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lush-lavenders · 4 years ago

Text

❀Bet {1}❀

JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: You were always the good girl that didn’t do anything outside your parents’ wishes. Including dating bad boys. Out of the blue, the baddest of boys comes and asks you on a date. The catch? You don’t know quite yet...

Request: N/A

Author’s Note: This idea is kind of based off 10 Thing I Hate About You. Great movies, if you haven’t watched it, please go watch it.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Cursing

!I don’t own this gif!

“He’s a bad boy, Di.” You didn't look up from your notebook as you finished your poem for English.

Dina, who sat next to you at the library table, huffed. “But he’s so your type - blond hair, blue eyes, built like a God. He’s the whole fucking package.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the notebook and turning to her. “Who drinks, smokes, and has sex with anything that breathes with a vagina. I want someone a little more stable.”

She groans, throwing her head back. “You’re a 16 year old virgin, Y/N. Stability is a middle-aged person thing.”

You laugh a little and shake your head. “One, it’s not. Two, even if I was interested in him, there’s no way in hell he’d ever notice me.”

She smirks, hearing your second point as you possibly being interested in the boy. “I can think of a way for you to get his attention…”

“No.” You frantically shake your head. “Hell no.”

“Come on! You never go!”

You laughed. “Yeah, cause I don’t feel like getting drunk around a bunch of fake people.”

She pouted. “Come on…” She whined. “Just one! I promise I won’t leave your side for a second, or get drunk.”

You sigh, shaking your head. You were about to say no when you looked at your best friend. She displayed a puppy dog face. You sigh again, closing your eyes. “Just this one time.” She never did the puppy dog face unless she really wanted something.

She squealed, jumping up from her seat. “Yes!”

The librarian, who was a good distance from you two, looked in your direction at Dina’s outburst. “Shh!”

She giggled out an apology before suffocating you in a hug.

You were so going to regret this.

----

JJ plopped down in his seat at the cafeteria table. “Yo, John B, watch this.” He hit his friend lightly on the arm as he grabbed a french fry.

Kie rolled her eyes from where she sat. “Do you always have to do this?”

He ignored her as he tossed the french fry up in the air, catching it in his mouth long ways.

John B chuckled. “How long did it take you to do that?”

He shrugged, chewing the fry. “Fucking long enough to be appreciated.”

Everyone at the table snorted at JJ’s comment. Their laughs died quickly when a few Kooks came over and sat at their table around them.

“You guys lost or something?”

The one that seemed to be the leader of the pack, Gavin they thought his name was, spoke. “I was actually looking for a favor.”

“Look elsewhere.” John B answered, sitting back a little.

JJ looks at the fake watch on his wrist. “Come back when we’re working. Oh, wait, that’s never.”

Gavin rolled his eyes a little. “We both know I can pay. So humor me.”

JJ crossed his arms. “You humor us.”

“I need one of you to trick a girl for me.” He looked at the boys, but specifically John B and JJ.

They all laugh a little. “Sorry, but that’s not our thing.”

One of the Kook goons patted his friend on the back. “You didn’t let him finish.”

JJ rolled his eyes and signaled for Gavin to continue.

“She’s right over there.” He points across the cafeteria to a H/C girl sitting with a brunette. “Her best friend is a total babe. But she won’t date anyone unless the both of them are getting some.”

John B shook his head. “And I’m guessing that’s where we come in?”

JJ speaks up before Gavin can say anything more. “Why can’t you get one of your ‘friends’ to do your dirty work?”

“This girl has specific tastes. And one of them is she prefers anyone but Kooks.” Gavin looks away from the two girls and back at the two boys. “So, what do you say? Will one of you take the offer?”

The table was silent for a moment. Kie was disgusted with the premise of using a girl just to get into another girl’s pants. Pope was glad he didn't get rope into this. John B knew sure as hell he wasn’t going to do this. But JJ, he was actually considering it.

“Alright, bet.” JJ says after a while, shoving a french fry in his mouth. “I’ll do it.”

Gavin smiles and pats him on the back. “That’s what I’m talking about, man. Her name is Y/N.”

----

“Now that’s what I’m talking about, girl!” Di squeals as she looks you up and down.

You were in a pair of black ripped jean shorts that kept riding up on your thighs. Your F/C crop top barely covered any part of your stomach, also riding up every now and then. You didn’t do much with your hair, not wanting to seem like you got really ready for a Kegger Party.

Di drags you to where most people are. “Thank my mom. I was going to come in tights and a t-shirt.” You mumbled.

She rolls her eyes playfully as she shoves a red solo cup in your hand. “Of course you were.”

“What’s in this?” Sloshing the liquid inside, it looked like a cheap substitute for red wine mixed with hard beer.

She shrugged and grabbed your arm, pulling you where more people were. “Who cares! Let loose for once and have some fun!”

You laugh a little and look back at the contents of your cup. Maybe a couple sips wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

Boy was that a bad idea.

The alcohol tasted cheap and went down like a child scared of a waterslide. It also hit you like a truck on an icy road.

You didn’t realize this until you were babbling on about the horrible quality of the education system to some poor Touron from Maine. Di, who had had way more to drink than you, was right behind you, laughing every once in a while at what you said.

“I mean, who the hell cares about proofs? I shouldn’t have to prove shit!” It’s not like you even drank a lot. You had, at most, four sips.

The Touron was a mix between an uncaring tipsy and a concerned sober. “I need to get another drink.” He got up and, without waiting for you to respond, rushed off away from the kegger.

Not processing he was ditching you, you waited nice and patiently for him to return. You waited five minutes. Which turned to ten minutes. Then twenty. Then thirty. Then Di had to come over and correct your thinking.

“Girlie,” she slurred, almost tripping on you. She did seem to have sober up a little bit. “He’s gone gone. Like so gone.”

You sighed, helping her stand up properly. In the back of your mind you knew you overstepped, but you couldn’t say it.

After you were sure she could stand up on her own, you said, “I think I’m gonna-”

You had started to turn around and head towards the kegger when the sudden appearance of a body set you landing down right on your ass.

“Mother of all ducks and gooses…” You mutter, rubbing the part of your butt that wasn’t completely in the sand.

A hand popped in front of your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

The voice was one you didn’t really recall. But the face… If the blow to your ass didn’t sober you up, the thought of talking to this boy would have.

His smile was goofy, but presented itself like he knew how he made girls feel. Which he did. “Y/N, right?”

How the hell did JJ Maybank know your name? There was no way he should have known your name. It was impossible.

You felt a nudge on your shoulder and glanced back to see Di trying to contain her excitement and failing. Looking back forward, you slowly take his hand and let him help you stand back up.

“Y-Yeah…”

“Great.” He didn’t let go of your hand once you were standing. Instead, he started to pull you over to a group you recognized as his friends.

You might have been a little too quick to stop him. “Wait, wait.” You pulled back on your hand. It didn’t get him to let go; only to slow down. “What - Who - Why?” You weren’t completely sober, so complete sentences and comprehensive thought wasn’t a friend.

He laughed, enjoying the effect he had on you. “Go on a date with me.”

That wasn’t a question. And the bluntness of it made you want to take a couple steps back. JJ Maybank, head Pogue boy or whatever, was asking a low profile Kook on a date. Something wasn’t right there.

Before you could open your mouth to answer, Di came and leaned over your shoulder. “Yes! Of course she’s gonna go on a date with you.” The smell of alcohol was a little too much for you.

He let go of your hand, which left a cold spot, and flashed you a charming smile. “Great. Meet me here on Friday. 3:30.” With that, he just walked back to his friends.

You were left sober with a drunk best friend to deal with and one question on your mind - What the fuck just happened?

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obxcunt · 4 years ago

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Rafe Cameron x Pogue Reader.

A/N: First of all, this is probably trash, i’m really sorry and i’m insecure about my writing hehe. Anyway, Rafe is the cocky asshole and Y/N the horny Pogue, enemies to lovers vibes, classic. And this is their story or more specifically: How they ended up together.

Warning: Light Smut, Sexual tension, Fluff, Light Angst, idk mention of Ward Cameron and John B? Sounds like a warning to me, you might feel the need to throw your panties at Drew afterwards?

Words: 5K

You started working at the country club this summer, which is where you “met” Rafe Cameron. But it wasn’t really the first time, as a Pogue you were already aware of the Kook’s bad reputation. However, this is when things unexpectedly started to change between the two of you.

At first, you tried to avoid him and his friends as much as possible: which caught Rafe’s attention and intrigued him. You were annoyed by his cocky attitude, vulgarity and poor comments regarding your lifestyle and friends but you couldn’t deny his charm.

One day, after another sexist comment from Topper, you decided to call him out in front of everyone, flipping him off on your way back to the bar as well. And your sudden bold attitude picked Rafe’s interest, leaving the Kook boy wordless and turning him on at the same time.

That’s when Rafe started to come to the club by himself without telling anyone, wanting to admire you in peace. He was obsessed with your work uniform, with the way your short tennis skirt always exposed your legs to him. He couldn’t stop picturing himself caressing your beautiful thighs, his mind going wild at the thought of you sitting on his lap.

Rafe didn’t know how to handle his new feelings towards you, especially the most sinful ones. He wasn’t used to rejection, usually women are the ones coming up to him. But you weren’t one of them, you were mostly ignoring him, torturing the Kook boy through the act. You guys were supposed to be enemies, but deep down, Rafe hoped you didn’t hate him.

On the other hand, you tried to not pay attention to the cocky Kook boy. But today, you knew something was going on due to Rafe’s lack of discretion. You could feel his blue eyes devouring you from across the room as you walked by. He was sitting at his usual table with his friends, drinking in silence and ignoring their conversation, too busy looking at you with intensity: the persistence making you blush uncontrollably. And right now, as Rafe licked his lips: tasting the sweet alcohol he just drank. He smirked to himself, wondering how you’d taste.

You left the room, followed by the Kook boy. “What do you want, Cameron?” You asked harshly, noticing his presence as you both walked to the exit. You were craving fresh-air, your cheeks still burning from his last action. “Do you have plans for tonight?” He asked back, opening the door for you, your eyes lingering on his bicep as he held it. “Why—“ You paused, waving at some customers coming in as you both stood next to the entrance. “I’m not interested.” Rafe laughed, grabbing your wrist as you tried to walk out. “Wait,“ He turned you around, gently pushing you against the wall, not caring about the people looking at the two of you. “One date, one chance.” “I don’t understand, you—“ You licked your lips, trying to ignore the warm feeling invading your body as he looked down at your lips. “This is literally our first real conversation, the insults and shitty comments you usually throw at me don’t count. And now, after all, you want to take me on a date? Why? I’m not a dirty Pogue anymore?” He shrugged his shoulders, playing it cool while he was freaking out on the inside, scared to get rejected by you. “I— I don’t know. You seem like a cool girl.” You raised a brow, then rolled your eyes at him. “If this is some kind of bet—“ “No! It’s not— Y/N, trust me it’s not. I’m not very good at this…” You sighed, a bit intrigued by his offer. “Fine, I'm giving you one chance, Cameron.”

