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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Caffeine Rush: Chapter Seven / Decaf

W/C: 4k

Warnings: language, dirty thoughts, all of the dirty thoughts because Javi is a horndog, male masturbation... general spice. pining that could make a pine cone tremble.

A/N: welcome to pining central, enjoy your stay :) (ps when Steve says “Javier Peña” I need you to read that in the voice of Anthony Mackie going “SEBASTIAN STAN”)

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ordinary coffee that has had most of its caffeine removed from it before the beans are roasted.

You are a goddamn test on Javier’s self control. He feels like those biblical stories of men fighting back against temptation to prove themselves to God, except the only thing he has to prove is to himself. To you.

He’s always been enraptured by you, captivated by your smile and laugh but since you went ice skating, he hasn’t been able to get your body out of his mind. The way you fell asleep on him last night, nuzzled in like it was the safest place on earth. He could feel your breasts press into his skin, the warmth of your thigh hiked across his abdomen. If the past week has been some caffeine-induced fever dream, it’s becoming real now. You, a figment of his imagination before, maybe, are all flesh and blood and God, is he desperate for it.

Javier hangs around your apartment when you’re gone at work. He doesn’t have much else to do, considering you’re gone and he knows hardly anything about the city. He watches the daytime television on your couch, usually meanders to the coffee shop for a drink, spends some time there, and returns to the apartment.

He feels like he’s couch-surfing, like he did for a summer in his college years. He feels guilty occupying the space in your home, especially without payment. As he walks to the bathroom, he takes a long glance into your bedroom. The queen-sized bed is mussed, unmade before you left for work. The fitted sheet is pooled in the middle beneath where you sleep, the various blankets tossed about. It looks like the coziest damn thing he’s ever seen, especially after a couple of nights on a couch.

Javier almost thinks about giving in, waiting for you to ask him to sleep in your bed tonight then jumping at the chance. Maybe he will, if he’s tired enough. Maybe he won’t, but maybe he will. He can think of nothing better than the endless whir of the radiator as your perpetually-cold body nuzzles against him, brushes your nose against his bare chest.

It’s been a long time since Javi has fucked anyone, and he’s starting to feel it. He’s a little antsy, and the image of your body, your ass as you ice skate past him, haunts him like a bad dream- or rather some illicit fantasy he knows he shouldn’t be having.

Would you want him yet? You’ve told him you love him, but that was an accident. When he kisses you, you kiss back harder. Hell, you initiated the first kiss. You seem like you’ve been all-in on this relationship, taking things at a rushed pace that Javier certainly doesn’t mind. He spends a lot of the day contemplating that, standing on the tiny balcony of your apartment and smoking a couple of cigarettes.

At this point, he needs a distraction or he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands, quite literally. What better to kill the horny buzz making his head spin than to call Murphy?

The phone is in your bedroom, on the nightstand. Javier dares to sit on the edge of your bed, and actually moans aloud at the plush comfort, the way his ass sinks into it. Goddamn, he’ll have to get one of these. He wants nothing more than to lay back and fall into the bed, wait for you to get home and pound you into the comfortable mattress. But he doesn’t. He stays strong and picks up the phone, dialing the new Murphy residence in Miami.

After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answers. “Murphy’s.”

“Hey, bastard,” Javier chuckles, and he can hear the blonde man’s laughter from across the receiver.

“Javier Peña,” Steve drawls, dragging out the name. “Good to hear your voice, man. You finally come out of a ten-day celebratory drunkenness?”

“Don’t talk to me about binges,” Javier teases, but he smiles a little. He’s missed the man. He’s glad neither of them got in any trouble over the entire Los Pepes situation- God, that feels like ages ago now. It’s hard to believe he’s only been in D.C. what, eleven days? If Steve’s math is right, yeah. “No. I’m in D.C. still, if you can believe it. Just… bored.”

“Oh really?” the man scoffs, leaning against his kitchen counter in Miami with Olivia on his hip. “And why’s that? What are you still doin’ up there anyway? Thought you were goin’ to visit the old man.”

Javier shakes his head. “Plans changed. There’s, uh… there’s a girl.”

Steve lets out a wolf whistle, laughing. “And how much does she charge a night?”

“Not one of those. She works at a coffee shop around here,” he informs him. “She’s… she’s really something. Nothing I ever thought I’d be into. She’s gorgeous, man, and so energetic all the damn time. Seems like she has an IV of coffee from her shop,” he chuckles, looking off into space. He takes a pause. Steve doesn’t speak. “I wanna be with her Steve. I don’t… I don’t know if I can go back.”

He’s silent a little longer. “This is some kind of practical joke, right?” Steve says after a beat, barely holding back a laugh. Never has Javier been so sincere, so real and honest and open. And more specifically, he’s never been like this over a girl. Almost… mushy. Soft. “Tell me more,” he says, hoping the joke will give up.

Javier talks about you, describing every little detail with a grin on his face. He tells Steve about Tie Guy and ice skating and your piece of shit car, how you can spin in circles on the ice and how you remind him of a busy little bee, fluttering about the coffee shop.

Steve is genuinely rendered speechless; a hard thing to do. He blinks down at Olivia then straight ahead at the refrigerator, covered in photos and magnets and drawings. He can’t imagine Javier ever wanting something like this, like what he and Connie have, but he sure sounds like it. “That’s… something. Good for you, Javi,” Steve chuckles, resigning to sincerity. “I’m happy for you.”

Javier grumbles back. “Don’t get too happy. I have to go back to Calí in three weeks. She doesn’t want me to leave… I don’t know what to do, Murph. I can’t bring her with, you know that, but I can’t just leave her here. And I sure as hell can’t quit.”

“You could quit.”

“I’m not going to, how’s that?” Javier huffs and crosses his arms, annoyed by Steve and his goddamn wording loopholes. “I just… fuck. I’m gonna go think about it before she gets back.”

“She comin’ to your hotel? You sure you aren’t paying per night?” He smirks.

Javier’s quiet and Steve isn’t sure what it means until he talks. “I’m, uh, staying at her place. She insisted.”

Steve whistles again. “Damn. You’re whipped, Peña. Well, I’ll let you go. Call again soon. I miss ya, bud,” he tells Javier in a moment of earnesty then hangs the phone back on the receiver, bringing Olivia to her nursery to change her diaper.

Javi sighs and falls backwards on the bed, admiring the way the mattress holds his body compared to the couch. Yeah, he’ll definitely need to sleep in here tonight or he’s going to crack his spine.

The issue will be you. He could handle it on the couch; it was like a soft, adolescent form of love, innocent and warm. Of course, it could still be the same in your bed. But would it? Is there not a different set of implications that come with the two of you sharing a bed?

Snuggling with you on the couch was nice. Wonderful, perfect even. Javier loves falling asleep with you in his arms. But in your bed, arms curled around him, maybe even being his little spoon… that perfect body pressed flush to his own, your soft ass against his groin, your breathing pushing back into his chest… that would be an entirely different thing. And he wants it, he really does, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to control himself.

He slept like shit the last night, to be honest. You on top of him prevented him from moving, and Javier is an active sleeper. His neck was at an odd angle and his back twisted. His body feels like it did after that fight with Tie Guy. He can’t- wouldn’t- invade your privacy of your bed without you home to give him the go ahead, but he’s so damn tired. Not even the coffee helps.

So Javier indulges in one of life’s little pleasures he rarely gets to experience: a nap. Curled up on his side on the couch, blankets pulled snug around his fetal-positioned body, Javier drifts off to the sound of the noon news on the television.

That’s how you find him when you come home. He’s peacefully asleep, his lips parted and mustache moving with his exhales. Well, he’s clearly alive. That’s good.

You’re not sure how long he’s been asleep, so you leave him, making yourself something to eat in the kitchen. You avoid the living room as you get settled in, changing out of your espresso-stained clothing and into something more comfortable.

When you’re all comfy, makeup removed and a warm sweater on, you sit at the other end of the couch. Javier’s curled into a ball, his feet just inches away from your legs. You hope when he moves, he’ll feel you there and wake. If not, oh well. He deserves the rest.

It’s gray and cloudy outside, and you snuggle into the corner of the couch while reading your worn copy of The Great Gatsby. It’s the one you’ve been re-reading recently, what you were reading that first day Javi wandered into your coffee shop and subsequently your life.

Javi wakes not long later, maybe half an hour, to the sound of your book crinkling. The paperback’s spine crunches with wear, and his eyes flutter open to see you tucked against a pillow. God, you look like an angel, the light from the cloudy day filtering in and illuminating you from the back. Your face is calm and peaceful, focused as your eyes trace the words of F. Scott Fitzgerald. “Hi,” Javier mumbles groggily.

Your expression turns to a smile and you set down the book. “Hey.” You take his legs and drape them across your lap, tracing your fingers across them. “How’d you sleep?”

He groans. “Okay. Neck hurts.”

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d just sleep with me,” you sing-song to him, stroking his legs through the comfortable pants he wears. “My bed is super cozy.”

God, does Javier know it. It felt like your love itself when he laid down and the warmth of it swallowed him, practically whole. “Maybe I’ll give in,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “How was work? Sorry I didn’t visit.”

“Boring as always,” you chuckle. “What did you do today?”

Javi frowns as he thinks about it, his brain fogged with sleep. “Not much. Called Murphy, talked a while. He’s doing good.”

“Good,” you nod and smile. “When will I get to meet this elusive Steve?” You ask, softly kneading at his legs through the blanket and frowning as you realize he’s wearing… jeans. “Wait, pause. Are you seriously wearing jeans?” you ask him and laugh, lifting the blanket to confirm what you already suspected.

He frowns defensively, crossing his arms. “Maybe.”

“Why the fuck would you take a nap in jeans, Javi?” You laugh.

Javier looks away, frowning. The stubbornness shows. “I don’t own many comfortable clothes besides what I wear to work, if you haven’t noticed,” he retorts, but you can’t help but giggle. “Plus I thought I’d only be here to get fired.”

You smile at him lovingly and cup his face. “You sweet, stupid workaholic. Let’s go shopping later, get you some cozy stuff.”

Javier warms against your touch but maintains a pout. “I like jeans.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff out a laugh. “Would a pair of sweatpants be detrimental to your wardrobe, Javier?”

“Stop using big words,” he groans. “I’m barely awake.”

The large mall is annoying to Javier, full to the brim with last-minute (or maybe prepared, he never holiday-purchases) shoppers. He holds your hand, shooting feisty glares at anyone that dares to bump against his or, god forbid, your side. “Relax,�� you tease and squeeze his free hand. The other carries a bag containing two hoodies, three t-shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants. “You’re not on a mission, and you certainly don’t have the knuckles to pitch another fight.”

He looks at his hands and scowls. You’re right. They’re no longer black and blue but faded yellows and greens, a spare bit of purple over the bones. The fight wasn’t that long ago, really, even though it feels like an eternity.

You drag Javier into a favorite shop of yours. He follows you around like a lost puppy while you search through clothes. He even hands you one or two tops he thinks you’d look nice in. You kiss him on the cheek and he dares to smile for a moment before returning to his stone-faced annoyance at such a packed area.

The dressing rooms are nicer, much more spaced out and offering places to rest. Javier sits in a chair across from your little cubby as you try things on. Every time you find something, you come out and model it for him. He comments, always positively, gives a little applause and smiles at the twirl you give in the big trifold mirror.

There’s one pair of leggings that hug your ass tight. Javier nearly salivates at them. “I like those,” he comments. “They look comfortable.” The same follows with a pair of jeans, even more flattering. He crosses his legs and nods, giving you similar comments.

