#its white supremacy all the way down
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''STOP ENCOURAGING CULTURAL APPROPRIATION, BLACKFACE, AND WHITE SUPREMACYk'
Cultural appropration is a racist/bioessentialist concept just as ''female/male cultural appropriation" is sexist and bioessentialist. Both are based on the idea that because of your biological characteristics you can't do certains things. It reinforce therefore racial/sex segregation/norms.
Blackface is done with the intent to mock/caricature so someone who acquire a black skin bc they are dysphoric or sencirely want to a x color of the skin isn't doing a black face. And for you a black person who transition to japanese is what ? Doing a asiaface/japface ? And what is your opinion on drag therefore ? A womanface ?
The accusation of ''White supremacy'' is non-sensical. First is based on the idea that transracials are only white people that idenfies as black, which isn't true. White ppl can idenfy to other white enthicities and black people can identify as white and as other racialized groups (from a western perspective). Most white transracials don't even idenfy as black.. so 🤭💀
Second transracislim doesn't promotes white supremacy since it 1) doesn't have a race-hierachy 2) doesn't put at top of the hierarchy white people/culture. Your claim is bullshit and the same kind of dishonest assertion such as terfs who claim that transgenderism is male supremacy~
Btw for you a nigerian person who idenfy as arabic is what ? Deeply racist.?
Tbh the only reason I'm not deleting this and moving on with my day is because this is almost laughable-- do you seriously understand what any of those words mean, or do you just know that they're Big Important Words that make people feel guilty on reflex instead of actually making a decent argument?
Let's start at the top now, why don't we, and have a good old fashioned vocabulary lesson?
Cultural appropriation refers to the use of objects or elements of a non-dominant culture in a way that reinforces stereotypes or contributes to oppression and doesn't respect their original meaning or give credit to their source. It also includes the unauthorized use of parts of their culture (their dress, dance, etc.) without permission.
I'm going to bet that no self-respecting oppressed culture would let a delusional white teenager take the sacred elements of their culture for their Tumblr aesthetic, so that's already one point for cultural appropriation. Just scrolling through the transrace tag, I see rampant examples of people supposedly appreciating oppressed cultures while only naming off the most stereotypical aspects of them ("I figured out I was transjapanese by watching anime!"). As I stated in the last post, artificially darkening akin contributes to the fetishization of people of color, and this is perpetuated by celebrities like the Kardashians and Ariana Grande who take elements of Black, Latine, and Asian culture to profit off of without any consideration or compensation to the people who are actively discriminated against for showing these elements of their culture in public. Hairstyles, speaking another language in public, wearing traditional clothing-- for people of color, this can lead to harassment, losing their job and education opportunities, and even death, but for white people? "Oh, you're so trendy, that's so exotic of you, what a cool and original style." Cultural appropriation in action.
Bioessentialism
The belief that ‘human nature’, an individual's personality, or some specific quality (such as intelligence, creativity, homosexuality, masculinity, femininity, or a male propensity to aggression) is an innate and natural ‘essence’ (rather than a product of circumstances, upbringing, and culture). The concept is typically invoked where there is a focus on difference, as where females are seen as essentially different from males: see gender essentialism. The term has often been used pejoratively by constructionists; it is also often used synonymously with biological determinism.
So,,, y'all racists see this concept, a concept traditionally use to attack and oppress people of color, and somehow think??? That it applies to YOU?
Okay, let's pretend that is the case.
The thing about bioessentialism is that is doesn't apply to things like race, gender, or sexuality. It applies to things that are stereotyped to be associated with those things. So, Asian people being smart, men being aggressive, gay men being effeminate, etc, etc. The concept of bioessentialism is, pardon my pun, essential to TERF ideology because they believe that if you are born with a certain set of genitals, your gender is inherent, and that includes men being terrible and aggressive and predators.
Let me repeat: bioessentialism is about TRAITS being associated with things like RACE, not RACE ITSELF.
Okay, that's two down.
Blackface
dark makeup worn to mimic the appearance of a Black person and especially to mock or ridicule Black people
This one is pretty cut and dry, in my opinion. Blackface is racist. Blackface is darkening your skin to appear Black. Therefore, trying to "transition" to a Black appearance is racist.
And, believe or not, yellowface is a thing too!