Surprisingly, he wasn’t playing with you: preparing a whole pic-nic on the beach by himself, with a few candles and pillows laying on the duvet he had placed on the sand. “Wow, this is actually really nice.” You said, sitting down next to the nervous boy. Rafe smirked, admiring your features glowing under the sunset’s light. He couldn’t tell, but you were trying your best to not look at him, guilt washing you over as soon as you started thinking he looked hot tonight. You weren’t supposed to feel this way. “Don’t look at me like that.” You said, looking at the horizon. “I— I wasn’t,” You chuckled. “I can’t help it.” He admitted, swallowing hard as you looked back at him. “Did you tell your friends about our date?” He asked. “Of course not, and you didn’t say anything to yours either, right?” He shook his head, making you laugh. “I don’t even understand what I'm doing here.” “Stop pretending you’re not attracted to me,” You laughed nervously. “I know you feel it too.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lied, your cheeks heating up under his intense gaze once again. “Listen, i’m sorry for the— everything.” “Rafe Cameron, apologizing,” You smiled at the irony. “That’s very unexpected. Is that your way to get into my pants, Cameron?” The Kook boy coughed, drinking a few sips of his beer to cool down. “I— No.” He said, shaking his head. “You don’t want to have sex with me?” His eyes widened at the question. “Yes, I mean— No.” He groaned, while you simply laughed at his frustration. His eyes went down your thighs, those thighs. “Cameron… Don’t.” You warned, his eyes meeting yours and finding a sudden touch of desire in them. “God—“ You groaned, pulling on your skirt with embarrassment. “This is so weird.” He slowly leaned his head towards yours. “I wanna touch you, so bad.” He murmured, his lips dangerously close to yours. You surprised yourself by briefly looking at his own, secretly wanting to taste them. “I—“ You paused, goosebumps now covering your skin as you felt his fingers wandering along your thigh. You looked down, enjoying the sight of his large hand resting on your thigh. “You want it.” He said, clearly amused by your reaction to his touch. “Wh— What? No!” You objected, smacking his hand away in panic. “But—“ “I— I wanna go home!” You blurted out, getting up and walking away from a very confused Rafe Cameron. Truth is, you wanted this as much as he did but you couldn’t lose your composure, not with him.

A few days passed since your catastrophic date with Rafe. And he’s been avoiding the country club since then, which annoyed you way more than it should’ve had. You ended up missing seeing him, searching for the tall boy’s silhouette everywhere at the club, to only find a void eating you alive. The Pogues knew something was wrong: noticing your silence, how much you were lost in your thoughts and the certain sadness occupying your gaze. You blamed it all on insomnia, too scared to admit your attraction to Rafe Cameron, their enemy.

You saw him again at Midsummers, finally. You were working with your friends that night, not expecting to see him walking in with his family, and a beautiful woman at his arm. You weren’t supposed to feel jealous, but couldn’t help it. He looked at you for the first time in a week, his deep blue eyes not leaving you as he kissed his date on the cheek at, asshole. “Is everything alright, Y/N?” Pope asked, walking up to you. “Yes...” You mumbled, faking a smile. “I— I need to use the bathroom, i’ll be right back.” He nodded, watching you leave, catching the Kook boy’s eyes following you through the crowd.

Once you were inside, you let out a sigh, both hands holding on the edges of the sink as you enjoyed the silence. Rafe ended up following you to the bathroom, a bit worried. He knocked on the door without introducing himself, forcing you to move back to it. “What are you doing here?” You asked, looking at the tall boy standing on the doorstep. “I saw you leaving and—“ You snorted, interrupting him. “Shouldn’t you be with your date, Cameron?” He smirked, sensing the bitterness in your question. “Jealous, Y/N?” He briefly looked behind him, examining the empty hallway, before pushing you back inside as he walked in. He closed the door and locked it, without breaking eye-contact. “I’m not jealous.” You lied, taking a better look at his appearance. He looked sensational in his baby-blue suit, your curiosity wondering how his muscles looked underneath it. “You’re the one who rejected me, remember?” He continued, leaning against the door, repulsing the urge to touch you. “Because all of this doesn’t make any sense!” You snapped out of frustration, scratching your head. “W— We are not supposed to do this, we are not supposed to feel this way.” He licked his lips, walking up to you. “We?” You rolled your eyes at his usual cockiness, crossing your arms. “Did you miss me, Y/N?” He asked, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb, going down your bottom lip as he held your chin with his fingers: the action sending shivers down your spin. You fluttered your eyes, enjoying the feeling. “Look at you, getting weak under my touch.” You opened your eyes, annoyed. “Fuck you.” You hissed, hitting his toned chest, both hands finding their way to his neck. “I will.” He said, pushing against the wall, making you whine. “Rafe—“ He slammed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, the both of you fighting for dominance with your tongues as he kept his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You were finally tasting them, tasting him: and it was even better than you had imagined it. “Fuck—“ He moaned against your lips, the both of you craving way more than a kiss, the both of you needing to feel the void. “Jump, baby.” He ordered in a whisper, kissing your jawline as he smacked your ass. You obeyed, wrapping your legs around his clothed body and letting the Kook boy carry you to the sink counter. Your hands went directly to his belt, a soft moan escaping your lips as Rafe licked your neck, leaving wet kisses all over skin. “Listen to me,” He said, grabbing your jaw to look at you in the eyes, your neediness driving him insane. “We’re gonna have to make it quick, alright?” You nodded, blushing as you felt your stomach twitch at the sound of his voice. “Good girl.” You moaned at his words, watching him unbuttoning your blouse. You had sex with Rafe Cameron for the first time that night, but it wouldn’t be the last.

The next day, you didn’t know what to expect from him. However, you were both eager to see each other again. You saw him during the day, while walking down the stairs to meet someone at the bar. A sudden shyness invaded you, your cheeks heating up at the thought of him: pulling on your hair, calling you his, choking you, controlling your body, cumming inside you. He noticed you, following you in the hallway and gently grabbing your wrist to turn you around, a devilish smirk on his face. “Hey, you come here often?” He asked, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. “Rafe…” You laughed, admiring the few marks on his neck. “Last night—“ “Last night was fucking amazing.” You smirked, biting your lower lip. “Yeah, maybe we should do it again someday.” You said. “Yeah, maybe we should…” You hummed, getting lost in his blue eyes, ignoring the noises surrounding the two of you. Last night, Rafe made you feel alive, and you were already dying to feel it again, no matter how inappropriate it was. You sighed, grabbing the tall boy’s face, pulling him in a heated kiss, listening to your heart rather than your head. You both pulled away, out of breath and turned on. “The closet?” Rafe suggested, driven by lust. “Please.”

And it happened again, again and again. You decided to stop counting at some point, enjoying each time like it was the last one. You guys were having sex everywhere, at any time of the day and night, it felt like an addiction: at the country club, at parties (which was dangerous), at his house (in his room, the shower, the pool, his dad’s office) and yours, in the back of his truck or even on the beach. You both liked it rough, but sometimes it turned into soft-love making: “What’s wrong, Rafe?” You asked, coming out of the bathroom and noticing the crying boy sitting on your bed. “What happened?” You walked up to him, kneeling down between his legs. “Hey, look at me.” You said, cupping his face and wiping the tears away with your thumbs. “My dad he’s—“ He paused, his voice cracking. “It’s okay, Rafe...” You whispered, leaning your forehead against his, sitting on his lap. “You’re safe here.” You reassured him, kissing his forehead. Rafe hugged you tight, a few tears rolling down his cheeks. “Do you want anything?” He looked up, sniffing with a sad smile. “You.” He murmured, the confession making you smile.

He held you the whole time, needing to feel you close to him as much as possible because you were the one making him feel safe and loved. His lips barely left yours, moaning and whispering the sweetest words against it. He looked at you in the eyes, pounding into you at a slower pace, smiling wide as you begged the Kook boy for more. He couldn’t stop admiring the beautiful girl underneath him: scratching his back with fierceness, crying in pleasure and screaming for him and only him. He really wanted this moment to last forever, and for the first time he didn’t leave afterwards, letting you fall asleep in his strong arms, holding you close to his heart: where you definitely belonged.

The Pogues knew you were seeing someone: you were constantly on your phone, ditching plans without explanation and quite often wearing bruises around your neck. However, Rafe wasn’t your boyfriend, yet. You both really liked each other, but didn’t know how to express it: your hookups sessions were turning into something more, which seemed a bit scary to you at times. Truth is, even though you both agreed on keeping this as a secret, you really wanted to talk about it to someone, craving advice and reassurance. And it seemed like the universe had heard your prayers, as Sarah caught the two of you having sex in your kitchen the other night.

“Rafe...“ You moaned, bent over the counter. “Fuck— I missed you so much.” He groaned at your words, pulling on your hair as he roughly pounded into you from behind. “Shit— Pretty girl.” You cried, gripping on the edges for dear life. “This is what you get,“ He smacked your ass. “For flirting with a guy in front of me.” “I— I wasn’t flirting with him!” You gasped, his arms pulling you back against his sweaty chest, his lips sucking on your neck as he pounded deeper into you through the new angle. “Shut up.” “Fuck, Rafe—“ He smiled against your skin, loving the power he had on you. “You’re taking me so well, baby. Look at you, getting fucked in the kitchen. You like that, huh?” You cried at his words, your hands holding on his arms for support. “Cum for me.” He murmured, hitting your g-spot, your legs shaking at the impact. You were about to, until someone arrived in the kitchen: Sarah, holding your backpack in hands. “Y/N, you forgot your—“ She paused, screaming in horror at the sight of the two of you: breathless, moaning mess. “Shit— Sarah!” You tried to call her, but she threw the backpack on the floor before running towards the front door. “Well, it was obviously going to happen at some point.” Rafe said, pulling out of you and putting his pants on. “I told you to lock the door.” You hissed, grabbing your dress off the ground. Rafe looked at you, noticing the panic submerging you as you struggled. “Hey, hey, hey,” He whispered, gently cupping your face. “Look at me, Y/N. It’s fine, don’t worry.” You pushed him away, dressing up in a rush. “This is not okay— I’ve been lying to my friends for weeks, they’re gonna be so—“ Rafe turned you around, pulling you against him. “You need to calm down, okay? I’m sure they’ll understand, and it’s actually none of their business.” You sighed, kissing his bare chest, your arms wrapping themselves around him. “I’ll stay with you, if you want.” He said, kissing the top of your head. “So… About what we were doing ten minutes ago.” He continued with a smirk, squeezing your ass. “Get out of my house, Cameron.” You said, playfully pushing the Kook boy away. “Your little sister just caught us having sex.”

