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dfroza · 2 years

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“But I didn’t want to do anything behind your back, make you do a good deed that you hadn’t willingly agreed to.”

not forced, but willingly.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 1st and only chapter of the book of Philemon:

I, Paul, am a prisoner for the sake of Christ, here with my brother Timothy. I write this letter to you, Philemon, my good friend and companion in this work—also to our sister Apphia, to Archippus, a real trooper, and to the church that meets in your house. God’s best to you! Christ’s blessings on you!

Every time your name comes up in my prayers, I say, “Oh, thank you, God!” I keep hearing of the love and faith you have for the Master Jesus, which brims over to other believers. And I keep praying that this faith we hold in common keeps showing up in the good things we do, and that people recognize Christ in all of it. Friend, you have no idea how good your love makes me feel, doubly so when I see your hospitality to fellow believers.

In line with all this I have a favor to ask of you. As Christ’s ambassador and now a prisoner for him, I wouldn’t hesitate to command this if I thought it necessary, but I’d rather make it a personal request.

While here in jail, I’ve fathered a child, so to speak. And here he is, hand-carrying this letter—Onesimus! He was useless to you before; now he’s useful to both of us. I’m sending him back to you, but it feels like I’m cutting off my right arm in doing so. I wanted in the worst way to keep him here as your stand-in to help out while I’m in jail for the Message. But I didn’t want to do anything behind your back, make you do a good deed that you hadn’t willingly agreed to.

Maybe it’s all for the best that you lost him for a while. You’re getting him back now for good—and no mere slave this time, but a true Christian brother! That’s what he was to me—he’ll be even more than that to you.

So if you still consider me a comrade-in-arms, welcome him back as you would me. If he damaged anything or owes you anything, chalk it up to my account. This is my personal signature—Paul—and I stand behind it. (I don’t need to remind you, do I, that you owe your very life to me?) Do me this big favor, friend. You’ll be doing it for Christ, but it will also do my heart good.

I know you well enough to know you will. You’ll probably go far beyond what I’ve written. And by the way, get a room ready for me. Because of your prayers, I fully expect to be your guest again.

Epaphras, my cellmate in the cause of Christ, says hello. Also my coworkers Mark, Aristarchus, Demas, and Luke. All the best to you from the Master, Jesus Christ!

The Letter of Philemon, Chapter 1 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 26th chapter of the book of Leviticus that gives the power of choice, to obey or not to obey:

“Don’t make idols for yourselves; don’t set up an image or a sacred pillar for yourselves, and don’t place a carved stone in your land that you can bow down to in worship. I am God, your God.

“Keep my Sabbaths; treat my Sanctuary with reverence. I am God.

“If you live by my decrees and obediently keep my commandments, I will send the rains in their seasons, the ground will yield its crops and the trees of the field their fruit. You will thresh until the grape harvest and the grape harvest will continue until planting time; you’ll have more than enough to eat and will live safe and secure in your land.

“I’ll make the country a place of peace—you’ll be able to go to sleep at night without fear; I’ll get rid of the wild beasts; I’ll eliminate war. You’ll chase out your enemies and defeat them: Five of you will chase a hundred, and a hundred of you will chase ten thousand and do away with them. I’ll give you my full attention: I’ll make sure you prosper, make sure you grow in numbers, and keep my covenant with you in good working order. You’ll still be eating from last year’s harvest when you have to clean out the barns to make room for the new crops.

“I’ll set up my residence in your neighborhood; I won’t avoid or shun you; I’ll stroll through your streets. I’ll be your God; you’ll be my people. I am God, your personal God who rescued you from Egypt so that you would no longer be slaves to the Egyptians. I ripped off the harness of your slavery so that you can move about freely.

“But if you refuse to obey me and won’t observe my commandments, despising my decrees and holding my laws in contempt by your disobedience, making a shambles of my covenant, I’ll step in and pour on the trouble: debilitating disease, high fevers, blindness, your life leaking out bit by bit. You’ll plant seed but your enemies will eat the crops. I’ll turn my back on you and stand by while your enemies defeat you. People who hate you will govern you. You’ll run scared even when there’s no one chasing you.

“And if none of this works in getting your attention, I’ll discipline you seven times over for your sins. I’ll break your strong pride: I’ll make the skies above you like a sheet of tin and the ground under you like cast iron. No matter how hard you work, nothing will come of it: No crops out of the ground, no fruit off the trees.

“If you defy me and refuse to listen, your punishment will be seven times more than your sins: I’ll set wild animals on you; they’ll rob you of your children, kill your cattle, and decimate your numbers until you’ll think you are living in a ghost town.

“And if even this doesn’t work and you refuse my discipline and continue your defiance, then it will be my turn to defy you. I, yes I, will punish you for your sins seven times over: I’ll let war loose on you, avenging your breaking of the covenant; when you huddle in your cities for protection, I’ll send a deadly epidemic on you and you’ll be helpless before your enemies; when I cut off your bread supply, ten women will bake bread in one oven and ration it out. You’ll eat, but barely—no one will get enough.

“And if this—even this!—doesn’t work and you still won’t listen, still defy me, I’ll have had enough and in hot anger will defy you, punishing you for your sins seven times over: famine will be so severe that you’ll end up cooking and eating your sons in stews and your daughters in barbecues; I’ll smash your sex-and-religion shrines and all the paraphernalia that goes with them, and then stack your corpses and the idol-corpses in the same piles—I’ll abhor you; I’ll turn your cities into rubble; I’ll clean out your sanctuaries; I’ll hold my nose at the “pleasing aroma” of your sacrifices. I’ll turn your land into a lifeless moonscape—your enemies who come in to take over will be shocked at what they see. I’ll scatter you all over the world and keep after you with the point of my sword in your backs. There’ll be nothing left in your land, nothing going on in your cities. With you gone and dispersed in the countries of your enemies, the land, empty of you, will finally get a break and enjoy its Sabbath years. All the time it’s left there empty, the land will get rest, the Sabbaths it never got when you lived there.

“As for those among you still alive, I’ll give them over to fearful timidity—even the rustle of a leaf will throw them into a panic. They’ll run here and there, back and forth, as if running for their lives even though no one is after them, tripping and falling over one another in total confusion. You won’t stand a chance against an enemy. You’ll perish among the nations; the land of your enemies will eat you up. Any who are left will slowly rot away in the enemy lands. Rot. And all because of their sins, their sins compounded by their ancestors’ sins.

“On the other hand, if they confess their sins and the sins of their ancestors, their treacherous betrayal, the defiance that set off my defiance that sent them off into enemy lands; if by some chance they soften their hard hearts and make amends for their sin, I’ll remember my covenant with Jacob, I’ll remember my covenant with Isaac, and, yes, I’ll remember my covenant with Abraham. And I’ll remember the land.

“The land will be empty of them and enjoy its Sabbaths while they’re gone. They’ll pay for their sins because they refused my laws and treated my decrees with contempt. But in spite of their behavior, while they are among their enemies I won’t reject or abhor or destroy them completely. I won’t break my covenant with them: I am God, their God. For their sake I will remember the covenant with their ancestors whom I, with all the nations watching, brought out of Egypt in order to be their God. I am God.”

These are the decrees, laws, and instructions that God established between himself and the People of Israel through Moses at Mount Sinai.

The Book of Leviticus, Chapter 26 (The Message)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, june 9 of 2022 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about approaching Light:

Some people seem to think that we first must repent and then we will encounter the Lord, but it’s actually the other way around: we first encounter the Savior and then we learn the meaning of repentance. Thus Paul’s eyes were opened after he was first blinded by the light (Acts 9:3-6). Likewise, it is only after we have met the Lord that we begin to understand our own blindness of heart, but as learn to see more clearly, we encounter more and more of his love (Rom. 5:20). As Yeshua said, “My yoke is pleasant (χρηστὸς) and my burden is light (Matt. 11:30). Teshuvah, then, is a progressive and ongoing process of awakening, as we learn to love God and to accept ourselves, despite our struggle with sin. As St. Anselm once prayed: “O Lord, grant us grace to desire thee with all our hearts, that so desiring, we may seek and find thee, and so finding thee, may love thee, and loving thee may hate those things from which you have redeemed us.” Amen.

We encounter the Lord “just as we are,” by means of his gracious intervention in our lives, and so we continue to live by faith in God’s grace (indeed, what we call “sanctification” is often just “catching up” with the miracle of his revelation to us). And we always come to God “just as we are,” since we are never more than what we are in the truth: χάριτι δὲ θεοῦ εἰμι ὅ εἰμι- “by the grace of God I am what I am,” as Paul said. “For all things come from You, and from your hand we give back to you” (1 Chron. 29:14). Therefore the Spirit says, “Come unto me just as you are, or you may never come at all....” [Hebrew for Christians]

6.8.22 • Facebook

and another about doing some soul searching:

Our nihilistic and benighted age impugns the very idea of objective truth, and especially moral truth, in order to justify its lusts and godless delusions. Indeed the traditional idea of “sin” as a violation of God’s moral will is now castigated as a form of social oppression. Today if a violent crime occurs, for instance, explanations are immediately sought using “naturalistic” assumptions (such as economic or racial status, biochemistry, historical or social forces, etc.), though such narratives alone cannot account for moral outrage (i.e., the transcendental idea of justice) and the convictions of conscience. Consequently naturalism must assign blame for sin removing it from the realm of individual responsibility by denying the very possibility of morality. The result can be found in the anomie and eviscerating despair that haunts the postmodern soul. The Scriptures teach, however, that moral truth is intuitively known through the inner voice of conscience, and therefore each person made in the image of God is responsible to walk in sanctity and honor by “loving what is good and hating what is evil” (Rom. 1:19-22; Acts 24:16; Psalm 19:1-4; Psalm 34:27; Psalm 97:10; Prov. 14:22, etc.).

In the Scriptures, the most common Hebrew word for sin is "chet" (חֵטְא), often translated as “missing the mark” (i.e., of the divine ideal), though that definition does not capture the intent of the person, that is, the decision (often subconsciously expressed) to aim at a mark contrary to what is right or good. Sinning, in other words, should not be regarded as *passively* “missing” the will of God, as if it were some sort of “accident,” but rather as *actively* defying God’s will by choosing a different goal altogether. In this sense sin may be understood as treason against truth, open rebellion against divine authority, the willful repudiation of an obligatory moral order, and the deification of the self as the object of ultimate concern... The essence of sin therefore expresses idolatry within the human heart...

Properly understood, then, sin is not an occasional “misstep” of the will, but a falling away from the Eternal -- an ontological *break* from Reality and Truth. We are not sinners because we sin, we sin because we are sinners, and that means that the spiritual problem of our inner rage, fear, lust, and despair calls for deliverance – objective salvation and healing – from the root sickness of “spiritual death.” The first condition for receiving this deliverance, however, is rigorous honesty, particularly with ourselves: “The purest of heart is precisely the one most willing to comprehend his own guilt most deeply. Without purity of heart, no one can see God, and without becoming a sinner, no human being can come to know God” (Kierkegaard). We must be careful here. This is not an academic matter concerning how to know or understand what is right as much as it a matter of the will to take responsibility by acknowledging the rightness and authority of truth. That is why the original sin was rooted in an act of will, not in an act of knowing, since the essence of the temptation was expressed in the decision to define what is good and what is evil in merely human terms, disregarding God's moral authority...

We can only find salvation through the consciousness of our own sin and need for deliverance, and any attempt to enter by another way is treason against the message of the cross of Messiah. This is the “terrible struggle” with the Eternal – with God and oneself – as we let go and die to the self-life; as we surrender and engage God’s truth – which again is not found by mere intellectual assent, but by an act of will, by teshuvah, by faith, and by learning to walk in faith - despite yourself - along the ways and byways of your life. The LORD “dwells” with one who is of a contrite and lowly spirit (Isa. 57:15), he “tabernacles” within the heart of the poor in spirit, with those who mourn over sin and who hunger and thirst for His righteousness... [Hebrew for Christians]

6.7.22 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

June 9, 2022

From Disciples to Brethren

“Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God.” (John 20:17)

It is interesting to note that our Lord never called His disciples “brethren” until after His resurrection, and our text, which identifies them as such, was the first thing He uttered after rising from the dead, at least as recorded in Scripture.

Until then He had referred to them in a variety of ways, including “little children” (John 13:33), “brethren,” in the sense of brothers in a family (Matthew 12:49), and even “friends.”

“Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you” (John 15:15). Certainly the disciples held a special place in Christ’s heart.

But it was not until He had risen from the dead, He who was “the firstborn from the dead” (Colossians 1:18), the “firstfruits of them that slept” (1 Corinthians 15:20), that His disciples, and indeed all who would “believe on [Him] through their word” (John 17:20), could be made “sons of God” (Romans 8:14). “And if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17). This high standing comes as a fulfillment of His determination to “be the firstborn among many brethren” (v. 29).

He has relabeled the “great congregation” (Psalm 22:22, 25 quoted in Hebrews 2:12) the “church,” identifying the individual members as His “brethren,” and is not “ashamed” to do so (Hebrews 2:11). As we see in our text, His God is our God, His Father is our Father; in all ways, we who have believed on Him are His brothers. Oh, what a standing is ours! JDM

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juicednewt · 2 years

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Strangers in the Night (3/?)

Pairing: SilcoXGN!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only!)

Wordcount: 2k

Chapter Summary: Vander’s death. New management at the Last Drop. Rumors are circulating wildly around Silco, one of the Sons of Zaun of old, returning from the dead. It didn’t take you long to realize that the man you had met twice at the bridge was the same Silco who is making moves to take over as the new de facto leader of the Undercity. You keep your head low and try to continue your small life in peace, but of course, things never stay that way.

Note: Sooooooo there is a small masturbation scene in the beginning of this chapter so 18 and up only please!

Chapter One Link

Chapter Two Link

Chapter Four Link

AO3 Link

Chapter Three

You arched your back, pressing your stomach flush against your bed as you stroked yourself. The moans that slipped through your mouth stifled as you buried your face in your pillow.

Just a few minutes ago, you had woken up sweating and twisted in your threadbare sheets. The image of blue and black-red eyes and a strong, wiry body thrusting into yours lingered like a ghost as your mind groggily lifted itself from its dreams. The sound of the morning crowds hummed outside your apartment window.

You had work but a single look at the clock told you that you had more than a few minutes to take care of yourself before you got out of bed. You wasted no time in kicking off your pants and flipping onto your stomach. You started gently, taking slow, deep breaths as you touched yourself and imagined long, graceful fingers trailing down your spine, teasing, until they gripped your hips. They lightly kneaded the flesh there before the grip turned rough, tugging you against him as he pinned you into the bed with his weight. A smug, darkened voice whispered low in your ear. Eager, aren’t we?

You ground yourself harder into your hand, picking up speed as you furiously chased your peak. When you came, you were begging, his name slipping through your lips like a prayer.

Laying on your bed alone, coming down from the high, you took one reluctant look at the clock to confirm what you already knew: you were going to be late for work.

You watched as he counted coins and placed them one by one into a small satchel, which made you a little more than nervous. Pay wasn’t for another week.

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A tired looking man with roughly cropped red hair sat behind his desk as he arranged his papers. His desk was flimsy, slapped together from unfinished plywood and two dented filing cabinets. Stacks of paperwork surrounded him on all sides.

He tossed the satchel towards the end of the desk, in your direction.

“Here’s pay to last you through the month.”

When he was met with silence, he gazed up from his papers, meeting your eyes briefly before they slid to settle on your shirt.

“You’re done, starting today. We have new management topside and they want us to cut down on staff,” he said stiffly. He bit his lip before sighing, his shoulders falling. “I’m sorry, kid.”

Your throat was suddenly dry. “I, uh, didn't expect this from you.”

“It’s the business. It’s how it’s always been and how it will be in the future too. If I can give you some friendly advice, find work in a store or an office or something like that.”

“I can handle myself here just fine,” you said, crossing your arms in front of you.

“Well from my reports, it looks like you almost got into…,” he checks his notes. “four accidents this month alone. Three, the month before. I don’t know about you, but in my book, that’s not ‘fine’.”