Yellowface is another example of the racism prevalent in American culture. Yellowface means more than a white person wearing make-up to look Asian. It also describes the systematic bias against hiring real Asians to play Asian roles shown by white producers, directors, and others who control the depiction of Asians in popular culture through casting decisions and the propagation of racist Asian stereotypes and caricatures.
And, to be completely honest, any person of color is trying to "transition" to another race (especially to white) is suffering from some pretty severe internalized racism that they should interrogate with other people of their race who I'm sure understand what it's like to feel alienated from your culture in the deeply racist society we live in.
Good, let's see what's next on the lesson plan...
White supremacy reflects the perpetuation of a false narrative that white people are better than people with other skin colors and ethnic backgrounds. It is when those with the most power across all systems in society fail to adequately reflect the diversity of BIPOC people, and instead maintain the problematic status quo.
I can see how this would confuse you, after all, how could wanting to be another race be perpetuating a narrative of white systemic control over people of color?
After all, it's not like white supremacy contributes to the infant mortality rate in people of color thanks to the slavery-induced stereotype that Black people have higher pain tolerances and therefore don't require the full spectrum of medical attention. It's not like Black children are routinely treated as adults as soon as they enter the academic system, being punished severely for minor offenses that their white peers aren't even given time out for, which lends to the young incarceration of people of color, who are often imprisoned shortly after or even during school. It's not like naming conventions that "sound" Black or Asian or Native or Latine are routinely eliminated from job prospects without any further consideration, because of the ideal that whiteness is more desirable.
It's not like white people routinely benefit from these things without even being aware of it-- the fact that they're born, the fact that they aren't punished as frequently or severely, the fact that they get jobs easier. It's so subliminal, so subtle, and when you do become aware of it, it makes you feel guilty. Because you're getting these things while others are not, without having done anything to earn them.
It's called white guilt.
White guilt describes the guilt brought upon by "the recognition of unearned and unfair racial privileges, the acknowledgment of personal racist attitudes or behavior, and/or the sense of responsibility for others’ racist attitudes or behavior."
When you're forced to confront the racism of yourself and your family and your culture, you can feel revolted by the things that you have been associated with, just by being white. It creates a sense of alienation, a rejection of the white "culture" that is so dependent on the oppression of others, and there are often two responses to it.
You focus on unlearning your own racist behaviors and beliefs, because everyone has them, it's just a matter of how deep they've been buried by years of propaganda. You fight against white supremacy and use your privilege to uplift and defend the people of color who are making their voices heard.
You disengage from it and defend your own behavior. You blind yourself to your own racist thoughts and ideas, claiming that just because you don't act like that means you're not racist. You reject whiteness without supporting people of color, you claim colorblindness, that "we're all the same on the inside."
What transrace/trace individuals have done is the second. In attempts to confront their bigotry, they've circled back around the age-old liberal and centrist posturing, claiming that "I've never treated anyone different" even when you undoubtedly have, and just refuse to recognize the nuance and complexities of whiteness and white supremacy.
It's a part of all of us, even people of color, because we live in a society so ingrained with white supremacy and racism that it becomes the social norm. The pandemic and murders by police have opened many people's eyes to the horrors of white supremacy and how it impacts people of color on a daily basis.
For many, it was a moment of radicalization. Of realizing the true depth of corruption in our government and society that has led to making these behaviors acceptable. It was a moment of making us say "that's not okay" and learning to fight white supremacy not only externally, but internally.
For others, their denial deepened. Their blind trust in the status quo and how things are was enforced by propaganda put out by police and government officials, and they refused to use the pandemic's solitude to interrogate their biases and improve themselves.
I suppose the shorter version of all of this would be to say, if you are uncomfortable with your race, whether it be white or any other, look up some workbooks and thought exercises on white supremacy. Do the work and unlearn the things you've been told. Accept that your past is not perfect, and you may have harmed others by playing into a racist system, but you can do everything in your power from now on to prevent further harm.
And that includes pointing out that seemingly harmless cultural appropriation has a deeply racist history that continues to impact people of color to this day.
Oh and, given that Nigerian Arabic is a common Arabic dialect in Chad, something tells me that there are people out there who are indeed both Nigerian and Arabic, but it would be the cultures they were born and raised into, not the ones they chose out of fascination.