Then come the dresses and tops. They’re all low-cut, not the wintery clothing Javier’s always seen you in. They show off your cleavage, and one scarlet colored blouse with a low neckline and fluffy sleeves makes Javier’s eyes simultaneously light up and darken. “How’s this one?” You ask, tugging at the sleeves.

“How much is it?” He asks, leaning back and looking at you through lidded eyes.

“Uh…” you tell him the cost and look back up at him, expecting a comment. “Why?”

“I’m buying that for you myself,” he smirks up at you, eyeing you up and down in a way that makes your skin feel intensely hot. The sight is stunning to him, and your flustered smile makes the smirk a little more devilish.

Javier does end up buying you the shirt, and you purchase a few other things you liked. But that scarlet shirt is stuck on Javier’s mind in replay: the subtle valley between your tits, how they filled out the shirt just perfectly and tugged at the cloth covering them, the way they look painfully soft to the touch, especially through that soft fabric. He wonders if you were wearing a bra under it. Then he has to stop himself.

You eat dinner late, chatting mindlessly over everything and nothing. Javier has no work to speak of now, so he tells you tall tales of the hunt for Escobar, some exaggerated and some underplayed. He mainly listens to you, asks about your past and your future, your family and your job. He could never tire of your voice, the soothing lull that warms him from the inside out, just like your skin flushed in that goddamn red top.

He drives the both of you home, humming softly to the songs on the radio. He’s beginning to recognize more and more of the top-40 hits on a certain preset station, songs he’d never listen to on his own. He glances over at you, gazing out of the window, and feels his body warm again- not just in his heart, but his stomach and lower too. He dares to steal a glance down, at the soft swell of your tits in that sweater. God, he wants to get you naked.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what you want and he’s too afraid to ask, too afraid to shatter this blissful phase of adoration without the sexual attraction. He wonders if you feel it too, if your clothes suddenly feel too restricting and too warm when you run a hand down his bare back.

The nightly routine ensues: you shower. Javier changes, this time into a new hoodie but leaves his legs bare, wearing only boxers on the bottom. He waits on the couch, and when you exit the bathroom, he takes his turn. He returns and sits next to you on the couch.

Tonight, when you ask him to share your bed with you, he doesn’t say no. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, just yawns softly and stands, taking your hand.

It’s a sacred space, your bed. Javier knows it. He rarely fucks women in his; whether it’s for his own privacy or fear they’ll fall asleep there, he can’t say. But your bed is such an intimate expression of you, and he can see it. He can see the divot in the mattress where you sleep, the way you arrange the pillows just right for your own head. It is a queen size, but it’s single-occupancy: until now, that is, and Javier feels honored you’re willing to share this holiness with him.

He gets into the bed on the other side of you, the warm blankets enveloping him, and he nearly lets out a moan at the comfort. Compared to the hotel bed and the couch, this is sleeping on a literal cloud from the heavens. He lies still, waiting to see what you do first. Not wanting to overstep anything.

His prayers are answered when you snuggle into his side. You rest your head on his chest, kissing his sternum through the soft material of the hoodie. A hand rests on the other side of your face, and your legs both encircle one of his. Javier smiles, wrapping an arm around you. He presses a kiss into your hair and murmurs a goodnight, letting his head fall back. He has no time to worry about this situation before he falls asleep.

He falls asleep almost immediately, which makes you chuckle through your half-conscious state. He seems to always radiate heat, Javier. Your layers of blankets upon blankets suddenly feel unnecessary when a heat source the strength of the summer sun fills your bed. His chest is strong and firm beneath you. The rise and fall of his chest is like a boat rocking on the ocean, putting you at ease and allowing you to rest.

Fuck. He knew this was a bad idea. Why did he do this?

The clock reads 1:48 and Javier is wide awake, staring at your popcorn-stucco-whatever the fuck it is ceiling. He wasn’t able to process this before sleep overtook him, before his consciousness was wiped and with it, his inhibitions.

Your body is pressed to his so perfectly. You sleep without a bra, and Javier can feel his arm being slightly sandwiched between your breasts, the way they press further into it every time you inhale. Your thighs are warm with sleep, and he can feel your core pressed against his hip, even while you sleep and even through the layers of clothing.

Javier feels like the embodiment of slime. You’re asleep and all he can think about is how fucking hot your body is, how much he wants to press you into this mattress and wake you with an orgasm. He wants to palm your tits and make your nipples harden through that flimsy shirt, to slide his fingers beneath your pajama bottoms and-

He can’t take it. He feels so wrong, the smell of you surrounding him and choking him like a thick perfume, even in its subtlety. He does not deserve to sleep next to you, innocently, like someone you love, when all he can think about is his own carnal desires.

Pushing back the covers, Javier gets out of bed before any more blood can flow to his slowly hardening dick. This is all wrong. He should not be doing this, thinking these things without knowing you feel the same.

But the guilt is as strong as his arousal. He watches you for a moment, torn between his options, before meandering through the darkened bedroom and finding his way into the bathroom. He turns on the bright lights and forces himself to stare at the bulbs, to make his pupils shrink from their blown state of sleep mixed with desperation. He’s fully awake now.

He needs to get the hardened length down. He can’t do this, can’t allow himself this suffering while you sleep in the next room.

The sink. Cold water. He gasps silently at the splash of the ice-cold water against his face, dampening the edges of his hoodie. It doesn’t work enough. Again. Nothing. He feels like a teenager, unable to control himself. The cold water is a good idea, though.

Javier strips down, trying to avoid the urge to take himself in hand and fix this here and now. Turning the water as cold as it can go, Javier turns on the shower and steps in.

Agony is the best term he has. It makes him want to squeal like a fucking pig as he shudders from the cold. It doesn’t work to force his erection down, but what use is it when it’s not something physical but mental stimulating him? The cold shock didn’t do shit. Javier’s still achingly hard. He turns the water warmer and sighs as it gradually turns to a tolerable temperature, one that he can relax under and allow himself to let out a deep sigh.

He has no other options, unless he wants to wait it out. Leaning against the wall, Javier strokes himself, biting his lip and hoping the water pressure will cancel any soft moans he can’t avoid. It doesn’t take long when he’s this aroused, when he knows exactly what the fantasy in his head would feel like.

Javier is panting and sweating, from the effort and the growing heat of the water. He feels disgusting but it feels so good, and he can’t help imagining you doing this to him, you spreading your legs and feeding the fire between his own.

It only takes a few minutes. He gasps as he cums, with a force he’s never brought forth with his own hand. He bites his lip so hard he’s sure he might cut it off, not allowing the desperate sounds to reach a level you could hear. When he’s done, he groans and cracks his neck. “Oh, little bee,” he whispers, agonized as he lets the water wash the evidence of his sins down the drain.

When he’s done, Javier walks into your bedroom, silently, in the dark. His previous boxers were stained with a patch of his precum; he can’t put those back on. He drops the towel and puts on different boxers.

After he’s changed, he looks at your bed longingly for a moment. The soft sheets, soft mattress, the soft body between them. But in Javier’s head, he’s forsaken his right to the warmth, the comfort.

When you wake in the morning, hours after you thought you heard the shower running, you find Javier is not in your bed. There isn’t even a warm spot where he lay, just your body shifted further from your normal sleeping position. When you wander out to make your morning coffee, you find him. He spent the night on the couch again.

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sn0wtaffy · 3 years ago

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So, my old post is getting traction so I may as well post an update.

I am forced back into m abusers home, just long enough to get an apartment on my own. The government refuses to help me, saying that, if im couch surfing, im “not homeless enough to get help”. I am on chemo, so, if I am on the streets, I will get sick(er) and die. I cant do that.

The very generous home whos roof iv been under cant afford to house me anymore. My plan is to go back to my abusers JUST long enough to find an apartment and get one. I am TERRIFIED to stay more then one month, but I have nowhere else to go, and my abuser kept me isolated and locked in a room, and so, I had to chances to make a support network or group. I have nobody else to turn to.

PLEASE please help me. Just one dollar seriously goes such a long way.

My c🅰️sha🅿️🅿️ is;

http://cash.app/$Hypnosiscorp

My 🅿️🅰️y🅿️al is;

ChaiteaArts

#autism #intersex #chronically ill #chronic illness #actually autistic #chemo #chemotherapy #UC #ulcerative colitis #crohn's disease #autistic #cripple punk #art commisions #commission #help

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eideticmemory · 5 years ago

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EVER SINCE NEW YORK IV | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic. Cover by @timey-wimey-lovi!

PART 4! Read Part 3 here!

SOUNDTRACK:

Let Me Know - Clear Eyes.

Friends - Ed Sheeran.

Perfect Places - Lorde.

Word Count: 4,551.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Junior Year.

Tisch School of the Arts,

New York University.

New York City.

“We’re going out tonight,” Claire said, plopping down on your bed.

“Oh? We are?” You replied, a notebook in your lap, and your back resting against the pillows.

“Yes. There is a welcome back party on campus tonight and we’re going.”

“I don’t feel like partying,” you sighed. “We just moved back in. There’s still so much left to do, to unpack.”

“Guess what? It’ll be here when we get back. And we’ll have all of tomorrow to decorate. But right now, we’re juniors, we’re thriving, and we’re gonna party!” She did a little dance, her red hair bouncing on her head.

You giggled, “Fine. Only until midnight! Then, we’re coming right back.”

“Geez, grandma? Midnight? Make it one!”

“Fine, one-thirty.”

“I’ll take it,” she smiled. She hopped out of bed, and turned on her heels, finger guns pointing at you. “Wear that red tube top. Step all the way out, kid. I mean it!”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

You wore the top. It looked good. Abnormally good. Insanely good. It hugged your body, and accented your breasts, little ruffles handing on the hem. You paired it with a loose pair of jeans, leather boots, and sparkly jewelry. Your hair was pulled out of your face and you applied light makeup.

“Yes, ma’am!” Claire cheered when she saw you. “For someone who didn’t wanna party, you sure snapped.”

“Hush,” you blushed. “I just wanna be prepared, y’know, in case we take pictures or run into people.”

Person. Singular.

You anticipated a high chance of seeing Matthew tonight, and if it was true, it would be your first time seeing each other in person in two months. After week upon week of late night phone calls — full of dirty words, quiet moans, and soft goodnight wishes. With his timezone being three hours behind yours, the two of you set alarms on your phone to talk in the early hours of the morning. Until you fell into this routine of talking every night. First, helping each other get off — sometimes more than once. And then having a sleepy, giggle-filled conversation about anything under the sun. It regularly lasted until one of you fell asleep.

So, yeah. You were eager to see him. Even more eager to get back to his place. Get back underneath him. It’d been a week since you last spoke, both of you being too busy moving back to New York. You ached for him dearly. And you wanted his first reaction to seeing you again to be lustful, intense. The outfit was perfect.

Claire and you walked across campus, arm in arm, skin glowing under the lights, hair blowing in the breeze. The music was palpable, and you could hear it from miles away. The two of you stepped into the dorming building, giggling at the sight of familiar faces, the smell of alcohol and weed, the sound of bass.

For most of the night it was easy to mingle. You carried a solo cup of alcohol from each room — vodka. Everytime you drank rum, you got horny. It was weird. You couldn’t turn a corner without bumping into someone you knew, be it a dancer, an actor, film student. Being a double major, and active on campus, you knew way too many people. And everyone seemed to be there that night. It took you a good hour to rotate amongst groups.

“[y/n]?”

You turned around, a smile instantly appearing on your face. “Alex! Oh, my goodness! How are you?”

The dashing boy smiled at you, his hand on your shoulder. “Hey! I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m currently trying to have a good time despite being tired as hell.”

