally starting to practice the choreography.

She was stunned, once again, by him. What even was this? Black magic? Voodoo? This clearly wasn’t her.

“Does it hurt less now, Ámbar?” Delfi appeared again, with a bottle of water and a very worried Jazmín carrying a sandwich behind her.

She nodded. But inside, she was screaming.

Simón must have thrown a spell on her, that was the only (il)logical reason.

Cause she, sure as hell, wasn’t crushing on him.

At all.

#simbarficweek #simbar #simón álvarez #ámbar smith #my simbar ff #soy luna #sl ff #what even is plot #what even is proofreading #what even is me writing #queued #mine

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footballheroes · 6 years ago

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Someday...

Tonight, I watched The Mexican National Team defeat Canada 3-1 in the Gold Cup. The team played well after Mexico’s captain, Andres Guardado came in substituting Erick Gutierrez in the last minutes of the first half. He scored two of the goals. Roberto Alvarado scored one. In my opinion, our defense still needs help. I’ve noticed we are being scored on almost every game. On the other hand, we are still scoring. So far, Mexico has won all their games since Manager Gerardo Martino’s arrival. Can he be the manager that will change history with El Tri? Will he stay for World Cup 2022? I always dreamed of this National Team to win a World Cup someday. I’ve seen three World Cups since I started watching soccer back in 2010. Anyway, what better way to show this entry I wrote in my journal 5 years ago. The reason I am showing this is to show how this team changed my perspective on soccer. It’s a bit long. Just a reminder I wrote this in 2014. There are some grammatical errors. I’m still working on it.

December 31, 2014 11:52pm

This is the last note of the year. Tonight, this is dedicated to the Mexican National Team, “La Seleccion Mexicana.” Thanks to the Mexican National Team, I fell in love with soccer. As a kid I detested soccer however, I never knew that one event was going to change my perspective about soccer.

And it began in the World Cup 2010…

Mexico shared Group A with South Africa, France, and Uruguay. In the elimination round, Mexico tied against South Africa, won against France, and lost against Uruguay. There were some memories during the elimination round. For example, I am never going to forget when Andres Guardado, one of our Mexican midfielders, pushed a South African player to the ground. I did not like Guardado at all because of that!

My very first game of Mexico was actually against Argentina in Round of 16. Unfortunately, we lost 3-1 by an offside the referee didn’t mark, and let’s not forget Osorio’s mistake giving the ball to our opponents! (Watch the replay online, it’s too depressing to remind myself this again.) However, in that same game, I saw my first goal of El Tri by the one and only Javier “Chicharito” Hernandez. After the disappointing loss, I was devastated from the elimination. I asked my father, who was a huge soccer fan, when the next World Cup will be?

“It’s next summer, right dad?” my 13-year old self said.

“No, the next World Cup is in four years.”

“What? 4 years?! I have to wait four years! Why can it be every year?” (I’m pretty impatient about so many things and imagine waiting for four years for the next World Cup! Impatience is one bad habit of mine, but boy I had so much to learn.)

My father said it’s good that the World Cup is every four years. I asked him why if this was the first time I witnessed the entire world together. You wouldn’t believe the excitement of all my classmates in middle school watching the game on television in our classrooms. Also, the time I entered the indoor swap meet and literally every stand had their television on a World Cup game. Everyone was so involved everywhere I go.

Well, there was no other choice, and had to wait until Brazil 2014. After the World Cup 2010, Mexico played friendly games before the year ended. We had the honor to play against Spain, the 2010 World Cup Champions in our home territory. Another game I remembered was against Venezuela. It was our last game of the year. I remembered we tied that day because in that time, they were also broadcasting the Chile miners being rescued after being stuck there for over two months. However, there were some changes. In October, Javier Aguirre, our manager during the World Cup, was replaced to Jose Manuel “Chepo” de la Torre. With little time, this is how I experienced my first months of soccer.

I realized I had so much to learn about soccer. It’s not just watching one of the biggest sports events of the year. It takes time to learn, and the Mexican National Team helped me along the way.

And this is how it started…in 2011.

Our manager at that time, Jose Manuel “Chepo” de la Torre made his debut against Bosnia. In this game, this is how I discovered goalkeeper Jose de Jesus Corona. “Chepo” won his first victory with El Tri.

So far, so good.

Then in their second game against Paraguay, I knew another goalkeeper, Alfredo Talavera. Although these goalkeepers did great in their first game with our new manager, I wanted to see Guillermo Ochoa, another goalkeeper of the team. In our third game we were against Venezuela, and that time I had the chance to see Ochoa as goalkeeper. (Also, this was Mexican player Carlos Vela’s last game with Mexico before he started refusing to play for us.) During these years in road to Brazil 2014, these three goalkeepers became special to me, and I knew they were going to the next World Cup.

Before the Gold Cup, it was assured that Corona will be playing the tournament. He had an amazing season with his club, Cruz Azul. However, Corona had the “headbutt incident” against Club Morelia’s personnel. Unfortunately, this caused him his absence in the Gold Cup for indiscipline. So, Ochoa took his place and played the first game against El Salvador where we won 5-0 (“Chicharito” did his first hat-trick!) When I thought our problems were gone after that victory, it got worse. The doping results came in and five of our players were positive with clenbuterol. It is a banned drug athletes use to build muscle and lose fat. Ochoa along with Franciso “Maza” Rodriguez, Christian Bermudez, Naelson Sinha, and Javier Duenas were separated from the team.