Rafe dragged you inside his house, holding your hand. “Come on, Y/N.” He said, kissing your temple. “Stay in the perimeter, in case she tries to kill me.” You whispered, glancing at his blond sister walking in the kitchen. Rafe laughed, placing a soft kiss on your lips before letting go of your hand. You sighed, walking inside the quiet room, looking at your friend sitting down at the table with a bowl of fruits. “What do you want, Y/N? Condoms?” She joked, looking away. “Sarah—“ “I can’t believe it, you’ve been fucking my brother for weeks, without telling me.” You crossed your arms, nervously biting your lower lip. “I— I’m sorry. I was scared, because it’s obviously very problematic—“ Sarah chuckled, looking back at you. “No shit, Y/N!” She said, falling back into her chair. “First of all, my brother is an asshole, he doesn't deserve you. Second of all, he hurt our friends many times!” “I know, I feel guilty about us everyday, Sarah!” You shouted, walking up to her. “I don’t know how it happened, but i really like him and—” “Oh my god, tell me you’re not in love with my brother.” She said, visibly disgusted. “He’s not that bad, he’s actually sweet at times. Come on, Sarah. I was the first one to defend you and John B!” The Kook girl sighed, trying to understand how someone like you could love someone like Rafe. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re one of my best friends, Y/N.” She said, giving you a tiny smile. “I’m traumatized by the way.” She added, grimacing at the idea of his brother and you having sex. “Please, don’t be mad at me. I— I know this is weird, but i liked being around him and i feel like i might have a good influence on him.” “Of course you have a good influence on him, you’re adorable. But we can’t trust him.” You looked down, crossing your arms. “We are not dating, it’s just—” “You need to tell the others, especially JJ.” You looked back at her, eyes widening. “No way! JJ’s gonna kill him, we all know how dramatic he can be.” Sarah nodded. “Do you really want him to find out the same way I did?” You sighed, shaking your head. Maybe it was time to tell everyone.

Today, you weren’t feeling well, a bit stressed by the whole situation. However, you were excited to see Rafe again at the country club. But when you walked in the dining room, your smile disappeared almost instantly, your eyes leaning on the beautiful woman sitting next to him, the one who accompanied him at the Midsummers. She looked flawless and visibly older than you, probably closer to his age. “Take their order, Y/N.” Your manager said. You sighed, walking up to their table, shaking in your shoes. You saluted Ward, ignoring the Kook boy and his date, the sight of them making you feel sick to your stomach. You started overthinking, wondering if he had been fucking her too, the whole time he was seeing you. You could feel his eyes on you, the intensity distracting you and making you choke on your words as you took their order. “I— Alright, Sir.” You walked away, running out of the room once you were done, hiding in the bathroom where it all started. But this time, Rafe didn’t follow you, his absence breaking your heart.

A few days passed since the last time you saw him at the country club. And he has been acting dead ever since. “Y/N?” JJ asked, stroking your shoulder. “What’s going on? You’re usually excited to eat one of my burgers.” You smirked, turning to the blond boy. “I’m excited!” You faked enthusiasm, trying to ignore the pain you’ve been feeling all night. “Don’t lie to me.” He said, narrowing his eyes and sitting down next to you on the couch. “Is it about that guy you’re seeing? Do you want me to kick his ass?” You chuckled, looking at his clenched fists. “Tough day at work, that’s all.” You said, standing up. “Y/N…” He groaned, watching you walk to John B’s kitchen. “Come on, tell me the truth.” He begged, following you. “Did he hurt you?” Yes. “Can’t we just talk about something else, JJ?” “I hooked up with this—“ You turned around smacking his chest. “You’re so annoying.” You said, rolling your eyes at his amusement. “I don’t want to talk about him, it’s probably not even relevant anymore.” You opened the fridge, giving the blond the ingredients. “You guys broke up or?” You sighed, of course he wasn’t going to let it go. “We weren’t together, we were just… seeing each other.” JJ hummed in response, walking towards the counter. “I don’t know what you’re hiding but—” You weren’t listening anymore, looking into space, rethinking about your conversation with Sarah the other day. “JJ? I— I fucked Rafe Cameron.” You blurted out, the confession surprising him. He let everything fall on the counter before turning towards you, eyes filled with anger. “Please, JJ. Don’t be mad at me. I— I wanted to tell you but i didn’t know how.” He clenched his jaw, walking up to you. “Rafe Cameron? Out of all the guys?” He laughed nervously, ready to raise his voice. “Are you fuckinf kidding me, Y/N?” He shouted at your face, giving you goosebumps. “I’m so sorry…” You cried, looking away. JJ’s features softened at the sight of your tears, guilt washing his anger away. “Don’t— Shit.” He sighed, pulling you into a hug. “Don’t cry, Y/N. I’m sorry for yelling at you, it’s just—“ He paused, the sound of your sobs breaking his heart. He knew something was wrong, he couldn’t be the only one responsible for your breakdown. “What happened?” He asked, caressing your hair, still shocked by the news. “I’m so stupid.” You murmured, head pressed against his chest. “I love him.” JJ sighed, holding you tight. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He murmured back, already picturing himself fighting the Kook boy.

“Okay, i’ll be there in ten minutes.” You said, holding the phone close to your ear as you left your house. “No, JJ. I won’t give you my bra to try it on. I don’t care if it’s a bet—” You whined, rolling your eyes and closing the door behind you. “Whatever, see you guys soon.” You hung up, then walked towards your car, entering the driveway when you noticed someone leaned against the vehicle: Rafe. “Leave me alone.” You hissed, trying to shut down your emotions. He looked hot, as always, his devilish smirk still present on his perfectly sculpted face. “I’m serious, Rafe.” You said, pushing him to the right, the Kook boy grabbing your hips with both hands in the act. “Let me explain, Y/N.” You pushed him away, this time with way more strength. “Explain, what? How you fucked someone else behind my back? Because you’re ashamed to be seen with a Pogue?” He frowned, shaking his head. “What are you talking about—“ “I’m eighteen years old, still living with my parents, working at the country club and driving an old car. I’m not some model in her twenties, born into a rich family.” Rafe sighed, passing a hand over his face, tears emerging from the corner of your eyes. “Baby…” He said, trying to take your hand but failing. "Don't— You disappeared for a week.” You tried to open the car door, but he closed it immediately with his hand. “Rafe!” You whined, containing your tears. “Let me explain, Y/N.” He begged, turning you around and slamming you against the vehicle, leaning his face dangerously close to yours. You both looked at each other for a second, wanting to close the gap between the two of you. “I—“ You started, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what to do, kissing you or punching you in the fucking face, Cameron.” He smirked, caressing your cheek. “Nothing happened between us, trust me. Michelle comes from a rich family and my father tried to set us up.” You nodded, sighing. “So, are you married now?” “I told him about us, about my feelings for you.” Your lips parted. “But— But you left and—“ “Remember the last time i did that? The week before Midsummers?” You nodded. “I was dealing with some issues.” You frowned. “Are you talking about drugs? I thought you were—“ “Clean?” He laughed, the sadness in his tone hitting you. “I’m never high around you, because you make me feel better, because you’re my escape.” A tear rolled down your cheek, which he wiped away with his thumb. “But the shit my dad was putting through— it triggered me.” “Why didn’t you call me, Rafe? You can always count on me.” “I know, but after what happened at the club… I felt like shit for hurting you, i didn’t mean to. When you left the room— I really wanted to follow you.” You couldn’t hold back anymore, grabbing his face and pulling him into a soft kiss. “I— I think i’m in love with you, Rafe.” You murmured, your forehead resting against his. “I think i’m in love with you too, Y/N.” He replied, smiling, both hands now holding your shaking ones and giving them soft kisses.

That night, you decided to tell everyone at the Chateau: Rafe driving you to the location and accompanying you. You were nervous, holding his hand as you both walked to the backyard, where your friends were talking. “What the fuck?” Pope asked, being the first one to notice the Kook boy next to you. “Holy shit—“ Kiara mumbled, her eyes stuck on your hands. “What is he doing here?” John B asked, standing up. “What the—“ Sarah covered his mouth with her hand, winking at you. “What’s going on, Y/N?” Kie asked, looking at everyone with confusion. JJ remained silent, examining your boyfriend with a clenched jaw. “We— We are dating.” You said, leaning your head against Rafe’s chest, craving some protection. “Is this a joke?” Pope asked, while your other friends seemed disappointed. “I know he’s been a real asshole—“ “What the fuck!” Kie shouted, standing up. “You were hooking up with him the whole time?” “I’m genuinely sorry for lying to you guys! But—“ You paused, trembling in your boyfriend’s arms, as he held you close to him. “I didn’t premeditated to fall in love with him.” You continued, glancing at Rafe. “I still don’t understand how you managed to make her fall in love with you.” JJ said, looking at his boots. “Wait,” John B said, glancing back and forth between us. “You already knew about this?” “She told me yesterday.” Sarah sighed. “And i caught them having sex in her kitchen.” Kie fake-gagged, looking away. “You had sex in a kitchen?” Pope asked, eyes widening. “Oh my god, shut up.” Kie said, slapping the back of his head. Rafe cleared his throat. “I really like— Love, Y/N.” He said, looking at your friends. “I fucked up in the past, but i won’t bother any of you ever again.” He promised, your arms wrapping themselves around his waist, the small gesture making his heart melt. “Gross…” JJ murmured, looking away. “I know it’s gonna take you guys some time to fully accept and understand but—“ “You defended me, when Sarah and I started dating. I won’t judge you, but i can’t trust him.” John B said, looking at Rafe. “If you hurt her—“ “I won’t.” Your friends looked at each other, still a bit lost and overwhelmed by all of this.