He laughed, “Well, I see you’ve got some good time juice there, so you’re halfway to freedom. Hey, I forgot to tell you — your performance in the nutcracker last Christmas was incredible. I, uh, I actually went to the spring ballet after that because I was so impressed.”

“Thank you,” you grinned. “I like to inspire people to experience ballet. It’s cool.”

“I was very inspired,” he nodded. “Hopefully we’ll have some more classes together this semester.”

“Yeah! If not, you know how to reach me.” You bit down on your lip to keep from smiling too wide. He gave you a quick wink, and walked away.

You instantly began looking for Claire, rushing around the dorm for anyone resembling your friend. You noticed her in the threshold of a room, shoulder leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. You walked up to her, “Claire! Claire, you’re not gonna believe who I just ran into. It was definitely not the reunion I was expecting tonight.”

Claire was dazed, staring in front of her with a face solid as stone. You very rarely saw her like this, and it freaked you out right away. “Claire? Claire, dude, what’s wrong?” You turned your head to follow her gaze, and your eyes landed on the couch.

People lined the cushions, and dead in the center was Matthew. His hair had grown out a lot, and he dressed differently. All button down shirts and khaki shorts. With that damn chain tucked in his collar. And beside him was a girl. Hair jet black, a matching black mini dress, paired with sandals. They were kissing. Hot. Heavy. His hand gripping her hair, the other on his thigh. When they seperated, she touched his lips and you felt yourself having a stroke. The giggled at each other and Matthew kissed her cheek.

“It’s about one-thirty, right?” Claire asked you, her sight not moving.

You gulped. There was an ache in your chest that made it hard to speak. But you took a deep breath, and release the words, “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

Claire walked around you, heading towards the exit, and you followed. The two of you walked home, silent, arms over each other’s shoulders. In the room, Claire dropped her stuff to the floor, kicked her shoes off and sat on her bed. You rushed into the space, approached your nightstand and rummaged through it.

“What are you doing, [y/n]?”

“I’m packing a bowl,” you replied, grabbing your herbs, a lighter and the bowl.

“Right now? In here?” She gasped.

“Is that okay?”

She sighed, “Yeah. Come share.”

The two of you sat on her bed, thirty minutes later, laying against the wall with your heads staring at the ceiling. Your eyelids were lowered, red, and your breathing was slow.

“I’m hungry,” Claire said, texting on her phone. “Do we have gummy bears? I want gummy bears. But haribo gummy bears. Not those knocks off we used to buy. And some soda. Soda would be so good right now. My mouth is so dry.”

You stayed quiet, eyes focused on the lights overhead. You couldn’t get the image out of your mind. Matthew. And that girl. Kissing. Touching.

“Her name is Veronica,” Claire said.

You turned your hear to her, “Huh?”

“Her name is Veronica,” she repeated. “Or Roni for short.” She rolled her eyes. “She, uh, she’s from Vegas. She went to school with...Gube, actually. They dated.”

“Oh...” you nodded. “Are you...are you okay?”

“I — I, yeah, I’m fine,” she shrugged. “It’s just...really inconvenient of him to go back to her right now.”

“Back to her?”

“They’re together. They’re dating. Apparently they got back together this summer.”

You furrowed your eyebrows together, a thousand thoughts running through your mind at once. “What do you think about that?” Claire asked.

“Uh...” You shrugged. “I’m surprised anyone actually touches that boy,” you laughed, the sound coming out broken and sad.

“Yeah...well...Misty says Roni is a big one for Gube. That, um, necklace he wears? She gave it to him years ago. He never took it off.”

You nodded, “Yeah,” your voice cracked. “Well, that’s...that’s some heavy fixation there.”

“[y/n]...”

“I should shower. I’m gonna shower.” You went to get off the bed, but Claire grabbed your wrist. You turned to her, and she pushed your hair out of your face.

“I’m really upset about this, kid,” she said. “Can you...can you just lay with me for a bit?”

You sighed, gave her a small smile and leaned in to hug her. She held you close, placing one hand on your head and the other on your rest. And she let you rest your head on her chest, as you let silent tears roll down your cheeks.

Monday morning, you got up at 5 in the morning. You spent 2 hours in the ballet studio, twirling and dancing until your feet went numb. When you returned home, Claire was still asleep and you took a quick shower. You tried on ten different outfits, applied makeup, spent a long time on your hair. You made breakfast, checked for any assignments, surfed social media. And still had an hour before class.

You chose to walk around campus, locate all your classes, grab some coffee, and then you headed to your first class. Walking through the building, you sipped on your drink, moving absentmindedly roaming the halls. Suddenly, a hand reached out and pulled you into a storage closet. Your scream was cut short, and you jumped as the door closed behind you.

You looked up at see Matthew staring at you, a soft smile on his face. “Hey.”

“I’m going to class,” you muttered, turning to exit the room. But Matthew put his hand on the door knob to stop you.

“Wait, wait,” he pleaded. “Um, do I see you at the party —“

“Yep,” you nodded, not making eye contact with him.

“So...then, you saw me at the party with—“

“Yep.”

“Okay...[y/n]...”

“I really have to go to class, so, thanks for the detour, but I’m leaving now.” You removed his hand from the knob and left the closet, not looking back.

You walked into your classroom, swallowing to get rid of the weird feeling in your throat. You set your bag down and took a seat. You attempted to shake Matthew out of your mind, the smell of him, the sight of him, the tension of being so close to him. But it was hard. It may have been the hardest thing ever.

“Well, well, well,” a voice called to you. “Guess I got lucky, huh?”

You looked up to see Alex, giving you a toothy grin and a look of pure joy. “Alex,” you breathed. “Hi. This is awesome, you’re in here?”

“Yeah,” he took a seat beside you. “Haven’t seen you much since freshman year. This is nice.”

“It sure is.”

So.

Remember number eight on your list of atrocities against Matthew Gubler?

Fucked his friend. While said friend was supposed to help Matthew with his project.

Alex would be the friend. He was gorgeous and kind and so good in bed. You first met in a cinematography class freshman year, where he very boldly asked if you wanted to hang out some time. You smiled, said yes, and that led to the aforementioned sexual encounter. It only happened a handful of times, until the semester was over. Then you didn’t see each other as often.

But he was here now. He was here and he was flirting with you. You were flirting back. You were hurt and upset and confused and so fucking horny, you could burst. So, after classes, you reached out to him and asked if he could help you with a pre class assignment. He told you to come over. You did.

You didn’t work on the assignment though.

Starting off pretty hot and heavy, it was a few weeks of meaningless sex until he asked you out. Claire cheered when she heard the news, causing you to give her a confused look. “Why are you so happy that I have a date?” You giggled.

“Oh...I just — Alex is cute! He’s great, I always wondered what happened to him. You said he was good in the sack and he was always sweet to you. I’m just, so glad you’re happy.”

You gave her a faux smile, “Yeah. I’m happy.”

Alex’s friend was having a birthday party at his apartment, and Alex insisted you come. Said it was the only way he’d be able to have any fun when everyone got too drunk. You agreed, and when he picked you up that night, you were dressed in a purple romper and diamond earrings.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “You look beautiful, too.”

He held your hand as he drove to the apartment, as you got out the car, walked up the stairs, entered the living space. He introduced you to everyone you met, his arm around you proudly and your head nuzzled into his chest.

Watching you across the room was a very irritated Matthew Gubler, who sat with Veronica on his lap and a beer in his hand. You didn’t notice Matthew’s presence for a long time, considering the fact that he was avoiding you, and you were more focused on Alex.

While talking to Alex’s friends, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You strolled down the hallway, searching for the restroom.

“[y/n]!”

You turned around, confused. Matthew marched up to you, his hands in his pocket, his face determined.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you told him, and continued to walk.

He followed you. “So, you dating Alex now?”

“That’s not really your business, now is it?”

He grabbed onto your arm and pulled your body into his, hiding you two behind a corner. “No, but it bugs me.”

“It bugs you?”

“It bugs me. I don’t want you with Alex. Alex is a dick.”

“Well, not to me—“

Matthew leaned down and kissed you, his hands tightened on your waist. He kissed you like he was starving, mouth open, breath heavy.

You pushed him away, your eyes closed in shock and ecstasy. No, no, you thought. “Matthew—“

“Let’s leave,” he interjected.

“Huh?”

“Let’s leave. Me and you. Let’s go.”

“No,” you snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because, I’m here with Alex! And you’re here with...her, so, no. I’m staying here, with the guy I came with.”

“C’mon—“

“Matthew, no! No! Are you deaf? Are you dumb? Leave me alone, and go back to your girlfriend.” You suddenly didn’t have to pee anymore, so you returned to Alex and his group of friends. Matthew watched as you took a seat in Alex’s lap, and you pretended not to notice.

There was radio silence for months. Matthew even removed you on snapchat, and for your sanity, you ignored it. You continued a casual relationship with Alex, and he continued to worship the ground you walked on. A vast change in pace from Matthew. Claire pushed for the Alex relationship hardcore, saying hi to him when came over, giving you guys time alone, tagging alone with you two to parties.

But every once in a while, you thought about Matthew. When you saw a particular movie, or heard one of his favorite bands, right after you would have sex. And especially on Halloween. Over the summer, he told you all about his costume plans, party plans, and movie marathons he was going to have. And for some reason, like a clown, you just assumed you’d be with him when it happened.

By the time final exams were over, you and Alex considered yourselves exclusive. You strolled into the end of the year party, holding hands and laughing. You’d fallen into a good groove with his friends. They all liked you, you liked them, and you enjoyed their company. While sitting with them, one pulled out a joint, lit it and began to pass it around.

“Want a hit?” Alex asked.

“She’s pretty tiny. Can she handle it?” A friend said.

You glared at her and took the paper between your lips, inhaling and holding a large amount of smoke. She watched in amazement as you exhaled through your nose, “Well...I stand corrected, princess.”

You took in a sharp breath of air.

And that was just the beginning of the spiral.

You stayed in rotation of the weed for a long time, until your thoughts were nothing but a mess of words racing everywhere. Your eyes felt heavy, so did your body. And you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You were wondering was there ever really a connection or were you just highly sexually compatible? Did Matthew ever have feelings for you or did he just want one thing? Why does kissing him and fucking him and just talking to him feel so different? How come when everything falls apart, you want Matthew? How come when everything is going well, you want Matthew? Need to talk to Matthew. Where’s Matthew? Where’s Matthew?

“[y/n]!” Alex called. “You’re high as fuck,” he laughed. “What are you thinking about?”

Matthew.

“Come here,” and he pulled you into a kiss. And when you pulled away, feeling nothing, nothing at all, you realized you needed Matthew. You needed to feel something. But Matthew wasn’t here. And you wish he was here. Where’s Matthew?

Tears were springing to your eyes, but you quickly began to cough, distracting yourself with a new sensation. You rose to your feet, and exited the room, much to Alex’s disapproval. He watched you rush past him, his face laced with confusion.

Everyone you passed by looked like Matthew. Why did everyone look like Matthew? You missed Matthew. And this was unfair. You wiped at the tears in your eyes, but they were already gliding down your cheeks. They burned your skin and it made you cry more. You were blinded. And way too high to notice Matthew - the real Matthew - entering the hallway.

His eyes were redder than red, a lot like yours. His movements were slow. But something told him to reach out for you. Like a magnet. And you fell into his arms. It took him a whole second to realize it was you, but he did.

“[y/n]?” he whispered. “Oh, my God, [y/n]. What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs wiping the tears on your cheek.

“[y/n]!” Oh, no. Alex. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

At that point, you looked up at Matthew. Focused in on him. Said his name. But his attention had turned to Alex. And he was pissed. You could tell.