By this, goalkeeper Alfredo Talavera took Ochoa’s place. Who would have thought that our third goalkeeper was going to be the startup from now on? Fortunately, it didn’t affect the team’s performance. Mexico won against Cuba and Costa Rica and became leaders in their group. Mexico had a rough start against Guatemala, however, we redeemed ourselves and won 2-1 that took us to the semifinals against Honduras. I will never forget the time when personnel from the Honduras team said “Chicharito” should fear their players. The game was intense. The ball just didn’t want to go in. In the last minute of regular time, Talavera saved us with an amazing block that maintained us with life. During the extra time, we won 2-0 with goals of “Chicharito” and Aldo DeNigris. The best part of the game was that “Chicharito” talked on the field and had a little message for Honduras.

“Miedo No.”

I was so happy! The victory led us to the final everyone wanted- USA vs. Mexico, the biggest teams of CONCACAF.

The final was held in the Rose Bowl Stadium in Pasadena, California. It was special knowing El Tri was so close to me in that final. In the game, United States had a 2-0 lead in 25 minutes. I know, crazy right?

I said to myself that this is not over, I know we will catch up. (You should probably know by now that I’m an optimistic and overly dramatic person when it comes to soccer, don’t judge me!) Mexican midfielder Pablo Barrera made the first goal and minutes later Guardado made the second one. Now, the game was tied 2-2, and it was still the first half! Barrera switched the score in the first minutes of second half. We were now in the lead and then… the best moment happened. Giovani Dos Santos kicked the ball for it to curve to the top edge of the net. It was the best goal of this Gold Cup, for me the best goal of the year. Even today I haven’t seen a beautiful goal like the one he made that day. My siblings and I jumped with joy. When the referee blew the final whistle, I yelled, I jumped, I cried. It was my first Gold Cup and what best way to start than to see Mexico receive their sixth title. Javier Hernandez won Best Player and Best Scorer of the Tournament with 7 goals. Also, our captain Rafael Marquez won the Fair Play award. Let’s also not forget this was Alfredo Talavera’s year. He saved us in almost all games he played in this tournament.

After the Gold Cup, the World Cup Sub-17 was held that same year. Mexico hosted that World Cup. It was the first time I heard about this tournament. I thought the only World Cup was the one that comes every four years. This World Cup, on the other hand, is played every two years. Anyway, I didn’t watch much of this tournament since I was busy around that time. However, I can’t forget the historic game that happened in the semifinals against Germany. This game was crazier than the Mexico vs. USA game. Mexico had the lead 1-0, then Germany tied. Germany scored again and switched the result. Suddenly, an amazing corner kick from Jonathan Espericuela gave us the draw. However, during that play, Mexican youngster Gomez received a hard headbutt. Blood already stained his shoulders. The jersey was covered with his blood. Many medics said he was done but he insisted to continue. He came back on the field with bandages around his head. That day I watched a wounded warrior on the field. He was like a mummy with that number of bandages on his head. He surprised us with his “chilena” that made Mexico scream on top of their lungs. Mexico won that day and went to the finals against Uruguay where they won 2-0 in the Estadio Azteca. They won their second title in this category. It was another beautiful moment!

Then, I had the chance to watch the World Cup Sub-20. I watched Mexico made it to semifinals. Unfortunately, we lost against Brazil. We were against France for third place. We defeated France and stayed third. Also, I saw my first Pan-American games where Mexico won the gold medal against Argentina. It was an amazing year for the youth players of the Mexican National Team. Not everything was perfect though. I can’t forget about the Copa America. The Copa America is a tournament of COMNEBOL, South America’s Soccer Federation. It is played every four years. Although, Mexico is not from COMNEBOL, they were invited to play. Mexico usually has good results in the past regarding this tournament. We made it to the finals once back in 2001 but lost against Colombia. However, in 2011, this was not the case. We lost all our games. Oh, and that’s not the worst part, eight players were separated from the team with a prostitute scandal. I discovered many tournaments. I discovered the World Cup Sub-17, the World Cup Sub-20, Gold Cup, Copa America, and Pan American games in one year! I guess my father was right. It’s better that the World Cup is every four years.

Can it get better?

2012 was a new year for other tournaments. However, it is the year the qualifying rounds in every soccer federation began. Although, they don’t win a title in these 2 year long qualifying games, it has something that all countries want- a spot for the next World Cup! (Except for Brazil since they are automatically in for being the hosts of this World Cup). So, the road to Brazil was officially on. Each soccer federation have different ways on how their teams will qualify. I’ll be focusing only on CONCACAF since Mexico is there. Mexico won all their home and away games against Guyana, El Salvador, and Costa Rica that easily took them to the Hexagonal. The Hexagonal will start in 2013, so Mexico was practically done until next year.

That same year, I had the chance to see the Pre Olympics, a tournament to secure a spot for the Olympics taking place in London. Mexico defeated Honduras and got their ticket to the Olympics. Another tournament was introduced for Mexico- Esperanzas de Toulon. Mexico made it to the finals and defeated Turkey. They won their first trophy in that tournament. Everything was going so well for El Tri until the friendly games.