Well, you couldn't say he was wrong.

“Boss, I'm sorry. I’ve been distracted. I haven’t been sleeping well, but I can change that.”

He waved towards the bag on his desk. “Trust me. I’m doing you a favor here. Now take the coin and get out of here."

Your boss, ex-boss, gave you a resigned look.

“Look, I don’t deny you’re a good employee. You don’t try to steal from me or start any fights with the assholes on your shift but you’re also — and I don’t mean this poorly, kid — not cut out for this work. I’d rather you not die or get disfigured under my watch."

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No one else was in the alleyway.

The man who was blocking your way grinned at you. He was shaggy haired and wiry. He didn’t look rough but the look in his eye was a little unhinged. He wore a black jacket over a stained tanktop and some heavy boots.

“Give me what you got and I’ll leave you with only a few bruises.” He licked his lips, “if I’m feeling nice.”

You groaned as you pinched the bridge of your nose. It just wasn’t your lucky day today, was it?

“Hey man, I just lost my job. How about you cut me a break?”

“Oh, boo hoo. Maybe I just don’t like your faggy face huh? Maybe I just wanna carve my name into that skin of yours so people know not to mess with me. ”

Ass. You thought, your eyebrow twitching.

“You know, I really won’t feel bad about breaking in your face if you keep that up.”

You should run. Running was the smart thing, but gods was today a shit day. You rubbed your knuckles together. Maybe this is exactly what you needed.

All right. You took a deep breath to steady yourself. You haven’t fought for years but you could handle one asshole.

You put your hands up in a fighting stance.

The thug rushed at you, a gleeful grin on his face. He swung wide with his right arm, leaving himself open below. Surprising yourself, you smoothly ducked and landed a jab in his stomach. You pivoted to face him as he stumbled. You kept your hands up. The thug held his side and chuckled. “Okay, okay, okay.”

Without looking at you or composing himself, he suddenly rushed at you again, his arms flailing at his sides, his hair half covering his wild face. Taken off guard, you instinctively shifted your weight back. When the punch cracked against your cheek, you could feel yourself toppling too far back. Shit, shit. Your breath was pushed out of you when you landed on your back.

In a second, the guy was straddling your chest, his arms raised. One fist whipped across your face, then another, harder than the first. You could taste blood, metallic and wet on your lips. Something wet hit your face too, splashing on your cheeks and forehead. Grasping at his jacket, you looked up to see spit flying out of the thug’s mouth as he laughed above you. Grunting, you tensed and put all your muscle into bucking your hips forward.

The guy was forced to roll over your head and you scrambled to your feet. You spit blood out of your mouth and wiped your lips with the back of your hand.

“You’re fucking annoying, you know. If you think anyone’s afraid of you, you’re a dumb piece of shit.”

This time when he rushed you, same as before, you raised your boot and kicked him square in the chest. Planting your foot forward, you lunged with a fist and heard a satisfying crack as it met his face center on. The blood was warm and sticky as it painted your fist. Another foot forward and your fist swept upward, smashing up against his chin.

The guy moaned, staggering in place, and you watched warily as he crumpled onto the dirty cobbled stone.

You nudged his body with the toe of your boot. He was out cold.

You’re soft, kid. Your old boss' words rang in your head. With adrenaline still in your veins, you laughed. “Like fucking hell I’m soft. I still got it.”

You were still trying to catch your breath when you heard a voice behind you.

“Nice work.” The voice was familiar, and you turned swiftly to face him. “We keep meeting. On your way to the river?”

You nodded at him. “Hello Silco.”

Silco tilted his head in response. “My name precedes me.”

You scoffed. “You really care what I think?”

“If people didn’t know your name before, son of Zaun, they definitely know you now.” You looked at that eye, black with red swirling in its center. “Everyone’s talking about the guy with the red eye who popped up after Vander’s…death.” You kept the accusation on your tongue. “That and his purple goons that took over the Last Drop.”

“And how do you feel about that?,” he said nonchalantly, his hands now behind his back.

“Yes. I do,” he said. You gave him a dubious look. He gave a small shrug. “Gossip is valuable. Better I know who is my enemy and who is there to be a bystander.”

When he didn’t say more, you realized he was waiting for your answer. You spoke slowly, searching for the proper words. Definitely didn’t want to come off as an enemy.

“Honestly? I didn’t know Vander. I heard he was a great guy. He was generous and patient. And that he did his best to take care of the undercity and keep the peace.”

“But I also heard that he got soft in his age, mellow. He wasn't willing to push back against topside when they wanted to step on us.”

“Good answer.” Silco stepped forward. “I survived and Vander didn’t. His death means a new era for the Lanes and subsequently, the undercity.”

You held your breath as he brushed past you. He nudged the unconscious guy’s face with his boot to get a better look before letting his head fall back to the ground.

“How do you feel after the fight?”

You watched him. “Why?”

Silco didn’t reply. Instead, he raised a brow in your direction, waiting. You huffed.

“I feel good. Actually.” You studied your skinned knuckles. “My sister always scolded me when I got into fights,” you paused. “But I forgot how alive it made me feel.”

“Battlejoy.” At your curious glance, he explained. “That is how one of my employees describes the feeling.”

“Huh. Cool.”

“Cool, indeed.” He turned to face you now and remembering how close he was to you last time as well as your activities from this morning, you fought hard to keep your face in a neutral expression.

“Are you looking for work?”

You blinked. "What?"

He sighed. “Work,” he said slowly. “A paying job.”

You licked your lips, flinching when the cut on the lower half stung. You were definitely going to feel it in the morning.

You knew what your sister would tell you to do — which was to bow your head respectfully, thank him for his time, before firmly saying ‘no, thank you’. But your sister wasn’t around anymore.

And I’m not anyone’s baby sibling anymore. I’m supposed to be stronger. I can be stronger.

Something like excitement crept into the back of your mind. Maybe this could be something new. Something besides floating for the rest of your life.

You gave a firm nod. “I’m in." At that, Silco raised a brow.

"I haven't even told you what kind of work you'll be doing yet."

Ah right. You could feel heat surging to your cheeks. You wracked your mind to say something, anything.

"I-I want to be stronger." The honesty of your statement made you cringe, but if Silco felt the same way, he didn't show it. He only waited patiently for you to continue.

"And I know if I work for you, I can be. I'll be honest. I've never done rough work but I will trust your judgment in that matter."

His look was thoughtful as re-assessed you. "Hm. There's more to you than I thought."

"Thank you, sir."

Without thinking it through, going off the most recent sequel of “The Chemfather”, you then kneeled down on one knee in front of him, your hand on your thigh for balance.

Silco watched as you kneeled, his one good brow climbing higher until it almost disappeared into his hairline.

“Exactly... what are you doing?”

“Uh,” you said, this time definitely turning at least three shades darker. “Isn’t this how it goes? Don’t I kiss your signet ring now or something?”

There was a long moment of silence. You started to sweat as Silco’s blue eye narrowed at you.

Then you heard an odd sound, dry and sharp.

Silco was laughing.

The chuckle bubbled out of him, brief as it was sudden, before he coughed and looked away to regain his composure. Nonetheless you gazed up at him, dazed at the sound.

"Stand up, there's no need for that. Really."

When you climbed unsteadily to your feet, he held out his hand for you to shake.

"Stop by The Last Drop tomorrow evening. I'll have a contract for you to sign by then."

You shook his hand. It was, you noted, warm. When you withdrew, your own hand tingled as you let it fall to your side.

Perhaps you were in deeper than you thought.

#YEET #chapter three #hope ya'll enjoy!#silco x reader #silco #more fluff/smut upcoming #gender neutral reader #iiii think the tags are working #?#maybe #i might repost this

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kaminobiwan · 4 years

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inhibition

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader

summary: Fluff. Sap. Domesticity with a little bit of plot sprinkled in. Dash of sa(n)d, but that's to be expected at this point. It’s Tatooine, y’all.

a/n: Having not read Kenobi yet I actually have no idea how Obi-Wan’s demeanor is towards young Luke, but it’s fic so who cares. They get FAMILY VIBES

This one got away from me. Positively wrenched out of my grip and flew away, leading to the longest fic I’ve ever written, but I think the end result is so worth it. Requested by @snips-n-skyguy0501 and an anon that wanted breakfast in bed and forehead kisses — I hope your foot feels better, Sam! (Taglist)

In the slick of the heat of Tatooine, there isn’t much you could really do but sleep it off.

Even with tiny windows, the determined rays of the planet’s twin suns never failed to make their way into the small compound that had served as your sanctuary for the better part of the past half decade. You can feel the warmth of the dawn seeping in, lingering on your features, but you’re not ready to come back to the living just yet.

It’s not usually that you lay in bed for more than a couple hours past sunrise, but given the past few days, you definitely deserved it — repeated visits to the Lars homestead had acquainted you with some of their regular customers, other families that lived in the Great Chott. With Obi-Wan being the least inclined out of the pair of you to interact with anyone not in immediate danger (“saving his sociability for you,” as he called it), you’d been the one to volunteer some of your talents when you could in exchange for food or parts. This week had seen a favor to one of the couples that bought water from Owen and Beru, with you helping to repair a lower-end vaporizer that had seen shinier days.

The trips across the salt flat had inflicted more of a beating on your feet than normal, and your shoes hadn’t been enough to protect you from the coarse desert floor. You’d come home the night before looking worse for wear, left hand rubbed raw from tinkering and right foot split open by an unforgiving blister, but Obi-Wan had patched you up without hesitation and insisted that you let him wrestle your weary bones to bed.

Now, your lover lays ever-present at your back, but judging by the heavy unmoving arm strewn across you, he’s not fully up either.

Without raising your eyelids, you turn in his grasp, the weight upon you comforting despite the swelter. You hear Obi-Wan mutter something incoherent, but you pay it no mind as you crane your neck slightly in search of his face. Lips meet a bearded chin first, and a hum escapes him, louder now. Still determined in reaching your goal, you stretch, limbs awakening, but mind lagging as it tries to shake free of the clutches of slumber.

It’s a race to consciousness as Obi-Wan starts to stir as well, evidently joining you in your quest for a kiss, and finally, after a few minutes more of half-asleep fumbling, it happens — mouths moulding together blissfully, weak and sweaty from the blazing heat, but your heart flutters at the taste of him.

When you open your eyes, a blue gaze is waiting. Obi-Wan smiles at the way your noses touch, unwilling to separate much from your embrace.

“Good morning.”

You yawn before responding, jerking as Obi-Wan juts an evil finger in your side midway. You’re not sentient enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare, so instead, you mumble it back and accidentally smack him in the face as you move to rise.

He stops you before you can, chin hooking onto your nearest shoulder and tugging down, and you slump back to the sheets with a subdued giggle. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you reply, and he nods, obviously pleased. “I have you to thank for that.”

He mouths at the skin behind your ear, only half-listening, but still fully fixated on you. You wonder if you’ll ever completely get used to his unbridled affection, even after more than five years living together in isolation, free to feel and show your love blatantly and unapologetically.

Not without a price that had been paid, but it was soul-healing love regardless.

“The Marstraps and their garden are doing well,” you comment absently, more to fill the silence as he lavishes you in physical worship than anything. “Maybe we should get into hydroponics.”

A sound of indifference.

“Did you know they have a daughter?” At that, Obi-Wan stills, face buried in your hair. You think his hand twitches at your abdomen, but in your groggy state, you can’t be completely sure. He never seems to know what to say when you talk of such things. Not then, not now.

It’s not like you mean to imply anything by bringing it up, really. It’s more of...a gauge, of sorts. You’re probing. You’re not even sure why.

“Her name is Camie. She’s very sweet.”

Obi-Wan lifts his head lethargically, looking like he wants to utter a thousand words and nothing all at once. This time, he really does grip your hip, thumb grazing your ribcage thoughtfully, but you take it upon yourself to change the subject before things get too complicated.

“What time is it?”

“Still early,” he rumbles, and the gravelly tone sends satisfying vibrations to where your torsos are pressed against each other. “You’ll be able to get a couple more hours of rest.”

“Hmm.” His words trigger your body to succumb to the drowsiness you hadn’t quite gotten rid of, and your eyes droop contentedly again. “Will you be joining me?”

Obi-Wan slips his other arm from underneath your neck, languidly sweeping over your form and nudging your temple fondly with his nose. “Unfortunately, no,” he murmurs into your hair, “but I think you’ll appreciate why.”

Your eyebrow lifts at the cryptic line, but you’re already falling back asleep as he lifts himself fully from you, and you give into the tiredness as his footsteps fade from your hearing.

———

Moments later — you’re not sure if he’s made good on his promise of extra hours — you feel the pressure of puckered lips against your eyelids, the scratch of his beard poking the thin skin around your eyes as you arise for the second time. This time, however, the enticing smell of food invades your senses, and you realize with a start that it’s not the boiled mealgrain that you usually have in the morning.

“Is that — ?” You shift in bed, reclining upon the headrest, but not yet sitting upright. You’re wide awake now, blinking alertly to find the source of the delectable aroma.

“Iktotch toast,” Obi-Wan announces proudly, setting a tray stacked with plates of steaming food on the table beside your shared bed. “And my attempt at a gartro omelet. Though, I couldn’t get all the necessary ingredients.” He sits on the edge, hand finding your blanketed shin and caressing it like second nature. “Just a fair warning.”

The thin sheet falls to your stomach as you twist to get a good look at his cooking, and you’re rewarded with the sight of brightly colored eggs and buttered bread topped with carbosyrup. Compared to the monochromatic meals you’ve come to expect day to day, it’s a welcome change.

In your excitement, you forget about the abrasions from yesterday, the still-raw skin of your palm screaming out in protest when you try to prop yourself up. Obi-Wan spots the small wince, and reaches for you as you cradle your stinging hand to your chest. “Better doesn’t mean good, apparently.” There’s a teasing to his locution, if only because he knows you too well. You don’t want to make a fuss out of it. You’re bested, anyhow, when he squeezes the blistered foot and you yelp. “Here, too. It still hurts? Shall I redress the wounds?”

A shake of your head precedes your response, as you assure him, “No, there’s no need. Truly.” Still, he’s adamant on being of more assistance, and it seems today is a good day. He’s happy, playful, even — it’s instants like these where you catch a glimpse of a different man, the echo of an old friend.

“Anything I can do to ease the pain?” Obi-Wan smirks, but it’s free of sarcasm as he leans above you, his hair falling in his eyes. It’s grown longer now, not quite the lion’s mane of a mullet he’d sported so many years ago, but unrulier than the clean-cropped cut that he’d had during his last years on Coruscant.

Another life.

Though, you suppose, the rugged desert look is growing on you.

“A kiss on the bandage, maybe,” you quip, just as light-hearted, basking in the mood — what a rarity, nowadays, but always because of each other. “Perhaps it’ll help it heal faster.”

Obi-Wan scoots downwards, ruffling the sheets and uncovering more of your pajama-clad figure to the world, and grabs for your toes —

“Not there! I meant the hand,” you cry, just short of a laugh. “Were you really about to kiss the bottom of my foot?”

He joins in your amusement, chuckling as he traces his way back up to you with light kisses that begin at your legs. One on the knee, then on your navel, and right under your breast — the tease. His hands follow hotly along the trail his mouth leaves, yet it’s a heat you’re all too willing to endure. “Darling, you’d know I’d kiss you anywhere,” he says, grin honest and eager, and you smile suggestively at him from your place upon the pillows.

The moment turns soft, though, when he takes your injured hand, touching his lips to the pads of your fingers, completely avoiding the wrappings. Instead, he marks the exposed skin peeking from the bandages, leaving warm touches where he can reach. You let him make his way up your arm, relaxing the muscle and leaving it pliant in his hold, and these kisses are tender, sincere, adoring.

His lips brush the inside of your elbow, and you catch his gaze then, eyes serious and lacking the mirth of before. He beams, nevertheless, and it takes another four pecks up your shoulder, collarbone, and neck until he finally reaches your mouth. Your lips connect in a quiet climax, tension releasing and hushed sighs escaping the both of you as hands find cheeks and jaws to hold. His beard is longer, too, and a subtle drag of your fingers along his scruff doesn’t go unnoticed as he groans into the kiss.