#radqueer#transrace#trace#racism#honestly this is all of it#this is exactly why the concept of transitioning race is racist#its white supremacy all the way down
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Me when I see people espouse comedically inaccurate or shallow readings of a text that in all actuality just belie an even more profound trend regarding a refusal to seriously engage with a text's themes
#'haha Walter White is such a dumb man why would he let his pride allow him to turn down financial support so he could start a drug empire'#oh wow it's almost like the show is deeply invested in the American context of manhood and capitalism in ways that inform the tragedy#which is in and of itself still a simplification! but it's less of deferral of engagement#online media discussions are so bad#walt's feelings of emasculation and his relationship to violence/power are fairly par for the course in terms of analyzing patriarchy under#capitalism in the sense that 'the faustian bargain' poor men make is that they can go to work and be humiliated by their boss because#patriarchy at least gives them the seductive 'release valve' of being the Boss of the nuclear family#thus when you look at how patriarchal violence manifests in the USA -- rather than patriarchal violence in non-/pre-capitalist systems --#that is something that informs the shape that the neuroses and peculiarity of the collective psyche of The Oppressor tm that then informs#the kinds of violence (systemic or interpersonal) you see play out#similar to how impoverished whiteness still allows the opium of a sense of superiority to exist that then is adduced as to why those white#people should fight to uphold white supremacy and all its economic facets#again it's the core idea that one is groomed into playing a role to uphold a system of oppression by the way the system is so unquestionabl#unquestionably built into the fabric of your reality -- as opposed to any idea of inherent and inescapable ontological Badness
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im a white jew, i was born in israel,
ive lived there all my life and was brought up in an environment that fosters racism driven by nationalism, nationalism driven by racism.
in israel, they teach you jews and muslims (though usually, they just say arabs) have always been enemies, the same way the US deems the entire middle east as a inherent war zone, ridding them of the responsibility for perpetuating war in thst region.
they tell you "were the fair and humane side who strives for peace! its the arabs who never accept the offer!"
i remember the first time i began doubting that sentiment was in fourth grade, when we were having a discussion in class about the character of Saul from the Torah. the teacher was talking about how Saul, the first monarch of the Kingdom of Israel, used to fight the Philistines, and when she added that the Philistines were the natural enemy of the Israelites, she asked the class what group of people is their modern equivalent to which everyone very eagerly replied "Arabs!" and nevermind that there in that same class sat two arab boys, one of whom sat next to me, who i looked at and thought "but he isnt my enemy? hes just a boy in my class."
they teach you to hate arabs. sometimes they say it outright. sometimes they say it more carefully, or make a distinction between good and bad arabs, those who are with us and those who are against us.
in a state based on the idea of (white) jewish supremacy, they teach you jews are naturally superior. they use the conspiratorial narrative of "jews controlling the world" to their favor, giving their own watered down explanation for why antisemitism exists, saying that it must be driven by jealousy.
the zionist movement always used antisemitism to its advantage, either for reinforcing the notion of jewish supremacy or appealing to the real pain and trauma of generations, people who survived the holocaust, connecting them to stolen land where they are "guaranteed" safety ergo granting "justification" for the suffering of others.
its using peoples real pain that makes fear mongering so effective, and when the israeli population grows up being told all of their neighboring countries want to kill them, they quickly get defensive of the "only land where they can feel safe", but the only explanation ever provided for Why these neighboring countries are considered enemies is because theyre arabs.
and when it comes to palestine, it isnt even recognized as a country, nor identity. just a threat. ive talked to many people who are genuinely unaware of the occupation, and they arent willing to believe it either, because the media narrative has successfully shifted the blame on hamas. because "how could it be us? we want peace! its the terrorists who make us look bad! and their children, they grow up to be antisemites*, might as well get rid of them too!" they never stop to think what environment these children must grow up in to develop these "radical" ideas.
* what they mean by antisemite is really just antizionist, but the term anti/zionist isnt practiced in local dialect, being a zionist is treated as a given
any jew who stands against israels oppression is dubbed a self hating jew, but the biggest contributors to antisemitism is the people in charge of an ethnostate, because at any moment they could decide who is not white enough to be jewish, who is too jewish to be white, who stood against the current coalition government and who is an obedient dog.
israelis arent a monolith, but many of them have been won over, convinced its an "us v them" situation, when in reality it could never be the "us" that "loses"
the israeli government was waiting for an event like the massacre on the seventh of october to declare war, to have the so called "right to defend itself", so they could initiate the final steps of an ethnic genocide and displace, if not kill, all remaining palestinians. under the guise of bringing peace.
it isnt too late to call for a permanent ceasefire, to end the occupation.
please contact your representatives, attend protests and rallies if you are able. palestine will be free, and the flowers will rise again.