After a few months, your friends were starting to accept your relationship with the Kook boy a bit more: inviting him and his friends to parties, hanging out with the two of you, all of this without causing any drama. It wasn’t easy at first, especially for JJ who’s always been protective, but he knew you were truly happy with Rafe and it was the most important to him. Your parents loved him, especially your mother, who finds him extremely charming, obviously. “I think your mother likes me.” Rafe whispered, glancing at the older woman from across the table. “She definitely has a crush on you.” “The mom and the daughter? Sounds like—“ “If you say porn, you’re gonna have to watch some for a while.” You warned, crossing your arms. Rafe chuckled, caressing your bare thigh under the table. “That’s sweet,” He said, leaning his lips closer to your ear. “We both know you can’t resist me.” “I have other options waiting for me.” You teased back, smirking at him. “Really?” He asked, his thumb caressing your inner-thigh, getting dangerously close to your center. “Well, we’ll talk about it later then.” He said, his eyes getting darker and your whole body shivering at his words. You already knew the outcome of this conversation, your legs already shaking at the idea. “Appreciate them while you can, baby.” He said, moving his hand to your knee. “You’re not gonna be able to use them for a while.”

uhuhuhuh, the end.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #outer banks kooks #outer banks

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collectionofcherries · 4 years ago

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👀couldnt help but notice you talking about hannibal in your billy loomis imagine 👀 also couldnt help but to notice thats in your fandom list 👀 maybe you should shoot your shot with an imagine with hanni 👀

So over on my Naruto blog I did a little fluff piece called Morning Coffee that everyone seemed to enjoy so I thought I'd bring it here. It’s a simple concept, it follows your morning to the start of your cup to the end of it. Hope you enjoy! --- ☕ Morning Coffee ☕

---

written in the mind-frame of a Female!Reader but there are no pronouns mentioned nor gender specific anatomical body parts. Warnings: None, flirting with the idea of smut but no actual smut. Sexual longing maybe? Word Count: 1,155

--- Hannibal Lecter

Having coffee with a friend shouldn't have been this stressful, being this stressed in the morning couldn't be good for you but it wasn't like you could help it. How are you supposed to dress for morning coffee with a man who practically lives in three piece suits? Formal? Business casual? Casual casual? Your clothing covered floor seemed to bare no answers as you stared at what you swore was everything you owned...had everything always been this ugly? God! Why did you even propose a breakfast together? Hannibal does dinner but no you had to pitch breakfast to be different and try to impress him, yeah you're sure he'd be impressed by the amount of clothing on the floor. If you'd been like everyone else and just gone for dinner you'd have more time to try on clothes but a look at the clock told you that you had to leave now or you'd be late and that'd be terrible, that'd be rude and Hannibal can't stand people who're rude. However messy your floor was it was worth it for the compliment you got when Hannibal opened his door to greet you. “I don't see you in colour often, red looks lovely on you.” Well, guess you're wearing red for the rest of your life. "Oh thank you.” Finds it's way out of your throat as your face is painted the colour that apparently looks lovely on you. “Please, come in.” He welcomes stepping to the side to allow room. You never gave much thought to what a foyer could be, yours is technically where you just kick off your shoes and put your keys but this, this was proper foyer. Just the entrance to his house was nice. God it was big too, he could probably rent it out to a poor college kid for like 500 bucks if he wanted not that he looked like he needed the extra money. Did you even know how to say Foyer properly? You bet Hannibal did, without a doubt he knew all those fancy French words--was that word even French? Oh no, what if you were stupid and it wasn't French? What if this wasn't even a foyer? How dumb were you? H-- hands came up to your shoulders jolting you out of your spiral. Hannibal gently pulls the edges of your jacket and you immediately understand. “Thank you.” You repeat once again. He smiles with a nod as he slides your jacket off of you with your help and hangs it up on a beautiful wood stand you're sure costs more than half your rent. Thinking about how much money was within these walls could make your head spin but that spinning is halted by the soothing tones of his voice. “Lost in thought?” He inquired. “Uh, just early morning brain fog you know?” You try to bluff. It's not convincing but he nods anyway. “Perhaps some coffee would help.” “Sounds good.” You agree. Following him through his house only furthers your awe, you could spent a lifetime in here just looking at stuff. “I thought it'd be pleasant to make breakfast together instead of having it ready, eating together is one experience but preparing a meal is another entirely.” He explained The idea of sharing an experience with Hannibal was one that filled you with butterflies, the more you thought about it you didn't think you'd heard of Hannibal cooking with anyone else, maybe the stress of this morning would pay off after all. “I'm not a chef but I'll do my best, what're we making?” “Uova al purgatorio.” Which leads to a bit of a blank stare on your end, as pretty as it sounds you've got no idea what that means. “It's an Italian dish, eggs in Purgatory.” He explained. “Sounds interesting.” You quip. “It is, the name comes from the eggs sitting in a tomato base, the white of the eggs floating within the red sauce giving the illusion of souls trapped within the unknown of Purgatory.” He explains as he prepares the boiling water for your coffee. “Even at breakfast it seems we wonder where our souls go to lay.” “Well makes sense for Italy home of the Pope, I'm sure there's religious overtones at most meals.” He smiles a little and nods. “During my time in Italy it truly does surround you, it's an interesting feeling, almost euphoric to be encapsulated by it at every

turn.” He remarked. “Wow, you spent time in Italy? It looks beautiful there.” You say, trying to stray a little further from the religious aspect, you don't exactly know where Hannibal falls on that spectrum and the last thing you want to do is come across rude or disrespectful to him. “Coffee smells great.” You add as he pours the boiling water into his very fancy looking French Press. Your attempt to change subjects doesn't go unnoticed at all but he once again nods as he looks at you. “Yes, I traveled quite a bit in my youth, I called Italy my home for some time.” He explains. “Do you ever miss it?” You ask “I take with me what I relish in the places I've been, while I may no longer be surrounded by the Primavera or the walls of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini they are ever present in my mind, reproduced with the utmost detail.” You could listen to Hannibal talk all day, it wouldn't matter what he said you just like the way he said things, the timbre of his voice. “Have you ever given thought to travelling?” He prodded. “Course, who doesn't think about travelling? See far off places, experience new people, new things, different cultures.” You reminisce. “What stops you?” You shrug a little. “Funds mainly but I'd want to take the time to learn the language of where I'm going, understand the culture so I don't offend anyone. I don't want to be one of those tourists that makes an ass out of themselves.” You said cringing at the end. “It's considerate to take the time to understand a culture you will not live in, many go on whims like they're visiting amusement parks.” He agreed. “Would Italy be a place you'd like to visit or would you find their taste for religion leaving a sour taste in your mouth?” He asked. Did you really think you'd get out of a question Hannibal wanted answered? You shrugged a little once again trying to make sure you phrase things that wouldn't step on toes that were in shoes that likely cost more than your rent. “I'm unsure...I don't know if my broader and more open views would be welcome in the narrower scope of such a religious place and I wouldn't want to impose myself or my views upon anyone.” You slowly clamber out as he pours two cups of what smells like incredibly coffee. “Thank you.” You quickly add as you take it from his hands. “While I do know you enough to welcome you into my home, I'm not sure if I know you well enough to know of the open views you believe would be scrutinized under the gaze of the Church. Do you speak a broader view of all religions? Racial rights? Sexual appetite?” You stomach almost leaps into your throat at the last question, talking sexual appetites with someone who could feed that said appetite for the rest of your life? How were you supposed to talk about that? You didn't want to impose but you certainly didn't want to miss any chance of feeding that appetite. “All of the above, you know?” You pitch at first. “I'm a big believer in religious freedoms for everyone, from anywhere--just freedom for everyone in general.” You tackle first, that's the more important one and the one that won't get you into any trouble. “And um--yeah I suppose my sexual appetite wouldn't please the Church.” You say with a small laugh breaking your gaze from Hannibal and down at your coffee cup. “Not exactly a born again virgin.” Smooth. Great job. Wow. Fuck. Maybe you could drown yourself in this coffee? You take a sip and to spite being too shy to ask for sugar or milk this coffee is great, actually smooth. Unlike you. “This is great, what is this?” You try. Why do you try? He always notices, you're luckier than you know that it endlessly amuses him rather than annoys him. “It's Peaberry Coffee from Tanzania, it's a rounder sweeter bean, almost tea like.” He explains, allowing for a moment for you to believe you've somehow fooled him into letting his prior question go thoroughly unanswered. “It can take a more refined palette to taste all the notes.” He remarks. “I don't know how refined mine is, I just know it's nice.”

You admit with a small laugh. “Usually our tongues know more than we think, close your eyes and allow the flavours to dance over your tongue.” He instructed. Hannibal could tell you to jump off a cliff and if he said it nice enough you probably would. You take a small breath and take another sip and try your damnest to impress Hannibal if only even a little but as you swallow you know your guesses are little more than shots in the dark. “It's sweet...kind of like a berry...?” You weakly pitch. You're not wrong but Hannibal can tell your guess isn't confident. “Do you know you have a habit of coming in on yourself when you're unsure of what you're saying?” He asks letting you know he's been on to you for much longer than you would have hoped. He comes around from his large kitchen island to stand in front of you and you fight the urge to step back and away which only adds to how hard your heart beats in your chest. “Coming in on ones self allows negative neurons to fire, by simply lifting your head you'll allude more confidence and though red looks lovely on you so does that.” That compliment alone made your head spin so his next action of bringing his warm hand up to gently lift your head? Your entire body felt weak. It was laughable that the simple touch of his thumb resting on your chin and his forefinger below it could have such an effect on you, looking up at him him with unsure eyes as to where this went next was laughable to him. You were putty in his hands, vulnerable in every meaning of the word. "Try again, close your eyes and when you take a sip allow it to work around your mouth, to explore every inch of your tongue.” Was this porn? This could be porn, this might as well be porn as far as your body was concerned apparently. It took you a moment to actually get your limbs to move and grab your coffee again and it felt good to close your eyes, you liked Hannibal but being so close and having him stare back at you was overwhelming. And he knew it, there was something very satisfying about your kind of vulnerability, it was raw and open for him to touch and mold with his hands. You brought the cup to your lips and took another sip and once again tried to find a defined note in this coffee and maybe it was having your head tilted up, maybe it was having him so close but an answer did come from your mouth. “Cedar?” Opening your eyes you knew you'd gotten it right by the contented look you were rewarded with. "I had a hunch your tongue knew more than you were letting on.” He teased. He let his thumb trail back and forth on your chin before moving it away and your head felt like it was floating. “What does your tongue taste? I'm sure it's much more experienced than mine.” You're sure if you didn't feel so floaty such a blatantly flirty question wouldn't have come out of you but it seemed to fly just fine as a small amused breath made it's way out of him. “Your assumption would be correct.” He let you know. “The notes in this coffee I've become very acquainted with over the years so it wouldn't be much of an exercise in taste for me to tell you them all. Perhaps another breakfast we could expand upon both our tongues.” Your entire body clenched and you had to practically drown out your whine of want by taking a sip of your coffee. “For now we'll be expanding on yours, come, wash up I'll show you how to make uova al purgatorio, a taste from my past.” He said walking back around the kitchen island. You follow him around the island and with one last sip put your empty coffee cup into the sink. --- ~Admin Coral 🍒 Buy Me A Coffee?