Sluggishly, as if he’s struggling against the pull of quicksand, Obi-Wan pulls away, your digits still tangled in his auburn locks. “Eat,” he murmurs, placing one last kiss on your bare palm. As he places the tray in your lap, you sit up properly, kicking the last of the covers aside. “Company is coming.”

———

Company was actually more of a child-sitting gig, with the Lars traveling to Anchorhead and reluctant to let their nephew tag along just yet. The four of you had all agreed it was best to shelter the boy until you and Obi-Wan had gotten better at shielding the signatures of three Force-sensitives, and while you were quickly growing used to the strain of the constant use of the Force, there wasn’t a need for unnecessary ventures outside of the community when Luke could just stay with you and Obi-Wan.

On the other hand, if you asked Obi-Wan, he didn’t see why a trip to Tosche Station couldn’t wait until next week, seeing as how you couldn’t walk much without pain. Luke would undoubtedly aggravate the blister when he begged you to play.

But you hadn’t asked Obi-Wan, you dutifully reminded him throughout his musings over the food, unconcerned at the prospect. Breakfast had been as delicious as it had smelled — your taste buds had been assaulted with the flavor, but it had been a gratuitous ordeal that had reminded you of a bustling diner and the toothy grin of a Besalisk. “Just missing the powdered Christophsian sugar,” you’d praised, and he’d barely hidden his glowing simper as he cleared the dishes. You know his apprehension at looking after Luke today is more out of concern for you, rather than lack of willingness.

Just as there were good and bad days of disposition, Obi-Wan’s interactions with his old student’s son were varying. Some visits were joy-filled and vibrant with childish merriment, at the mercy of Luke’s wild imagination, but it wasn’t uncommon for Obi-Wan to retreat to your bed, floored by the striking resemblance the boy had to his father, the memories he tried so hard to forget rushing back in a dark cloud of resignation. Luke was under the impression that his favorite playmate suffered from intermittent cases of sand-fever, trusting enough to believe the excuse. Though he loved you just as much, it was Obi-Wan that Luke idolized the most, and you couldn’t at all blame him for feeling disappointed when Obi-Wan was too unsteady to come out and say hello.

But today, the promise of a happy afternoon rang throughout the air, and you allowed yourself the indulgence of looking forward to the rest of the day. At five years old, Luke was an adoring child, innocent in ways you’d never been able to see, not even with Anakin. He reminded you of a fresh snowbank, ironic as it was, pristine and untouched by the world. Your heart ached to keep it that way.

Luke launches himself at you as expected when he arrives, Owen being kind enough to deliver him instead of letting Obi-Wan make the ride over. Just as well, too — after the doting attentiveness of the morning, you didn’t want to stray too far from Obi-Wan’s side. The former Jedi catches the boy in midair, strong arms wrapping around his tiny frame and swinging him away from you to save you from exacerbating your wounds, and Luke screeches in hysterics as he’s tossed in a wide circle. He attacks Obi-Wan with energetic pokes when he’s finally set down, the older man letting out a surprised oof when he’s headbutted rather hard in the stomach. You muffle a guffaw in your elbow as Obi-Wan shoots you an accusatory scowl, massaging his middle as he assures Owen he’ll return his nephew in one piece. The farmer thanks you both, leaving without a second glance, and Obi-Wan is whisked away by the young Skywalker to entertain his latest fascination with womp rats.

———

They return before dusk, smelling like sweat and death, acrid scents practically steaming off of their robes. You cover your nose as Obi-Wan staggers in through the side door, steadying a chittering Luke as he trips over the trapdoor to the cellar. “Target practice,” Obi-Wan explains, somewhat apologetically. “His aim needs some work.”

“I blew a rat’s head off!” Luke declares boastfully, and cackles while running a victory circle around the kitchen. “It just exploded!”

You turn aghast to Obi-Wan, who ushers the boy into the refresher and instructs him to wash up. As Luke rinses off the trace of the outdoors, you stop Obi-Wan before he can come any closer. You can almost taste the sour aroma that wafts off of your husband. “Don’t tell me he means an actual womp rat. They’re twice his size. If you’re letting him near those predators, Obi-Wan, I’m going to —”

“Relax!” Obi-Wan exclaims defensively, palms raised as if to shield him from your wrath. “It was just a profogg. And we weren’t hunting in the beginning, just setting stink capsules near the hut. Poor thing got too close when we set it off and its friends decided they wanted revenge.”

The clarification does little to placate you, the knowledge that it’s most likely rodent guts contributing to the fumes only further motivating you to stay at a distance. But Obi-Wan has other plans, and a mischievous expression takes over his features as he runs at you, grabbing for your face as you squeal. “Disgusting! Obi-Wan!”

“Not even a peck for your one true love?” He asks, and you bat his hands away. “I was willing to kiss your foot this morning.”

“But you didn’t,” you remark impishly, holding in bubbling laughter. “I’m not kissing you while you smell like an eopie’s ass.”

“Language.” He seizes your wrists as you squirm, though your spirits are still high. You arch backwards, grappling to escape. “Luke might be listening.”

You catch your breath without inhaling in his direction, but it fails when you descend into snickering when a small voice protests, “No I’m not!”

“Go.” While he’s distracted, you push Obi-Wan towards Luke in the refresher, hard. “It’s time for a trim. I think you have profogg gunk in your beard.”

He stumbles back, too late to stop your words from being heard, and Luke yells, “You told me it was a womp rat!”

Another bout of laughter arises in your throat, and Obi-Wan fixes you with a withering glare you’re too perceptive to fall for. “Thanks,” he grumbles, none too grateful, and disappears into the sink.

———

“Careful of your fingers — you don’t want to cut yourself.”

After the bits of wildlife had been safely discarded down the drain and the boys had changed into fresh clothes, you watch as Obi-Wan guides Luke’s wobbly hands down his own stubbled throat. The sight of the shaving cream that covers most of Obi-Wan’s face is priceless, but you opt for appreciation rather than humour as the touching moment transpires.

“Better to cut me than you, but let’s aim for no one, alright?” Luke nods, tongue poking out in concentration as he shucks off more hair from Obi-Wan’s chin. He’s holding the razor with both hands, standing on a stool while Obi-Wan kneels to stay within reach. “Firmly, but with precision. Very graceful.”

Luke’s hyperactivity is nowhere to be found, and you admire his focus. Maybe you should have him shave your husband more often. Both the Lars and you would certainly benefit from the resulting tranquility.

But, no — you’d miss the beard too much.

“Done!” Luke leans back and throws his fists up in delight. Obi-Wan is quick to snatch up the tool to avoid any accidents, and places it back in its compartment as he turns to the boy overflowing with pride.

“Let’s check, shall we?” He rises from his knees with a low grunt and the pop of his joints — one you don’t miss, but refrain from pointing out. For a second, all you see is the back of Obi-Wan’s head as he washes away the lather, then it’s the dismayed twist of his mouth as the uneven patches of missed hair gleam in the mirror.

Luke bounces up and down, making an effort in vain to assess his work. Obi-Wan quickly readjusts his features as you hide your face, silently shaking with amusement. “Did I do okay?”

Obi-Wan squints down at him warmly, brushing the boy’s bangs out of the way. “Yes, An — Luke, you did.” Luke cheers underneath the large hand on his crown. “You did splendidly.”

In a flurry of shouts and whoops, Luke ducks out of Obi-Wan’s arm and exits the refresher, unaware of the almost-slip, but you freeze, more shocked than you have been in months. Years. Obi-Wan’s never done that before.

He meets your wide eyed stare in the mirror, all remains of Luke’s comical shaving job gone, neither of you able to verbalize exactly what you’re feeling.

But eventually, the impact of his blunder fades, and you break free from the fog of your stupefaction.

Your bandaged hand finds his shoulder, soaking up the droplets from his shower, and rubs consolingly, back and forth. You hope it conveys all that words can’t say. A pang strikes you as Obi-Wan lets out a trembling exhale, the unfinished name falling away to the empty room, and you resist the impulse to crush him into a hug.

He needs space.

The watery eyes you expect to see are dry in seconds, and all is well again.

———

You look on as Obi-Wan props Luke’s tuckered form into Beru’s waiting arms, meeting her gaze with a gentle understanding. She secures him into the passenger seat as she mounts the landspeeder slowly, seemingly sensing the hesitance radiating from two of you, uready to let the day end. When they finally depart, Obi-Wan watches them leave from the entrance of the dwelling.

“It’s alright to love him, you know.” You approach him once Beru and Luke are barely a speck on the horizon. You come up to latch around his chest, tiptoeing to kiss his back. “It’s okay to be attached.”

He shifts, rotating so that his back is to the wall after he’s sealed off the door. His own arms raise to encircle you, and you lean your cheek against his bicep before he plants a kiss to your forehead. It spells devotion as you sink further into him, muted ardor enveloping you both. “I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice is quiet to preserve the shroud of calm. “I worry you’re holding back, and you don’t have to. Not here.” Another kiss to his skin. “Not anymore.”

You feel the deep inhale more than you hear it, and his breathing soothes you more than you ever thought possible. It’s proof he’s here, real in your grip. You have each other. “I’m not,” he promises, lips stuck to your hairline. “Though you should know, my heart is reserved for you.”

That brings a laugh out of you, tinkling and bright. You clutch him tighter, warmth swelling inside you in spite of the cooling air of the evening. “You have room for Luke in there.”

Obi-Wan examines you closely, pausing only for a second before he speaks again. “Perhaps more than just him.”

And there it is, the admission you’ve always been curious for yet never wanted to ask. Your breath hitches — only a tad, but you know he picks up on it, and you peer at him cautiously. It’s a conversation you’ve avoided so many times before.

Admittedly, today was the perfect day as any to prime the subject. You’ve never been sure whether Luke has assured Obi-Wan that he wants nothing to do with parenthood or if it inspires a desire to have a son of his own.

It’s not revisited until you’re crawling back into bed, back to his bare chest, and the ghosting touch of his hand smoothing down your front draws your attention away from the sensation of his body enfolding around yours. He’s trying to be discreet, you can tell.

“Practicing?” You whisper, with only a hint of knowing so as not to scare him off. There’s no need, you realize, when you feel his mouth twist into a lopsided smile against your nape and his fingers spread unabashedly across your stomach.

“Perhaps,” he repeats, and it’s enough.

#rini writes #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #SORRY FOR THE WAITTTT LOL SHE'S HERE #I almost named this one 'tales of tatooine' as in 'tales of ba sing se' but I decided not to lmao #this one came out of nowhere tho all the ideas just flew out #as always I hope you like my loves #<3

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mxvladdy · 4 years

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Self Indulgent B-Day HCs

It’s my birthday and Obey Me has watered by crops with 5 UR cards in a row and phone calls so have some fluff with NSFWish stuff at the end

Presents the boys get you. (NSFWish)

Lucifer

A custom leather tote bag

Made with the softest leather and embroidered with your favorite pattern (And his pact mark on the inside cover so he can keep you safe)

It’s large enough for school and fashionable enough to be used for social outings

A private dinner at a restaurant of your choice

An evening alone at a high-end establishment

You pick a human realm restaurant you’d always dreamed of going to from all those travel shows you watch

He’s never been there either so it's a treat for both of you, sampling the regional and chief’s specialties before being whisked off to wherever else you wanted to go for dessert

Day ends in his bed- If you want it

He’s spent the day pampering you so why not the evening too

For once he lets you take the lead. Whatever you desire you get.

Ultimate service top for this occasion

If you say no that’s fine too. At least let him indulge in your company a bit more with some drinks and conversation. But it’s up to you.

It’s your special day after all

Mammon

Personalized necklace

Don’t say the Great Mammon never got ya nothin’!

It’s a beautiful and simple piece. A slim gold chain with your birthstone embedded in the beak of a small crow. Gotta remind the other demons who is looking out for ya

What makes it doubly special is that you know he saved up to get you this. No witches, schemes or older brother’s involved in this

Private photoshoot

He’s got some connections and a few favors way past due

Let him treat ya.

You pick the theme, the dress, and the makeup. He’s got his whole crew there to make this perfect.

Has a blast posing next to you knowing that no one else in the realms will get to see these photos.

Just you and him. Like it should be.

Has his favorite framed and tucked away in his room so none of the other brothers can find it

Day ends in his bed- If you want it

A blushing bravado fueled mess when he asks. Palm sweaty in yours.

It’s how he would want his birthday to end so like obviously you’d want the same too, right?

If not, that cool. Can he at least cuddle with ya on his couch with a movie? He doesn’t want this day to end yet.

If you say yes well be ready for a ride! You ain’t lifting a finger. He reads your body like a book and makes sure you're happy and satisfied before turning to his own needs.

Leviathan

A video game

Not just any game of course! What do you take him for some kinda normie?

This game is a two-player with a twist. It’s only made for two players, the first two to ever log in are bound to it.No one else can play this with you but him.

Bonus! You can play it with him even after you have to return to the human realm. It’ll be like you never left.

He’ll spend hours showing you the ropes then another couple just enjoying a game with you and unlocking all the achievements.

Day at the beach

You're lucky he likes you. Leaving his room is an ordeal for him

But you’ve been begging for a while to go swimming with him in his demon form. You had heard he’s a great swimmer.

He can’t really say no to that now can he?

Takes you to collect seashells and deep diving for treasure (he knows a few spells so you could breathe underwater like him)

Day ends in his tub bed- If you want to

Like Mammon is an absolute mess at the idea

But is sweet about it if you say no. Well instead ask to just chill and cuddle. Probably drift off watching the sea creatures in his tank swim by in lazy circles.

If you say yes he is an enthusiastic demon and will treat you like the protagonist in all his favorite animes

Satan

A person book of poetry

He’s been around a while and has studied enough books that he is good with just about every form of literature

It’s a sweet gift. A slim leather-bound book, the pages embossed with gold and tiny runes that make the little cat doodles he’s drawn about the pages move on their own.

The book is filled with little poems or short letters that he has written over a year of getting to know you. Just little things like evenings out together or group misadventure.

Trip to the human realm to visit any museum of your choosing

Taking him to a museum is the best idea. He knows all the little details that have been lost to time or that humans just couldn’t understand.

Takes special pride in talking about events he had witnessed first hand or caused.

Buys you a souvenir from all the places you visit and will drag you into a photo booth. Say hello to his new favorite bookmark

Day ends in his bed- If you want to

Won’t push the subject obviously. But his little kisses and touches are a clear giveaway to his intentions of the night.

If you decide otherwise then allow him to escort you to your room, or perhaps sit with him in the music room for a bit longer? High key just stole a good bottle of whiskey from Lucifer and he still has so many stories he wants to share.

If you say yes. You’re in for a helluva night. He could let you take the lead. But he’s not and you’ll thank him for it

Asmodeus

Resort trip

He had this one booked in advance. Devildom hot springs and spas are a no-go for humans so he found the absolute perfect one in the human realm.

Got the honeymoon package bc he’s extra and wants to go all out. Plus this package has simply the cutest gourmet tea cakes and complimentary champagne.

Makes you spend the whole day relaxing with him. You’re always too tense in his eyes. Made for the skin. Come soak a bit with him!

Shopping spree

Whatever you want you got today! Within reason. He can’t let you buy anything ugly!

Helps pick out a few new outfits and highly recommended skincare products.

If you let him will buy you some tasteful lingerie. Trust him, whether it's for him or devil forbid one of his brothers he wants you looking fabulous.

Regales you with stories of his younger years and the different eras of fashion. Honestly, the corset wasn’t that bad! It made his waistline look so good! Lead makeup was a no- ugh could you image? Not on your pretty face!

Day ends in bed- if you want to

If you want to give him a private showing of all the outfits you bought he won’t say no. If you want to show him the undergarments he will definitely be enthusiastic.

If not oh well! He has a strict sleep schedule so he’ll wind down for the night. You are welcome to join him in his bedroom if you want. He just changed his sheets for the season and they are as close to heaven as he’ll ever get again.