Mexico had four friendly games scheduled before their start in the Olympics. Mexico had poor performances during these friendly games with two loses, one draw, and one victory. People were already criticizing that this team will not make it far and will not even make it to fourth place. I was in my room while La Ultima Palabra was on television. I was so fed up with the analysts’ negativity, I shut it off. I grabbed my soccer journal and wrote down my thoughts. My words exactly, “It’s true,” I wrote, “we will not make it to fourth place because we will win the gold medal. I know they will.” Days later, Mexico played their first game in the Olympics against South Korea. The game ended 0-0, and yes, people still criticize. However, Mexico won their two games and was leader of their group.

The game against Senegal was difficult. Mexico had a 2-0 lead, until Senegal tied us which made the game to overtime. Mexico managed to score two more goals and ended 4-2. Mexico made it to the semifinals against Japan. Japan scored first, however it motivated us to attack in the second half. With goals from Marco Fabian and Javier Cortes, we won 2-1. This took us to the final which already guaranteed us a medal. The game was against Brazil, who never won a gold medal either. In the first thirty seconds, Oribe Peralta made record scoring a goal making it the fastest goal in Olympic history. Peralta scored both goals that helped Mexico win their first gold medal in soccer. We changed history! Also, I have to admit it was goalkeeper Corona’s year. His saves helped Mexico win that gold medal. Because of his games, everyone were saying that he was going to be in the startup of the World Cup.

2012 was a great year for Mexico again. I was so excited for 2013 because of the upcoming tournaments. There was the Confederations Cup, Gold Cup, Pre-World Cup Sub 17, and Sub-20, World Cup Sub-17 and Sub-20 were back, and the World Cup Qualifiers.

Can’t you see the excitement with these competitions? Mexico was going to be involved like the past two years. However, I never would have imagined it was the year that my faith was tested. And it all started in the first game of the year, a friendly against Denmark.

We tied against Denmark. The players look like they weren’t giving it their all. It was a boring 1-1 game. I didn’t make a huge deal about it. It was just a friendly game. I’ve seen some boring games in the past, and they were never anything to worry about. Then, we began our Qualifiers against Jamaica in our home stadium, the Estadio Azteca, and we tied a boring 0-0. We were having trouble in that game, Jamaica almost scored. They had more chances than us. After the game, our player “Maza” Rodriguez lifted his middle finger on the camera. Everyone made a huge fit over that. Criticism rose up. More friendly games and qualifiers came up and we kept tying. We tied against Honduras, United States, Panama, Costa Rica, and barely defeated Jamaica in qualifiers. In our friendly, we tied against Peru and Nigeria.

My first Confederations Cup wasn’t the best in my case. The Confederations Cup is a tournament played every four years before the World Cup. In this tournament, the winners of each Federation’s come together to face each other. It’s a small tournament of eight teams. Mexico lost their first two games against Italy and Brazil and won their third one against Japan. Because of the first two games, we were eliminated in the first round of the Confederations Cup. However, the youth teams didn’t do as bad. Mexico played an amazing final against USA in the Pre-World Cup Sub-20. “La Momia” (Remember World Cup Sub-17 against Germany) did another “chilena” that helped Mexico win the tournament. Also, Mexico defeated Panama in the final of the Pre-World Cup Sub-17. So, both teams had their spot secured for the upcoming World Cups. Unfortunately, Mexico Sub-20 lost against Spain in Round of 16. Mexico Sub-17, on the other hand, had a rough start. They were defeated 6-1 by Nigeria in their first game. With that result, everyone thought they were not going to make it far. However, in the games against Brazil, we won in penalties by an amazing save from Mexican goalkeeper Raul Gudino in the quarterfinals and won against Argentina in the semifinals. Unfortunately, they lost against Nigeria again. However, we can’t forget the effort these youngsters did after that huge loss.

Anyway, things weren’t looking so well in the big team. We keep losing points in the qualifiers. Fans wanted “Chepo” out of the team, but the Federation decided to keep him longer. Unfortunately, the loss against Honduras in our stadium caused his execution from the National team. With only three days before our game against the United States, Luis Fernando Tena, our auxiliary manager, was going to lead the team. However, he already announced that after this game, win or lose, he too was leaving the team. It hurt me so much that two good years with the team wasn’t enough to make him stay, however, our lack of points made it possible that we could be out of the World Cup. And just to think things can’t get worse. It did.

We lost to USA.

Our position in the World Cup is in danger…

Victor Vucetich, former manager of Mexican club Monterrey was our trainer for the last two games of the Qualifiers, Panama and Costa Rica. There were many complaints from fans and reporters that we don’t deserve to play the World Cup. Many people lost their faith. I continue to stay optimistic because I believe my team was still going to the World Cup. However, problems kept rising when Ochoa and Vela refuse to play with Mexico.

