Pippin's Writing Blog

Basil's morning Routine

A sun beam streamed across the messy bedroom, dust motes dancing down on to the sleeping green teanicorn. Basil took a deep breath and stirred slightly. They smacked their dry lips, and yawned tilting their head back. Basils hand slowly meandered over to the bedside table, searching for their cellphone to check the time. As their eyes adjusted to the brightness the phone vibrated and made a sound like the bubbles in a fish tank. It was a text message, they quickly realized it was Fern. They smiled as they swiped open the text.

'Good morning, fag😜. Got called into work, theres a cup of coffee, and a fresh packed bowl on the counter. Have a great day 💜'

Their grin grew as they replied.

'Thanks babe. You da bes 😘'

Basil arched their back as they eggsageratedly removed themselves from the bed. Setting their dark brown paws down among the clothes tossed from the night before, they gradually stood and stretched. They absently scratched the curved scars along their chest as they searched for a cleanish pair of shorts. Basil managed to find a folded pair on the futon in the corner, and slipped them on. They tucked their phone in the back pocket, and made their way to the kitchen. Basil smiled upon entering the room, when their eyes found the promised cup of coffee and fresh bowl. "Hes too good to me," they muttered to no one. They popped the coffee in the microwave for a minute, and walked over to the fish tank nestled into the corner of the living room. "Coffee for me, food for you," Basil half sang to the tank of exotic fish. They leaned over the tank and sprinkled the fish food over the top of the water; chucking as the larger fish pushed the smaller ones out of the way for the bigger clumps of food. The microwave chimed, and Basil righted themself. They took a breath, and walked tword the smell of coffee.

After dressing their coffee, grabbing the cannabis, and snagging a hoodie from the back of a chair, Basil made for the fire escape that lead from their kitchen window. Once a fairly drab little balcony, the space had been decorated with a miriad of succulants and a plywood board had been placed over the grate floor to allow stability for some chairs. A small crate was used as a table that housed an ash tray and a few other odds and ends. Basil put their coffee down, and sat. Pulling out the pale purple sherlock style pipe Fern had packed for them, Basil took a few hits and set it down on the table. They picked up the coffee and sipped, enjoying the view of the Autumn City Harbor. Basil sipped the coffee again, and set it back down. They pulled out a disheveled black and orange pack of cigarettes with 'Samael Spinners' written in bold black calligraphy on the lid. Basil slipped one between their lips, and lit it. They pulled a long drag, and let out a large puff of smoke. They picked up the coffee with their empty hand and toom a swig. Basil pulled their legs up on the chair, comfortably fitting their whole body in the large deck chair. They sighed with contentment "Nothing like a calm morning wake and bake, with coffee and a cigarette," they muttered to the universe.

Story Credit to Me

The Hufflepuff common room was full of studying puffs as the evening rolled on. Orin had staked an early claim on the big puffy arm chair next to the fire. It was the most isolated place to sit in the common room with a small end table stacked with Orin’s books and parchment. The arm chair faced away from the common room as a whole, and with his noes in his books, Orin didn’t realize it was nearly midnight and he was alone.