If you do how exciting. He has so many tips and tricks he knows you’ll appreciate. The pampering doesn’t stop until you can’t handle it anymore.

Beelzebub

Breakfast in bed

This was a herculean effort for him. The first two meals got eaten on the way to your room :(

But when he gets it to you it’s the best! There is plenty to share too. He has a real talent for breakfast foods

Spends the time while you eat asking what you want to fo for your birthday if anything at all.

He has plans to take you cafe hopping and then a walk up the forest path

Cafe Hopping and a walk

He treats you to any fancy treat you like and walks you around the Devildom proper pointing at all the interesting historic monuments and places

He helps take lots of pics of all the fancy foods and cute presentations before digging in

If you need a break no worries from walking or just full from too much good food no problem. You want to sit or maybe a piggyback ride back to the house

A very low key birthday present but that the best kind sometimes

Day ends in bed- if you want to

Doesn’t really think about it until you hint at it. He’s dtf if you are. He is still kinda hungry ;)

Always sweet on you in and out of the bedroom and today is no different. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.

If you don’t bring it up he won’t bring it up. Would much rather just hang out and talk till you fall asleep then make you uncomfortable

Belphegor

Botanical Garden tour

Loves the Devildom one so maybe he will like the human realm ones too

The most energetic you’ve ever seen him. Sure he walks slow and sits down at every opportunity

Stops at the butterfly habitat it’s a mutual favorite.

Buys you a super soft plushie from the gift shop. Can’t have a birthday without a physical present

Movie night

No one else is invited. Not even Beel. He remembers you talking about your favorite movie once and bought the directors cut to watch with you.

Love or hate the film he tries his best to stay up for the whole thing

Only dozes off once

Day ends in bed- if you want to

He could sleep or spend the night with you whatevs.

If you want to watch another movie and sleep sweet

If you want to do more well-say no more

He’s got enough energy for some fun

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me fandom

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revolutionary-demosthenes · 4 years

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4th of July: John Laurens and Slavery, and why we shouldn’t idolize him

I’ve written several drafts of posts trying to explain John Laurens’s complicated relationship with slavery and, in a broader sense, how the hypocrisy of freedom for our country--while denying the freedom of enslaved people--has led directly to the situation we find ourselves in now, in terms of race in America.

I’ve struggled with even going there, because I’m trying to focus on the present now, not the past. But I firmly believe that America can only fix its present once we’ve faced our past. And I want this information on my blog. John Laurens was not a perfect man, not even close. He was an abolitionist, yes. But how he came to these views is complicated and his personal conduct towards African-Americans is often troubling. Too often, in fact, the racist ideas of his era are visible in his writings.

There’s lots out there about not glorifying or idolizing historical figures, such as Thomas Jefferson, Washington, and other slave-owners.

This is becoming particularly clear today, with the truth of violent systemic racism in America finally becoming more fully recognized. When people watch videos of a black man begging for his life under the knee of a policeman, that brutality becomes undeniable.

But John Laurens is often exempt from this “historical disclaimer” of sorts. In the world of the Hamilton fandom and even more broadly in history, he becomes The Abolitionist, a White Savior figure who abhorred slavery and fought for racial justice, no exceptions, no fine print.

But there is a fine print for John Laurens. And it is a vital one to examine, because it shows us the importance of carrying our beliefs into our personal lives, not just our political ones.

First, let’s acknowledge the circumstances John was born into.

South Carolina, where he was born in 1754, was a southern colony, and as such relied mainly on agriculture in its economy. The rich plantation owners were the pinnacle of society. Washington’s family is an example of one such rich and powerful plantation owning family. The wealth and standing in society of these men led to positions in the government. And a man who illustrates this perfectly is none other than Henry Laurens.

Henry Laurens, John Laurens’s father, was, despite his pleading to the contrary, a significant slave owner and slave trader. Though in his private life he claimed to dislike slavery, he co-owned the largest slave-trading house in North America, Austin & Laurens. It doesn’t matter what he thought, or claimed to think. What matters is what he did.

Henry Laurens owned between close to three hundred slaves. His attitude toward the treatment of his own slaves was dehumanizing, self-righteous, and willfully ignorant. He chose to look upon himself as a “good” slave owner, rather than actually face the horrors he was perpetrating. He wrote in a letter that he’d rather treat his slaves “with Humanity” and make “less Rice” than “submit to the Charge of one who should make twice as much rice & exercise any degree of Cruelty towards those poor Creatures who look up to their Master as their Father, their Guardian, & Protector.” What Henry is trying to say here (to my reading) is that he’d rather his plantation produce less of a crop and not work his slaves too hard than treat his slaves cruelly to produce more profit.

Henry Laurens, in an attitude that is all too familiar today, consistently chose to think of himself as an exception to the problem rather than as part of the problem. He was quick to talk up abolition and condemn cruel treatment of enslaved people. But when it came to his own slaves, he insisted that “my Servants are as happy as Slavery will admit of, none run away, the greatest punishment to a defaulter is to sell him.”

I don’t know how John’s mother, Eleanor Ball Laurens, viewed slavery, but she also came from a large slave-owning family. Even if she personally didn’t approve of the practice wholeheartedly, she benefitted directly from slavery and married someone in the slave trade.

So this is the life John Laurens was born into. A life of incredible privilege, sourced directly from the the slave trade and the labor of kidnapped and enslaved Africans. This is the first thing that needs acknowledging in terms of John’s relationship with slavery. He was able to accomplish much of what he did because of his social standing and wealth as the son of a very powerful South Carolinian, powerful mostly because of his standing in Southern society.

John was able to get his education in Europe because of slavery. He was able to use his father’s influence to become an aide-de-camp to George Washington. His social standing and quality of life all stood upon the backs of slaves.

Because of this background, John was exposed to the brutal truths of slavery since he could understand the world around him. Is this how he came into his abolitionist views? It absolutely could be. But it is more likely that John first became serious about abolition when he was taken to Europe for his education. He attended a school in Geneva, a cosmopolitan place that was very open to new ideas. Being an abolitionist was not considered as radical there as it was in the Southern Colonies, and there was more writing on the subject of abolition, including a poem by Thomas Day, an abolitionist patriot, whom John was friends with.

So John’s serious thoughts on abolition may have partly been a product of being away from a place where slavery seen as a part of life and being in a place which was more open to abolition. John may have thought slavery wrong for a long time, but lacked adequate support to be vocal about it.

Significantly though, John did not abandon his beliefs when he returned to America. He continued to be a vocal abolitionist, and unlike his father Henry, confronted actual slave owners and tried to convince them to free their slaves… including his boss, General George Washington.

He also converted Lafayette into an ardent abolitionist, and Lafayette, even after Laurens’s death, stuck to these beliefs. He later in life even bought a plantation and ran it with the labor of paid black people, to prove it could be done.

But once we get to the war, we must also talk about Shrewsberry.

John didn’t own slaves, technically. But his father dispatched two of his slaves to serve as John’s valets during the war, one of whom was named Shrewsberry. (Something to note: I am not sure if these slaves were paid or not. I would assume not, and I have yet to find a record of payment, if it did exist. But if anyone knows more about this, I would love to know the answer, as it’s an important question to think about.)

This alone would mar John’s “perfect abolitionist” image, but it gets more disturbing when you consider how John viewed and treated his valets. I should mention we don’t have a ton of evidence of their living conditions, but what we do have is distressing.

On to the primary evidence: if you read the correspondence between John and his father, a funny/not funny pattern is that John is always requesting clothes, fabric, hair powder, etc., from his father. He usually thanked his father for these items. But here is a quote from a letter John wrote to his father on December 15th, 1777: “Berry received a hunting shirt and a check shirt. If there be any difficulty in getting him winter clothes I believe he can do without.” So while John advocated for black Americans in his public life, his private conduct tells differently.

And this is further evidenced when, after Laurens’ death in 1782, Thadeus Kosciuszco wrote to Nathaniel Greene that John’s slaves (his father's technically, as explained above) were “nacked” and that they were in need of “shirts jackets Breeches.” (“nacked” meaning “naked.”)

While John Laurens was certainly more enlightened than the average man of his time on the subject of slavery, he still had trouble connecting his broader ideas of freedom and emancipation to his personal life. He also wrongly blamed Shrewsberry for the loss of a hat, writing to his father, “Shrewsberry says his hat was violently taken from him by some soldiers as he was carrying his horses to water. If James will be so good as to send him his old laced hat by the bearer I hope he will take better care of it.” The blame for this incident obviously lies upon the soldiers who stole Shrewsberry’s hat, but John acts like Shrewsberry was in the wrong, or somehow that having the hat “violently taken” indicated that Shrewsberry was not taking care of the hat. The automatic and unjust condemnation of Shrewsberry again speaks to how John did have the prejudices of his time period in his head, even as he fought against them in a broader sense.

Later in the war, John left Washington in favor of his home state, South Carolina. He wanted to raise a regiment of slaves to fight for the patriot cause, who would then be emancipated for their service. John had written his father about the idea earlier, saying,

“I would bring about a twofold good, first I would advance those who are unjustly deprived of the Rights of Mankind to a State which would be a proper Gradation between abject Slavery and perfect Liberty—and besides I would reinforce the Defenders of Liberty with a number of gallant Soldiers—Men who have the habit of Subordination almost indelibly impress’d on them, would have one very essential qualification of Soldiers—I am persuaded that if I could obtain authority for the purpose I would have a Corps of such men trained, uniformly clad, equip’d and ready in every respect to act at the opening of the next Campaign…”

Reading through this carefully, we can see some ideas expressed here that are important to note. Firstly, “proper Gradation between abject Slavery and perfect Liberty.” This means that though John did want to free the slaves, he did not think that black people should have the “perfect Liberty” that whites enjoyed. Additionally, when John writes, “Men who have the habit of Subordination indelibly impress’d on them” he is suggesting (to my reading) that because slaves were constantly treated as inferior, they would be good soldiers (I assume because soldiers have to obey their commanding officers.) Honestly, this reads to me like John wanting to take advantage of the cruelty slaves endured because “They’re used to it.”

Henry wrote back that what John was offering was hardly better than slavery, again assuming his attittude of “my slaves are happy.”

John wrote a long letter in return, explaining his reasoning and also basically being like, “dad please support me, dad, please.” But there are also some phrases here, in his letter defending his abolitionist views, that are revealing about the prejudices John harbored.

He writes, “I confess, indeed, that the minds of this unhappy species must be debased by a servitude, from which they can hope for no relief but death, and that every motive to action but fear, must be nearly extinguished in them.”

Note John’s reference to slaves as a “species” rather than a race. (And, by the way, race is a social construct, not an actual biological thing.) The belief that blacks and whites were separate species was common at the time, and often used by slave traders to justify their actions. And this bit of writing shows that even if John didn’t really believe this wholeheartedly, he at least had the idea in his head. However, later in the letter John does use “race” so it’s a little unclear what he actually believed.

And we can see the belief that black people were not as intellectually capable as white people, owing to their enslavement.

Gregory Massey puts it this way: “Young Laurens reasoned that blacks were not innately inferior to whites; rather, their apparent mental deficiencies resulted from generations of enslavement.”

John goes on, “I have had the pleasure of conversing with you, sometimes, upon the means of restoring [the slaves] to their rights. When can it be better done, than when their enfranchisement may be made conducive to the public good, and be modified, as not to overpower their weak minds?”

What sticks out here is, of course, the assertion that the slaves had “weak minds.”

Essentially, John thought that once black people were allowed to live free, “rescued from a state of perpetual humiliation” as he put it in the same letter, their nature would change to more like whites. Black Patriots and Loyalists: Fighting for Emancipation in the War for Independence by Alan Gilbert states,

“Nonetheless, John Laurens retained a slave-owner’s perspective about the psychology of blacks at the time. In a 1776 letter to his father, he ignored manifold black acts of resistance and their hunger to be free: ‘There may be some inconvenience and even Danger in advancing Men suddenly from a State of Slavery while possessed of the manners and Principals incident to such a State... too suddenly to the Rights of freedman. [T]he example of Rome suffering from Swarms of bad citizens who were freedmen is a warning to us to proceed with caution.’ [...] The son insisted, however, on the principal that slavery is simply wrong, the immoral shackling of another: ‘The necessity for it is an Argument of the complete Mischief occasioned by our continued Usurpation.’”

But the same book also says, “John Laurens was a practical abolitionist. Favored by nature and fortune, he chose no easy path. He could, for instance, have worked for Washington, recruited a company of white soldiers as his father urged, and still have advocated for the “public good.” Instead, he committed himself to the nobler course of fighting determinedly for abolition.”

However, “18th century abolitionist” usually did not mean someone who believed black and white people were equal and should have the same rights. It meant that you wanted to end slavery. The difference between these views often gets blurred for John Laurens. Saying that John Laurens was an abolitionist is accurate, but he probably did not believe that black and white people should have the exact same rights, at least not at first. That needs to be acknowledged. John was an abolitionist, but it is unclear how much equality he really wanted.

Only paying attention to his anti-slavery professional life also leads to the idea that it is safe to idolize Laurens, rather than critically examine his complex views on race. The idea forms that he is the one white man from the 18th century we can be fully proud of. The one we can say is our beautiful cinnamon roll without having to confront his relationship with slavery. The fact that John Laurens wanted to help enslaved people gain their freedom doesn’t change the ways in which he benefited from white supremacy, nor how he treated his personal servants, nor the racist ideas he expressed in some of his writings.

This does not mean Laurens was evil, or that you can’t like and admire parts of him. By the standards of other revolutionary figures, like the aforementioned Jefferson and Washington (and Madison and Hamilton to an extent*) Laurens was remarkably enlightened. But also, that in itself is terrible. Like, the idea of a “good guy” from the 18th century is still one that believed that black people had “weak minds” owing to their enslavement.

If we truly want to reckon with the racial sins of America, and how they originated, we need to see figures like Laurens for all they were. Not just the noble abolitionist, but also the inherently privileged white man whose righteous public crusade was enabled by the very system it sought to end, slavery. We also need to see him as the extremely wealthy young man who regarded the command of his servants as part of the natural order of his life.

I didn’t write this solely for history. John’s story is a reminder to all allies that actions based on our beliefs are important to make in our private lives, as well as public. Yes, it’s important to advocate for racial justice in our public and professional lives. But it’s also important to examine and be honest about our own forms of privilege and the ways in which we have internalized the racism of the world around us. All white people in America benefit from slavery and the systems it was built upon, even those whose forebears came to America long after slavery was abolished. I firmly believe that a step forward for racial justice in the US is simply to acknowledge privilege, because we cannot fix a broken system until we realize all the ways in which it is broken.

#John Laurens #slavery #abolition #Alexander Hamilton #I hope it came out okay #also I'm completely open to feedback #long post #Jefferson #Washington #Madison #founding fathers #4th of july #quotes #letters

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jared-19-cant-reid · 3 years

Text

A Study In Behavior: Chapter 1

A Study In Behavior (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Obsession

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.8K

Series Summary: When you signed up for Professor Reid’s class, you were expecting a low effort but interesting class to fill your psychology elective credit. Instead, your fascination with the professor leaves you spending more time than you’d expected in office hours.

Chapter Summary: A strange dream and an unusual professor make today’s lecture much more interesting than you thought it would be.

Warnings: teacher/student relationship, cursing, mentions of anxiety, suggestive language, implied age gap.

A/N: I’m planning on making this an eventual smut slow burn, since this is one of my favorite tropes and I want to make it a Realistic daydream lmao. This chapter is focused on introducing you to the world, reader, and this version of Spencer. Lots of potential here, I already have a million different ideas of how this should go... as always dms and asks are open!

The pattering of rain on the tin roof seemed to crescendo, a million drummers tapping out a perpetual drumroll on steel drums above your head. You’d always complained you couldn’t hear yourself think with all that noise, but you missed it despite yourself when you left Seattle for college. You were pulled away from that brief moment of self awareness by the touch of a cold hand, clutching yours as if you might be snatched away at any moment if the grip were to loosen.