The game against Panama was so intense. We made the first goal, but Panama tied us. Then, in the last minutes of the game, Raul Jimenez did an amazing chilena. In the end, we won 2-1. I wish things were different against Costa Rica. United States played against Panama at the same time as Costa Rica vs. Mexico. Costa Rica was defeating us 2-1 while Panama was defeating United States with the same score. With Panama’s score and ours, we were out of the World Cup! Unfortunately, we lost against Costa Rica. However, United States counterattacked Panama and won 3-2. That score benefited us to play the repechage against New Zealand. Even USA tweeted “You’re Welcome Mexico.” After this, Miguel Herrera accepted to be our new manager. He was still manager of Mexican club America. El Tri practiced three days a week to prepare that game. We played the home and away games and won both games against New Zealand and got the last ticket to the World Cup. This was the most stressful year I encountered. I never would have thought Mexico suffered that bad to make it to the World Cup. Even though we made it, many fans lost faith in our team. And this leads up to the year I’ve been waiting for… World Cup Brazil 2014.

Mexico send a #QuieroCreer message to the fans through twitter. In this message, certain players of the National Team asked for fans to support them while they play the World Cup. Certain players like the captain Rafael Marquez, Javier Hernandez, Alfredo Talavera, Miguel Layun, and among others said they will play with heart in this World Cup. It sounds a bit cliché, but it was still a motivational message. The video showed scenes of the team being scored against some of their rivals. Also, it showed scenes of the important victories that took them to the World Cup. (You can find this on Youtube. Just search Quiero Creer Mexico)

Let’s just say they completed their promise. No, we didn’t win the World Cup or made it to the famous fifth game. However, we did win something. They play with heart in every game. How can we forget Guillermo Ochoa’s best performance against Brazil? We tied against one of the best national teams in their homeland! Remember when a Croatia player said we should tremble with fear? What did we do? We responded on the field with a 3-1 score. In the group stage, Mexico already won our hearts. Our faith was coming back. In the Round of 16 against the Netherlands, we scored the first goal in the second half. You wouldn’t believe how happy the players, the fans, my family, and I was. However, good things always comes to an end, right?

Unfortunately, with fifteen minutes left, Netherlands tied. In the very last minute, we received a penalty against us. Fans reading this know about this penalty. This is where the famous #NoEraPenal became wildly known to the world. Unfortunately, this was the end of our participation in Brazil. I feel we deserved to change history in this World Cup. You wouldn’t believe how much I cried that day. The sadness in the players’ eyes showing that they didn’t want to leave. The sound of tears from my little brother and sister in my living room. The faces of Mexican fans with tears in their eyes. As I lean my head against my wall, “Can we ever win a World Cup someday?

Months after the World Cup 2014…

Well, Germany won this World Cup. Memes of #NoEraPenal were across the globe. Mexico Sub-22 won gold in the Central American and Caribbean games. Mexico won against the Netherlands in a friendly with Carlos Vela’s return. It was a nice way to finish the year.

…

The Mexican National Team has shown me it’s better late than never. We will do whatever it takes to be in Russia and change history by becoming champions. It is going to be difficult, but I know we will be in Russia. We received memorable lessons these past years. Thank you Seleccion Mexicana for giving heart and soul in every game. Thank you for all the lessons you taught me. I have felt every single emotion while seeing you guys play and I feel that I am one of you. Thank you for showing me that nothing is impossible if we dream big and that we will play for our lives to win the World Cup 2018. 2014 is now in the past.

Now it’s 2018’s turn...

#Mexico Soccer SeleccionMexicana GoldCup WorldCup2014 WorldCup2010 WorldCup ElTri Football