“Wait, wait, Matthew, wait,” you pleaded.

“What the hell did you do to her?” He shouted, holding you close.

“Wait, Matthew, he didn’t—“

“Gube, let her go, dude!.” Alex snapped, reaching for your arm.

And that sent Matthew through the roof. He released you from his arms and moved towards Alex, delivering a swift punch to his face. You’d never seen Matthew so much as cuss someone out, so this. This. This was hard to register. Nonetheless, you screamed his name, attempting to push both of them away from the brawl. But it was useless.

Two guys had to step in and separate Alex and Matthew, pulling them to opposing sides of the hallway. And you had to decide who to follow. It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

You kept a good 100 feet behind Matthew the whole time, watching him stomp his way to his residence hall. You knew exactly how to get into the building, but weren’t sure you should. You’d never seen him so angry. So red. So primal.

But, Matthew.

Oh, God, Matthew. What would you say? What would you do? Did he want to see you? Did he want to be alone? Was his roommate there? You paced for 20 minutes, freezing your ass off outside the dormitory. Your mind was made up when you found the side entrance and let yourself in, marching up the steps. Now or never. Now or never. And you needed to see Matthew now.

You perched yourself in front of his door, paused, and proceeded to knock with full force. “Be home, be home, be home,” you whispered.

He was home.

He came to the door, shirtless, his face bruised, his hair tasseled, and that stupid, ridiculous gold chain around his neck. And you’d never wanted to suck a dick so badly in your entire life. You instantly imagined grabbing him, kissing him, pulling him close. But you didn’t do that. You stood there, looking like an idiot, until he spoke.

“What are you doing here, [y/n]?”

You hadn’t even thought about it. It just felt right to follow him. “I—I wanted...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He shrugged, “I’m alright.” His face was stern. Stoic. No emotion showed on his features and it made you sick.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay.”

You stared at each other for a long time. You just wanted him to say it. Ask you to stay. Ask you to come in. To admit it. But he wouldn’t. So you had to walk away.

“Okay,” you nodded, sadly, and ducked your head as you headed towards the exit. “Okay.” You sniffled, patting at your eyes as they watered.

Matthew watched you go. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, his shoulders relaxing as he exhaled. “[y/n],” he called.

You’d stopped in your tracks.

“You...you were pretty stoned at the party,” he told you. “Are you sober?”

You turned your body to face him. You thought about his eyes. How red they were. How slow he moved. How you had both been utterly and totally high as hell. “I’m sober,” you said. Honestly. After all of tonight’s events, and the sheer shock of seeing Matthew, being so close to him again, you had sobered up. “Believe me, I’m sober. Are you?”

Matthew licked him lips, nodding as he sighed. He stepped out into the hallway, and pushed the door to his dorm open. He signaled for you to enter.

You gave him a quick and sad smile, and you avoided eye contact with him as you stepped into the empty room. He led the way to his private room, and let you in, closing the door behind you. You kept your back to him, arms crossed over your chest.

He sighed, “I’m—Veronica and I broke up. Actually, she broke up with me...again. So, y’know, it wasn’t much of a surprise, but—“

“Matthew,” you cut him off, turning to him. “I need a favor.”

He hesitated, then his voice was strong, “Anything.”

“I leave for home next week for Christmas break. And since, I can’t seem to figure out what the hell about you is driving me insane, Matthew Gubler, I’m going to need time. Space. If you need time and space. So, you need to make that decision.”

“Okay.”

“But right now, take your clothes off,” you ordered.

“Okay.”

He stared at you lustfully, just like you wanted, his body moving on autopilot to remove his shorts and boxers. You mirrored his movements, and took off your dress, subsequently tossing your bra and panties onto the floor. He grabbed onto your body and kissed you, one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping your waist. He pushed you back onto his bed, falling on top of you and kissing your neck. You held onto his torso as he made way to your collarbone, nibbling on it lightly. He pulled away and gropped your breasts, massaging them with his fingers.

He was practically drooling over them, his eyes focused solely on your boobs. He leaned down and sucked on your nipple, while his hand slid down between your legs. He felt around your core, and slowly slid two fingers into you. You threw your head back, and moaned.

Matthew kissed a trail from your breast to your hips. He began to kiss your inner thighs, kneeling down in front of you and pulling you up to his face. He pressed his tongue against your clit, working his muscle in an up and down motion. You moved your hips against his face and his fingers, gasping weakly. You forgot how good his mouth felt, but this was huge, huge reminder. You gripped onto his hair and swore under your breath.

He noticed your thighs tightening around his face, and increased his intensity and speed. Your back arched off of the mattress, you whimpered into your mouth, and your chest was heaving. You let out a long groan as you came on his face, your entire body tensing up. He withdrew his fingers from you, and licked up from your core to your navel to your breasts. He kissed your neck, then your lips. And he sucked his fingers clean, holding eye contact with you.

Overwhelmed, you pulled him in by his face and kissed him passionately. He grunted against your lips, rubbing his cock on your core. He pushed into you, his jaw dropping and his forehead against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and this encouraged him to thrust into you. Matthew held you in his arms, moaning into your ear as he moved his hips.

You kissed his jaw, sucking on the skin until you felt it pulse between your lips. You could feel his muscles moving under your palms, and his cock striking a sensitive spot inside of you. It felt like you were crumbling, getting weaker by the second. But when you felt the chain hitting your chin, you wired back to life. You gripped onto the necklace and twisted it around your fingers, angrily biting your lip.

As he slammed into you, you muttered a soft “fuck!” and yanked on the chain. It popped off of his neck, and it was cathartic. You moaned and threw it to a far corner of the room. You reached down and rubbed your clit quickly, panting as Matthew’s body began to tremble. He kept his gaze focused on you as you let him fuck you into another orgasm, and your hips rolled against his in an eager rhythm.

“Oh, fuck!” Matthew exclaimed, pulling out of you just in time. He released himself onto your stomach, moaning and gasping for air.

The mattress creaked as he laid down beside you, collapsing with a thud. The two of you stared at the ceiling, naked and breathy and covered in sweat. You rested your hand on Matthew’s chest, and he intertwined your fingers.

The next week, you were headed to the train station to get home for Christmas. Not knowing what to say to each, Matthew and you hadn’t talked since last week. You sat in the back of an uber, your suitcase at your side, when your phone vibrated in your lap. You picked it up and recognized Matthew’s name flashing on your screen.

You sighed, swiped to answer, and held the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

“I don’t want space.”

“I—“ You stuttered.

“I want as little space as possible.”

You were stunned, quiet, “Okay.”

The line went dead, and you set your phone down. You bit down on your lip. But the smile was still clear.

[PART 5.]

#mine #college!matthew #esny #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler imagine #mgg #mgg smut #mgg imagine

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nathansqueak · 4 years ago

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many years ago, i was in a coven.

i joined when i was about 12 or 13, having found them through a classmate of mine that i found wearing a pentacle necklace. for many years it was a safe haven, a community that opened my eyes and my mind and my heart and poured in song and dance and hikes through the forest. these people became my everything, and in this community we had each other’s backs. together the coven were there for each other’s divorces and marriages, births and deaths, and anything else that could possibly come up. determined to be a caring and supportive community, radical against the capitalist mold of independence.

all this to say that it was beautiful. it truly was. and then it wasn’t

i left the coven, personally, when i was 20. this was a couple years before the inevitable downfall of the rest of the coven, but even then i think it was already coming. i had been living amongst them for a little over two years at that point. i moved in to the home of a priest and priestess of the coven and their toddler child only a month and a half before my 18th birthday, though it didn’t occur to me until a long time after that my first red flag should have been that they were taking in a minor. i had left my parents home for their transphobia and the members of the coven were just trying to be helpful....but still. They took me in as a child. I suppose this is important to keep in mind

over the course of my living with the coven i would experience some of the absolute worst anxiety of my life; i felt every single pressure to conform and perform, to do what was asked of me and to hold the same opinions as everyone around me. at this point in time the lead priestess had already begun her own downward spiral, in that she was beginning to be caught up for her history of transphobia and for asking for too much money from congregates, and then that she was caught turning people against each other and actively trying to tell members of the coven to cut off family and friends outside the coven, to devote themselves ONLY to the coven, to devote themselves to HER. while it hadn’t always been this way, she had begun disencouraging people from seeking proper mental health guidance, saying that there was nothing that other coven members couldn’t help with. she began delegating labor, physically and emotionally. she began to excommunicate and isolate coven members.

when i was 19, my mother died. as they had many times before with many other coven members, the coven rallied around me and showered me in affection and comfort. given my extraordinarily complicated history with my mother, her death impacted me in a severe way, and half a year later i was still depressed and nonfunctional. it was at this time that the covens compassion for me ran thin. first i was kicked from the room they had given me, that i had been paying rent for, into a corner of the living room with the promise of putting up curtains for privacy, and then later i was given an ultimatum to either find a new home or be homeless. no one in the coven would speak to me. im still not entirely sure why, except that i was in a vulnerable place and questioned the decision to put me in the living room and take my privacy, which then blew up in my face...but soon they would literally not speak to me. coven meetings would be held in the very home i was staying and they would all enter in and refuse to look at me. i was in the living room! there was no way to enter the home without seeing me! and yet.

so a month or so after my 20th birthday, i shoved all of my things into a 5’x5’ storage unit and began couch surfing. i would later go on to be actually homeless. i am now doing great and living in a stable home with my partner and his mom, but there were many years where i was very much not okay. in my mind i think, why did they take me in? why would they take in a vulnerable queer youth, only to then throw him out on the street when he became even more vulnerable? they should not have welcomed me into their home.

when i left the coven, i lost communication with everyone. these were people who had known me since i was 12. these were people who had watched me grow from a child. and suddenly it was as though i were dead to them. it should not have come as such a surprise to me, because i was not the first person they had excommunicated, but it hurt. my best friends mother, who had in some ways been like a mother to me as well, who had been close with my own mother and who had tried her best to help me when it was clear my mother was severely unstable, was among them to just drop me. im now 25 and i have not heard from any of them, even to check in that i am still alive.

anyways. a couple years after all of this fallout, i happened to be looking at facebook’s memories feature when i came across a comment on an old post of mine from one of the coven members. i clicked to her page out of curiosity, i suppose to see how she’s been doing. i quickly found a piece she had written detailing abuses she had seen within the coven, and specifically calling out the lead priestess. i did more digging and found a statement on the coven’s official page denouncing involvement with the now previous high priestess. as though washing their hands of her. as though she had been the problem.

and she was. don’t get me wrong. but every single one of those fuckers participated.

they helped excommunicate and isolate other coven members. once when i was 17 there was a campaign against one of the lead priests, and maybe they were right that he was making some people uncomfortable, but he had never made me uncomfortable. they convinced me that he was predatory. they convinced me that he was an issue. the next time he tried to interact with me, just to say hello and ask how i was, I ignored him and found a priestess to say that he had approached me and i was uncomfortable. i was the final straw for their decision to excommunicate him. he’d been a part of the community since the beginning. i still remember feeling weird and guilty as they stood me there in front of the others and had me repeat what id said, frenetic gleams in their eyes. i was their evidence that he was untrustworthy and unsafe.

he had never made me feel unsafe.

i still feel guilt that i participated in that, even if it was practically fed to me.

as far as i am aware, the coven still does not take responsibility for their part in everything that happened. it’s much too easy to point the finger at the person in charge! last i heard, they had rebranded and renamed themselves to disassociate with that priestess, who has, herself, gone on to continue her practice through online seminars. no idea if she’s still hurting people or if she changed herself at all. i hope so.

all of this is to say that, ive been watching the situation around @simonalkenmayer unfold from a carefully kept distance, and i am so fucking disappointed in all of you. y’all participated. if you’re mad, look in a goddamn mirror. if simon is an abusive cultish creep, y’all participated until this point. what did you do while apart of that space? what are you now not taking responsibility for? even i often think of myself as a victim in regards to my time with the coven but then i have to stop and remember that im the reason that man lost his place in his community.

on top of that, half the evidence y’all are using to say that simon is shitty is coming from...questionable sources, to say the least. people who are either outright creeps themselves or who have proven themselves as holding that same frenetic energy that the coven did when it was seeking out reasons to isolate members. if you’re angry, that’s understandable. if you’re seeking comfort from shitty people, you’ve completely lost me.

what the fuck y’all.

and for the record, the coven that i had been a part of was Come As You Are (CAYA) Coven in the San Francisco Bay Area. i don’t remember what they rebranded to. I think they may call themselves Wildflowers now or something like that.