You opened your eyes, finding yourself in a bed you knew all too well. A bed you’d spent too many hours in, slept too many nights in, and yet was not your own. Turning your head to the right, you took in the sight of your sleeping mother, her expression of serenity contradicted by the deep creases in her face, betraying the frown that she wore most of her waking life. Your gaze trailed down to your hand in hers; her knuckles were turning white from her tight grip, but you didn’t feel any pain.

Laying next to her, you watched her face for what felt like hours as her chest rose and fell in the lazy patterns of slumber, too afraid of waking her with your movement to breathe. She almost looked happy like this. Suddenly, your thoughts were interrupted by a loud beeping sound. You looked around for the offending fire alarm, but as you scanned the ceiling it began to dissolve before your eyes, the grip on your hand loosening until you broke free from the scene fully.

You opened your eyes with a start as you sat up quickly, feeling out of place in your own room. You were a painting placed in the wrong section of a museum, an unintentional imposter. Nails digging into your comforter, you tried in vain to slow your shallow breaths as you looked around wildly for something to remind you of where you were, of who you were.

Your eyes skipped from your stack of records from your childhood leaning casually against the wall beside the record player on your desk, to the stacks of books watching over you from the top of your bookshelf, unable to fit on the shelves but too close to your heart to part with. Your gaze finally settled on the floor, taking in the mess you’d been meaning to clean up for days now.

As you returned to your body, you could no longer ignore the blaring of your alarm, groaning as you reached for your phone on the nightstand. A glance at the screen had you shooting out of bed. Shit, I have to be at class in 20 minutes. You got up, muttering to yourself about how 8 A.M. classes should be considered cruel and unusual punishment, and maneuvered around your clothes strewn across the floor.

As you raced to your closet, your eyes scanned the clothes you owned, speeding through mental images of a million combinations before giving up and reaching for your comfort clothes. You pulled on the green high waisted cargo pants that you’d owned since high school. Nobody to impress in this class anyway, you reasoned, grabbing the fitted white crop top that your friend had embroidered your name on.

You tore through the apartment in the most violent and rushed performance of a morning routine the world had ever seen, only half trying to keep quiet for the sake of your neighbors. Hair tangled between your fingers and makeup was swiped on haphazardly as you struggled to make yourself presentable, cursing at the time and throwing random belongings in your bag.

Calling out a goodbye to your roommate only to be met with silence, you realized that in your frenzy you had forgotten that no sane college student would willingly be up at this hour. Shaking your head as you rushed out of your building, you mused that you’d just gotten all your stupid mistakes for today over with quite efficiently.

Three years of mediocre dorm experiences had left you desperate for a change, and luckily your now-roommate Jordan volunteered to split the rent for the 2 bedroom you now called home. You’d both agreed to ignore whatever ghost stories scared off previous residents and earned you a fair price for a decent place close to campus; ghosts would just add a little intrigue to your domestic life, you’d joked.

Checking the time once more, you cursed under your breath and broke out into a run. God, I should work out more, you thought as your lungs began to burn, I wouldn’t stand a chance in a zombie apocalypse. Racing through campus, you finally reached the doors of the lecture hall that held your class… which had started three minutes prior. You tried to catch your breath before opening the door, cringing as you heard the professor pause mid-lecture.

You tried not to meet anyone’s gaze as you quickly made your way to a seat. The first one you could find was in the third row-- close enough to the front to make out the facial expressions of your professor, who had continued his train of thought after you entered, choosing to ignore you in favor of finishing his idea.

As you got settled and tuned into the lecture, you realized the professor was still reviewing the syllabus. Pulling it up on your laptop, you looked at the top to remind yourself of his name: Dr. Spencer Reid. Finally looking up, your mind went blank. Oh. Not only was your professor way younger than you’d expected, he was... well, attractive. Thats’s a reasonable objective assessment, right? You knew he was just as knowledgeable as older professors-- you’d chosen this course for its fantastic reviews from previous students-- but his youth was a welcome change from the dinosaurs you were so used to in the neuroscience department.

As you studied him, you only became more sure in your original assessment; he was tall, with tousled brunet hair and a face that was… well, unfair. You weren’t surprised to catch a few other girls unabashedly staring at him, clearly drooling over the man as he spoke animatedly about his favorite parts of the course.

You shook yourself-- this man was your professor. You shouldn’t think about how attractive he is, it’s unprofessional. You also shouldn’t look at his hands the way you are right now, following them as he gestured along with his words you still weren’t paying attention to. You definitely shouldn’t think about what those hands could do.

Oh my god, snap out of it, you reprimanded yourself, you can’t afford to spend the semester fantasizing about your professor, focus on the class! You finally tuned in to the lecture, catching the end of what sounded like a tangent about the difference between triggers and stressors. For the rest of the class, you listened intently, drawn in by Professor Reid’s clear excitement about the topic.

Your efforts to ignore your professor’s appearance were somewhat successful, but as you listened to him speak passionately about the value of profiling as a tool for certain types of criminal investigations, you knew you were done for. His excitement about sharing his knowledge left you fighting back a smile, watching intently as he gestured wildly. You’d always liked listening to fellow nerds, eagerly basking in the pure delight beaming from their faces as they ranted about their subject of interest.

You sighed internally, preparing yourself for a semester of unreasonable dedication to this class, which was meant to be your chill psych elective to leave you more time to spend in the lab. It’s not like this topic wasn’t interesting to you, it was just that you weren’t expecting to be obsessed with it-- or more accurately, the man teaching it.

Before you knew it, the class was over. Professor Reid told everyone to finish the assigned reading by next class in preparation for a discussion, dismissing the class and walking over to his desk. You gathered up your belongings and the remnants of your dignity before slowly making your way to the exit, lost in thought about the overlap between your field and his.

Your feet changed course before you could stop to think about what you were doing. When you tuned back in, you were horrified to find that you were walking towards Professor Reid. Right when you were about to turn around and try to escape without further embarrassment, you were stopped by his curious but friendly gaze. Ignoring your inner voice’s screams of horror, you composed yourself and made your way over to his desk.

He spoke before you could, greeting you with a small smile and a polite “how can I help you?”

“Hi! Um, I just wanted to come apologize for being late today. I promise, it’s really unlike me, and I just don’t want you to think that I don’t care about your class or anything, because it seems really cool so far and I’m so interested in seeing how this could apply to my research and I was only really late because of this dream I had-”

You stopped before going into detail, saving yourself from your nervous rambling, and he spoke your name hesitantly. Your confusion must have been apparent on your face, because he looked at your chest, clearly having made the connection from the word embroidered on it. The devil on your shoulder whispered that his eyes had lingered there longer than they needed to, but you dismissed that thought quickly.

“There’s no need to apologize, as long as you don’t make a habit of it we should be fine,” he reassured you, “and judging from how well you paid attention today, I have no doubt you’ll more than make up for it next class in the discussion.”

You bit back a smile at his praise, shocked he’d noticed you at all. You thanked your lucky stars he’d interpreted your staring as interest in the class, rather than the glaring sign of attraction that it would easily be identified as in any other setting. You quickly nodded, thanking him for his understanding and promising it wouldn’t happen again before exchanging goodbyes as you turned and walked out of the room.

Bursting out of the lecture hall, you finally filled your lungs with air fully, trying to regain some sense of control over your feelings. As you walked to the library to study, your mind wandered back to Professor Reid. It’s not like he’d ever feel the same way, what’s the harm in a little daydreaming? You decided you could live with a harmless crush. Keeps things interesting, you thought. Stepping into your castle of books, you pushed the events of the morning to the back of your mind, but one thought lingered: This is going to be one hell of a semester.

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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mothpress · 3 years

Text

FRUIT OF THE LOOM MANDELA EFFECT

I apologize for the long post in advance

I understand that most mandela effects are a product of our brain misremembering or making false memories. Such as looney tunes being remembered as looney toons because tunes sounds like toons and also reminds people of carTOONs. It just makes sense. There's a video explaining these common misconceptions HERE. If you like this kind of stuff, I recommend you watch it, because it goes over this mandela effect very well, but I’m just not satisfied with the conclusion. I’m usually a skeptic of conspiracies. It’s fun to research and speculate, but I prefer to believe rational explanations. BUT this particular mandela effect just hits different and I want to talk about it. It’s also one of the rare instances that I personally have experienced the mandela effect. I do in fact remember thinking 'huh they must have changed the logo' years back. I swear that I remember the logo looking different back in the days of elementary school. I'm just so baffled because, as the linked video explains, cornucopia (which is the swirly basket in the background) is not a very commonly depicted object. It would be difficult for our brains to add something, that we don’t even know. I’ve never actually seen a real cornucopia in real life, but that could just be me. Additionally I've read a lot of comments where people said, that as children they actually learned what a cornucopia was BECAUSE they saw it in the logo and asked their parents for an explanation.

This is an artistic rendition of the logo as some people remember it. It is fake and has never existed. Even the company itself denied it.

This is a screenshot from a 2006 animated movie ‘The Ant Bully’. I’ve never seen the film myself but this is a scene where the main character apparently shrinks and the film shows a close up on the underwear. More importantly it shows the label on it. Fruit of the loom makes underwear so that’s not surprising, what is though is that there’s a cornucopia behind the fruit. Is it an elaborate joke? Did the animators experience the mandela effect or was this particular mandela effect already known on the internet and they were just in it on the joke?

In an episode of South Park, season 16 episode 6, we can also see a cornucopia on the main character’s underwear tag. I won’t be posting a picture because it’s a bit nsfw (it shows some ass and poop so it’s a little nasty) but here’s a link to a reddit post where a user shared the screenshot of the episode.

Read this paragraph from a book called "Signs of the zodiac : a reference guide to historical, mythological, and cultural associations". It was written by Mary Ellen Snodgrass in 1997. She wrote about horn of plenty (synonym for cornucopia) as a symbol of maternity, nurturing etc. and gave some examples, one of which happens to be ‘Fruit of the Loom underwear’.

There is this news article that mentions the cornucopia ( "Florida Today" October 14th, 1994) <<(click link for full article because I cropped the picture)

My favorite ‘proof’ I want to go over is this album, titled “Flute of the Loom” by Frank Wess, an american jazz saxophonist and flutist. This album is from 1973 and the cover was illustrated by a man named Ellis Chappel. Here is a link to yet another reddit post, where the user actually contacted the illustrator. The post shows that it wasn’t Ellis who responded, but his son Reed. He claims he clearly remembers the cornucopia, just like his dad, and that it in fact was the inspiration for the cover. To me it very clearly parodies, not just the name but also the look of the Fruit of the Loom logo. Another thing I thought about was that flutes are usually straight (at least to my limited instrumental knowledge), which is even funnier when you see this particular cover where the flute is so misshapen it almost resembles more of a french horn. It is so similar in shape to a cornucopia I am actually getting the creeps. And remember this was the 70′s. No social media, no quick access to google etc. There was no way to just stumble upon mandela effects on reddit, insta, tumblr and consequently create false memories. Wherever the illustrator came up with the idea that Fruit of the Loom had a cornucopia, it surely wasn’t the internet.

Ok so now that I have gone over the parodies and the written references, I am left with only one picture in my ‘conspiracy theory’ folder, and it is this one. This crappy, low resolution image from 4chan (allegedly). I am not a 4chan user and couldn’t for the life of me find the source of this image, so if anyone out there has the original post: share it, reblog, message me whatever. Could this be a knock off tshirt? It doesn’t make much sense since the brand is known for producing cheap affordable clothing while imitations typically happen with designer brands. Why would someone make a knock off of a product which originally costs like 5 €?? The shirt also looks old and the logo appears washed out and faded. On the other hand, Fruit of the Loom always produced a label with a colorful logo, they never stamped it onto fabric.

In conclusion, I’m not sure what to think and feel about this mandela effect. I gathered a lot of material which works in favor of the cornucopia’s existence. However the company itself denies it’s existence. The logo had brown leaves instead of green at one point, which could explain the confusion, but it doesn’t explain the clear cornucopia shape on Flute of the Loom album cover. Can you tell I spent way too much time on this

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aerynwrites · 4 years

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The Devil You Know - Part 4

Figuring Things Out

(Gif by: @pedroispunk)

Author’s Note: Finally! Here is Chapter 4. I really really hope you guys enjoy this chapter because I had so much fun writing this you have no idea. I would really love to hear what you guys think about this chapter, and the series in general, hearing your feedback really helps keep me motivated to keep writing!

Word Count: 5.8k (oopsie)

Warnings: blood, canon typical violence, slight NSFW themes, fluff.

As always spanish to english translations are located at the bottom. (I do not speak spanish, so I am sorry for any formalities or things i got wrong)

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

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In the past week, it feels like nothing was going your way. You and Steve had made a considerable amount of headway in the investigation against the Los Carnales cartel, having gained some valuable info on the inner workings of the cartel and how they operated. However, just as good things started to happen, another problem seemed to crop up. It all pretty much started a few days after your date with Javier. An unknown group was on a violent streak in the area – market shootings, assassinations of important figures, and even bombings had started to crop up out of nowhere. The only conclusion that either you or Steve could come to was that they were part of the cartel – perhaps out to cause trouble in order to distract you and the Embassy from the bigger picture. But you weren’t having it, they were not about to stop you from taking the cartel down, not now. Which is why you ended up with Carrillo’s men at the town hall several blocks away.

Colonel Carrillo had received intel that the town hall was the next target of a bombing – and you all intended to stop it. And it seemed like you would, as you pulled up to the town hall just in time to see a small group of men crouched by the side of the building. The caravan screeched to a halt in front of the building starling the men, just as You, Steve, and the Search Bloc exited your vehicles. At the sight of you all, the men scattered, running in all different directions.

You weren’t going to lose them.

“Steve with me!” you call to your partner, taking off to the right and following one of the men who bolted.

The man didn’t argue, just followed in your footsteps as you pursued the runner down various alleyways. It feels like a maze as you continue to chase after him, until you and Steve round the corner to a dead end, seeing the man flounder for an escape but unable to find one. You can feel your frustration from the past week bubble up inside you, along with your aggravation from the chase, and it fuels your actions as you stalk towards the man, gun aimed towards him as you approach.

“¡Manos donde pueda verlos pendejo!” you call, watching in slight surprise as he actually complies with your order.

He raises his hands above his head as you continue to approach, Steve comes with you and he cuffs him as you keep your gun aimed at the stranger until he’s securely apprehended. You drop your weapon slightly, guard still up, and walk until you’re only a few paces away.

“¿Por qué estabas en el Ayuntamiento?” you snap, voice harsh, “¿Para quién trabajas, eh?”

The man, who you quickly realize is quite young, probably only in his late twenties, rolls his eyes before spitting at your feet, “No te estoy diciendo nada, cerdo.”

It’s like his words cause the very thin string in you to finally snap, because before you can stop yourself, you are reaching forward and grasping the front of his shirt in your fist. You yank him from Steve’s grip and turn around, shoving him forward roughly. He stumbles, falling to the ground hard before rolling over onto his back, sending you a glare.

You take a few threatening steps forward, gun still lowered until you are standing at his feet, “si quieres salir de aquí, me vas a dar algo imbécil,” you say, your tone leaving nothing up for negotiation, as your patience starts to run thin.

However, he doesn’t seem to get the message, because instead of giving you an answer, he kicks his feet out in an attempt to knock you down. But you saw this coming and stepped out of the way before raising your gun.

“Wrong answer.”

Before either Steve or the perp on the ground could say anything, you pull the trigger on your pistol sending a round into the ground just inches from the man’s head, making concrete fly into the air. The man shrieks, and before you know it Steve is by your side hand on your weapon pushing it to the side forcefully.

“What the fuck was that?” he grinds out, eyes searching your face, a tinge of worry on his features.

You huff, “I’m trying to get answers, Steve! And if this asshole won’t give them to us, then I’ll make him,” you hiss, pushing your partner out of the way and stalking towards your target.

You don’t get very far before the man is holding his cuffed hands up, fear in his eyes, “No, no, por favor –“ he begs, “Por favor, no me mates, te diré lo que quieras, por favor.”