Orin’s head drooped momentarily in sync with his eyelids, his small step into the dream world snapped him upright. He shook his head to attempt to physically remove the sleep from his mind. The futile effort was backed up with his large wide mouth yawn. Orin stretched his arms wide and set his book on the top of the stack. He stood, fully stretching his cramped body. He looked around at the empty chairs and sighed. The silent and vacant common room was a small snap shot of a common room no one ever saw but Orin the insomniac. His stomach growled hungrily, distracting Orin from the erie dusty air about the common room. He yawned lazily and made for the exit of the room. The Hufflepuff common room was nearly 25 meters away from the kitchen entrance, so it wasn’t unheard of for Orin to meander over after one of his midnight night terrors or on a night he couldn’t sleep. He stepped out from behind the barrels and walked down the dungeon corridor to the painting of a large bowl of fruit. The ripe green pear was exactly what he was looking for, he tickled the fruit softly and then grasped the knob as it formed. Carefully Orin stepped inside the kitchen. The five large tables sat exactly as they did in the Great Hall just one floor above them. The Hufflepuff scanned the room for a snack. An apple, or even some bread with butter, just something to stop his stomach from grumbling so he could go to sleep. As he scanned he noticed a bowl of fruit sitting on the Hufflepuff table across the room. If Orin had been a clever boy he would have noticed it was the same bowl of fruit from the painting. Hungrily, he grabbed an apple from the top and sat down at his house table. As if the table was a Port key, Orin was suddenly sitting at the actual Hufflepuff table apple in hand. Standing as he bit into the apple, Orin looked around the Great Hall. He was confused, but not surprised, the magic behind the tables must be touch activated he explained to himself. The air of the Great Hall was always tense with magic, but tonight was different. The magic in the room was crackling around Orin, almost like music. Suddenly it was music, a soft waltz played with an air of laughter. Out of the corners of his eyes Orin could see dancers. Couples moving to the music. He spun around frantic, his mind not sure how to process what he was seeing. He looked up to the enchanted celling of the Great Hall, hoping to see the clear sky of an early October night, but Snow fell as if in the depths of winter. Orin ran for the door, his heart pounding, his vision crowded with witches and wizards enjoying a gala of some sort. Orin’s eyes bounced around, trying to find answers in anything. Looking up as he ran, a large banner hung above the door. The letters seemed to move, but the words stayed. ‘Happy New Year’ in carefully written letters hung above him. When he finally made it to the door, Orin pulled with all his might, but it didn’t budge. He knelt down curling around his knees knowing now that this couldn’t be happening. He must be dreaming, his cursed waking dreams that he could never understand. The people around him danced and laughed louder, and the music grew louder. The whole room seemed to vibrate with noise. Then in a single moment, silence. Orin had wrapped his head in his arms doing his best to forget what was happening, but with the eire quiet he slowly pulled his shield down. He hesitantly looked around the room. The guests were standing still, frozen, with a ghostly haze over them all. A single person in full color, with their back to Orin and right arm raised up with a wand pointing to the sky. The Dark Mark bloomed in the Ceiling above, dark, green, and menacing. At the lone figures feet, bodies littered the floor, some had masks and some Orin nearly recognized. A shrill scream erupted from every corner of the room. It grew louder until the sound was deafening, Orin squeezed his eyes shut so hard they began to water.

Merlin stood in the back of the pack of first years. The black of their robes blending into an ocean of students, making each indistinguishable from the mass. The thought of finally belonging somewhere was filling the young queer’s mind. Merlin was always the out lyre. In his home town, he was different because of his paganism. In their coven he was the ‘girl who gave up his divine femininity’. In his family he was the only one with true magic. This was the first time he felt like he had a right to be where he was. The first years around him murmured softly, waiting to be addressed. The other students watched them like fish in a bowl. An older woman walked to the center of the raised dais. She set a three legged stool down and gently placed a ragged pointed hat on the seat. Merlin studied the hat. It seemed to have a face within the faded wrinkles. The professor started speaking, but all M could do was focus on the face. It seemed to move, like it was alive. He heard the woman mention the hat. The Sorting Hat, as she had named it. She told the story of how it was made, bits and pieces of the founders. It was wonderful magic. The eyes opened with a jolt and it began to sing. The song equated the Hogwarts houses to siblings. How they may fight, but at the end of the day they were family. They each had merit and flaws. Gryffindor, the arrogant oldest brother who would defend his family till his last breath. Ravenclaw, the intelligent older sister who’s logic makes her seem heartless. Slytherin, the cunning middle child who’s words can excite war and calm storms. And the youngest, naive Hufflepuff who’s gentle nature should not be mistaken for weakness. They would find friendships and form bonds in these new family’s.

As capitalism is indeed a thing, I’d like to see if I can make money off of the things I like to do.

I’m always writing little ficlets in my mind, but I never write them down. I’d like to put it out there that I’m interested in taking prompts from others.

$5 per character of your choice (So If you want to choose three characters, $15) $5 to choose the scene, or $10 to define how the scene will play out.

There were two lines of students around the edges of the gym. In between them was a tall gentleman in black shorts and a green and yellow wind breaker. “Come on Penny, You’re holding up the game,” He gestured for Peter to join the left line of girls. The small boy in cargo shorts and a baggy t-shirt cringed at the name, but reluctantly joined the left line. His line mates snickered at his wardrobe, how it draped over his feminine figure. Hiding the hips and chest he despised. Peter counted himself lucky, none of them said anything to him in the locker room today. A good day was when everyone ignored him, a bad day was when he made them all see who he really was. 