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IV ║ Notch
Joel Miller x F!Reader
{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }
Rating: E, but not that explicit
Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.
Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N
Word count: 8.9k
Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️
Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.
Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.
After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.
It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.
But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.
So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.
But she didn’t say anything.
What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly.
As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her.
Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.
And then, one night, it happened for him too.
Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.
Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.
It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.
He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.
So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.
‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’
For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.
Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table.
7:30.
What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.
His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.
Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’
Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.
Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’
Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’
He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’
Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’
He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’
Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.
‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’
‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.
‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’
‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.
That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.
But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’
Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face.
He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.
They turn out to be fifteen minutes early.
To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat.
Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.
He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.
Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -
But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.
‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.
She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’
Joel growls. ‘Manners.’
Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’
Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’
Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.
Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’
‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’
‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’
He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’
She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’
Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’
Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’
Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’
She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’
He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’
He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’
Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.
‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’
You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.
It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.
Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.
You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door.
Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.
You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -
Since the kiss.
You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.
Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.
Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.
‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile.
You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’
‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’
Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here.
Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’
He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’
‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it.
That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’
Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it.
‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’
Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’
One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.
Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’
Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’
He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’
You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’
‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’
The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’
At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response.
‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’
‘Like this?’
‘Wait - slow down.’
A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’
‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’
A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’
‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’
‘Alright, you ready?’
‘Come on, Joel -’
With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.
‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows.
‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease.
He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’
You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’
He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’
The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.
It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -
A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.
The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.
Joel is sweating. A lot.
His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity.
There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -
‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’
‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.
He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’
Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -
Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’
You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat.
And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.
‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths.
Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.
Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -
Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.
Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.
The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking.
Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention.
He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’
You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.
‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.
‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.
‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.
He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’
Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind.
You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’
Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’
By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.
Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.
Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.
He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist -
‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares.
Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.
‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’
He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’
‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.
‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’
You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’
Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’
Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.
The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.
He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -
It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.
You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’
You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’
‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’
You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.
As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’
You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.
And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.
He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly.
He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.
‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.
He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’
Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.
He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.
This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.
Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.
Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.
He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’
‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’
‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.
A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’
The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’
Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.
Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’
Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’
‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.
Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -
Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell.
Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’
‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’
You don’t need to ask him twice.
He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’
Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.
The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.
The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.
Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.
He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’
Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’
Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’
Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’
‘Never.’
He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front.
He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’
The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’
After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’
It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.
‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’
Joel rasps, ‘Good.’
With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -
But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’
You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…
The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.
Oh. Fuck.
With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow.
He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.
‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’
Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’
Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'
He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’
You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.
‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument.
Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’
His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’
You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.
His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.
‘No bra?’ he prompts.
‘No bra,’ you parrot back.
His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’
‘No panties -’
You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.
And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’
You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’
An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.
You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch.
His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’
‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’
Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’
You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’
His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’
‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’
The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’
‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.
He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’
You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’
He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’
‘Maybe,’ you tease.
You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his.
‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear.
‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.
‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’
‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’
An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.
Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’
It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’
‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’
His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’
Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’
He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’
‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’
His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’
Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.
Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’
Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’
He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’
You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’
He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’
‘Ok then -’
You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’
You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -
Joel is hard.
The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.
Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’
Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’
Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’
Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact.
‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.
You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.
You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.
Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten.
Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.
‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.
Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.
Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.
Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.
Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’
You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’
You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.
When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.
Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’
You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.
‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’
He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you.
One day.
Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.
‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’
When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.
Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.
Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’
You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’
He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’
‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’
He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’
You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’
‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’
Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.
Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her.
Her jaw hits the floor.
‘Oh. My. God.’
She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.
This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.
With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’
Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’
Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’
Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’
‘Shut up.’
‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’
Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’
Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’
He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.
‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin.
Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.
Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️
I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰
#fuckyeahseams#seams iv#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller imagine
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Dragon Dan Heng
warning: mention of COCK ovi, knotting, other non-human anatomy things????, biting and marking, rut/heat cycles, dacryphilia, egregious amounts of cum (I think that's how you use that word), dumbification, oral, tongue in throat (a lil choking), belly bulge, breeding, top character, rambling author
Reader's gender is not specified and I dodged around mention of genitalia I think.