#ive had so many thoughts the past few days because it just keeps reminding me so thoroughly of the coven #and how it collapsed #if you come to my inbox to fight i will probably ignore you #im not interested in debating. these are just my thoughts on the matter #as someone who had been following simon since 2016

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estebanxgimenezx-blog · 5 years ago

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❀ *ﾟ miguel gomez. cis male. he/him. ⇝ hey, isn’t that esteban giménez? i think that the thirty-one year old from jersey city, nj works as a laundromat attendant, but outside of that they spend a lot of time at the nearest basketball court. i hear they are temperamental + bitter, but they are also known to be affable + tenacious. consider giving them a visit at their home in el patio inn and get to know why they’re called the has-been. ( ad, 26, he/him, est. November 4)

TW: Drug Use; Death Mentions

Esteban’s conception was an unhappy accident, the result of exactly one night of misplaced passion among two nineteen-year-olds with no foresight. His parents were hastily married only because they would not otherwise be permitted to live in sin in his maternal grandmother’s home, where Esteban ultimately grew up.

When the boy was seven, his mother found an advertisement for a cattle call audition in New York seeking kids around his age. He was cute then, and he still had all his teeth. So in 1994, the young Esteban, under a stage name, was cast as the plucky child sidekick in Babyface IV: New Millenium, a so-so sequel to a not-very-popular slasher film series long past its heyday.

When Scream revitalized the genre two years later, Esteban, now nine, was invited back for another sequel, this time released straight to VHS. With one more modest success under his belt, his final film gig came in 2001, when, at 14, he took the protagonist role and met his climatic end at the hands of the titular baby-masked murderer. Or did he...?

Esteban’s “movie star” status earned him some schoolyard popularity in his youth, but in many ways, he remained a regular kid. He played basketball at the park, puffed out his chest to prove he was bigger than the neighbor kids, and went to church on Sundays (because he had to). As a teenager, he worked at a local summer camp. Eventually, the movies faded from local memory.

The three roles still each came with a paycheck, which, in theory, was meant to be used for future education. Nevertheless, when Esteban was in high school, he discovered the majority had already been blown on booze, cigarettes, and fad electronics.

He began to rebel, arguing with his parents and grandmother, sending his grades plummeting, ‘no-showing’ school and work alike. He spent late nights out, took up a lifelong nicotine habit, and experimented with worse.

Esteban’s grandmother passed away right before his graduation, where he entered the world with no prospects and no plans. He got a lot of tattoos because they made him feel better.

Still, unwilling to live in the bubbling resentment which now surrounded his family home, a bubble that would burst with a well-earned divorce a few years later, Esteban couch surfed, crashed where he could. He worked odd jobs and carried on meaningless relationships.

At twenty-five, he, on a whim, headed westward to seek his fortune, landing in California with an out-of-work “singer” he had sort of been dating but not really.

Hollywood was not welcoming to either of them. Esteban spent several years being seen for typecasts and not landing a single one. He swore off acting and resigned himself to surviving.

Job and apartment bouncing eventually brought him into the more affordable Nevada and then to Primm. He left the sort-of-singer-not-girlfriend behind in Los Angeles.

Today, however, Esteban works for a local laundromat and lives in the El Patio Inn. After deciding to feel less sorry for himself, he enrolled in an online university and is currently working toward a degree in Business.

He doesn’t like Business. He rather hates it. But he imagines it’ll help him get a “real job.”

Either way, Esteban does excel at his writing electives. He has a knack for plot and voice, and has completed one-and-half stage plays and one screenplay. They are gathering dust on his laptop, and while not exactly spectacular, they show promise and raw talent.

And as far as screenplays go, some of the fan sites are talking about a potential Babyface film series reboot. But Esteban maintains his privacy these days, and people on the internet start up urban legends that he died in some horrible accident. But perhaps a grand reappearance could be just the thing he needs.

#primmintro

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mattyslittleworld · 5 years ago

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I’m in a cafe in a French little corner of Toronto called Leslieville. I’ve been on the road for a few days by myself, about to start a Canadian week run. My bro hit me about booking a small cool situation and honestly I needed it. First show is a house show and I pulled up to load in...a punk girl full of patches watering plants on her deck. The house looked condemned. I walk in and the house smells like cat shit, there’s stains everywhere, food everywhere, spaced out wonderful dedicated humans, and hardcore posters all over the walls, showing the house shows they’ve thrown over the years. The punk girl said they’ve been doing shows for 6 years. They slide the couch over and setup a PA. This is exactly what I need in my soul. I grew up in these punk squats all over the world. I am this. I come from this. These people don’t know who Casanova or Albee Al are. They don’t know Fetty Wap or Tsu Surf. They know Realm Hulud and this underground culture they love applying to the outside world that pushes them away. A truth to be romanticized.

I felt like I burnt myself out a month ago. Taking my dreams and flipping them into reality - the loss of friendship and love made me march forward and demand a new life and once that door opened I ran full speed and never looked back....until Quad Studios a few months back. I looked in the mirror and found nothing of the person I was - no resemblance of that kid. That scared me. So when John hit me with this I accepted immediately and packed my shit. I just wanna have convos about challenging, progressive, active things. Trade road stories. Talk about 7inches. Hardcore and punk. I’m grateful to be able to experience both of these worlds. I asked the punk girl if there was a coffee shop and she said there’s a booouuugie one around the corner if “you like spending a lot of money” and when I got here the barista charged me 2 bucks. I love that fuck the system attitude, although at the same time I think I’m becoming a part of the system - the sold out, corporate side of the music business that we all ran against our whole lives. I mean I just wrote a song with Casanova about texting. I just rapped 4 bars with Tsu Surf about gucci sunglasses and Louie v coats and fucking in the back of an Uber.

I packed my shit and went to NYC and finally got to check out the Queens Bridge housing that Nas grew up in. They were huge. So many. It was so awesome. You can sense the pride and community. From there I just drove around NYC finding spots I used to hangout in as a kid. Blasting inspiring tunes and just vibin out.

Ended up in Spanish Harlem, Queens, China Town. Damn I love New York. At 4 am I left and started my drive to Canada with a stop at Niagara Falls, where I had a Hotel for 2 days waiting for me. I checked in and just cooled out for 2 days it was amazing. I forgot how much I love touring alone. I drove a half hour to Andy’s house and hung out with him and his wife for the night. And damn did I need that. I needed trust. Loyalty. Familiarity. Friendship. Somebody who grew up fighting like me. Who left that life behind like me. Who’s been in real trouble and seen real life hell like me. We both came so far. Beautiful.

Im currently in a hotel in Chicoutmi, Quebec. The window open, breeze coming in nice and sweet. Canadian currency everywhere. Coffee cups everywhere. Ive only eaten fruit the past 2 days. I feel good. Last night the drive was really lonely and long, but I toughed it out and here I am. Thinking back a few days ago to Toronto, I was so inspired and so electric. The hotel was right downtown and I walked all the way to Chinatown and the markets. Running around by myself blasting music. You go throughout your life knowing you need to outlive your demons - nights like that really defines that. The shows have been so cool. Great people. Great conversations. I have a few Canadians and im back in the states.

Ive been editing three music videos along the way. One of which is with Casanova. Im really proud of this. I never thought id get to such a height of being in the room with someone as famous as him. We did the song and it was amazing - but for him to double back and hit this video with me and Rob, damn. The day of the shoot I was so quiet and so awkward before I left. Is this happening? Is this really a thing? Is he really gunna show up? A model is coming. Rooms have been rented. People have been invested. Its all on us. We got there early and set up the set. Ive said it many times before on here - my life socially is completely different. Everybody in my life is brand new and not many people know of my past musical endeavors or even my past in general. But having Rob and Colgan there with me really made me happy. Through thick and thin. I didnt hear from Cass all day so I shot him a text - no answer. I was like oh my god should I call and be annoying? Called him and immediately picked up AYO WHATS GOOD MATTY! 1030 right?! And I was like damn. This dudes a good dude. I asked him if he wanted any Hennessy and he said Yeah pick me up a bottle of dusse. I was like no problem dude….hung up…looked at Rob and went…”What is Dusse?” And he was like NO IDEA LOL. Hit Colgan who was on the way like yo can you scoop Cass some Dusse on the way?? He was like WTF IS THAT!!! I was like IDK so I did the whitest thing ive ever done (Besides being a white rapper) and sent him a google image screen shot and boom nailed it in time. Cass calls and belv goes to let him and his crew in and they mob up and its on. All love from there with such a good vibe. Me and my day 1’s making history…..I remember specifically me rob and Colgan at the port Monmouth skatepark hopelessly lost of a future. Written off by our town and society. Parents let down. Pieces of local shit that’ll amount to nothing. Here we are. Roc Nation….from the basements man. With Belv in the house - without him…none of this would be possible. Killed the video and it left me inspired to see bro just get in the back of a black suburban and drive off. Like damn. Thats wealth. Mentally, and financially. Thats inspiring to me. To be that much of a millionaire but still come and put on for some kids he sees potential in.

I feel a void though. I want to share this all with somebody. Im ready for a relationship - I feel my mind and body gravitating towards that way of thinking and behavior. I think back to the days of having a home in someones heart….so comforting. I needed to run though. I needed this time. I needed to raise hell. I needed those fights, to fuck my life up. I NEEDED this. I needed to plant my feet on this planet and just get my name known. Make shit happen. The window is open right now…and a storm is rolling in off in the distance. You can see lightning. You can see the clouds darken. Wow. After this show im going to rush back here and just watch it on this sill.

I feel extremely emotional right now. Im trembling.

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hymnsforthehymnless · 6 years ago

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Learning to Speak: a Lokean poem in 7 parts

This poem is personal to me, and to my experiences with both organized religion and with Loki. I know everyone has different experiences, so this might not resonate with you, and that’s okay. I just ask that you not make negative comments. (If you’re nokean, don’t touch please.)

CW for queerphobia, homelessness, and negative experiences/negative portrayal of Christianity. (I know that not every church is like this - believe me, I know. I’ve been to both good and bad ones. Again, this is a personal poem.)

Credit: The line, “To friends and lovers, fuck the others,” is from Queer Eye, S1 E4.

I hope this resonates with someone else out there. Feel free to reblog.

When I was a Christian, I knew just what to say.

My starving soul

swallowed the Bible whole

And I learned to fake a faith

I'd never felt.

At Bible study

I tried to look strong as I said, “God rescued me from weakness.”

I smiled and lied. “He put my feet back on the One True Path.”

I hid a wince, and said, “God healed me of my pain.”

I said, feeling dirty, “He washed me clean of sin, and made me whole.”