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canaryatlaw · 6 years ago

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alright peeps, it’s late so let’s get going here. today was pretty good! I feel like I’m still mentally adjusting to actually working five days a week lol since law school was a lot more varied as far as days went, then there was bar prep and then I did nothing for like a month, so the whole 9-5 thing is still fairly new. But I woke up to my alarm at 7 (like every other weekday), got ready and headed out. I was looking at my plan for the day and trying to figure out who I wanted to shadow, I saw I was on the dep in the afternoon for one of the lawyers that was in court this morning (I don’t think I’ve specified a nickname for her but I like her a lot, she’s only like 3 years older than me but seems to have her shit together and is a pretty competent attorney haha so she’s fun) so I texted her and asked if I could shadow her, she said yes but her first case wasn’t till 9:30, I got to the courthouse at like 8:45 (around when I get there every day) so I went to the Starbucks under the courthouse (have I explained the whole pedway thing? probably at some point) and hung out till like 9:15, at which point I went upstairs only to find a MASSIVE line for security, like it made a U around the whole lobby, way longer than it’s ever been before, apparently due to a large group of some people on some sort of field trip basically. so that was fun, but I still made it to the courtroom before the lawyer lol and was told to get a hold on the case, so I did, and then I ended up talking to OPC and he was saying totally different things and our lawyer was like well can you step up? and I was like ahhhhhhh I feel like that would not go well because he’s saying something different which will probably devolve into an argument in front of the judge and like that’s a /bad/ idea, so she called me and they spoke over the phone, and I convinced him to let us pass the case until she got there, which he was not particularly happy about but agreed to, and she got there not too long after the call started so that was good, but of course at that point it was almost time for the 10:00 am case she had in the courtroom on the floor below, so I got sent off to figure that one out, but fortunately another lawyer from our firm was free and able to step up on the case so I didn’t have to finagle some sort of peace until she could make it there. so that was a bit more exciting than expected, and then once that was over there were three more in a nearby courtroom, so I just drafted orders (they were out of carbon of course so I had to write each one out separately) until all of those were covered. the dep was at 1 and we had to prep the client beforehand so instead of going back to the office we stayed at the courthouse, initially up by the courtrooms where lawyer was working on something, then asked me to take a look and tell her what I thought. the thing ended up being a letter to some board of judicial authority recounting an incident from a trial her and the other lawyer who covered her case today were on yesterday where the judge was just a fucking nightmare and like, very clearly violated the clients due process rights like, BADLY, (basically defense can motion for a directed verdict after plaintiff gives all their evidence saying they haven’t proved it beyond the standard of proof, but this judge prompted then granted a DV in the middle of plaintiff’s evidence, which is like, absurd) and just a recounting of all of that craziness so I looked it over and added a few commas (her grammar was actually totally on point besides that, MUCH better than the majority of people I end up proofing for) (no offense to them at all most people aren’t great with grammar and that’s fine) and suggested she reorder a few things and switch to first person throughout instead of switching between first and third, so she did that and then sent it to one of the partners and a few others to see what they thought. After that we went back to the same Starbucks to grab food, I got one of their grilled cheese’s (surprise surprise) which are actually rather good, so we sat and ate before walking up the pedway then across the street to the building the dep was in. this was like, a super complicated case, way different than most of our cases where we’re just the plaintiff. basically the case involved a former employee of the firm who at the time was driving a car owned by the firm when he got into a car accident, and he was now suing the person who hit him, and that person then tried to pull the firm in as what’s called a third party defendant, basically to say we’re also liable because it was our car, but to establish that they’d have to establish he was acting in the scope of employment at the time. so this dep was for the former employee and his baby mama/ex-girlfriend who was his passenger at the time, given by the lawyer repping the guy who hit them, and also sat in by another lawyer who’s representing the firm and this guy (but not the girl) so we were more or less there in like, an advisory position, but basically acted as the deponent’s lawyer at that point. so there was a whole bunch of unimportant stuff, but when they got to the former employee they did their best to really, really grill him on the car issue (like “does the firm provide all their employees cars for their personal use???” which is of course a no), but he stuck to his guns and maintained it was for personal use at the time and he was off-duty, which should effectively get us dismissed from the case, so we were happy about that. it went super long though, and by the time we got out it was like, 4:45, so at that point our lawyer was like well I have to go back to the office to get this notarized but there’s no point in you going back to just leave ten minutes later, so we walked to the red line on the courthouse stop and like, the train was so much emptier than it is when I got on at the office stop (two stops north) at like 5:15, like I was amazed, and throughout the trip there was just so fewer people I was like shit man, I need to start ducking out early and taking this train because it’s so much better like it was ridiculous lol. so I ended up making really good time and was off the train by like 5:30. So I walked the normal route home, except I needed milk for the recipe I was going to make since the milk that was in my fridge expired 6 days ago (I went through a whole like “well it smells okay does that make it okay??” because I wouldn’t try it because I think just milk is gross, but then I was like okay 6 days is too long let’s not fuck with this) so instead of turning off main street where I usually do I kept walking to where the 7-11 was, only to find it gone and completely boarded up, which I guess I hadn’t seen because I usually don’t go this far down on this side. but no worries, it was right across the street from the Walgreens so it was easily remedied, and I just got milk from there and then headed home. I was making a cheesy mexican bowtie pasta recipe and only being slightly experimental, so of course it starts with actually cooking the pasta, so I did that, and then you combine the pasta, like two cups of “mexican blend” cheese, a can of cream of mushroom soup (random, but okay), a cup of milk, and what was supposed to be a cup of mild salsa, but I can’t really do any type of salsa (when I’m trying to demonstrate to people just what I mean when I say I can’t do *any* spice at all I’ll say like “mild salsa and up” is off limits basically) so I instead used tomato sauce and added some taco seasoning, hoping that it would turn out semi-decent. so you mix that all together and throw it in the oven, then after like 20 minutes you take it out and sprinkle french fried onions and more cheese on the top and then cook it again for another like 5 minutes. and it came out pretty good! I was pleased with it, so that was a win for me. As it was finishing Jess came over and we prepped for our shows while also serving dinner. she has to get up early tomorrow for a photo shoot with “friends” so we decided we’d just do the flash and black lightning, instead of those plus the gifted. so we watched the flash live first. pretty good episode, they’ve been solid so far this season, so that’s good to see after a not all that great season 4. Nora is great and her relationship with Barry and Iris so far has been very well-written and well-acted of course so that’s very enjoyable. They managed to humanize Cicada very well tonight in very little actual footage, which was honestly impressive. obviously the whole Cisco thing was the focus of the episode and I was confident they wouldn’t actually be killing him in an episode calling “the death of vibe” because that’s REALLY on the nose and I don’t think they were that bad, but there was a few seconds there where I started doubting it a bit, but I was happy to see he was just fine. As far as the new version of Wells and their whole jumping to conclusions about the first guy thing goes, I felt like I had to draw a comparison to how this is a perfect example of what happens when police narrow in on a suspect too early and discount evidence that doesn’t point to them because they are convinced of their guilt and will make the evidence fit the suspect, which leads to a great number of wrongful convictions in the US and is a pretty large systemic problem. but that’s my real life diatribe about this lol. Black Lightning afterwards was also strong, I still love Anissa’s storyline of stealing money from the drug dealers and such and bringing it to clinics and churches (even when I have to suspend my disbelief a bit regarding how you can actually use stolen money) so that was good. I don’t know what I think about Jennifer’s storyline right now, the whole thing with the person- I guess she’s supposed to be a shrink?- showing up out of nowhere and mentally taking her to a salon was at best rather weird, and I’m not sure why her normally sensible parents would’ve thought that was a good idea. but I mean, if she eventually starts to help her, that’ll be good at least. The storyline with Jefferson and the new (white) principal was only in a few scenes but oooooooooof did it make me mad, just a whole lot of bs going on there. As far as Tobias goes, of course that arrest they made at the end of the episode was wayyyyyyyyy too easy and it’s never going to be that simple (especially this early in the season) so I’m really just waiting for the other shoe to drop there). but yeah, overall strong episode I really enjoyed. Jess left after that so I watched the 911 episode I missed from yesterday, and holy jesus I was tearing up like crazy, that show is a tad ridiculous at times when they come up with crazy situations they have to rescue people from (but I mean, that’s any cop/firefighter/EMT show ever made), but they also do emotion extremely well, from Buck’s sister (whose name I don’t remember) dealing with PTSD and fear of a vengeful ex-husband to captain talking about his daughter and ultimately in the end being invited into the photo with his girlfriend’s family (I seriously know like two characters names and that’s like, it) was honestly such a perfectly done moment I was legit tearing up over it. So yeah, kudos to them for playing the emotions very, very well. After that I started getting ready for bed, at one point there were a series of loud bangs that sounded somewhat reminiscent of the whole “bullets vs fireworks” game but like, there was a LOT of them and they were VERY loud, so I tend to think it probably wasn’t gunfire unless someone was shooting like 40 bullets in 30 seconds for some reason in our relatively peaceful and quiet neighborhood, at 11 pm on a Tuesday night for that matter. So slightly concerning but probably nothing, at least nobody here was in danger. And yeah, finished the rest of my routine and now I’m here and oh boy did I mention I’m tired and it’s almost 1 am now?? I had a lot to say about today 🤷🏻‍♀️ lol but I’m good now, so I’m going to pass out and sleep for the next 6 hours while I can (major sigh, but can’t do anything about it now). Goodnight my loves. Hope you had a lovely Tuesday.