SFW: So so so- As I said before, this man activates my fucking neurons. The two braincells I have bouncing around in my head suddenly rub together to create a single thought. That single thought is about how hot he is??? Literally he doesn't have to do anything and he already has rizz 100. Would. Very much would.
But like real talk this danger noodle doesn't really change much when finally unlocks his new skin (lmfao don't pitchfork me I was kiDDING-)
Still seemingly calm (almost) all the time. Still mostly silent (at least when compared with people like March 7th). But if you're with him, then I think that there are subtle changes. When you're together, he doesn't just hover within your space. He'll be sitting next to you and that pretty tail of his will curl around you- maybe around your waist or just laid behind you and curled to lay across your lap. Doesn't admit it but he likes it when you pet his tail. :D
Scent marking!!! Any time you come back from somewhere after being gone for a bit or he does, he needs to scent mark you. Rubbing his neck along yours and purring (in my head dragons can purr fight me) while he smells the way your scent mingles with his (and the way that he covers up others' scents with his but he won't admit it). When you two are napping together and he cuddles with you, his tail will also wrap around you. Makes trying to get up to pee or even to start your day a bit hard. If you try to, he'll grumble and growl at you groggily without any real annoyance. Nips at your ear for waking him up before pulling you closer. His face gets a little hot when you laugh at his behavior.
NSFW:
So,,,, There are so many ways this can go. I oscillate between different head canons about his cock just on its own- Like does he have two? Is it/are they ribbed??? Is there knotting involved? E G G S ? All of the above???????? Honestly I'd take any and all of it or whatever combo it might be. I also believe in internal cock pouch thing supremacy. No I don't know what it's called but it is my reliGION PLEASE- Like y'all can't tell me it's not enticing. I am 100% a degenerate, but imagine him getting aroused and like you can see the way the slit of his pouch is a bit slick. The way he'd moan and grip the bedding with a white knuckled grip when you make your way down his body to mouth at it, tongue darting out to lick at it. Imagine licking into it to feel the tip of his cock (cocks??????) before gently sliding a finger in to feel around it/them. At some point you add more fingers to help your tongue coax your prize out of the sheath (thank god I remembered that word) and you get to feel the way his slick cock slowly fills your mouth even as your fingers work around it in the slit of said sheath. You'd have him choking on his own breath and twitching with his tail laying across your shoulders to wrap around your waist. Please bring his legs up on your shoulders and wrap your arms around them and hold down his hips. Something about it gets to him. :)))
I could always talk about bottom dragon Dan Heng if y'all want, but I will be sharing my brainrot about top Dan Heng today. (No it's totally not because of my preferences what are you talking about-)
Just like with Gepard, I stand by my idea that slipping a pretty plug in these men is a need not a want. Just that extra stimulation that will make him cum even more when he gets there.
I can see him being soft with you unless he's in rut. Yes I'm basic I like rut cycles fhisejo- When he's in rut, his nails are more like claws and his teeth are sharper. Maybe longer, too. Bet he has a big dick already but it's only bigger in rut. Really got that breeder cock, lol. Still has enough coherency to prep you by sliding his long tongue inside you. He can't use those fingers of his when they're tipped with claws, after all. Doesn't wanna hurt his baby. :((
He'll kiss around your hole before licking around the entrance to tease you, rubbing at your erogenous spots while he does so. Then he'll lick into you, thrusting his tongue in like it's a cock. Little by little he'll pry you open with his tongue until you're all sloppy and you swear his tongue is in your belly. All the while, he's been humping himself into the bed beneath him, desperately wishing it was you he was rocking into instead.
Once it's finally time to take you, I like to think that he'd flip you onto your stomach with your hips in the air and a hand pressing between your shoulderblades to keep your chest pinned to the bed. Slides his slick cock over your twitching hole before notching it on the rim of your entrance and slowly rutting into you. The fullness has you rolling your eyes back and whining while he coos at you how you're doing so well for him and you only have a little bit more you can take it-
Once he's fully seated, hips flush with your ass and cock twitching inside you, he'll bring a hand around to your belly to feel the bulge he made there. Presses on it a little to hear you squeak and watch you squirm beneath him. Starts a slow pace to make sure you're used to his stretching you open. But be warned- The moment he's sure that you are adjusted, he's pounding into you with panting breaths and barely contained drool. His teeth ache with the need to mark you up- Bite into your flesh to leave marks that would claim you as his. His hands are anchored to your hips in a tight grip that you're sure will be leaving bruises along with the claw marks. His girth and ribbed texture to his cock have you moaning and clawing at the bed. Loves watching the way his dick just disappears inside you; the stretch of your hole around him.