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aros001 · 3 years ago

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Read through light novel vol. 11. Random thoughts.

Okay, right off the bat, this

is my favorite art in the books yet just because of how annoyed Naofumi looks.

It's always been a thing but I've been seeing it more in these last couple of books, especially in contrast to Sadeena and Alta, but I really like that Naofumi likes that Raphtalia will push back against him when she doesn't like something, be it his attitude, his action, or his ideas. He doesn't want a yes-man or someone who'll worship and never question him. Child Raphtalia was kind of his sidekick but adult Raphtalia is definitely his partner. They trust each other completely and they never have to worry about holding back their honest thoughts. This is especially important if there is to ever be a romantic relationship between the two of them. Romance is not supposed to be just the guy and his prize. Naofumi and Raphtalia I can see working as a couple because they genuinely see each other as equals.

So, as has been revealed so far, Trash's family, save for himself and his younger blind sister, were murdered by the hakuko. He hated Siltvelt because it's where the hakuko came from and his own kingdom for taking no action against them for those murders. Then later his sister was attacked by a hakuko and presumably murdered and possibly raped but the body was never found, thus pushing him to overthrow the king of Siltvelt because he was a hakuko.

And he hates the Devil of the Shield because...! ...A previous Shield Hero helped to found Siltvelt? I get that Siltvelt is a demi-human supremacist country and that it worships the Shield Hero but I feel like there's a little bit of a disconnect in Trash's hatred. I suppose his hatred for Naofumi didn't blow up until he thought he tried to force himself on Malty and before that he just treated him dismissively, but I can't help but feel like I'm missing something here. Also, didn't the previous Shield Hero die in Siltvelt a month into him being summoned? I get that hatred and the desire for revenge are not always very rational, especially when religion is thrown into the mix, but I feel like it's odd he's placed so much of it on Naofumi and the Shield Hero as a whole.

So Fohl and Alta are possibly the nephew and niece of Trash through his sister and the grandchildren of the hakuko king of Siltvelt whom he killed. Obviously I'm hoping Trash's sister wasn't raped to conceive them and that it was just a forbidden love like was one of Naofumi's theories, but I guess I'll find that out in a later book.

Also, poor Naofumi and poor Raphtalia. Either Alta wants to be with Naofumi (romantically or...) or she's on her way to becoming the new pope of the Church of the Shield Hero. She was reminding me a little bit of Neia from Overlord and her devotion to Ainz in the latter regard.

“Apparently there’s a new bandit chief that’s risen to power lately, and we’ll be wasting our time unless we capture him.” ... “That’s the thing. I don’t know all the details, but apparently the boss is really distrustful and rarely makes appearances. But he’s also supposed to be strong enough to pick off even the toughest of adventurers one by one without a problem.”

This is going exactly where I think it's going, isn't it?

[Five minutes later]

Yep.

Reading this book and I realized my main issue with Ren, beyond the issues he shares with the other two heroes, was how unbelievably condescending he'd been to Eclair, someone who knew her way with a sword WAY better than he did, just to protect his own ego after he would have lost if he hadn't cheated in their duel. That left a really bad taste in my mouth but it's still not as bad as what I dislike about Motoyasu and especially Itsuki. He hasn't yet specifically apologized for that but he is showing her a lot more respect and being clearly remorseful over his actions. Even him blaming his loss against the Spirit Tortoise on his party's weakness and not his own I could swallow fine because there was the implication that he was unable to deal with the guilt of it being his fault that they were all dead, which, while bad, is a very human thing to feel. As long as he takes his training seriously from this point on and doesn't regress back, I can look forward to his progress and his interactions with Naofumi.

I actually was slightly spoiled before I started reading the light novels that the other heroes were going to unlock their own curse series as well. It was minor because I didn't hear any specifics beyond that but the person I was reading I remember being really unhappy about it. Personally, I'm fine with it. The Holy Weapons are meant to be equal to each other so it makes sense they'd have similar unlockable abilities (relative to what each weapon is, of course). The reason Naofumi is so much stronger is supposed to be because he actually bothered to learn how to use his weapon and because he took how he was told to power it up seriously. If he had an ability the others had no equivalent of it would basically be cheating. Part of the criticism too was that Naofumi had been through so much worse than the others to unlock his curse series, but everyone has different levels of stress they can take and it definitely helps that, thus far, each curse series embodies a different sin and thus has different effects. Motoyasu is clearly being effected differently by his Spear of (I'm assuming) Lust than Naofumi is by the Shield of Wrath or Ren by the Sword of Greed.

Speaking of which, I'm not the only one who felt a big red flag over Motoyasu's Temptation ability, right? I'm not saying he would abuse such a thing but powers that force attraction on people always makes me feel very uncomfortable. Just the fact that it worked on Naofumi whom is both straight and can't stand Motoyasu shows it can work on pretty much anyone who doesn't have specific resistances. It's a scary thing, your romantic and sexual preferences being altered by an outside force. Like a date rape drug weaponized.

The whole controversy over RoTSH's first episode holds less and less weight the further into the series I go. Naofumi vs. Motoyasu I'd argue has several great examples of feminism vs. sexism throughout the story. Naofumi was horribly betrayed by Malty but he doesn't hate women or use what she did as an excuse to. He's simply distrustful of anyone who can potentially betray him and is put off by the idea of any romantic or sexual relationships. Motoyasu gets betrayed by Malty (and his two other party members) and now sees all women as pigs, save for Filo, whom he's now obsessed with. The stupid criticism of RoTSH was that the series had Malty representing all women; that all women lie about being sexually assaulted and that all women are horrible bitches. That is the mentality Motoyasu now has, judging all women by the actions of one.

“Mr. Ren . . . I’m sure you’ve felt just terrible this whole time after losing your companions. It’s okay to cry now. Don’t worry. Even if the whole world insists you’re a criminal, I still believe in you, Mr. Ren. I believe you were fighting for the sake of the world.”

I love how, even after everything else she's done, the thing that makes me hate Bitch almost as much, if not more, as when she made the false rape accusation was her plagiarizing the words Raphtalia had said to finally reach Naofumi's heart and earn his trust. It just felt like such a violation, sullying that moment so much that you just want Bitch to die almost as much as Naofumi does.

Though I suppose it's Witch now, huh? Doesn't have quite the same punch as Bitch but I don't want to call her the Witch Bitch because that's my nickname for Satella in Re:Zero and that's more a term of endearment ironically enough. I don't want to sully her by putting her in any kind of association with Malty.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/fh9syh/read_through_light_novel_vol_11_random_thoughts/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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faithfulnews · 5 years ago

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How to read ‘Querida Amazonia’

By Austen Ivereigh

February 25, 2020

Jesus spoke of the need for new wine in new wineskins for a reason: sometimes we don’t see and hear the new thing happening because we’re looking out for the old thing. Nowhere has that been truer than in the reception of Pope Francis’s latest apostolic exhortation, Querida Amazonia. As the dust begins to settle on the reaction to Pope Francis’s response to the Amazon synod, we have only begun to see what his move really consists of, and the future he is opening up: a truly global Catholicism in which lay people assume their responsibility for evangelization, and exercise real authority in a church that is embedded in local, not just Western, clerical culture.

We didn’t see it coming because we were conditioned to wait for what has always come before. We were expecting a ruling from the supreme legislator of the Catholic Church on a disputed ecclesial question; we were looking for a decision. What we got was a dream, a vision, and a prophecy. What we were waiting for was a solution to a pressing problem—the lack of clergy in the Amazon and therefore of access to the Eucharist. What Francis gave us was an answer to a deeper problem: a response to the agonized cry of the people of the region, and God’s dream for their fullness of life.

We are used to post-synodal apostolic exhortations that subsume and replace the synod’s concluding report. What we got instead was something quite new: a papal response that complements the synod report with what has resonated in his discernment. We were expecting an old wineskin to carry the wine we were used to, and when we were given a new wineskin we failed to taste the new wine in it. But it’s not too late to look again, and taste.

The pope said he intended neither to duplicate nor to replace the synod final report; ergo, what is not replaced is not refused. Nothing in that report, endorsed by two-thirds of the synod, is rejected; indeed, everything in it is affirmed, endorsed, and given papal recognition. Contrary to almost every news story or reaction to Querida Amazonia, the pope did not rule against the possibility of ordaining married men, or of women deacons, or of anything else the synod agreed to propose. Instead, he said something quite astonishing: that the synod final report was the fruit of a collaboration by people “who know better than I and the Roman curia the problems and issues of the Amazon region.” And he went on to urge pastors, religious, and lay leaders to “strive to apply” the report in Amazonia, while inviting us all—the whole church—to be enriched and challenged by studying it in its integrity. Because, as we shall see, Querida Amazonia is about much more than Amazonia.

Francis prefigured the new thing in Evangelii gaudium, when he said he did not think it “advisable for the Pope to take the place of local Bishops in the discernment of every issue which arises in their territory.” The pope, in short, defers to the discernment of the local church. A Vatican official close to Francis has helped me to understand this. “It’s a complete reversal,” he writes. “Before, the hierarchical scheme needed the validation of the Holy Father, but here the Holy Father places himself in a position of listening to the action of the Spirit in the Synod.” It’s not easy for people to grasp what is going on, he explains, because it involves a category inversion typical of the Gospel’s subversive ways. “Many see in this exhortation a conclusion but it’s the opposite: it values all the proposals of the synod and treats them as a point of departure.”

The bishops have discerned; the pope respects their discernment; now it is they who must act. Far from reacting with disappointment or fury—as so many American and European progressives have—Catholics in Amazonia saw the exhortation as the pope inviting them to take the initiative. Cardinal Cláudio Hummes,the Amazon synod’s relator (chair), told journalists that the question of the ordination of married men would now be dealt with directly by the bishops of the region in dialogue with the pope and the Vatican. The bishop of Juína in the Brazilian region of Mato Grosso, Neri José, who spoke to me regularly during the synod, was one of those strongly urging the ordination of married men and women deacons. “He’s thrown the ball right back in our court,” he told me after reading the exhortation. “Now is the time for courage.”

How will the Amazonian church respond? The pope himself points to the doors waiting to be pushed open: in favorably noting the proposal for an Amazonian rite, and for a territorial episcopal council that would allow the bishops of the region to act together across national boundaries. Dom Neri is among those urging his fellow bishops to form this Amazon-specific “strong synodal body” alongside Celam—the transcontinental episcopal conference—to push these proposals forward. “If [Celam] doesn’t take the initiative,” Dom Neri tells me, “the bishops of the dioceses can seek the competent authority to proceed.” In other words, they can apply diocese by diocese for permission from Rome to ordain viri probati.