#daily journal #October 2018 #Rachel's lawyer adventures #Rachel watches The Flash #Rachel watches Black Lightning

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topsolarpanels · 7 years ago

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‘ Call me a racist, but don’t say I’m a Buddhist ‘: America’s alt right

They present themselves as modern intellectuals of extremism. But the US far right, detects Sanjiv Bhattacharya, using the same white supremacist obsessions

Every few weeks, William Johnson, the chairman of the white patriot American Freedom Party( AFP ), holds a lunch for members, the goal being to attain America a white ethnostate, a project that begins with electing Donald Trump. This week, its at a grand old French restaurant called Taix, in Echo Park, Los Angeles an odd choice on the face of it. Echo Park is a trendy hood. Its hipster and heavily Hispanic. In fact, given the predominance of Latino kitchen staff in this city, it may be wise to hold off on the Trump talk until the food arrives.

About three months ago, Johnson begins, I was talking to Richard Spencer about how we need to plan for a Trump victory. Spencer is another prominent white patriot he heads the generic-sounding National Policy Institute. I said: I want Jared Taylor[ of American Renaissance] as UN Ambassador, and Kevin MacDonald[ an evolutionary psychologist] as secretary of health and Ann Coulter as homeland security! And Spencer said: Oh Johnson, thats a pipe dream! But today, hed no longer say that, because if Trump wins, all the establishment Republicans, theyre run They dislike him! So whos left? If we can hall, we can set our people in there.

Around the table five young men, roughly half Johnsons age( hes 61 ), nod and lean in. They all wear suits and ties, relating to the waiter as sir and identify as the alt right, the much-discussed nouvelle vague of racism. Are you guys very well known the Plum Book ? Johnson asks. Its plum because of the colouring, but also because of the plum positions there are 20,000 jobs in that book that are open to a new administration.

So we need to identify our top people! says Eric, one of “the mens” at the table.

Just anyone with a college degree! Johnson says.

Right. Eric is practically ricochetting in his seat with excitement. We need to get the word out. We are the new GOP!

A whiter future: pro- and anti-Trump supporters clash outside Trump Towers in New York. Photo: Alamy Stock Photo

Its not every day that a brown journalist gets to sit in on a white-nationalist strategy meeting. But these are strange days. Racism is trending. Like Brexit, Trump has normalised views that were once beyond the pale, and groups like the AFP have grown bold. Their men stubby orange thumbs are within reach of actual power, so maybe its is high time to emerge from the darkness at last.