The game of the day was dodge ball. How Peter hated gym class in general, but Dodgeball, Dodgeball was everything all the movies made it out to be. His nimble frame allowed him to dodge every ball thrown at him; hoping beyond hope never to catch a ball and make one of the boys mad at him. Those were the worst days, when the boys saw him as a threat. When they saw this feminine little thing, beating them. It was twenty minutes before the end of class when it was just Peter left on his team. Flash and his cronies had gotten every one else out. The last ball flew at Peter’s face and his reflexes kicked in. His hands flew up and caught the ball. The Shock of him getting Flash out was enough to make Peter drop the ball. Disqualifying his catch, and giving the game to the boys. Peter swallowed hard, it was better in the long run to loose. Being tormented for being bad at sports was much preferable to being stuffed into a locker for being good at them. 

I had Four Impacted Wisdom teeth, a Baby tooth, and it's corresponding adult tooth ripped from my jaw

Monday Morning we arrive at 9:15 for a 9:40 appointment. "It's too early" Sitting in the car. I'm trying to stay calm. 9:25. "We should go in." He holds my hand. Knows I'm terrified Held me for the panic attacks hours before. We have arrived in Hell.

9:30 I sit in the Devil's Lounge Chair. The demons smile relaxes me. Slightly. She takes my vitals, attaches a vice grip to my finger and sharp electrodes to my chest before leaving.

9:35 This is the worst kind of torture. I am Alone and Shaking. Only thinking about the night befores Panic attacks. 'Not Here.Not Now' The Mantra in my mind.

9:50 The Devil arrives in a white lab coat. Asked if I had picked out a nice dream for the morning nap. I told Him, "I don't dream." Sleep doesn't come easy to the anxious. Nights spent staring at my celling, rolling over, finding comfort Rolling over again. Counting the slats in the blinds Attempting to find the sandman and dive into his bag of magic.

You speared my arm with a needle, injected who knows what No "Count Backwards from Five" No "You'll start to feel it shortly" No "We are going to begin momentarily" You gave me no notice, just drugged me and cut open my flesh

I sway against the chain of the IV, and I am gone. In an emptiness I wasn't ready for.

Sudden Lights, Sound, and Pain. Sitting in a cage disguised as an armchair. My muscles packed into my body like a parachute. And I can't find the rip cord. Shaking. Heavy Breathing. Disoriented. I am having a Panic Attack.

His hand attaches itself to my arm It's the only way he knows to help. It doesn't. His face won't focus. "Give him a minute" He tries to coerce the demon to leave me alone. It doesn't.

It runs it's claws along the chains that separate me from the world Over Stimulation is a form of torture. I can't concentrate. I can't calm down. I can't. I just. Can't.

I hug my knees close. His presence starts to sooth. He kisses my hand, and smiles at me. "You are doing great," He doesn't know I can see the anger in his eyes.

‘Did You know: Strap On, backwards is, No Parts’
 The tumblr post stated.

I Sigh 
I have parts. 
 I have perfect parts.
 I just don’t have that part. 
In my opinion, I have the best part.

I mean, what can beat Multiple Orgasms and no awkward boners?

Yea, I’d like to piss on a tree, 
Write my name in snow,
and feel myself inside a lover.

But seriously though. Multiple. Orgasms.

Sure, it requires upkeep
a daily medication to keep from leaking vital fluids 
monthly.

A medication who’s side effects include: Increased Muscle Mass
 Increased Body Hair Growth 
My Voice Dropped 
And Fat redistribution 


All things that take my double x chromosome body, and make it look a little more xy. 
What it does not do is turn my female body, male.

I don’t have a female body. 
I have a Charlie Body. 
I don’t have girl parts. 
I have Charlie Parts.


My body and Her body may have more in common

But I am ‘Starry Night’, and She is ‘Wheat Field Under Clouded Sky’ 
Both Beautiful and Abstract depictions of celestial bodies. 
Same Artist Same Style 
But different in more ways than I have time to count.

Her cinched bodice resembles the lycra binder strapping my chest flat. 
They both may cause rib damage, 
 but hers embraces her womanhood
 And mine 
 Mine denies its existence

As bodies on paper Anyone would give me a femininity that I do not deserve
 Assign ideas as to who I am based on: The amount of tissue in my Chest The width of my hips The hair coating my body The scars where no one can see.

My body is a thing of beauty. So I love it. No matter how difficult it is. I will love my body.