But given that this is a decision that would affect the whole Latin-rite church, most observers believe that the ordination of viri probati will be the result of a regional synodal process that creates a new Amazonian rite. “The pope is asking the bishops to come up with concrete proposals,” another Vatican official involved with the synod process told me. “He thinks the time wasn’t yet ripe for any kind of decision by him: there’s too much anxiety, too little clarity. But he expects the bishops to move forward with it.” Cardinal Hummes, who heads the trans-Amazonian church network REPAM, says the future “ecclesial organism” for Amazonia “will have an important role in discussions in the Vatican about how to bring about the ordination of married men in areas of scarcity.” Mauricio López, the executive secretary of REPAM, sees the exhortation as “an invitation to continue exploring ways and channels which will perhaps lead to relaxing the rule [of celibacy].”

Another door has meanwhile opened to a female diaconate. At the end of the synod, Francis promised to reopen and reconstitute the commission looking into women deacons that ended last year in disagreement. That will now happen, says the official involved with the synod. “But he wants the study to go beyond the diaconate, to incorporate a deeper understanding of ministries in the early church.” Because for Francis, to consider the question of ministries only through the lens of the clergy is to get stuck with the old wineskins and to miss the new wine the Spirit is offering.

Is it possible that the church in the Amazon has focused too much on the clerical institution, and not seen what gifts are already being poured out on the People of God?

In this regard, Francis may be respecting the discernment of the synod, but he is not confined by it. Querida Amazonia expresses his conviction that the Spirit has been calling the church to look at something other than the issue of clerical ministries. The sign of that, to Francis, was the polarization over the viri probati issue. He was deeply dismayed at the politicking by curial cardinals Marc Ouellet and Robert Sarah, who attempted to mobilize public opinion against the synod’s discernment by claiming in coordinated books—one before, one after the synod—that the issue had long been settled in favor of mandatory, universal celibacy. But he was also upset at the obsessive focus on the issue during the synod by many of the Amazonian bishops, as if simply ordaining more people would somehow resolve the deeper challenges facing the church.

Whenever two church tribes blindly go to war with each other, Francis sees a sign that the bad spirit has prevailed: we have been deceived into a conviction that a tension between two goods—in this case, a celibate and married priesthood—is a contradiction that must be resolved by the defeat of one side by the other.

In such circumstances, the pope says in Evangelii gaudium, the appropriate response is not to opt for some wishy-washy compromise, nor for one pole to vanquish the other, but rather to be open to “a resolution which takes place on a higher plane and preserves what is valid and useful on both sides.” As he puts it in Querida Amazonia, the answer lies in “transcending the two approaches and finding other, better ways, perhaps not yet even imagined.” Solutions often come in the form of a “greater gift” that God is offering from which “there will pour forth as from an overflowing fountain the answers that contraposition did not allow us to see.”

The pope’s purpose in Querida Amazonia is to offer—passionately, but without dictating or lecturing—some of the answers he sees flowing from that fountain. They are answers that indignant progressives or triumphant conservatives still focused only on the institutional, clerical issue simply fail to see, because they are expecting law and have been given something more like a parable.

Fr. Augusto Zampini Davies, an Argentine official at the Vatican’s Dicastery for Promoting Integral Human Development, suggests the analogy. Like Jesus’ parables, he says, “if you don’t get inside Francis’s dreams, they won’t change you. But if you do, you are changed.” The change Francis is pointing to requires a different way of thinking: not “How do we make sure more communities receive the Eucharist?”—important though that is—but: How can we have communities of life that care for the poor, that know Christ’s nearness? How to ignite the life of the Spirit? How to incarnate Christ?

Fr. Zampini asks me to consider the pope’s dreams as biblical dreams, that offer warnings, open new horizons, show the paths out of slavery into abundant new life. Querida Amazonia is about Amazonia, but it’s really about all of us, he says. Replace Amazonia with the United States, or Kenya, or France, and it is just as resonant. “Try it, you’ll see it works,” he urges. I have. It does.

The first ecology we need, says Francis at the start of the exhortation’s third chapter, is to grasp that freedom from slavery means helping the hearts of people to open trustingly to that God who has not just created all that exists but has given Himself to us in Jesus Christ: “The Lord, who first cares for us, teaches us to care for our brothers and sisters, and the environment that he gifts to us each day.” There is a created order, full of creatures, because there is a Creator; and we are invited to enter into that truth by contemplating our world, not analyzing it; by loving it, not using it; by uniting ourselves to it, entering into it, giving ourselves to it.

So our created world—Amazonia, Arizona, Azerbaijan—is the place of our encounter with our Creator, who is not a distant figure but an incarnated savior. Our place is the locus theologicus of incarnation and therefore inculturation. And in our realization of that truth, our conversion, we abandon our colonialism, our corruption, our technocratic illusions of superiority, and our contempt. Instead, we embrace fraternity, open ourselves to dialogue with all (especially the poor), see all that is created as gift, and work for justice and the dignity of all. We nurture and build up culture; we respect ancestral wisdom born of the symbiotic bond of humankind and the natural world; we listen to our elders and hear the dreams of our young; we stand with the people against the power-drunk bosses who have no use for poetry and song and memory.

The church, says Francis in one of the most beautiful passages in Querida Amazonia, grows through inculturation—by incarnating the Gospel in culture. In nurturing the seeds of the Word the Lord has sown in every people, the Gospel affirms God’s action in that people, building up their culture; and at the same time, the church grows, enriched by each inculturation. It becomes a living tradition that is not the worship of ashes but the preservation of fire, to quote Francis quoting Gustav Mahler.

It would be a shame, says Francis, if people received from the church merely a doctrinal code or a moral imperative, and not “the great message of salvation,” which is “a God who infinitely loves every man and woman and has revealed this love fully in Jesus Christ, crucified for us and risen in our lives.” (Here Francis refers us to chapter four of his earlier exhortation Christus vivit, which describes how Christ loves you, is your savior, and is alive).

Chapter Four of Querida Amazonia is about the inculturation of the Gospel in the Amazon, but is also about what the incarnation of Christ in any culture looks like. In other words, it is about how the church needs to be present in and to a particular people. And thus the question of ministries—the way in which the church serves a people, becoming a means of encounter with Christ—is also a question of inculturation, and so necessarily raises the question of how the church organizes itself to that end.

This is where Francis gently performs his major move. The church’s pastoral presence in the Amazon, he observes, is “precarious” (the English translation, “uneven,” lacks the force of the Spanish) “due in part to the vast expanse of territory” and other existential factors: cultural diversity, the isolation of ethnic groups, and so on. The “in part” is significant; for Francis, geography only partly accounts for the problem. He calls for “a specific, courageous response” from the church to rise to this challenge, which implies a degree of pusillanimity in its response thus far. He then speaks of the need for greater access to the sacraments but immediately adds: “at the same time, there is a need for ministers who can understand Amazonian sensibilities and culture from within.” It is easy to miss the significance of this qualifying sentence, not least because the English translation softens “at the same time” to “also,” so it’s worth spelling out: the sacraments are part of the means, but the end is the inculturation of the Gospel. The purpose is not the expansion of an institutional presence. What matters is inculturated ministry that performs the Incarnation. That is the telos, the deeper purpose or end that must govern our discernment of the means.

Then comes a key passage in which Francis says that, while a priest has the non-delegable qualification to preside at the Eucharist, this does not make him the highest authority in the community. Religious women and lay leaders can and do run communities, he points out, before going on to note the distinctively lay ecclesial culture of the Amazon, where most Catholic communities have no priest and are run by women. Many of these leaders, he says, promote the encounter with God’s Word and growth in holiness through their service, and have spent decades embedded in the life of the communities of the region. He goes on to call for women, in particular, to have their roles publicly recognized and commissioned by bishops, allowing them “to have a real and effective impact on the organization, the most important decisions and the direction of communities.”

Much of the action, in these passages, is happening in the footnotes, where Francis observes that more Amazonian priests are sent to Europe and the United States than to serve in the Amazon, and that there is a lack of seminaries for indigenous priests. Who, in this scenario, is inculturating the Gospel? Is it the clergy or the lay leaders, the women, who are really running the show? Is it possible that the real issue here is a hermeneutic one—that the church in the Amazon has focused too much on the clerical institution, and not seen what gifts are already being poured out on the People of God?

If you ask that question again but replace “Amazon” with your own parish or diocese, then you’ll get Francis’s larger point. But not everyone will: these are new wineskins.

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years ago

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Padre Pio’s Christmas

Midnight Mass in Pietrelcina, Italy - Padre Pio carrying Baby Jesus to place Him - In the manger on Christmas Eve

The Passion and Death of the Son of God were always part of Padre Pio’s meditations, he himself had become a living image of Christ on the Cross, as Pope Paul VI called him. But he had only accepted that choice because he had understood that suffering is the mysterious road to Redemption.

His true love, however, was for Christmas, the period which he found most fascinating, a time of year which exercised an enormous appeal on his sensitive nature. The image of the Baby Jesus provoked feelings of infinite tenderness within him, often moving him to tears.

His spirituality, along with emotions which were honest, simple and powerful, his empathy, his kindness, compassion and affection, all found complete harmony in the mystery of Christ’s birth, because in that event he could see fully God’s boundless love towards humanity.

All those who knew Padre Pio and spent time with him agree that Christmas was the liturgical feast which he most appreciated. He would prepare for this feast meticulously, and celebrate it with an enthusiasm that was enchanting. This he would do every year, both as a young man and when he was old. Fr. Ignazio da Ielsi, the guardian of the convent at San Giovanni

Rotondo from 1922 to 1925, when Padre Pio was still young and had just received the stigmata, wrote in his diary: It is unnecessary to say with what passion Padre Pio celebrates Christmas. He thinks about it all the time. He counts the days to go from one Christmas or the next. The Baby Jesus holds a special attraction for him. It is enough for him to hear a Christmas carol or a lullaby and his spirit soars. To look at him you’d think he were in ecstasy.

Padre Pio was always a humble and reserved friar. He never asked anything for himself, considering himself the least among his brothers. But he loved the privilege of celebrating the Midnight Mass at Christmas in the little church at San Giovanni Rotondo. Since this was a solemn Mass, the privilege of celebrating it would have normally been reserved for the guardian, but knowing how dear that particular Mass was to Padre Pio, successive guardians always allowed him to celebrate it.

It was a celebration which always made a profound impression on those fortunate enough to attend. It was indeed a long Mass, sometimes only finishing at five o’clock in the morning. The friary itself was very difficult to reach, especially in the 1920’s and 1930’s. The road was a rocky mule path which led from the residential part of the city to the friary and in winter, it was almost always covered in snow and ice. Even so, many people would undertake the journey in order to attend Padre Pio’s Christmas Mass.