I first fulfilled Johnson in May after he signed up as a Trump delegate before being swiftly struck off by the campaign when the press found out. Hes a surprising figure. An avid environmentalist, fluent in Japanese and, in person , not the bitter old racist Id expected but instead a jolly Mormon grandfather, bright eyed and chuckling, a Wind in the Willows character. Eric is even more unexpected. Tall and impassioned, he came to racism via hypnotherapy, of all things. He sells solar panel for a life and practises yoga. Together with his friends Matt and Nathan, who are also here at lunch, he operates an alt-right frat in Manhattan Beach a brew and barbecues thing. Theyre “ve called the” Beach Goys. Were starting a charade band, he beams. Weve saw a drummer!

Between them they represent two poles of a racist spectrum, young and old. And judging from this lunch, its the millennials who are the more extreme. Johnson wants white patriots to appear less mean and he sees the JQ, the Jewish Question, archaic. But Eric loves the meanness of the alt right. Were the troll army! he says. Were here to win. Were savage! And antisemitism is non-negotiable. In fact, hed like to clear up a misnomer about the alt right, propagated by the Breitbart columnist Milo Yiannopoulos, who is often described, mistakenly, as the movements leader. Milo casts the alt right as principally a trolling enterprise, dedicated to attacking liberal shibboleths for the lulz theres precious little actual bigotry. But Eric insists otherwise. Yes, they like to joke, they have memes, theyre just as funny as liberals have I heard of their satirical news podcasts, the Daily Shoah and Fash the Nation ? But induce no mistake, the racism is real. Eric especially enjoys The Daily Stormer , a leading alt-right news site, which is unashamedly pro-Hitler.

What unifies Johnson and Eric is what they describe as the systematic browbeat of the white male namely all this talk of privilege, the Confederate flag, Black Lives Matter and mansplaining. But beyond that, its the looming extinction of the white race. This is the language they use. Also: Diversity equals white genocide. The alt right love to evoke genocide while harbouring Holocaust deniers. Their point is that white people are melting away like the icecaps, and they have a primal drive to stop it. In 2044 , non-Hispanic whites will fell below 50% of the US population. The generation of the white minority has already been born, Eric says. Look at South Africa and Rhodesia. Thats where were headed. Total disenfranchisement.

Mexican activists on the campaign trail. Photo: Alamy Stock Photo

I want to reassure him that his Brown Rulers will be gentle and that slavery isnt so bad when you get used to it. But its not me they want to hear from, its white people. This is the white nationalists burden the very people theyre trying to save are the ones who most fiercely oppose them. The only group I cannot get along with is white people, says Johnson. Because white people loathe white people who like white people.

A couple of days later, Johnson is at his cluttered desk in downtown LA, nattering blithely in Japanese to a woman in Tokyo. He get lots of media requests these days, but especially from Japan. Theres an uncanny connection between Japan and white patriotism in America. Jared Taylor, white patriotisms foremost intellectual, is another fluent speaker. Its an ethnostate and its deeply nationalist, he says. And they have resisted the pressure to admit refugees. I say: God bless them!

For his part, Johnsons racism was shaped in Japan. He grew up in Eugene, Oregon, a nation founded as a white utopia, in a modest Mormon home, back before the LDS church gave black people the priesthood in 1978. But it was his two-year mission to Tohoku, Japan, that turned him. As “hes been gone” from doorway to door, locals would opine on the greatness of white America. They had an inferiority complex after the war, so we were treated like celebrities, he says. Oh, it was just the funnest day! A few years later, while working in Japan as an lawyer, he wrote a book advocating the repatriation of all non-whites with appropriate reparations, because I guessed America was going to breakdown unless I did something. When he returned to LA, he sent a transcript to every congressman. He was 32.

Clearly things didnt work out as schemed. His forays into politics floundered and then his offices were bombed. So he retreated from activism for nearly 15 years, only returning in 2009 to form the AFP simply in time for the rise of the alt right.

We head to his 67 -acre ranch near Pasadena, a hilly plenty backing on to a national forest. I asked to meet his family, but his wife rejected, so we tour the farm instead his persimmon orchard, his ponies and ducks. And there on his pick-up truck is a stencil of Jimi Hendrix. My daughter likes to paint, he says proudly. None of his five children are white nationalists, though they have promised to marry within the race.

Youre a white supremacist with a black artist painted on your truck, I tell him. And he flinches. Thats the meanest, most hurtful swearword there is. Just because I say different races have differing strengths doesnt entail I guess Im superior. He doesnt like racist either. Its a pejorative. I prefer race realist.

But its not my reality, Bill. Im sticking with racist.

Well, OK. But people who embrace racist are mad at everybody. I get along with people. You cannot function in Los Angeles without encountering other races, so I look for areas of similarity and agreement. Its important to treat everyone with the highest respect on a micro level.

I guessed America was going to collapse unless I did something: William Johnson, chairman of the American Freedom Party, at home on his ranch near Pasadena. Photo: Barry J Holmes for the Observer

On a macro level, however, darkness autumns multiculturalism is doomed, the different races will never get along, and our only hope is Balkanisation: separate territories for separate tribes. And whatever accelerates that transition is welcome, even racial discord. I dont think friction is a good thing, he says, but it would help facilitate the divide that is necessary.

We stop to feed his alpacas. Theres a brown one, a black one and a white one, standing peacefully together against the chicken wire fence.

See Bill, theyre getting along.

He laughs. I wish people were like alpacas.