I never spoke the ugly truth: that the man we call pastor spews hate

In the name of a man who taught only love.

I never said: My heart is a hole that’s never been filled

And my faith is a house of cards.

As long as I didn’t breathe too deeply

There would be nothing to admit.

ii.

When I met a girl whose nose crinkled when she smiled

and who belted Broadway ballads off key

I loved her in the way I was supposed to love men.

That was something I wasn’t allowed to say -

Something I didn’t even know how to say.

until I found a word that felt like home.

I tried it on my tongue, and found that it fit.

Then I felt joy like never before.

iii.

When I could no longer keep that beautiful word from my aching lips,

I spoke:

Queer.

My family didn't celebrate.

They threw me like garbage to the street.

They called me an abomination

Called me both sinner and sin

No longer called me daughter, or cousin, or friend.

My childhood God sent me from his sight

And the laughter of his followers rang in my ears

As I huddled in the cold.

Queer.

And alone.

iv.

It was the outcasts who took me in.

The queer kids, the poor kids, with nothing but a couch to share,

Who shared it freely anyway.

They became my home.

Three years surfing couches

Scrounging for food

Wondering why a good God

Would let me starve for speaking truth.

Then I came face to face

With the god - so they say - of mischief and lies.

This god speaks truth to those who will listen

So I gave him an honest offering of tears.

He sat with me ‘til my tears ran dry.

Then he said: I like that word too.

He said: You’re better than they’ll ever know.

He said: Cherish your friends, and your lovers.

He said: Fuck the others.

I breathed and broke and was rebuilt.

And, for the first time, I became my own.

vi.

I no longer have to choose between my god and myself.

Instead, I chose us both. Freely. Completely.

Of this new god, I no longer say, “He rescued me from weakness.”

Instead, I say: He showed me my own strength

And taught me to love my shadow.

I no longer hide from weakness -

I embrace it

Just like my god

Embraces me.

I no longer say, “He put my feet back on the One True Path,”

Because I no longer have to lie.

So, instead, I’ll tell you the truth:

He shredded my life

Stripped me raw, and

Burned my expectations to the ground.

Then we spun like children among the flames.

I’ll never again say, “God healed me from my pain.”

Instead I’ll tell you: My god is a trickster, and he works in mysterious ways.

He knows what it means to be abandoned, to burn,

To writhe, and scream,

And somehow survive.

He’s a god of breaking and remaking.

He teaches me to endure

And to laugh anyway.

With my mouth still spread wide,

Grinning at one of his jokes, I’ll tell you the truth:

I love a god who embraces both sin and sinners -

And, for the first time, I love a god who also loves me.

vii.

Queer.

A lifetime ago,

Before I met the girl with the crinkled nose

Before I had words to describe the shape of my soul

And before I was shunned for speaking them,

I used to say, “God washed me clean of sin, and made me whole again.”

Now I say:

I have always been whole

I have always been cherished

And I will never again grovel at the feet of a man

Who creates children and casts them from his sight.

Now, I pray:

May I protect the vulnerable.

May I always make amends

But may I never again apologize

For who I am.

#for who i am #is entirely loved #lokean #lokideity #my offerings

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bugsrepellsgant · 6 years ago

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OKIE ive been kicking this au around my brain for months so here’s an outline or whatever

WORKING TITLE: toki and pickles travel cross country to california like kermit and fozzie in the muppet movie OR toki and pickles do america

TL;DR toki and pickles are both 17-ish, the year is 199X, theyre hauling ass to socal to audition for SnB, but instead they accidentally get dethklok together and fall in love :-)

pickles has freshly stepped out and couch surfed his way to greenbay, and just managed to scrape together enough cash for a bus ride to minneapolis (going east to go west is counterintuitive and dumb but so is american public transport) BUT THEN

toki’s one-ish year out of home, has scraped together enough money working for runke to apply for a passport but once he gets to the offices oh no!!! he doesn’t have any proof of citizenship! and he’s a minor! aw fuck now he’s gotta stow away on an oil tanker cus staying isnt an option (yes this is paddington now)

he lands in boston harbor, gets far enough inland on foot and by ferry until he reaches GREEN BAY, WI and he’s a day or two of panhandling away from meeting the ticket fee BUT THEN

its friday night which means its fucking college football night which means SHITTY COLLEGE BROS HAVE DESCENDED UPON THE CITY!

pickles gets briefly needled for being short and ginger but u know he Lives hes been getting this kind of shit forever. HOWEVER toki is immediately singled out as a funny lookin, high voiced, gnome hat weirdo with an accent and he’s trying to laugh along ??? ha ha?? but its so Bad and pickles feels Bad but he’s gotta get outta here-

Oh God one of the bros tried to to take toki’s guitar away and toki flipped shit and its a fight now!! he’s outnumbered but our boy pickles intervenes!!! they’re winning? OH GOD SOMEONE CALLED THE FUCKING COPS

escape! safe; breathless in an alley; “hey whats yooooour name???” “toki!” “heheheheh toke-ki >B-)” “?????” “im pickles” “you namesed pickle???? ‘,:-/“ bla bla bla oh u play guitar? i play drums but i like guitar too there’s a band in LA i wanna play for ya wanna come with???

a car is obtained at... some point

and OH BOY DOES HE!

a long series of shenanigans occur! our boys get stopped, turned around, detoured, misdirected, all kinds of classic farce bullshit, later on we make and pick up friends at pitstops! a fellow highschool dropout with a killer voice in kissimmee, the best guitarist youve heard in your life dodging swedish mandatory service in chicago, a dude with the stankiest bassline (and feet) that side of the mississippi in the texas panhandle, a TOTAL buzzkill geek of a harvard freshman on summering at his family villa near denver, a cool headed, smart as hell, fuckin julliard composer in training who produces music FOR FUN visiting her family in downtown phoenix.

oh my GOD what is seth fucking DOING HERE is that lady his GIRLFRIEND is she PREGNANT what the HELL GO HOME IF YOU TELL MOM WHERE WE ARE ILL KILL YOU DEAD

seth’s also hanging out with this other guy who seems...... cool? you think? fun, talented, good at guitar like both our boys, pickles’ kinda guy to be honest? there’s something about him thats hard to trust though.

sharing hotel rooms, sleeping in truck beds, they get curious about each others lives? pickles clocked toki as a weird hick at first blush, and tbh he was right but? he went to highschool with farm kids and knows farm kid-weird from weird-weird and toki’s WEIRD-weird. and sweet. and funny. the polaroid in toki keeps of a man and a woman, the man in a reverend’s hat, makes pickles scared to ask. especially since toki’s been cool enough to mind his own business.

toki’s fascinated by pickles’ bouts of righteous anger. unlike runke, his rage has energy and intent, and the stunt he pulled in green bay was so nice and so COOL! he’s one such real cool guy with a cool leather jacket and cool hair... but Why is he so mad all the time? why does he drink so much, it doesnt even taste good? why does he STEAL drinks when they have no money? what happened to toki’s nice, cool, brand new friend pickle? something like what happened to toki? but? pickles is so Cool and Nice and NORMAL and toki is so Weird and Stupid and Wrong in ways toki’s horrified to let him discover. its better not to ask him, he guesses.

feelings get stronger as all the bad things come to light. crying hugs are had. pickles drops what was going to be bus money on a replacement V for toki and toki drops his panhandling dough on a goldtop for pickles.

WE FINALLY GET TO LA AND......? what the fuck

the glam/hair scene is dead in the water. Snakes n Barrels supernova’ed. no more audition. no more career. shit shit shit.

but all the friends weve made along the way are here for our boys! they’ll just start their OWN BAND!!!! TAMPA! MORDHAUS! DETHKLOK’S A-GO!! everythings comin up milhouse!

our boys are Officially *an item* and they ride into the sunset together, stirrup to stirrup, side by side. big gay kiss. the end :-)

OTHER THINGS THAT HAPPEN:

amber goes into labor during one of seth’s drop in visits and everyone gets emo about family as a concept, pickles and seth gave a heart to heart, no one is too metal for feelings when the baby comes bc life is beautiful

magnus pulls some scary/mean bs but its nothing too awful and theres forgiveness and lessons learnt and stuff.

the duel! but theres THREE GUITARISTS?????!!!!!!!!!! MAYBE FOUR?

toki and pickles will both have religious drama but pickles’ drama is more of a sidenote in his list of Issues (pickles’ family is probably catholic and i was raised catholic and i GOTTA project. i GOTTA)

lgbt themes because IM GAY and THEYRE GAY PRRRRBBBBT

murderface? finds love?? GAY LOVE???

this post is too long g-g-g’byeeeee!

#tickles #toki wartooth #pickles the drummer #LOOOOOONG POST OH MY GOD #4 AM????? HELLO?????

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quackspot · 6 years ago

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Lemon x character of ur choice fan fiction please *leaves tip of cookie run diamonds*

firelemon firelemon firelemo nfire le

thank u for the cookei run diamonds i shall have enough to get whatever new cookie (milk) comes and his pet and whatever new treasure comes (this happesns a lot becuase i dont level up my cookies,)

it seems a bit long but its not the longest thing ive written, cough cough nudge nudge at 41 page google doc umg

actually it is kidna long for things i write but thats becuase i like firelemon Quite a Lot, minecraft,

Minecraft. Lemon was going to play Minecraft, right? He was. Instead of doing that, he was texting with some other cookies in a group chat on Cacophony, a gaming-friendly voice & text app. He was on the 🍊🍋Citrus Buds group chat.

“⚡welcome to the block parade:

whats up

🍊sister sweet!:

nothin much!

🏐sister sour!:

absolutely Nothing you feral cow

🍊sister sweet!:

LIME say sorry

⚡welcome to the block parade:

i was just going to play minecraft and you had to do this

that’s so mean”

He sighed, going on “Don’t bother” mode and starting up Minecraft. As usual, his closest friend, Fire Spirit, was already on. He was building dicks on the server, which was luckily only made for adult players and advertised on CornCob: the porn video website.

“hey,” he began to type. “whos been building dicks?”

“DJSLJKFLSJKFLJSKLJKLSFJKLDSKLAaOIWRUIODSxmFKF” Fire Spirit keysmashed, probably slightly burning his computer while doing so.

“why are your keysmashes so long”

“shut up im biulding dicks”

“*building” Fire Spirit corrected himself. His username on Minecraft was HottestManAlive and Lemon’s was SourMan (what even is a man? That’s a mystery).

“anyways, lime bullied me and--” a ding came from Lemon’s computer. He got pinged on Cacophony.

“🍊sister sweet!:

@⚡welcome to the block parade lime said sorry”

“Ugh.” He sighed, going back to playing Minecraft.

Fire Spirit was busy, shown by the fact that Lemon was completely surrounded in dirt. He tried to dig himself out, but it felt like every time he dug, there was another block in the way. Soon, he was in a strip-mine in Fire Spirit’s extremely large dirt block.

He finally got out. Even though everyone was on creative, it took so long to punch all those blocks.

“hey lem whats up”

“fire spirit whatd you do”

“build”

“OK.” Lemon flew away from Fire Spirit, who followed him.

“wait lem i wanna ask you something”

“what”

“wanna go on a date” Lemon’s heart pounded.

“haha thats funny hahahahahahahahahahahaha”

“im being serious lem lets go on a date in REAL LIFE”

Lemon was sweating. His hands were uncomfortably moist, as were his armpits. He was almost certain his shirt had sweat stains, but when he checked, they didn’t.

“uh

to where”

“i dunno i could visit ur house bc i live in a cave irl”

“wait what i thought u lived in a house” The yellow-haired sour man stared at his screen, taking in every word and ignoring the fact Fire Spirit was building around him again.