One day Padre Pio wrote to his confessor: May the Heavenly Child let your heart feel all those holy emotions that he allowed me to experience that blessed night when he was laid in the little hovel. Goodness, I could hardly express what I felt in my heart on that most happy night. My heart was overflowing with holy love towards God made man. To Raffaelina Cerase, a spiritual daughter, he wrote: When the Holy Novena begins in honour of the Baby Jesus, it felt as though my spirit were being born again to a new life. I felt as though my heart were too small to embrace all our heavenly blessings. My soul felt as thou it were disintegrating in the presence of our God who had become man. How can we not love Him forever with a fervor that never grows stale: Let us open our hearts to the Baby Jesus whose soul was without the stain of sin and we will taste how sweet it is to love Him. His brother friars remember that Padre Pio wanted the crib in their church to be placed opposite the confessional so that he could see it while he administered the sacrament of penance. He would remain in the confessional for hours and hours each day, his gaze fixed on the statue of the Baby Jesus.

Padre Pio practiced this great devotion to the crib, which is so reminiscent of Saint Francis, even as a child when he lived with his parents. At his home in Pietrelcina, he always wanted to prepare the crib himself. He would start work on it as early as October. While he pastured the family’s flock of sheep with his friends, he would search for the clay he would use to fashion the small statues of shepherds, sheep, and the other characters which he would place in the crib scene. He became very quick and accomplished in this task, and would prepare statuettes for his friends, too.

He would take particular care when making the model of the Baby Jesus. He would make and re-make the Christ-child continually, remembered one of his playmates, Luigi Orlando. When he had finished he would place the statue on the palm of his hand and say: ‘It isn’t as I wanted it.’ He would then roll the statue into a ball of clay again, and make another statue, more to his liking.

The young Francesco, the future Padre Pio, wanted his crib scene To be as beautiful as possible. He also wished to light it up to make the scene as evocative as possible. At that time in Pietrelcina, there was no electricity and it was necessary to use oil lights. They had to be very small to enable Francesco to insert them in the moss, next to the tiny houses and beside the flocks of sheep.

The ingeniousness of the young boy was remarkable for those times. Francesco and his friends had learned to make lights made from snail shells. They would look for empty shells in the fields, clean them well, fill them with oil, add a wick and they would thus have a magnificent little lantern.

For Padre Pio, every Christmas was an occasion for spiritual renewal. It helped him and encouraged him to nurture within himself that unconditional love for humanity that the occasion symbolized, above all his love for the most humble the poor and the suffering.

Whatever you do unto these little ones you do unto me, it says in the Gospel. Padre Pio had molded his own heart on that teaching. He rarely spoke of himself. But one did, at the specific request of his spiritual director, he did so, revealing how his heart was full of generosity and dedication towards others. Since it was a delicate subject, he wrote in the third person, writing as though he were referring to someone else, although it was clear that he was writing about himself. It seems to me that God has poured many graces into this soul regarding compassion for the sufferings of others, particularly in the case of the poor and needy. The great compassion which his soul feels when he sees poor people causes within him a most pressing desire to run to their aid. If I looked at my own will, it would impel me to remove my own clothes to dress them. If I know that a person is suffering both mentally and physically, what would I not ask of Our Lord to free that person from his ills. I would quite happily take on all his afflictions in order to save him, yielding the fruits of these sufferings in his favour, if Our Lord would allow me to do so.

#padre Pio's christmas

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sdsuconcertchoiritaly · 5 years ago

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Day 10: Rome, Part 2 🏛

I wake up this morning at about 8:30am, having slept since yesterday afternoon at about 3:00pm. Even as a person known for sleeping in fairly often, I can’t remember another time when I’ve slept this long. It seems to have done the trick, though; my stomach feels settled, my body is no longer shaky or sore, and I feel much more like myself.

Today is Epiphany. Most of our group is at the Vatican this morning attending Mass with the Pope in St. Peter’s Basilica. I forfeited my ticket thanks to my stomach bug and another member of the choir was able to use it instead. So far it’s been a slow morning for me—gradually returning to the world of the living, writing a bit, and getting ready for the day.

We spend the afternoon exploring the Roman Forum and the Colosseum. Our local guide for the day is named Linda. She tells us about some of the history of the Roman Empire while we walk among the ruins in the forum. The only buildings that have been completely preserved are those that were turned into churches after the fall of the Roman Empire and the rise of Christianity. We walk along streets that have existed for 2,000 years, past remains of old temples, palaces, and markets. This forum is much better preserved than that in Athens, though it takes quite a bit of imagination to reconstruct the area fully.

By mid-afternoon, we’re entering the Colosseum. We enter on the ground level and shortly climb up to the first level of seating, where middle-class citizens (men) would have watched the games. The levels above would have held women, slaves, and the poor; marble seating in the level below was reserved for the rich and royal. Curiously, near one entrance is a cross, which was placed there by Pope Benedict XIV in honor of those who lost their lives here. This juxtaposition of Ancient Roman and Christian seems strange to me, but later we learn that the Pope visits the Colosseum once a year during a procession across the city.

It’s estimated that between 500,000 and 1 million people died in the Colosseum, since several were killed there each day between public executions and gladiatorial combat over its hundreds of years of operation. Linda tells us that there was a kind of routine at the Colosseum: In the morning, gladiators-in-training would spar; around noon, criminals would be executed; in the afternoon, professional gladiators would compete. The area beneath the arena descends nine stories where animals were kept for days leading up to their time in the arena. We see some remnants of the machinery used to operate lifts and gates that existed here, though we’re not able to tour the underground portion.

All in all, the Colosseum is pretty amazing. It’s a bit smaller than I had envisioned, and it appears larger from the outside, but it’s a magnificent structure considering the technology available at the time of its construction. I think more education about Roman history and the specifics of the sites would be helpful for a return visit to the Colosseum and Roman Forum.

After leaving the Colosseum, we walk along the eastern side of the forum next to Trajan’s forum and a series of statues built to commemorate Roman emperors. Our tour ends in a square that was redesigned in Renaissance style by Michelangelo. From here, some of the group are venturing out into this part of the city for the evening, while others are heading back to the hotel.

When we get back to the hotel, most folks head back up to our rooms for a nap before dinner. I spend some time going through my photos from the past couple days, catching up on the day’s writing, and resting for a bit. From what I heard on the bus, it sounds like some groups are going out for American food tonight.

I meet up with Miranda and Sylvie later for some supper at a restaurant around the corner from our hotel. I have lasagna and roasted potatoes—my first food in two days since being sick. It tastes good and stays down. Afterwards, we pop into a grocery store looking for a couple toiletries and then Miranda and Sylvie continue down the street looking for gelato while I wait in the lobby. I FaceTime with Laura briefly to say hello and catch up a bit. Then the three of us go up to the girls’ room (which is large and suitable for partying) to chat and laugh at some SNL sketches.

Tomorrow we are heading to tour the Vatican before singing for Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica in the evening. Reflecting on the day, I’m thankful to be feeling better and to have a few more days here in Roma. Buona notte. 😴

#corodisdsu #sdstate #studyabroad #italy #rome #colosseum #roman forum

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jonboudposts · 6 years ago

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Calling Out to My Past: Rap Music and Suburbia in the 1990s: Part 1

It begun with a record. Bigger and Deffer by LL Cool J. My older brother got hold of it, played it regularly and I could not help but listen. For a young boy with attention problems, this had the amazing effect of bringing me some kind of centre point for a while. After lots of pestering, he recorded onto cassette for me and it rarely left my Walkman. It is obvious to say, but in the mid-1980s outer-London suburbia, this was a new sound; a genuinely unheard type of music.

These articles will not be any comprehensive history of hip hop culture; this is just about how it affected my life; how it helped me form my character and switch me on to a world outside; of injustice and the need to fight back; of a world where imagination to create was not restricted or sneered at. This is not nostalgia because that disease needs killing off; this is just about life.

I grew up in the suburbs of Hillingdon. Not a place full of diversity, nor originality. While the social upheaval of Rave was going on somewhere in the country, ‘going out’ in my world meant going down the park, or sometimes to Harrow or Uxbridge shopping centres. Live music did not exist and record shops were not on the agenda; we bought our 7” singles in Woolworths.

Houses were either the post-war verity or the new builds that look like show houses for your own remake of Village of the Damned. Some were pastel; many had a Vauxhall of some verity on the driveway. The music these people listened to was universally appalling. I somehow knew from early on it had nothing to do with me.

They like things the same and are not into relating to difference. These are the sort of people Heart FM and Magic were invented for.

The cover of Bigger and Deafer had a many in slick clothes and a chain around his neck, standing on a car bonnet. Somehow I knew it was New York City. The sound, as the cliché goes, was like nothing I had ever heard before but really, that’s the truth. Beats were not coming from a drum kit; there were no guitars or synths and central to it all was one confident man with amazing word skills.

Even kids in my primary school had no idea who LL Cool J was. As my brother got bored with the record, I got that too. I would not have thought of myself as the type who liked poetry but something went in my head when I heard things like the opening lines of My Rhyme Ain’t Done:

‘The president woke and he called the pope

The pope planted heaven on a golden rope

PS the Lord raised Michelangelo from the dead

So he could make a fresh painting of my head’

Now bragging is something that became tiresome in rap music and everywhere else pretty quickly but lines like that were at least a little inventive; calling upon the almighty to raise a great artist purely to paint your portrait. The wordplay was something that always impressed me. Rap music was from another world and that was before it fully opened my mind to the social reality of American life. This was giving us news, while we were still recovering from the BBC re-cutting footage of the miner’s struggles at Orgrieve.

The next few years passed without incident musically (or much else). Music came from the radio and rarely stayed in the head for long, although as mentioned there was something brewing in the fields that you occasionally caught wind of, perhaps while watching late-night Channel 4, but that was as close as I ever got. My life was a tired, cultural wasteland.

Then, I became a teenager.

One day, it must have been in 1992 or early 93, I was walking to the train station when I saw some kid with a Public Enemy t-shirt. It looked like my thing; the three main members sitting around a skull, Flavour Flav smiling with his mouth full of gold teeth; some uniformed heavies standing behind them.

Later, probably in an Our Price, I took a punt on the album Apocalypse 91: The Enemy Strikes Black, whose cover was the t-shirt design. I remember first hearing it on a Saturday night; it made an impact. Public Enemy’s best is generally accepted to be It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back and Fear of a Black Planet and I agree; but A91 will always have a special place for me – my introduction to the harsh beats of The Bomb Squad’s production that can still loosen your teeth and the rhyming dominance of Chuck D on songs about the lasting legacy of slavery, police harassment and brutality – all so sadly relevant today. The unrelenting nature of this music, not letting you up for air yet still having positive messages, was very influential.