You don’t holster your weapon, ”¿Trabajas para el cartel, Los carnales?”

The man shakes his head violently, “No, señora. Estábamos con el cártel, pero nos fuimos. Queríamos hacer las cosas a su manera – el camino fuerte.”

Your eyes widen at the information, and you finally – slowly – holster your pistol, just as Carrillo enters the alleyway, a few of his men with him.

“What the hell happened?” he asked, “We heard a gunshot.”

You shook your head, “it was nothing,” you lie, seeing Steve roll his eyes in your periphery before turning your attention back to Carrillo, “Take him in,” you point to the man still on the ground, “He can give us more information. This group isn’t cartel like we thought, they used to be with the cartel, but they left. And they left for a reason,” you say.

Steve steps forward at this point, “So he could tell us why, and probably where the rest of the rogues are holed up,” he states, piecing together the situation.

Carrillo nods, turning back to his men and barking a few orders. They pick the man up and lead him away as Carrillo turns towards you, for once a hopeful look in his eye, “Good work. Maybe we can stop them before they do more damage,” he says, shaking your and Steve’s hand before returning the way they came.

You moved to follow after him, but a hand on your wrist stopped you. you turn to see Steve, brows furrowed together as he stares at you.

“What Steve?” you sigh, fully aware of what he was going to say.

“What the fuck was that?” he snaps, “You don’t even like being in the same building when Carrillo’s is questioning people, yet here you were ready to shoot someone – an unarmed someone – in the middle of the street.”

You yank your hand out of his grasp immediately defensive, “I did what I had to do Steve, we got answers didn’t we?” you sneer, turning to head back to the caravan, “come on. Before we get left behind.”

You hear Steve let out a frustrated sigh, before his footsteps followed you. you wouldn’t admit it, but your actions scared you. You never intended to almost blow the guy’s head off. You’ve never gotten that violent with an assailant before, so what has changed? This investigation, this cartel, Carlos’s death, it was all starting to have an effect on you.

What is happening to you?

***

It was nearing the end of the day as You and Steve started planning a raid of the rogue’s hide out. Carrillo had easily managed to get the information out of the man you had caught, finding out that the group was using a small house on the outskirts of the city as their base of operations. That left you and Steve the responsibility of planning the logistics of the raid, Carrillo would come in to help tomorrow.

“Hello?” Steve’s voice called, snapping you from your distracted state.

“Hmm?” you hummed, looking up from the papers on your desk to your partner who was giving you a somewhat concerned look.

“Are you okay?” he asks, “You’ve been out of it lately…you seem off,” he finally states, words laced with concern.

He wasn’t wrong. You had been out of sorts the past few weeks, unable to sleep properly ever since the shooting in the market. Ever since Carlos. When you did manage to find sleep, it was plagued with nightmares, images of Carlos lying on the ground or even Steve being the one on the floor instead. The lack of sleep was all starting to catch up with you, and evidently it was showing. Both in your actions today and in your life in general.

You let out a small sigh, “I’m fine Steve,” you begin, “I’ve just been distracted lately, this case has been…getting to me. That’s all,” you reply flippantly, deciding not to worry our partner with your personal problems. You’re sure he has plenty of his own to worry about, no need to add your issues on top.

Steve doesn’t seem entirely convinced, still obviously upset by your earlier display and so attuned to you by now after being partners for so long – but he sighs and lets it go.

“Well no better way to get your mind off of things than a few drinks, right?” he asks dropping his pen and looking at his watch, “Connie and I were going to go and grab some drinks after work. You should come,” he looks at you expectantly.

You mull over his proposition for a moment. You had intended on going back to your place – possibly seeing if Javier wanted to get together again, but maybe you could go for a drink instead. It sounded a lot more fun than moping around your apartment.

So, you nod, “Sure. Is it okay if I invite a friend though?” you ask, not wanting to intrude on Steve’s plans.

A mischievous look crosses your partners face as he wiggles his eyebrows, “hmm, a friend huh? How come I’ve never heard of this friend before now?” he teases, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head.

You feel your face flush at his jests, you open your mouth to speak, your initial reaction to say that Javier was more than just a friend, but you stopped yourself. You stopped because you weren’t even sure if that was true. Obviously, what you and Javier had was more than just friendship, but neither of you had put a label on it yet – so what were you really? Fuck buddies, friends with benefits? You shook your head – you would have to figure this out later.

“I didn’t think it was important,” you shrug, “We’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks. Our jobs keep us busy.”

Steve just hums, before standing from his seat, “Okay well, I have to go pick up Connie and then I’ll see you and your friend at the bar,” he says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and heading towards the door.

You rolled your eyes at your partner before leaning forward and picking the phone up off the receiver to call Javier. You felt the all too familiar feeling of butterflies in your stomach as you dialed his number and waited for his answer. You all had talked a few times since your date, but you haven’t met up since – you both had been busy with work. You were chasing the rogue cartel members while Javier was dealing with his family’s plantation. At least that’s what he told you.

Little did you know, he was also trying to deal with the rogues that left his cartel and stole his goods. He had caught a few of them – making sure they understood the repercussions of their actions. Maybe if he was a little…louder in his methods of dealing with the traitors, no one would try to undermine him again. He was actually in the middle of discussing the rogue members movements with his men when his phone started ringing. He sighed, pulling the cigarette from his lips and snuffing it out in the ash tray before answering the phone.

“Buenos,” He mumbled into the receiver, hoping to make this conversation quick.

“Javi?” your sweet voice asked through the receiver, and he immediately sat up straighter, snapping at his men and pointing them out of the room. The obeyed without question.

“Bonita?” he asked, when his men were out of earshot, “Is something wrong?”

His heart sped up a little when your bubbling laughter reached his ears, “No, nothing’s wrong,” you reassure, “I was calling to see if you were free, actually.”

Javier didn’t answer right away, he was too busy trying to get his racing heart to slow and quell the feeling in his belly. He hadn’t asked for more dates or meet ups since the one a few weeks ago for a reason. He was still trying to gather himself, still trying to figure out what the hell he had gotten himself into. He was trying to figure out if it was even a good idea to still be around you anymore – it was all too confusing, too complicated for him to logically continue this way. yet, no matter how hard he tried, he felt drawn to you. He found himself eagerly awaiting phone calls from you, waiting to hear your voice and your laugh, to see your smile – and this worried him.

“Are you still there?” you voice spoke timidly.

Javier shook his head, as if that would somehow expel the thoughts from his mind and sat forward in his chair letting out a loud sigh, “Yeah I’m here.”

It’s like you could hear his inner turmoil, because before he could continue, you were speaking again, “if you’re not that’s fine –“ your words were spoken quickly, the words jumbling over themselves as you continued to ramble, “I just – my partner and his wife were going to get some drinks in a little bit and asked if I wanted to come and – and well I just thought that maybe you would want to come?” he could hear the hopefulness in your words despite the winded explanation, and he opened his mouth to respond but you beat him to it again.

“But I know you’re probably busy, and this is so last minute, I should have known-“

“Hey, hey slow down,” he cut off your rambling, voice amused yet firm, “I would love to come,” he said, and he meant it.

He just couldn’t stay away from you, and plus, one more night out wouldn’t hurt anything.

“Great! That’s –“ he heard you take in a deep breath, “That’s great, I’ll see you there – It’s the bar we usually go to,” you say, voice light and filled with relief.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m out at the plantation right now so it will take me a bit to get into town, but I’ll start heading that way.”

“okay, drive safe,” you tell him.

Javier smiles at your words, amused at your small show of concern for him, “I will. see you soon princesa.”

He then pulls the phone away from his ear and set it back down into its cradle, a large smile lingering on his lips.

God, what has he done to himself?

***

“So,” Connie begins, taking a sip from her drink, “What is this friend of your like?” she asks, curiosity lacing her words.

Steve took this opportunity to jump in as well, “Yes, please enlighten us on the details of this friend you never told us about.”

You roll your eyes. You, Steve, and Connie had arrived at the bar about half an hour ago and you had managed to avoid the topic of Javier until now. But it seems their curiosity got the better of them, so you decided to give in.

“Well I met him here actually,” you inform, reaching out and taking a few peanuts from the bowl on the table and popping them in your mouth, “it was the day we got the Cartel case. I came to celebrate, and he struck up a conversation with me.”

Connie’s leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand, “Is he handsome?”

You saw Steve roll his eyes as he took a swig of his beer, before you answered her question, “Yes Connie,” you giggle, “He’s quite easy on the eyes,” you then feel a flush creep up your cheeks and you start to pick at a thread on the dress you had changed into, “Not too bad in the more…physical realm either,” you mumble.

You hear Connie let out a high pitch giggle at your comment just as Steve lets out a low groan and stands from his seat, “And that’s my cue to go get more drinks – you guys are terrible,” he chastises playfully walking over to the bar to get more drinks for the table.

Connie immediately leans into the table, voice lowered slightly as her eyes sparkled with mischief, “So…Spill!”

If your face wasn’t flushed already, you knew it had to be red as a tomato now, “I’m not just going to talk about my sexual exploits Connie!”

She whines, “Why not? I need details! I’ve been with Steve forever – and while he is far from disappointing –“

You wave your hands in the air and make an exaggerated gagging noise, “Connie stop. Oh my god I do not need to know about my partners sex life, please.”

She just lets out a loud laugh and takes another sip of her drink, “Come on – Please?” she practically begs, “Is he like totally vanilla? Or is he into to other things?”

You cover your face with your hands, “Connie, please!”

She shakes her head, “I’m not gonna stop until you give me something. so is he-“

You finally plant your hands firmly on the table, “Oh my god okay!” you whisper shout, “no he’s not totally vanilla, yes he’s into other stuff, and before you ask because I know you will – Yes he is above average. Are you happy now?” you huff, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

You expect the woman to throw even more questions at you but instead you see her hand over her mouth, stifling laughter as she looks behind you.

“So,” a familiar baritone fills your ears, “I’m above average, huh?”

You slowly turned to the side, seeing Javier standing just to the side and behind you, a smug grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye. If the earth were to open up beneath you right now, you would have gladly dived in headfirst. Your skin was hot with embarrassment as Javier leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips before sliding into the booth next to you.

“How much of that did you hear exactly?” you mumbled.

Javier just chuckled and slid his arm around your waist and pressed another kiss to your temple, his lips ghosting over your ear, “Oh, I heard enough,” he whispered, breath warm as it fanned over your already heated skin.

You wanted to shrink down into your seat, but Javier didn’t give you time to dwell in your embarrassment as he extended his hand to Connie, “Javier. It’s nice to meet you – although it sounds like you already know who I am,” he introduces, voice teasing.

Connie takes his hand in her own politely, “Well actually she hadn’t even told me your name yet,” she says, sending a playful wink your way and letting Javier take his hand back.

Javier just gave you an amused look, “you didn’t even tell her my name before you told her all about my –“

You cut him off, pointing an accusing finger at Connie, “She was the one who asked!” you cried, “I didn’t even want to have this discussion.”

“What discussion?” Steve’s voice asked, returning to the table with drinks in hand.

“Oh, Steve thank god-“ you whine, “Please save me from your wife and the trouble she has caused me.”

Steve just laughs, and sets the drinks down before sliding into the booth, his eyes landing on Javier as he passes the drinks around, “Hey man, I hope you like whiskey, because that’s what I’ve got,” he said, offering a glass of amber liquid to Javier.

He just nods, taking the glass from Steve’s hand and pulling his arm from around your waist to offer it to Steve, “My favorite, actually,” he says, shaking hands with Steve firmly, “Javier. And you must be Steve.”

Your partner smiles and nods, casting a glance your way, “That’s me,” he takes a sip of his drink, “Hope missy over there hasn’t told you all bad things.”

You chuckle at his words and felt the butterflies return as Javi gives one of his own laughs and returns his arm to your waist, “Not all bad things,” he jests, “but she’s told me some pretty good stories.”

The night goes on like this, just the four of you talking and catching up as if you were all old friends. It was a comforting feeling, knowing that Javier seemed to fit right in with you and the people you cared about. It was all so…domestic – and it brought your thoughts from earlier back. what was this between you and Javier? Despite not having an answer, you found yourself wanting more. More of this…whatever this was. And the fact that Javier had gotten more handsy as the night drew on wasn’t helping this feeling.

“So, what is it you do for work Javier?” Steve asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering one to the man next to you.

He graciously accepts and pulls his arm from around you to grab his lighter. He puts the stick between his lips and opens his lighter, igniting the cigarette and storing his lighter away.

“My family owns a coffee bean plantation on the outskirts of town. I’m in charge of the managerial side of things – exports, profits, shipping, stuff like that,” he explains.

You expected him to wrap his arm around you again but are caught off guard when instead his hand falls to your thigh, his fingers creeping under the hem of your dress slightly. suddenly you were very happy you decided to go home and change before meeting the group at the bar.

You tried to pay attention to the conversation, dropping in when you had something to add, but you found it harder and harder to focus with his hand on you. He would switch from rubbing soothing circles in your skin to gliding his hand up and down, stopping a little higher each time. Eventually after several torturous moments of this, his hand rested a little too high for your comfort and you shot up from your seat slightly.

“I-uh,” you stumbled over your words, “I’m gonna go get more drinks. Do you guys want anymore?” you ask, sending a playful glare to Javier asking him to move so you could get out.

They all nodded their confirmation as Javier slid from the booth to let you out. He helped you stand before returning to his seat, sending you a playful wink as you walked to the bar.

That coy bastard. He knew what he was doing to you, and he was proud of it. You stuck your tongue out at him playfully and watch as his shoulders shook with laughter as he returned to his conversation.

You finally made it up to the bar and waved the bartender down, ordering your drinks. You waited patiently for him to make some other customers drinks before he got to yours. You leaned your elbows on the bar, leaning forward just slightly as you waited, when suddenly you felt a presence at your side – a little too close for comfort. You turned and you saw an unfamiliar man standing next to you, eyes unabashedly roaming your figure.

“Te ves bien esta noche Chica,” He called, eyes never leaving your body.

You scoff and turn away from him, silently begging the bartender to hurry up. That is until you felt a harsh grip on your upper arm.

“Oye, te estoy hablando bruja,” his voice snaps, turning you harshly to face him.

“¡Suéltame cabrón!” you snarl, trying to pry his hand from you.

But before you can shove him off, he’s pulling you closer to him his free hand coming down to grab your ass, “¿Por qué?” His breath is warm and reeks of alcohol as it fans over your face, “Apuesto a que podría follarte mejor que ese pendejo de ahí” he breathes, making your stomach churn as he shoves his nose into your neck.

You push at him even harder now, “Get your fucking hands off of me!” you shout, the last word coming out high pitched as he groped you harder.

Before you even realized what was happening, the man was being ripped off of you and thrown to the ground and Connie and Steve were by your side, questions spilling from their lips – asking if you were okay and what had happened. But you couldn’t focus, your eyes were glued to the scene in front of you as Javier stood over the man who assaulted you, his shirt gripped fiercely in one hand while the other laid blow after sickening blow to the man’s face. You heard shouts from the other patrons in the bar and it finally broke you from your stupor. You pulled out of your friends grasp and moved towards Javier, who was still beating the absolute shit out of the guy while cursing at him.

“No la tocas, ¿me oyes?” he yelled, every other word enunciated by another blow.

You finally reach them and lunge for Javier, hands wrapping forcefully around his arm before he can hit the man again, “Javier stop!” you shouted.

But he didn’t stop, he just pulled his arm from your grip and continued beating the guy, and at this point a small seed of fear planted itself in your chest. The feral look on Javi’s face and the utter ruthlessness in his actions worried you. He was going to kill this man.

You looked back at Steve quickly, eyes begging for help, and he seemed to get the message. He rushed forward, and with your combined strength, you were able to pull Javier away from the man. You heard the bartender yell at you all to get out and you didn’t argue, glancing back and seeing the man unconscious on the floor as a few people crowded around him. once you were to the door of the bar, Javier roughly shrugged from your and Steve’s grip and shoved the doors open. You winced at the sound of them slamming against the wall before following him out.