“well i mean we could probs meet up at sparklings bar and go on from there

just hang out n stuff”

“that’s cool,” Lemon replied.

Almost right after replying, Lemon’s door slammed open.

“I THOUGHT YOU DIED!” Orange ran in and hugged him. She looked at his screen.

“Uh-- Hi, Orange.”

“You got a date? That’s so cool!” She let go of him. “I already asked the time for you!”

“Oh- okay.”

“I’ll see you on Cacophony later!” She left.

What the fuck just happened? Lemon sighed, going back to Minecraft to see what was up.

“whyd you type like that you never capitalize anyways it could b any time even right now”

“im ok with it being rn and orange asked that” Lemon’s fingers were extremely quick, like lightning, one could say.

“ok i’m omw to sparkling’s bar”

“-HottestManAlive has left the game.”

“-SourMan has left the game.”

Lemon put his jacket on, grabbed his cube, and put his phone and his wallet into one of his pockets. Since he had male pants on, the pockets were deep enough to hold a phone AND a wallet. Take that, female clothing!

Fire Spirit stood outside Sparkling’s bar, waiting for Lemon to come. Does he live farther away? Is he walking? Can he fly? Were a few questions he asked himself. Instead of wearing his usual clothing, Fire Spirit put on something more casual-- a red tank top and some shorts. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, not that he’d need them, as he was always hovering a little bit above the ground and wouldn’t be hurt by it anyways. Plus, he doesn’t have any shoes. Or socks.

“Fire Spirit!” His attention was caught by a shorter, yellow-haired cookie. “Welcome, are you coming in?” It was Sparkling cookie.

“No, I’m waiting for Lemon Cookie.” He sighed.

“Oh! He’s in here. He was waiting for you.”

“That’s lit!” Fire Spirit walked in as Sparkling was dying inside.

“Oh, hi, Fire Spirit.” Lemon’s voice was much quieter than Fire Spirit expected-- and not as deep. It was okay though, as he loved it. Adored it.

“Uh- hi-” Fire Spirit was taking in the view in front of him. He knew Lemon’s Minecraft skin was made by him, but not of him. His heart pounded at the rounder, more handsome version of Lemon.

“That’s weird,” Vampire started, causing both Lemon and Fire Spirit to jump a little, “you never say ‘uh,’ what’s up, Fire?”

Fire Spirit took Vampire to the side. Lemon stared.

I could check Cacophony, I guess. He turned his phone on and began to read through messages. It was being painfully obvious that Orange thought he died because of the lack of reply. Oh. She told everyone about this. His face was heating up-- who knows what Lime will make fun of him for?

Fire Spirit sat down next to Lemon in a booth, away from Vampire.

“Anyways, how are you? I’m doing great.” The flame-haired cookie smiled at Lemon. Vampire Cookie gave Lemon two thumbs up.

“Me too, especially now.”

They chatted-- mostly about Minecraft, but sometimes going on topics of music (Fire Spirit had a surprisingly limited amount of music he listened to, as he only listened to VHS recordings on a boombox) and what was happening outside of Minecraft, like when Orange barged into his room.

“Excuse me, you two, it’s almost time to close,” Sparkling helped Fire Spirit up.

“Pshh, the bar never closes! It shouldn,” Fire Spirit commented.

“Are you helping Fire Spirit back home?” The green-eyed cookie asked Lemon.

“I could take him to my house, I guess.”

“Just be careful, if he gets too angry, his hair can actually burn stuff. Otherwise, you should be fine. It’s surprisingly painless to put your hands in his hair, and it tickles him.”

“How do you know all that?”

“He comes around often, one time daring me and Vampire to put our hands in our hair. Vampire went first.”

“Oh.” Lemon imagined petting Fire Spirit’s hair, his heart beginning to flutter quite a lot more than it already was. “Come on, Fire Spirit, let’s go.”

He made the somewhat long walk to his house. It didn’t feel that long due to Fire Spirit’s slurred compliments and flirts. Lemon sat Fire Spirit down on his couch and sat next to him.

“Wha’s gonna happen now, Lem~,” Fire Spirit joked.

“I dunno, maybe we can watch a movie.” Lemon yawned.

“Nah, we can, we can sleep!” He suggested. “Or maybe jus’ you. I can go home myself, and then, tomorrow we can do this again.”

“We can both sleep. I’ll be in my room--”

“You’re gonna make me sleep on the couch?? I wanna cuddle you, Lem!” He quickly leaned towards and hugged Lemon.

Lemon flinched at the contact, but calmed down. He turned on the TV and began to pet Fire Spirit’s hair, making the flame-haired cookie begin to laugh.

“Oh no! My one weakness!” The legendary managed to say within his laughter.

“Oh-- I’ll stop.” Lemon never liked being tickled and could only imagine whatever pain Fire Spirit was going through.

“You don’t haaaaaaaaaaaaaave too! I love it!”

“You need to sleep.”

“Fine, fine.” Fire Spirit sighed.

Lemon channel surfed until he found something that played a marathon of How It’s Created. The two watched it until, eventually, they fell asleep. Fire Spirit was asleep first, as he kept talking to Lemon during the show and waking him up, then apologizing and forgetting a few minutes later.

#hee hee i can put this in tags #cookie run #fire spirit cookie #lemon cookie #firelemon #cookie run fanfiction #orange cookie #i wont tag lime shes not in this enough #do you guys like my parody names for popular things aka discord/cacophony and how its created and and #probably some other things SDJKLFSKJLFKJLSJKLFKJLSFJKLF #lemon probs types like 120 wpm and makes spelling errors once in a while #i type around 70-80 wpm i think???????? idk for sure but yeahe.#Anonymous

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fallenstar1996-blog · 2 years ago

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The last year...

In the last 18 months the following have happened to me....

I encountered the most powerful soul connection I have come across in this life time, not to be cliche, but can you say ‘twin flame’?? And here the roller coaster starts...

This individual happened to be my clinical supervisor at a small nonprofit I worked at as a professional recovery mentor. We would have supervisions, and quickly found out about the eerie similarities between us. Our birthdays were one day apart, we had the same reoccurring dream as children - we both come from trauma backgrounds with similar inner-child wounds. We both have a background involving living a criminal lifestyle but have found salvation through the spiritual messaging of unconditional love and compassion. As we became quick friends, I would soon find out that we had an almost telepathic connection.

It can never be that simple, though.

I was already in a relationship. He was married. We remained friends but kept firm boundaries with each other...

I had been with my partner for 4 years. It had been one of those relationships that had an expiration date for a long time. As time passed, I slowly learned all the ways that we were fundamentally incompatible. However, I had gotten pregnant relatively quickly into the relationship and we moved in with each other trying to sell each other a dream that would never quite materialize.

I was 21 when me and my ex met. I had just gotten out of inpatient treatment for IV heroin and meth use. I had moved to a new city where I did not know a soul to escape a culture of drug use and criminality where I had lived before.

I met this man and things moved so quick and before I knew it I was taking care of his child from another relationship, pregnant, and supporting him while he chased his dreams. As the magic of new romance wore off, I begun to realize that perhaps I had signed up for a lifetime of being misunderstood. I have always been deeply emotional, deeply sensitive, and a free-thinker who processed the world through shared conversation. My ex was one of those people who was grounded firmly on the physical plane and never really had much to say. An ideal day for him would be to go to work, come home, watch TV. There was no communicating of ideas, plans for the future, uncovering the mystical secrets of all things. I knew deep inside that we were not a match but I also knew all too well that I didn’t have the means or the skill set to walk away. Until I did.

Back to present day.

So in the last 18 months I have...

Met my twin flame. (From here will be referred to as TF)

Had my best friend move into my apartment with ex, his son, and our son.

Had a falling out with my best friend and she moved out.

Realize I’m irrevocably in love with my TF/boss

Realize I’m possibly doomed??

Make amends with best-friend.

Become unjustly harassed at my job due to jealousy from a toxic supervisor.

Finance my first vehicle.

Find out that my TF is leaving the organization due to toxic work culture and go through intense fear of abandonment triggered from past wound

Resign from my job out of protection for myself and my heart having to show up there without TF

Job tells me they accept my resignation, effective immediately and am escorted off the premises.

Still attend TF going away party. He has me stay after, tells me he is divorcing his wife. (AHHHHHHHHHHH)

TF goes silent for awhile. We both don’t have jobs and are very unstable. Start going on walks together after a time.

I get new job creating IOP program for new treatment center for addicts in recovery making 50 cents more an hour.

Admit to TF that I’m in love with him.

TF tells me he loves me too (WHAT?!?) (hahah yeah I thought I was excited)

Leave BF and end up couch-surfing with my son with friend who I used to let stay with me ?!? (FULL CIRCLE MUCH)

CRASH MY NEW CAR

Also fun fact TF is one of those people that gets avoidant AF once shit gets real and so enter (runner/chaser dynamic)

SO yeah welcome to my life, I have a high IQ but perhaps you wouldn’t guess by my choices, I’m a mom, an empath and a medium who is learning how to step into their abilities, a mystical practitioner, an addict in recovery, somebody with an ACES score of 10, and a garden variety delight who is trying to survive a world I’m far too precious for - and now, apparently on the twin flame journey.

Buckle up as you come along on this ride. <3 <3

#twinflame #empath #trauma #breakups #mentor #recovery #wildride #spiritual #witch #blog

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nehswritesstuffs · 6 years ago

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The Scottish Werewolf of Hackney - Part IV

A bit on the shorter end, this chapter, but I plan on getting the next installment out soon-ish, so yeah.

Part I - Part II - Part III - FFN - AO3

The thing about the full moon is, well, you need to see it first. [2840 words; Whouffaldi werewolf AU]

It was raining—storming, even—the night of the full moon. A large thunderstorm was covering the entire British Isles, which only made Clara irritated more than anything. She even went to bed irritated, which was something she made a conscious effort to not do under normal circumstances. These were circumstances far from normal, which made her feel justified in the break from her routine. Basil, however, seemed significantly less perturbed.

“At least the moon is out during the night right now,” he said from his spot by the window the following morning. The storm from the night before had calmed to a slight mist, making it look more foggy than anything outside. “It’s not like it’s always out; when it’s not full, you can see it nearly whenev—” He was cut off by Clara throwing a cushion towards his face as he turned to face her.

“Yeah, except now what are we going to do?” she sniped. “I feel bad that you got hurt protecting me, but at the same time, you need to leave at some point.”

“Traveling’s too risky for me at the moment without some sort of guard; there are beings out there that would love a shot at me in a weakened state,” he scowled.

“Then what was the lindworm’s excuse?”

“Lindworms aren’t known for their overabundance of intellect, Clara,” Basil replied. “If I had more time before the attack, I could have used a form that was more adept at fighting than I was working with, but that was out of our hands.”

“I know you’re talking, but all I hear is that you’re finding more reasons to couch-surf on your work holiday,” she said.

“You wound me.”

“I speak the truth.”

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Basil retreated to the guest bathroom, utilizing what Clara referred to as “Number Three”. Nearly all the men she had ever known (and some women; she wasn’t fully immune herself), were prone to misuse the privacy bathroom breaks provided to watch internet videos, or check email, or just read, with no other traditional bathroom activities being done in the meantime. It was how her father avoided her stepmother when she was being confrontational and menopausal, it was how students tried to avoid being in class too much for their liking, and it was now how Basil was attempting to avoid her before she went to work. She decided to brush it off and put together her lunch instead—there was no use in letting him derail her morning.