This music was almost always a Walkman thing. As I got further into the genre the amount of naughty words were going to be a problem if my parents over-heard (although it is debateable they were ever switched off enough to not really know), so bar the odd-Saturday afternoon when everybody was out, music listening was a clandestine affair. I could be in the same room as the family, moronically staring at the TV for another episode of Only Fools and Horses or Noel Edmonds on whatever weekend pap was allowing us to forget the oncoming Monday morning; but I had a different soundtrack pumping through my earphones. They got served the mainstream; I sat at the back of the living room with a revolution beginning in the head.

Public Enemy became a staple but then there was Ice-T. A former criminal turned rapper who documented life on the tough streets with an authentic voice, inventing Gangster Rap in the process. He bragged a little, but specifically made the point that he (and you) were as good as anyone; Going from a broken family, passing through gang life then moving to Beverley Hills to a big house full of guns, in case anyone took a real dislike to his presence.

Another boy in my school, a posh white boy from the pricey end of Northwood, leant me Power and OG (Original Gangster). These albums contained a fully-realised artistic vision; the tales of modern street life, criminality and consequence; standing up to authority and learning to stand up against injustice. The message was ‘I may have been poor and black in America, but now I am rich and black and not backing down’.

However this is not a rosy look back; consumption of the music of Ice-T was not without it’s problems. His attitude towards women was pretty shit; nothing but fuck machines really, but that has always blighted the genre.

Similarly Ice Cube had indulged in this sort of thing, but he also gave us the undiluted rage of what it was like to be on the receiving end of police harassment and brutality.

When we saw the LA riots on TV, it was of course shocking but there was zero attempt

by the news to enquire why this was happening – why were some people calling it an uprising? To begin to answer questions like that, we had to turn to The Predator.

In an interview with Hip Hop Connection magazine, Ice Cube had praised the response in LA to the acquittal of four police officers who had been caught on video severely beating a man named Rodney King. He expressed regret that some people had been hurt, but pointed out that ‘America doesn’t hear pickets and protest singing, she just hears mass destruction’.

The Predator was an historical document according to one writer at the music magazine MOJO.

Through listening to that album I learnt who Darryl Gates was (‘that’s where all the hate went’); through Cypress Hill’s Black Sunday I learnt about how to mix musical style from punk intensity (as Public Enemy had done) with a more laid back style that did not compromise on the content on the song.

Through the 2 Live Crew (yes they were shit but still), Ice-T and Body Count, I learnt about censorship and how it worked and who it targeted. Why was there a live version of a Phil Collins song on Capital FM where he talked about a woman who ‘may fuck up your life’ and my parents didn’t have a problem with him?

I was not a mainstream suburban boy; I never had been and it was clear never would be; now I had my own taste, a growing interest in politics and the stories of the dispossessed; plus my wardrobe was changing to include t-shirts of my favourite artists and jackets with a logo of some US football team called the LA Raiders.

Everything had changed.

End of Part 1

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uniquegiftchocolateshop-blog · 7 years ago

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Chocolate History

Chocolate has been prepared as a drink for nearly all of its history. For example, one vessel found at an Olmec archaeological site on the Gulf Coast of Veracruz, Mexico, dates chocolate's preparation by pre-Olmec peoples as early as 1750 BC.[8] On the Pacific coast of Chiapas, Mexico, a Mokaya archaeological site provides evidence of cacao beverages dating even earlier, to 1900 BC.[9][8] The residues and the kind of vessel in which they were found indicate the initial use of cacao was not simply as a beverage, but the white pulp around the cacao beans was likely used as a source of fermentable sugars for an alcoholic drink.[10]

Aztec. Man Carrying a Cacao Pod, 1440–1521. Volcanic stone, traces of red pigment. Brooklyn Museum An early Classic-period (460–480 AD) Mayan tomb from the site in Rio Azul had vessels with the Maya glyph for cacao on them with residue of a chocolate drink, suggests the Maya were drinking chocolate around 400 AD.[11] Documents in Maya hieroglyphs stated chocolate was used for ceremonial purposes, in addition to everyday life.[12] The Maya grew cacao trees in their backyards,[13] and used the cacao seeds the trees produced to make a frothy, bitter drink.[14]

By the 15th century, the Aztecs gained control of a large part of Mesoamerica and adopted cacao into their culture. They associated chocolate with Quetzalcoatl, who, according to one legend, was cast away by the other gods for sharing chocolate with humans,[15] and identified its extrication from the pod with the removal of the human heart in sacrifice.[16] In contrast to the Maya, who liked their chocolate warm, the Aztecs drank it cold, seasoning it with a broad variety of additives, including the petals of the Cymbopetalum penduliflorum tree, chile pepper, allspice, vanilla, and honey.

The Aztecs were not able to grow cacao themselves, as their home in the Mexican highlands was unsuitable for it, so chocolate was a luxury imported into the empire.[15] Those who lived in areas ruled by the Aztecs were required to offer cacao seeds in payment of the tax they deemed "tribute".[15] Cocoa beans were often used as currency.[17] For example, the Aztecs used a system in which one turkey cost 100 cacao beans and one fresh avocado was worth three beans.[18]

The Maya and Aztecs associated cacao with human sacrifice, and chocolate drinks specifically with sacrificial human blood.[19][20] One of the first Spanish accounts of chocolate is by the royal chronicler Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo, describing chocolate drink he had seen in Nicaragua in 1528, mixed with achiote (Bixa orellana): "because those people are fond of drinking human blood, to make this beverage seem like blood, they add a little achiote, so that it then turns red. ... and part of that foam is left on the lips and around the mouth, and when it is red for having achiote, it seems a horrific thing, because it seems like blood itself."[21]

European adaptation See also: History of chocolate in Spain

Chocolate soon became a fashionable drink of the European nobility after the discovery of the Americas. The morning chocolate by Pietro Longhi; Venice, 1775–1780 Until the 16th century, no European had ever heard of the popular drink from the Central American peoples.[15] Christopher Columbus and his son Ferdinand encountered the cacao bean on Columbus's fourth mission to the Americas on 15 August 1502, when he and his crew seized a large native canoe that proved to contain cacao beans among other goods for trade.[22] Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés may have been the first European to encounter it, as the frothy drink was part of the after-dinner routine of Montezuma.[11][23] Jose de Acosta, a Spanish Jesuit missionary who lived in Peru and then Mexico in the later 16th century, wrote of its growing influence on the Spaniards:

Loathsome to such as are not acquainted with it, having a scum or froth that is very unpleasant taste. Yet it is a drink very much esteemed among the Indians, where with they feast noble men who pass through their country. The Spaniards, both men and women that are accustomed to the country are very greedy of this Chocolate. They say they make diverse sorts of it, some hot, some cold, and some temperate, and put therein much of that "chili"; yea, they make paste thereof, the which they say is good for the stomach and against the catarrh.[24]

"Traités nouveaux & curieux du café du thé et du chocolate", by Philippe Sylvestre Dufour, 1685 While Columbus had taken cacao beans with him back to Spain,[22] chocolate made no impact until Spanish friars introduced it to the Spanish court.[15] After the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs, chocolate was imported to Europe. There, it quickly became a court favorite. It was still served as a beverage, but the Spanish added sugar, as well as honey, to counteract the natural bitterness.[25] Vanilla was also a popular additive, with pepper and other spices sometimes used to give the illusion of a more potent vanilla flavor. Unfortunately, these spices had the tendency to unsettle the European constitution; the Encyclopédie states, "The pleasant scent and sublime taste it imparts to chocolate have made it highly recommended; but a long experience having shown that it could potentially upset one's stomach," which is why chocolate without vanilla was sometimes referred to as "healthy chocolate."[26] By 1602, chocolate had made its way from Spain to Austria.[27] By 1662, Pope Alexander VII had declared that religious fasts were not broken by consuming chocolate drinks. Within about a hundred years, chocolate established a foothold throughout Europe.[15]

Silver chocolate pot with hinged finial to insert a molinet or swizzle stick, London 1714–15 (Victoria and Albert Museum) The new craze for chocolate brought with it a thriving slave market, as between the early 1600s and late 1800s, the laborious and slow processing of the cacao bean was manual.[15] Cacao plantations spread, as the English, Dutch, and French colonized and planted. With the depletion of Mesoamerican workers, largely to disease, cacao production was often the work of poor wage laborers and African slaves. Wind-powered and horse-drawn mills were used to speed production, augmenting human labor. Heating the working areas of the table-mill, an innovation that emerged in France in 1732, also assisted in extraction.[28]

Dutch chemist Coenraad Johannes van Houten invented "Dutch cocoa" by treating cocoa mass with alkaline salts to reduce the natural bitterness without adding sugar or milk to get usable cocoa powder. New processes that sped the production of chocolate emerged early in the Industrial Revolution. In 1815, Dutch chemist Coenraad van Houten introduced alkaline salts to chocolate, which reduced its bitterness.[15] A few years thereafter, in 1828, he created a press to remove about half the natural fat (cocoa butter or cacao butter) from chocolate liquor, which made chocolate both cheaper to produce and more consistent in quality. This innovation introduced the modern era of chocolate.[22]

Fry's produced the first chocolate bar in 1847, which was then mass-produced as Fry's Chocolate Cream in 1866.[29] Known as "Dutch cocoa", this machine-pressed chocolate was instrumental in the transformation of chocolate to its solid form when, in 1847, English chocolatier Joseph Fry discovered a way to make chocolate moldable when he mixed the ingredients of cocoa powder and sugar with melted cocoa butter.[25] Subsequently, his chocolate factory, Fry's of Bristol, England, began mass-producing chocolate bars, Fry's Chocolate Cream, launched in 1866, and they became very popular.[29] Milk had sometimes been used as an addition to chocolate beverages since the mid-17th century, but in 1875 Swiss chocolatier Daniel Peter invented milk chocolate by mixing a powdered milk developed by Henri Nestlé with the liquor.[15][22] In 1879, the texture and taste of chocolate was further improved when Rudolphe Lindt invented the conching machine.[30]

Besides Nestlé, a number of notable chocolate companies had their start in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Rowntree's of York set up and began producing chocolate in 1862, after buying out the Tuke family business. Cadbury was manufacturing boxed chocolates in England by 1868.[15] In 1893, Milton S. Hershey purchased chocolate processing equipment at the World's Columbian Exposition in Chicago, and soon began the career of Hershey's chocolates with chocolate-coated caramels.

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