You turned behind you, seeing that Connie had thoughtfully managed to grab all of your things from the table before you were kicked out, and you took your purse from her.

“I’m so sorry,” you say looking from them back to Javier who was lighting another cigarette and taking a long drag, “You guys should go home, I’ll talk to him.”

Steve looked at you warily, “Are you sure you want to be alone with him? After what he just did?”

You put a reassuring hand on his arm, giving it a small squeeze, “He won’t hurt me Steve, I promise.”

He glanced from you to the man a few feet away before sighing and pulling you into a hug, “okay,” he said, and you moved to give Connie a hug as well before stepping back slightly, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” Steve said, tugging Connie closer to him and turning to walk back to their car.

You let out a small sigh before turning around to go to Javier – this was not how this night was supposed to go. As you approach him you see that he has calmed down slightly, the only thing off about him is the hand holding his cigarette is shaking, blood and bruising covering his knuckles. He speaks before you can, stepping towards you as one hand cradles your face.

“Are you okay, Querida?” he asks gently, his eyes dancing across your face for any indication that you were harmed.

You shake your head and take his hand in yours, removing it from your cheek, “What was that Javier?” you question.

His lips fell into a firm line and he clenched his jaw for a moment before pulling the cigarette to his mouth and taking a deep breath. you wait patiently, as he exhales the smoke slowly, eyes looking off into the distance.

“I just-“ he sighed, scratching his brow with his thumb, the smoldering stick held between his fingers, “when I saw what has happening – when I saw his hands all over you – touching you like that,” his voice is filled with disgust as he takes another drag, breathing out the smoke again, “It’s like I couldn’t stop myself, I just – He shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

As you watched him take one final drag before tossing the filter to the ground and squashing it, you couldn’t help the conflicted feelings that bubbled inside you. You were grateful to him, obviously, that man had assaulted you and who knows what would have happened if Javier hadn’t stepped in. He protected you, something that should make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Yet, as you looked at his bloodied hand and remembered the primal scene in the bar…you also felt scared. Javier absolutely lost it, and he was powerful, you saw that on full display. So why did you still feel drawn to him? you should tell him to get lost, that you never want to see him again, but words spill out of your mouth faster than you can stop them, as you take his injured hand in your gently.

“Come on,” you whisper, tugging him in the direction of your car, “Let’s at least get your hand taken care of.”

***

The car ride to your apartment was silent, neither of you saying a word until you entered your apartment and locked the door behind you. You wordlessly walked into the kitchen and Javier followed, watching as you dug around under the sink for the first aid kit. Once you had it in hand you walked over and pulled a stool out from under the island, pointing to it.

“Sit,” you command quietly, grabbing the disinfectant and gauze from the kit while he got situated.

Javier was silent for a while, a million thoughts running through his head as he watched you work. But the one that kept coming to the fore front of his mind was the one that bothered him most. He was worried he had ruined everything.

But why should he be? This is what he wanted after all – an excuse to get away from you and the feeling you stirred within him. however, the only thing he felt at the thought was an intense ache. He didn’t want to entertain the idea of never seeing you again, especially if it was because you were scared of him. He was surrounded by people that were scared of him every day, the citizens of this country were scared of him and they didn’t even know who he was. El Diablo is what they called him, the devil. He scoffed at the thought, and that seemed to catch your attention.

You glanced up from your work, catching his gaze before looking back down again, “Penny for you thoughts?”

He doesn’t answer right away, only speaking when you finish with his hand, tying the gauze into place and taking a step closer to him.

He finally looks up at you, your eyes level with his with him sitting down and you standing in front of him, “are you afraid? Of me?” his words are quiet and they rumble in his chest as he speaks.

Your eyes soften at his words, and you fold your arms in front of you loosely, shrugging your shoulders, “What you did was insane, Javi. It was – “ you chew on the inside of your cheek momentarily before continuing, “yeah, I was scared,” you breath.

You watch as he seems to deflate at your words so you step forward quickly, hands coming to rest on the back of his neck, “But I’m not afraid of you,” you assure, “I know you would never hurt me. At least I would hope not.”

His head snaps up at your words and he stands from his seat, taking your face in his hands firmly, “No, no, never,” he stressed, “I would never hurt you.”

He doesn’t let you respond, he just surges forward, connecting his lips to yours in a fierce kiss. It’s desperate and needy, as his lips clash with yours, and his tongue swipes along your lower lip. You don’t hesitate in allowing him entrance. Your mouths move against each other hungrily – like you both had been starved before this moment, every emotion either of you had held back was thrown into this kiss, this…declaration. His hands move from your face down your body until they land on your hips, squeezing harshly and earning a gasp from you. Your hands had moved up, fingers carding through his hair and tugging slightly just as his hands gave you another harsh grasp, and the groan he emits is sinful as he pulls away from you.

You can see what he wants, the desire plain as day in his eyes, and you want to say something, anything, but he attaches his lips to your neck and your brain seems to short circuit, failing to get the one question you have been holding onto all night past your lips. but the feeling of his fingers creeping under the hem of your sundress kick starts your brain again and you push at his shoulders lightly.

He pulls away immediately, worried eyes searching yours, “What’s wrong? Did I – “

“What is this?” you blurt out, the words spilling over your lips before you can stop them, causing a silence to hang in the air.

It was out. The question you had been thinking about all day - that had been plaguing your mind since your first date. And Javier didn’t know how to respond. His mind, previously foggy with lust and too many emotions he couldn’t identify, was now blank. He didn’t know how to answer, because he didn’t have one. What were you? were you friends?

No estúpido, you’re more than that.

Friends with benefits?

He shook his head at this thought. No, that wasn’t it either.

You pulled away from him slightly, “Javi?”

He looked up to you now, unable to miss the innocent hope in your eyes as you waited for his answer, so he shook his head again, closing his eyes momentarily before looking back up to you.

“What do you want us to be?”

///

Translations:

¡Manos donde pueda verlos pendejos! – hands where I can see them asshole!

¿Por qué estabas en el Ayuntamiento? – why were you at town hall?

¿Para quién trabajas, eh? – who do you work for, huh?

No te estoy diciendo nada, cerdo. – I’m not telling you anything, pig.

si quieres salir de aquí, me vas a dar algo imbécil – If you want to walk out of here, you’re going to give me something asshole.

Por favor, no me mates, te diré lo que quieras, por favor – Please don’t kill me, I’ll tell you whatever you want, please.

¿Trabajas para el cartel – Do you work for the cartel?

No, señora. Estábamos con el cártel, pero nos fuimos. Queríamos hacer las cosas a su manera – el camino fuerte. – No ma’am. We were with the cartel, but we left. We wanted to do things out own way – the loud way.

Te ves bien esta noche Chica – you look good tonight girl.

Oye, te estoy hablando bruja – hey, I’m talking to you bitch!

¡Suéltame cabrón! – Let go of me bastard!

Por Que – Why?

Apuesto a que podría follarte mejor que ese pendejo de ahí – I bet I could fuck you better than that asshole over there,

No la tocas, ¿me oyes? – you don’t fucking touch her. Do you hear me?

////

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thepapercutpost · 3 years

Text

Female Artists Fighting For Their Due Are Not Being Greedy; They’re Defending the Futures of Their Industries

"Scarlett Johansson" by Gage Skidmore is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 (left). "File:191125 Taylor Swift at the 2019 American Music Awards (cropped).png" by Cosmopolitan UK is licensed under CC BY 3.0 (right)

In May of 2010, Iron Man 2 introduced Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow to the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

A few months later, Netflix—whose subscribers were, in majority, still receiving DVDs—began offering a standalone streaming subscription independent from its DVD rentals. It wasn’t until nearly ten years later that Disney, parent company of Marvel Entertainment, would launch its own streaming service, Disney+. And in 2021, after three pandemic-related delays, Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff’s solo film which fans had been demanding for 11 years, was finally released.

The long-awaited film garnered $80 million in North American theaters during its opening weekend, more than any other film released during the pandemic era. (In comparison, MCU’s last pre-pandemic release, Spider-Man: Far From Home, made $185 million). Because of the somewhat mercurial state of indoor gatherings around the world, Disney chose to make Black Widow available simultaneously in theaters and for an additional $30 fee for Disney+ subscribers. After opening weekend, in an unprecedented move in streaming service transparency, Disney revealed the film had grossed $60 million through Disney+’s Premier Access feature.

The next weekend, the film suffered a 67% drop in box office sales. Disney has not since released streaming numbers.

Within a month, news broke that Johansson was suing Disney over the film’s hybrid release. Her suit claims that her contract for the film guaranteed an exclusively theatrical release and that her compensation was largely tied to box office revenue, which was impacted by the film’s simultaneous availability on Disney+. The breach of contract is a serious allegation against the company, and it comes from the embodiment of one of the longest-standing pillars of its most successful franchise.

Disney’s response? Make her the bad guy. Paint her as the greedy, insensitive Hollywood prima donna. Publish her salary to prove it, despite a policy of “never publicly disclos[ing] salaries or deal terms.” And blame the pandemic.

In a statement, the company claimed Johansson’s suit had “no merit whatsoever” and called it “especially sad and distressing in its callous disregard for the horrific and prolonged global effects of the COVID-19 pandemic.”

Their argument here is twofold: 1) the pandemic prevented them from releasing the movie in theaters, and 2) she should be happy with the millions she has already gotten.

We have all had to make concessions due to the pandemic, albeit most of us on a smaller scale. But Disney’s sudden overwhelming concern for public health and safety is less than convincing. Their claim that they couldn’t have released the film in theaters proves baseless on account of it, well, being released in theaters. What they seemingly meant was that the pandemic meant a smaller payday from movie theaters, so they found an additional method of distributing the film that just so happened to free them of the obligation of splitting its revenue with the star, not to mention movie theater companies.

Appealing to the sympathies of the billions of people in the world who can’t even fathom the amount of money Johansson and her movie star peers earn for each film they make is a slightly smarter move. After all, a jury who decides whether she wins her case will likely consist of non-millionaires who may be biased against a woman who out-earns them by two or three digits. Regardless of the amount of money in question or the wealth of the individual, a deal is a deal, and a written contract is legally binding. The bottom line is that Disney failed to honor the agreed-upon contingencies (ie. a theatrical release). Not to mention, this argument expects us to forget that Disney itself is a conglomerate worth hundreds of billions of dollars, hardly a poor, innocent victim of a rich woman’s greed.

In fact, Disney’s mentioning of “the $20 million she has received to date” only broadens the scope in Johansson’s favor. She is a Tony winner, two-time Oscar nominee, and one of the highest-grossing actors in box office history. If she retired today, her entire family would be able to live a life of luxury for generations to come without having to work a day. So why nitpick over the extra $50 million or so she could have earned with a theaters-only release, cause a Hollywood-sized fuss, and risk the company dragging her name through the mud, as they so predictably did?

Let’s ask Taylor Swift. The singer-songwriter shot to international superstardom in 2008, making her the face of pop music. In recent years, she has fiercely advocated for artists’ rights after experiencing her own long and ultimately failed attempt to buy back her master recordings from Big Machine Label Group, which was acquired by music manager Scooter Braun in 2019.

Similarly, Johansson’s representatives attempted to reach out to Disney after the announcement of Black Widow’s hybrid release, which could possibly have amended their agreement and avoided the lawsuit altogether. But, like Swift, she was ignored.

Swift famously writes her own music, often from her own experiences. Scott Borchetta, founder of Big Machine, claims that she had the opportunity to own her masters, but, from both his account and Swift’s, the offer was contingent upon her staying with the company. Seeing as doing business with his company was what landed her in this situation, she was not willing to accept this condition, nor did she later accept Braun’s offer to buy back her music, a deal from which Braun would have profited and which came with its own condition: an NDA.

Her claim that Braun’s deal “stripped [her] of [her] life’s work” ignited a highly publicized feud not just between Swift and Braun but between their friends, loyalists, and supporters. Swift’s team shared her stance on artists’ rights while Braun’s defended his nice guy image. Braun himself didn’t comment, instead allowing his allies to take shots at the singer. His wife, Yael Cohen Braun, in an Instagram post referred to Swift as a “bully” and to her claim as a “temper tantrum,” telling her, “the world has watched you collect and drop friends like wilted flowers.” Justin Bieber, a client of Braun’s, suggested Swift's intention when expressing her disgust over the deal was “to get sympathy.”

Even after selling her masters to a private equity firm for $300 million in November 2020, Braun continues to profit off every CD and every stream of every song from every one of the six studio albums Swift recorded while she was signed with Big Machine, an agreement she first entered into at age 15.

Where Johansson is clearly in the right legally, Swift is morally right. Borshetta and Braun were under no legal obligation to sell her the rights to the songs she wrote and created, but they should have.

Both Swift and Johansson have incited high profile disputes, and both have been called by critics the “wrong person” to serve as the figurehead for the big picture arguments based on how much money they make. Two multi-millionaires are hardly the best representatives of the little guy trying to make it in the entertainment industry. It’s no skin off either of their noses if they don’t revolutionize the way artists and actors are paid.

Actually, it makes them the best voices for their causes. The millions of dollars at stake in each of their deals, while massive amounts to the average onlooker, would be a drop in the bucket of their wealth. Yes, they both have huge platforms and established fanbases they can use to garner support, but the fact that they have no skin in the game is their real strength. They don’t need the money, which proves they’re not doing it for themselves.

Disney is trying to hide behind the pandemic to defend its decision to release Black Widow on Disney+, but the issue was present even before the pandemic started, evident in Johansson’s agreement that the film have an exclusively theatrical release. Her suit claims she insisted upon this contingency when the streaming service was launched.

Streaming changed the game. Johansson is likely not the only one to have lost out on media companies’ failure to compensate talent fairly in the wake of the streaming evolution, but she is the first to draw the amount of attention to it that she has. Her claim opens the eyes of fellow actors, film distributors, and the public to an issue that extends beyond her: if the film industry is capable of adapting their content to this new source of distribution, then they can accommodate the role of actors into the changing environment and pay them, and other individuals who make their films possible, what they’re owed.

Record companies can stand to shake things up, too. Contracts that grant an artist’s masters to the labels that produce their music, such as the one Swift signed with Big Machine in 2004, are the norm in the music industry. Hers is far from the first battle to be fought by artists over the rights to their own music. There was the famous Paul McCartney v. Prince debacle in the 1980s, for example. In most cases, revenue is doled out to the label, the producers, the managers, and, last and least, the artists. It’s a system that assumes the performers are just lucky to be there, to have the opportunity to become the next Taylor Swift.

But streaming isn’t just for the movies—it’s changing the music game, too. Artists used to be entirely dependent on record companies to promote their music and get it into the hands of radio stations, but streaming sites and social media have allowed artists to release music independently. Working with a record company is still highly advantageous to an up-and-coming artist, but the other options available to them leave some breathing room for an artist to negotiate and retain the rights to their own music.

So, will wins for Swift and Johansson mean making two rich people richer? Yes. But it also starts a conversation. It gets the word out to young artists and actors that they should expect more from the publishers and executives they work with. And it sends a message to CEOs and big corporations: change with the times.

Since leaving Big Machine, Swift has signed with Universal Music Publishing Group in an agreement that guarantees her the rights to the music she creates with them, from Lover on. She is also in the process of re-recording her first six albums, an endeavor that began with Fearless (Taylor’s Version) in April and will continue with the scheduled release of Red (Taylor’s Version) in November.

“Hopefully, young artists or kids with musical dreams will read this and learn about how to better protect themselves in a negotiation,” Swift wrote in a post. “You deserve to own the art you make.”

#opinion #entertainment #business #feature

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quithand5 · 3 years

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chucklegigglechortlesnort · 4 years

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Meet Me on The Dance Floor

A/N: literally no one asked, but here you go. This is self indulgence at its finest. If you haven’t watched Kekkai Sensen already, I recommend it - both sub and dub are gold - it’s one of my very favorites.