Im with Eric at a Mexican restaurant in Manhattan Beach where he lives, an upscale, white neighborhood in the South Bay. He clears space on the table and grins. OK, “youre ready”? Your first tarot card reading with the Hitler Youth!

Its been an odd afternoon. We strolled along the beach and I asked about his gmail address which includes the number 1488, a potent number for white supremacists. The 14 stands for the 14 words coined by the late David Lane of the group The Order: We must procure the existence of our people and a future for white children. And the 88 refers to HH( H being eighth in the alphabet) or Heil Hitler. Eric sighed. OK, but this stuffs hard to talk about, he said. It depends how red-pilled you are.

Alt-righters love talking about the red pill. Its a including references to The Matrix blue-pilled people bumble through a life of illusion, while the red-pilled have ensure the truth and theres no turning back. Like all conspiracy theorists they find the hidden hand that guides all things, but for the alt right that hand is Jewish. The red pill is classic antisemitism, rebooted for a younger generation. As we strolled, he laid it out the banking, the media, the globalism. We passed games of beach volleyball and family picnics, while he explained why the Holocaust was exaggerated and Hitler got a bad rap.

A nation without colouring: William Johnson speaking at an AFP conference in 2013.

Have you noticed that kombucha isnt as fizzy as it used to be? he asks, along the way, because Eric isnt your average Nazi. He trained as a spiritualist. He has taught meditation. He brought his tarot cards in case I wanted a reading.

Dont tell me its the Jews, I tell him. He laughs. You said it , not me!

In the late 70 s, the Klansman David Duke swapped his hood and robes for a suit and tie-in, and took white dominance out of the cross-burning fields and into the boardroom. Mark Potok of the Southern Poverty Law Center describes the alt right in similar terms, as Racism 2.0, a rebranding for the digital generation. Its a trendy reboot alt right attains white supremacy sound like an art collective. And Eric, the kombucha Nazi, just takes it a step further into the aisles of Whole Foods. Hes a locally sourced, wild-caught bigot high in omega-3s and antisemitism. It attains him more sinister in some manner, and more harmless in others. As Nazis go.

Hmm, Nazi. Like Johnson, hes squeamish about terms. Warriors against political correctness can be awfully sensitive. Its such a slur, he says. But come near hes a Hitler apologist. OK, fine, he says. Just dont say Im a Buddhist, because Im actually more into Norse and Celtic mysticism now.

Itll come as no surprise that someone whod rather be called a Nazi than a Buddhist has a strange narrative to tell. Originally from a well-off white suburbium of Chicago, he moved to Las Vegas to pursue music. Then one day, in the gym of his condo building, he met a guru figure well call Frank. A spiritualist and businessman, Frank introduced Eric to New Age mysticism and Japanese Buddhism. And it was under Franks guidance that Eric moved to LA to study hypnotherapy and began a career giving reads and tarot depicts at a psychic bookshop. Frank, he says, was his mentor and best friend. But then Eric took a turn. He radicalised himself. He left the New Age life, discovering it too feminine, and spiralled down a sinkhole of conspiracy hypothesi. He and Frank have been estranged ever since. Frank is black.

By the book: author Ann Coulter. Photo: Aaron Davidson/ Getty Images

Today, Eric still meditates and practises yoga. His weeks are spent like David Brent, as a travelling salesman, driving around gratifying his solar energy clients. His weekends, however, are all about the Beach Goys, which now has 15 members. Last week, they went on a hike to the Murphy Ranch in the Pacific Palisades, a decrepit old property that was originally built as a refuge for Hitler after the war. Next week is their first band rehearsal. Erics going to play guitar and sing. And this is the future he wants not a plum job with the Trump administration. I dont consider myself as a bureaucrat, he says. I want to take the Beach Goys national. I want to inspire people.

It could happen. Trump has unleashed something in America. Johnson wont reveal the AFPs membership numbers Perhaps we want to appear bigger than we are? but Eric insists the alt right is on the procession. Were growing with every hashtag, every BLM protest, every city that becomes a Detroit, or a London, he says. Were everywhere! Were the guy next to you at yoga, the barista at Starbucks … Its like Fight Club for supremacists, a profoundly unsettling guessed( which is why Eric loves it ).

But his delight in being a secret Nazi detracts from the seriousness of it all, the white genocide stuff. Hes having too much fun. And I wonder, as we finish our brews, if it will pass for Eric, this Nazi phase. He simply doesnt seem that threatening. Then he starts up about a race war, that old white-supremacist chestnut. Because behind the trolling veneer, the alt right is more traditional than alt. What Eric believes is vintage racism, the same old wine in a new ironic cask. And Tony Benns words ring as true as ever: Every generation must fight the same battles again and again.

Our civilisation is at war and we need to secure our people, Eric says. We must confiscate power and take control. And the idea that we can do this peacefully is likely not realistic.

We get along well enough, Eric and I, but he has the same micro/ macro discrepancy as Johnson. And at a macro level, there is only hopelessnes and division. I do not advocate violence, but I will give my life for my blood and for the honour of my ancestors.

He thrums the tarot cards in his hands, his voice getting more animated. We accept the game thats being played. We accept that the lion and the gazelle are competition. But they dont “re going to have to” dislike each other. Thats just how we view it.

He shrugs. Its scary. The world is scary. This is not a game for children.