Once he finally spills his cum inside of you after several orgasms from you, it's hot and thick and there's just so much of it. He's moaning and growling behind you while he thrusts a few more times as it starts spurting out of him, all of them rough and hard thrusts. But then his hips are pressed so hard to yours that you wonder if you'll ever be able to remove them. He just needs to empty himself as deep into you as possible. We're going with the knotting idea today so the swelling knot you've slowly felt beginning to stretch you out and then knocking against your entrance has now been shoved inside of you, locking you two together and pressing relentlessly against sensitive spots inside of you. The pulsing you feel through the knot and his whole cock is not helping and it's making you squeeze around him so hard so your body can milk all of his cum from him. You swear all the cum is making the bump in your belly bigger after he's done pouring it all inside of you.
When he's in rut he just doesn't stop going. So maybe hours later, you have cum all over your thighs and there's so much dripping out of your well used hole that you're questioning where the hell it all came from. You smell so much like him and his cum and there's so much inside you that it sates some possessive part of his rut brain. Regardless of whether he can or can't breed you due to your or his biology (I'm not actually sure what goes on with Vidyadhara procreation or if they can even do that anymore iofsj-), the rut brain is telling him that he can and seeing your belly distended a bit with how much cum he fucked into you is soothing his dragon hind brain, lmfao. You're likely unable to form any thoughts at all when you two are done. You feel like you can't possibly cum anymore and even small amounts of stimulation have you whimpering and writhing. You have bite marks all over your neck and hips- Maybe even a few on your ass, lol. Inner thighs for sure, too. He might lick away your tears before kissing you. :'''''''''))
Both out and in rut, he's always sure to give aftercare. Cuddles is a big part of this. Purring and other rumbling sounds as he envelopes you in an embrace that once again includes his tail curling around you protectively. Likes to sleep with his knot still in you, cock still pulsing as his cum continues to fill you. Maybe he likes to rub at your belly where that bulge is. Tells you about how good you did- Such a good mate for him. His precious mate.
P.S. I like the idea so I think he'd maybe also shove his tongue down your throat while fucking you. And I mean that more literally than you think. I mean it is long- The way you choke on it while kissing him with tears welling in your eyes does something to him. The filthy slide of it as if fucking your throat with it and all the drool swapping from his mouth to yours and vice versa.
If there are any typos then my apologies big dawg LMFAO.
There's so much space in my brain taken up by this man alone.
Considering starting to do requests and asks. I guess lemme know if people want that?????
#hsr smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#dan heng x reader#dan heng smut#top character#gn reader#I THINK???#HELP???#I am very unconfident yall pls-#Roro writes#dragon dan heng
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𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐑
~ inumaki toge ; jujutsu kaisen
✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : after an afternoon of gaming, you and inumaki share your first kiss
‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, fluff, he uses his cursed speech on you
‧₊˚ a / n : toge can say some words as long as they’re not harmful, onigiri ingredients are in japanese
“FINALLY!” your voice resonated victoriously from Toge’s room, he loudly groaned and let himself fall backwards onto the bed.
About four hours had passed since you came over to Toge’s dorm to play videogames. And about two of them had been spent in trying to beat him in Smash Bros. Toge had won 2 rounds against 1 most of the time, but you had finally managed to turn the tides against him. Sure, it was just one victory against his multiple ones but it tasted glorious!
“YES! IT WAS ABOUT TIME IT WAS NOT FAIR!!” you punched the air in joy, standing on your knees.
“OKAKA”
“DESERVED! EVERYONE CHEER FOR Y/N”
“OKAKAAAA”
“Y/N SUPREMACY”
“Tch” Toge clicked his tongue and pulled you down onto the bed while you laughed, he giggled and placed his index in front of his lips “late”
“Oh” your eyes widened with the realization of the time, turning around towards him “you’re right, I should go back to my dorm.”