I’m finally done with school, so I’ll be back on the fanfic grind.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissing, mentions of alcohol (legal drinking)

. . . . . . . . . .

“Hey, do you wanna go out tonight?”

It had all started with those seven simple words.

It wasn’t unusual for the two of you to hang out on weekends, in fact, it was one of the few things that Leo had become accustomed to while living in Hellsalem’s. However, typically the two of you usually spent that time lounging in your pajamas, eating junk food, and marathoning old true crime shows.

Going out was different.

Zapp had teased him relentlessly when he found out - god knows how - but it’s not like it was really anything new. It was obvious to everyone that the two of you were close and despite how that may have appeared, it never transcended beyond friendship. Even after all the obnoxious prodding that Zapp had subjected him to, Leo just couldn’t bring himself to make the first move.

“Out?”

The volume of Leo’s voice nearly made him wince, but he cleared his throat instead, face slightly rosy. You recoiled slightly, breaking eye contact in favor of the tiled floor of the common room. Leo inwardly cringed at the look on your face, regretting his outburst, but if you were hurt you didn’t dwell on it.

“Well… yeah! I mean, I know the owner of the club and I’ve heard good things.” You shrugged, glancing back up to meet Leo’s gaze. “I know going out isn’t really your thing, but I promise it’ll be safe. If anything happens, we’ve got each other. Besides, I think all these snack-filled movie marathons are starting to get to me.” You grimace as you jokingly pat your stomach.

Normally Leo would’ve laughed and shared the sentiment, or told you that you still looked pretty good to him, but instead he was just… silent. What did this mean? Were you asking him out as a friend? Were you asking him because you wanted more than just a friendship?

“I- I mean, you really don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can just ask Chain if she wants to- “

“N-no! I’m, I mean- I would like to go out with you!” Oh god, this was pathetic, “I mean, yes I would like to go out with you to the club! Yeah, the club-”

Once again you recoiled from his sudden outburst, but this time, after a few seconds a happy grin stretched across your face and you laughed. Oh, thank goodness.

“Alright then, I’ll see you at my place after work. The venue isn’t too far from my building so we’ll meet at quarter to ten and head over then. Sound good?”

“Yeah… sounds good!”

Leo waved you off as you happily turned on your heel and out of the room to run an errand. Not long after, Zapp came sauntering into the room like usual, dragging Leo off to do who knows what.

By the end of the day, Leo had almost died twice, a record all-time low considering what his norm was.

He had rushed over to your apartment having lost track of time after the long workday and despite wanting nothing more than to drown himself in the unreasonably soft pillows covering your living room, he began to psych himself up to go out. He knocked on the door of your apartment, slightly out of breath. This was going to be fun right? Just two good friends going out together for a good time, nothing more nothing less-

Your door swung open and Leo’s jaw hit the floor.

Your hair was slightly messier than normal, but he could only assume it had been done on purpose as you normally came into work looking neat and professional. It suited you. Your eyelids glittered with a subtle shimmer and your skin looked practically flawless, lips coated in a layer of gloss that he couldn't tear his eyes off of.

“Le- oh.”

“Huh?” Leo returned, snapping out of his hypnosis as he glanced back up at your eyes, “What?”

“You look like you just got jumped, no offense.” You reply, moving aside to let him in. He lets out a tired sigh, trudging through the doorway and flopping onto your couch.

“None taken.” He uttered through the cushion fabric, it was more or less what had happened anyways.

“Well, I was just about to get dressed, but are you still up to go out? We can always take a rain check and go out another night you know. We have an emergency snack supply and a new true crime show to binge so we’d be totally set.”

Leo kept his face pressed into the pillow and weighed his options. As nice as your proposal sounded, he knew he’d feel guilty if the both of you ended up staying in. He didn’t want to go back on what he said either, even though he knew you wouldn’t hold it against him.

“No, it’s okay, just give me a minute.”

He heard you snort and his head shot up from the pillow, “What? What’s so funny?”

You shook your head, trying to force down giggles at the way his hair stuck up at odd angles.

“Don’t worry about it,” You answered, disappearing into the hallway and to your room which wasn’t far off. “Oh, and Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Is that what you’re wearing out?”

Oops.

With all the commotion of the last day, he’d completely forgotten to bring a change of clothes, though he wasn’t really sure if he had anything that suited the venue, to begin with. After a little while of no response, you stuck your head out of your bedroom to see what the hold up was.

Leo had sat up on the couch, rubbing the back of his head bashfully, “Uh, it's all I really have, sorry.”

“Hey, don't worry about it then. Come here a sec.”

He slowly rose from the comfort of the couch, shuffling apprehensively over to your room. It wasn’t that he’d never been in your room before, but it still felt oddly intimate, like he wasn’t supposed to be there or something. When he reached your doorway, he saw you going through your closet, tossing items of clothing haphazardly onto the bed behind you.

You glanced over to see Leo awkwardly standing in the doorway, looking mildly unsure, “Come in come in, you’re not going to get scolded,” you joked, dragging him further in, right next to where you stood previously.

You motioned to the items of clothing splayed across the comforter, “See anything you like?”

“Aren’t these all your clothes?”

“Yeah, but a lot of the things I buy are actually ‘men’s clothing’.” You say, putting air quotes around “men’s clothing.”

Leo glanced down at the pile of clothes, completely lost. Sighing, you reached down and grabbed an over-sized, white t-shirt, a pair of solid, black dress-joggers, and a maroon bomber jacket that, funnily enough, matched his hair.

“Here,” You tossed the bundle of clothes into his arms, skirting around him to your vanity. You picked up a simple silver chain and handed it to Leo. His eyebrows rose slightly and you shook your head.

“Just, trust me.”

He only sighed and shrugged, mumbling, “Alright,” under his breath.

As you exited, you turned to pull the door shut, catching a quick glance at the way his shirt rode up his back as he pulled off his sweatshirt. You knew Leo never was one to boast, but despite all the claims that he was weak, he was actually quite… built. Heat rose to your cheeks as the image of a shirtless Leo flashed through your mind and you were thankful he hadn’t caught your eye when you had closed the door.

Not long after you had shut him in, Leo popped his head out of your doorway, once again looking mildly unsure.

“Well? Let me see!” You exclaimed impatiently.

Tentatively, he stepped out into the hallway, revealing your handy work. The t-shirt that would have normally swallowed you whole hung slightly loose around Leo’s torso, the bomber jacket fitting surprisingly well around his shoulders. The black joggers and chain pulled the look together, making the outfit look slightly more expensive than it actually was.

“So…?” Leo didn’t know quite what to make of his outfit. He rarely ever wore anything other than his staple hoodie, which eas beginning to wear down after all the wash cycles it had been through, so it was… nice to dress differently than he usually did.

“Perfect,” You stated, clasping your hands together in front of you enthusiastically, “Now all I have to do is change and we can head out.”

You were in and out in record time, and you looked absolutely stunning.

You had shed the over-sized sweatshirt and replaced it with a cropped leather jacket, a lacy maroon bodysuit peeking out from underneath it. A high wasted mini skirt met the jacket as it stopped just below your ribs, slits strategically placed on either side to show off a little extra skin while providing a little extra mobility without the risk of your skirt riding up. The whole look was pulled together by a pair of Dr. Martens.

Leo was at a loss for words for the ‘nth time that day.

Luckily you didn’t waste any more time as you brushed past him, calling over your shoulder, “Ready to go?”

“Y- Yeah! Just let me get my shoes on!”

He stumbled after, regaining his footing by the time he made it to your front door. He thanked the gods that he had chosen to wear his new shoes today. His last pair had been absolutely totaled by the last monster he had encountered the other day and these ones went much better with the outfit than the previous ones would’ve.

By the time he had finished tying up the laces, you were already excitedly waiting with the door open. He quickly exited the apartment, waiting for you to shut and lock the door before following you out of the building.

The walk to the venue was short, Leo having internally debated whether or not he should just grab your hand the whole five-minute walk. It was too soon that you had arrived at the entrance and with a wave of your hand you made your way past the bouncer, announcing that you had brought a plus one with you. Disgruntled bar-hoppers protested against your bypassing of the line but were swiftly silenced by one growl from the alterworlder guarding the door.

Bass blasted through the speakers surrounding the dance floor and off to the side was a large bar boasting a plethora of liquors and fine wines. You grabbed Leo’s hand, pulling him straight to the bar.

“Two Blue Moon’s to start off the night please!” You shout over the music. The bartender nods, grabbing two bottles and sliding them down the counter. You pass one of the already cracked open beverages off to your companion, clinking the drinks together before taking your first sip.

Three beers and two shots later, you began to feel the familiar buzz setting in. Leo had finally begun to loosen up halfway through his third beer and you were currently boisterously laughing at his recollection of the day’s past events - something about zap nearly getting his dick blown off by one of his crazy one-night stands.

You were mid-laugh when the song suddenly changed and your face lit up with recognition. You turned to Leo, a hopeful look on your face.

“Hey! I know this song, wanna go dance?”

He glanced up from his beer, looking slightly shocked. His cheeks were already tinted rosy from the alcohol but he could feel the color rising to his cheeks at your suggestion.

“Um, yeah, sure.”

Your face lights up at his words and butterflies swarm around in his stomach, despite the alcohol in his system. Hopping down from your seat at the bar, you grab his hand once more, this time intertwining your fingers with his as you lead him to the dance floor.

You expertly wove your way through sweat soaked individuals gyrating to the beat of the music, ending up somewhere not too far from the edge but far enough that you were surrounded on all sides by other people. Once you seemed satisfied with your location, you pulled Leo towards you until there was less than a hair’s width of space between the two of you, placing the hand you held in yours on your waist, encouraging the other to follow suit. Your arms circled around Leo’s shoulders, bringing him impossibly close as you gently swayed to the beat.

Leo felt as if his whole body was on fire. Not a single part of him was unaware of your closeness and his intoxicated mind could barely fathom how much had changed in that single moment you had decided to pull him against you. One moment he was buzzed without a care in the world, the next he was close enough to kiss you if he wanted to.

And he really wanted to.

Feeling oddly brave, Leo brought his forehead to rest against yours. It may have just been him being too hopeful, but he thought that maybe he saw your gaze flick to his lips for a moment before glancing back up at him through lidded eyes. And maybe it was just his poor depth perception from the alcohol running through his veins, but it was almost as if with each sway of your bodies, your face was inching closer to his.

Fuck it.

Mustering all of the courage he had, Leo closed the distance between you, gently slotting his lips with yours. It only lasted a few seconds before he pulled away, wanting to make sure he hadn’t overstepped his bounds. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for you to push him away, to tell him that you didn’t see him like that, or maybe even slap him, but none of those happened. Instead, he was pulled back towards you, this time your lips crashing together. With newfound confidence, Leo pulled your body flush against his to deepen the kiss. Hands slowly traveled up his shoulders and threaded themselves into messy maroon curls as you sucked his bottom lip into your mouth and softly bit down. Leo let out an embarrassing whimper at the sensation, suddenly thankful that the music had drowned out all other noises. His grip on your hips tightened reflexively when your tongue glided over his lip to soothe the bite, before slipping past his lips and tangling with his own.

Suddenly you broke away from the kiss, panting heavily as the song came to an end.

“Let’s go back to my place, yeah?” you asked breathlessly, intently searching his face as you waited for an answer.

The two of you hadn’t been out for more than an hour and a half, but despite this, Leo found himself nodding in response. Fingers laced themselves through his and he allowed himself to be lead off the dance floor through an obstacle course of swaying bodies and to the club’s exit. The sudden gush of fresh air did little to sober the two of you up as you insistently tugged along a stumbling Leo, who wondered how on earth you were able to walk so effortlessly despite the alcohol in your system.

As soon as you made it past your building security you were practically dragging him up the stairs and to your apartment door where you hastily unlocked it, barely making it inside before your lips connected again.

Who really initiated, neither of you knew, but it hardly mattered. The heady mixture of alcohol and pent up sexual tension had overriden any inhibitions that previously lingered in your minds and the only thing your inebriated brain could focus on was how good it finally felt to be doing this.

Your back was flush with the wall while your front was pressed completely against Leo’s, who’s hands had found their place back on your hips. Your arms wrapped around his neck, hands threading themselves into the curls at the nape of his neck and tugging. This time Leo let out a mixture of a whimper and a moan, muffled by your tongue slipping past his lips and into his mouth, tangling with his own.

You pulled away shortly after, trailing your lips first over his jaw before coming to a halt over his pulse. You hovered over the spot for just a moment, before firmly placing your lips on his skin and softly sucking. A sharp intake of breath could be heard and almost immediately Leo’s arms snaked around your waist, holding you tightly to him and completely closing the distance between you. His lips found yours once again, this kiss just a little bit needier, just a little bit sloppier than the last.

Your right hand gently de-tangled from his hair and slowly trailed down his arm before slipping between your bodies and underneath the fabric of the loose, white t-shirt. Your hand trailed up his abdominal and just about reached his rib cage, lifting the hem of the shirt along with it.

Your fingertips had just about reached his upper chest when suddenly-

“Hold on.”

Leo abruptly tore away from you, gazing down at your face which was tight with confusion and borderline hurt. He hated it, and he hated it more that he was currently the reason for it, but he couldn’t go any further without knowing.

“I don’t- I wouldn’t… do this, with just anybody. And I, um- I don’t want to- wait, no. I do want to, but only if, you know, the feeling is… mutual.”

There was a pregnant pause as you contemplated his words, and suddenly your face was flushed a deep crimson red, the alcohol in your system doing nothing to subdue the embarrassment overtaking your entire body at the moment. You buried your face in your hands, trying to will away the intense blush that painted your countenance.

Oh jeez, you were such an idiot.

“Well. You see, I had a plan.”

“Huh?”

“I was going to start asking you out on more… date like outings, and somewhere along the way you’d hopefully get the message or I’d build up enough courage to, you know, ask you out,” you explained. “I certainly wasn’t expecting this to happen, and I just thought, well-“

“-that I got the message.” Leo finished.

“Mhm.” You nodded, “I definitely got a bit carried away though, I’m sorry.”

Another pause settled over the two of you, and after a little while you slowly peaked from behind your hands to gauge his reaction. To your surprise, his face was covered in a blush of its own, his normally squinted shut eyes drawn open in shock.

“Leo? Are you-”

“A complete idiot? Yes.”

“Well, that’s not what I was going to say, but if the shoe fits.” You cracked, trying to ease the tension that had settled over the two of you. Leo only blinked in response, and you thought that maybe you had made the wrong choice until-

“Pft-“ The both of you burst out into a fit of giggles, marveling at the ridiculous situation.

You gently shook your head as the giggles quieted, but the smile on your face remained. You glanced over to the time displayed in bright, green numbers on your microwave, taking note that it was only half past eleven.

“You know, it’s still pretty early and those snacks aren’t going to eat themselves.” You concluded, settling your gaze back onto Leo.

His own countenance was decorated with a soft smile, the blush still present, though it had subsided to a slight flush just underneath his eyes.

“I’ll go throw on the true crime documentaries.”

. . . . .

Early morning sun streamed through the curtains that covered your windows, a strand of light hitting Leo right in the eyes. He groggily cracked an eye open to find foreign surroundings.

He wasn’t in his apartment? Oh, right.

Memories of the previous night came back to him and he felt his cheeks flush. A soft groan came from just beside him and he nearly yelped in fright before realizing it was just you.

You.

He smiled to himself as he gazed down at your peaceful face, letting out a soft laugh. You cracked an eye open to see him staring down at you. You let your lid shut, snuggling deeper into his chest.

“What’s so funny?” You asked. Though it was more of a statement than anything.

“You’re drooling.”

“Am not…” You retort, voice scratchy as you brought your hand up to make sure, “Whatever you jerk, go back to sleep, it’s too early to be up on a day off.”

You heard another soft laugh as Leo readjusted himself so he was out of the line of light, wrapping his arms around your waist to bring you closer. He pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline and you buried your face deeper into his chest to hide the blush creeping up to your cheeks. He certainly was more bold when he was half asleep.

You’d have to tease him about it later though, you noted, drifting back to a content slumber.

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