A noise broke the soft silence of Clara milling about in the kitchen—her mobile—and she went to pick it up. The photo on the screen was two mud-caked men in football kits, though there was now only one who would have been capable of calling, and he never called.

“Adrian? What’s wrong?” she asked as she answered.

“I hate to call you this early, Clara,” Adrian apologized, “but you said you have a family friend staying with you right now, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“…and that he’s a freelancer who may or may not have a job at the moment?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Long story short: I walked into the office not five minutes ago to find out that Mr. Atif is taking a leave of absence. His father fell at the family home in Egypt last night. Everything’s alright, but he wants to take the rest of term off so that he can not only take care of them, but also the paperwork necessary to move them here so he and Mrs. Atif can watch over them better…”

“…and your mind went immediately to my flat-guest.”

“If you’re willing to vouch for him, I’ve been told he can start immediately. If not, then we’ll have to put out an advertisement for a temp immediately, and you know how well that went last time…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Clara shuddered. The string of temps they had suffered through before Mr. Atif’s tenure was a disastrous mix of lazy, slapdash, and downright insane, which made the staff (and some students) applaud the kindly, stable current caretaker’s entry all the more. “I’ll get him down there—he might be a bit over-qualified, but that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t; I’ll tell Mr. Coburn.”

“Alright, thanks.” Clara ended the call and went towards the guest bathroom, knocking on the door. Basil opened it almost immediately, fully clothed and with his mobile in-hand. Yup… a Number Three.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Coal Hill’s in need of some emergency help and I was told that if you came in with me that you’d be put to work immediately.”

“As what? Physics teacher? Music director? Art instructor?”

“Caretaker.”

“No; out of the question.”

“Basil…”

“I’m not going undercover or anything…”

“…but you did just say that it’s dangerous for you to be out without supervision, and this would enable you to get out of the flat…”

Basil scoffed at that. “You’re too short, your face is too round, you’re too bossy, you know very little about the preternatural world…”

“Fake it ‘til you make it, and if not, our P.E. instructor teaches Muay Thai on weekends,” she declared. “Now get ready; you’re going to work with me.”

“I already have a job, remember?”

“…and considering we’re not in Bristol right this moment, I can assume that you need the change of scenery. Hurry up or I’ll phone the faun-man to come pick you up, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Basil pouted as he complied, as he did not want to see Nardole just yet after just getting rid of him again. Besides, the fact of the matter was that, even if the threat was empty, irritating his hostess any further would result in a possible lack of treats being brought back to the flat, and that was something that he had rather been looking forward to as of late. He followed Clara out the door and down to her motorbike, hopping on the back and awkwardly attempting to find a place to put his hands before she zoomed off onto the street.

A ride through the mist and fog turned into a ride in the rain, and by the time they arrived at Coal Hill, it was thundering again. Clara and Basil ran into the school, currently devoid of students, with the latter soaked and the former only nominally wet thanks to her raincoat.

“No fair, Clara; I can’t just shake this off like normal,” Basil growled. He attempted to shake his body dry, yet could only really get water off his hair. “This is highly inefficient.”

“This is likely preparing you to be better about which coat you wear in the future,” Clara chuckled. She led the sopping wet Basil throughout the school, bringing him directly to the main office where Adrian and Mr. Coburn were still chatting away. “Morning! I brought the substitute caretaker, as promised.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Mr. Coburn exhaled. He reached his arm out to shake Basil’s hand, yet blinked in surprise as he gave the newcomer a decent look. “Do I know you?”

“You might’ve sent some students my way; normally I lecture in St. Luke’s, Bristol,” Basil replied. “Clara said you needed a favor, so here I am.”

“If you normally are in Bristol, then why are you staying at Miss Oswald’s?” Adrian wondered. A brief silence gripped the four, during which Clara began to panic.

“Basil is an old friend and agreed to stay with me for a while after my flat was broken into, because it was getting to me that someone else was in there,” she blurted out. “Normally I wouldn’t’ve bothered him, but he was in the area and—”

“I’m actually on holiday from St. Luke’s,” Basil said. “Change of pace and all that.”

“Then I’m honored that you decided to spend some of your holiday here with us, and far from what your usual working capacity is,” Mr. Coburn said. He led Basil away, giving Adrian and Clara room to talk.

“He’s the one you’ve got over at your place?” he wondered. She nodded, which only made him frown. “You made it sound like he was some daft uncle or something, and I met all your daft uncles last year. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah; he’s generally harmless towards other human beings,” she replied. “Irritable? Yes. A problem? Not that I can tell. The only thing is that he’s taken apart my toaster about half a dozen times by now and I need to be able to leave the flat without worrying for my kitchen appliances.”

“That’s good, at least.” He stared in the direction Mr. Coburn had brought Basil, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There’s something about him though… I don’t know how long you’ve known him or how you met, but please be careful.”

“He and I met at one of those seminars you never seem to get picked to attend,” she lied. “Red flags going up?”

“Yeah, though I can’t place why. Guess it’s one of those things that I hope is a false alarm.” Another teacher then came into the office to check her pigeon-hole for messages, causing him to drop his voice to just barely a whisper. “Be careful, yeah? We can’t go losing you too.”

“Thanks,” Clara nodded. She watched as Adrian turned on his heel and left, deciding to use the extra time she now had at work to put together a couple more plans ahead. A few steps and she was at her own pigeon-hole, looking over her mail, seeing if there was anything good.

“You on to Adrian now?” the other teacher asked. Clara glanced over and saw an incredulous look across her coworker’s face.

“No…? He and I are friends, is all; you’d be part of the group if you’d come out after work on Fridays to the pub every now and then.”

“I’d rather not…”

“Your loss then,” Clara shrugged. The other teacher seemed unfazed by that, however.

“Did you see the new dish that Mr. Coburn’s showing around?” she asked. “A bit on the older end for me, but still a nice addition to the scenery. I wonder who has him as a substitute.”

“Mr. Atif has to take a leave of absence to help out his parents,” Clara explained. She didn’t want to get into too much, being that she didn’t know how the particular coworker would handle Basil staying on her couch. “His replacement should only be temporary; nothing at all like the Year of the Seven Caretakers.”

“That was bloody awful; don’t remind me,” the other teacher groaned. Clara smiled inwardly as she was inundated with griping about the year none of the rest of staff wanted to relive. That way, she was able to politely excuse herself after a few moments and went back to her classroom, ready to wade her way through short essays pretending to be about Animal Farm and her upcoming lectures on roman à clef novels.

What she noticed, however, was that she couldn’t get her mind off of Basil. After having him shut up in her flat for the past two or so weeks, there was something in her that couldn’t help but worry about him now that they were both out and about, with him potentially out in the open for any other weird creature to attack. Had someone asked her a month prior if there were such things as werewolves, she would have found the nearest Hammer Horror anthology and beat the person with it, but now… now she wasn’t entirely certain what was real anymore and what was only fantasy.

In fact, Clara got to wait until the period before lunch before she heard anything from Basil again. She was in the middle of an attempt at briefly explaining the propaganda techniques used by the characters in Animal Farm when he barged into the room, Mr. Atif’s coat flapping about his skinny frame as he went directly towards the back wall and the windows there.

“What are you doing?” she asked, feeling as though surprise was too strong an emotion to waste on the encounter. Clara and her students watched as he attempted to heft himself up towards the open window, doing a poor job of wiggling out of it.

“Miss? Who is this?” one of the students asked.

“This is Mr. Smith, our caretaker while Mr. Atif takes care of a few things at home,” she explained. Walking over towards Basil, she grabbed hold of one of his ankles and yanked down, pulling him back to the floor. Soaked in rain from the shoulders up and along his arms, he was an odd sight that made Clara falter slightly before repeating herself. “Answer me: what are you doing?”

“Checking for baby griffins,” he replied, his face amazingly straight for the words spoken. “We’re at the beginning of the birthing season, yeah, but it’s good to take measures now instea—” He was cut off by Clara holding up a finger, which caused him to stop mid-sentence and follow her when she crooked said finger and walked out into the corridor. “Yes?”

“What is the matter with you?” she hissed. “Baby griffins?!”

“They’re actually quite common around London, interestingly enough,” he claimed. “They’re diurnal when they’re small and easily mistakable for other creatures at a glance, but once they get to be about the size of a large cat they switch to being nocturnal and…” Basil stopped when Clara hit his shoulder, cutting him off again.

“I don’t care! Don’t do that when I’m in the middle of a lecture!”

“Hey, I’m not the one making eyes at a coblynau … well, part-coblynau, actually… now that I think about it, while there is a trace, it wouldn’t surprise me if the ancestor was from three or four hundred years back, considering he’s only slightly odd-looking, not down-right ugly…” He saw that Clara’s arms were folded across her chest and she was leaning on her one hip as she glared at him. “What? You know what a werewolf is, but not a coblynau? Being a teacher is an excellent parallel, I thought.”

“A coblynau never met Abbott and Costello,” she said flatly. “Now I don’t care if we have an infestation of giant spiders or murderous pepper pots or lizard people on our hands—act like a normal human being for once.”

“Then don’t come complaining to me when a window accidentally gets left open overnight and baby griffins get into your things,” he warned.

“You’re mental and trying to catch me off-guard, I know it,” she said. At that, she turned back around and went into her classroom, only to find that all her students were staring at her in confusion. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re never like that with Mr. Atif, Miss,” a girl in the front row said. “I thought he was trying to be funny.”

“He’s being a disruptive pain more than anything,” she replied. “Now, where were we?” Clara was cut off by a boy’s hand shooting up. “Yes…?”

“Why was he talking about baby griffins?”

“…because, as we already established, he was trying to be funny, but really wasn’t,” she said. “He’s used to dealing with older students, so take it as him not knowing how to handle lower secondary. Now, we left off around manipulated truths and loaded language…”

The class resigned themselves to return to the lesson, hoping that they would get to talk about the new caretaker soon. Some could sense that it was their teacher who was manipulating the truth merely so that they could finish the lesson in time for the period to end, though they all knew that it was beyond unproductive to call her out on it. Class eventually ended and it was time for Clara’s lunch period. She sat down hard in her chair.

‘Why does he have to be so difficult?’ she wondered to herself. ‘It’s not like he has to do anything foreign to him—just tidy up until we can get a new substitute caretaker.’ Clara thought about him attempting to tell her about baby griffins, his face almost affectionate once he began describing them. He was still rather soaked from the rain then, wasn’t he? His hair, excellent at being fluffy while dry, had become curly—almost wavy—when wet, something she had witnessed before when he showered back at her flat, and…

Clara went pale as she realized the disturbing fact: she was beginning to fancy Basil. Not only was she beginning to fancy Basil, a man whom she knew to nearly be as old as her dad, she realized she was dangerously close to fancying someone whom she only knew of as a dog when they first met. She groaned in realization and let her head drop to her desk—what the bloody hell, Clara Oswald?

The next full moon—and his eviction from her flat—couldn’t come soon enough.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: In case you’ve missed it, I’ve contributed to a zine! The Hybrid is a Whouffaldi fan zine, available digital, physical, AND with merch stretch goals! There’s twenty-three full-page art pieces and eighteen new stories, never before published either online or in print! Proceeds go to One to One Children’s Fund, a charity for which Jenna Coleman acts as an ambassador. More information can be found here!

#Whouffaldi #Clara Oswald #Twelfth Doctor #Whouffle #werewolf au #Doctor Who #fan fiction #Adrian Davies #I will not feel bad about using my author's notes to shill the Hybrid Zine #come fight me bros #all I can think about now is Basil fawning over baby griffins like Twelve did when he realized the Moon was an egg #maybe it's the fact I'm going to sleep after crossposting talking

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