He groaned and puckered his lips in annoyance. You smiled. He was so cute. You were both on your sides, only centimeters apart, looking at each other. Next thing you knew you were lost in his beautiful lavender eyes, and your heartbeat quickened, thinking about how much you ached to caress his cheek and trace his cursed marks with your index. It was moments like this when you thought about your friendship with him, and how much effort you had put into carefully weaving it without involving the growing feelings in your chest.
“You want me to stay?” your question blurted out in a low voice.
He nodded, his hand catching a strand of your hair and placing it behind your ear. Your cheeks reddened to the feeling of his fingertips grazing your face. A sweet sensation of nervousness sat in your stomach, butterflies suddenly arose to try and turn your insides upside down. He immediately noticed the blush and apparently that made him smile, he seemed intrigued for a moment.
“Come closer.”
Your body moved on its own without permission from your brain. You brought your bodies closer to each other, pulling towards him by grabbing his shirt, your faces now extremely close. Inhaling sharply, your eyes widened and stared at him in surprise, his intrigued expression never leaving his face. He giggled at your reaction. He was teasing you and it was almost unfair, anyone could tell how much he was enjoying it. Shakily, your hand made its way towards his marks, index slowly tracing over the pattern on his smooth skin. As his long white lashes lowered down towards your hand, his lips partly opened at the touch. God, he’s so beautiful. He closed his eyes, his forehead rested on yours. Sighing, he nuzzled against your cheek, and his arms slithered around your waist. With a nervous gulp, you closed your eyes too, feeling his breath over your shaky lips. When you caressed his face, he licked his lower lip. And finally, his lips found their rightful place on top of yours. He kissed softly, causing a warm feeling of longing hugging your body. When you kissed back his arms around you tightened, trying to somehow bring you even closer, his tongue slid through your lower lip. Gasping, you slowly opened your mouth to grant him access, and his hot tongue filled your mouth, making the butterflies flutter with no control. One hand on his shirt turning into a pleading fist, the other one threading his white hair in between your fingers. Tender yearning was the only thing in between our mouths, until he pulled away for a sharp breath. You also breathed in the air you had forgotten you needed at all.
“Toge…” you tried to say something, anything, but the kiss had left your mind wiped clean.
“Hmm” he hummed in response. You didn’t say anything, just wrapped your arms around his neck “kiss.”
Following his orders, you kissed him shortly.
“Kiss” his now slightly husky voice pushed you to peck his lips yet again “more.”
This time, that last word obliged you to properly kiss him, just like the first time. Lips molding against his like they were meant to be together, melting. The sounds filling the room felt like music to your ears, with both of you tangled in between each other like you had been looking forward to it for a while. And it probably was just like that. One of his hands decided to guide you holding your jaw with his fingertips. You stopped the kiss to breathe again, you could’ve sworn the room was revolving around both of you like you had just become the center of the universe. He was the center of your universe. His face moved away from yours and you finally opened your eyes, his thumb caressing your chin.
“Beautiful.” his eyes seemed to shimmer in a new way you hadn’t seen before.
You knew your cheeks were already flushed, but it still felt like that single word prompted the rest of the blood in your body to concentrate on your cheeks solely. A bashful smile appeared on your face. Ironically, it seemed like you couldn’t find the words to tell him how beautiful he was to you. You thought another kiss could convey the words instead, so you just leaned over to connect your mouths once again.
#; fluffy belle#jjk#jjk fluff#jjk drabbles#jjk x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk inumaki#jjk toge#inumaki x y/n#inumaki toge#inumaki x reader#inumaki fluff#inumaki toge x reader#toge#toge x reader#toge x you#jjk imagines#jjk fic#gn!reader
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Jesus is Under the Rubble
“This Advent, while global Christians prepare to commemorate the arrival of the Prince of Peace, our Palestinian kin in Gaza suffer unthinkable violence. Their cries of deliverance, echoing those of two millennia ago, seem to be falling unheard on the United States.”
youtube
— by Kelly Latimore icons. All proceeds from sales of this digital image will go toward Red Letter Christians trusted partners in Gaza.
Transcript:
Christ in the Rubble
A Liturgy of Lament
Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac
Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church Bethlehem
Saturday, December 23rd, 2023
We are angry…
We are broken…
This should have been a time of joy; instead, we are mourning. We are fearful.
Twenty thousand killed. Thousands under the rubble still. Close to 9,000 children killed in the most brutal ways. Day after day after day. 1.9 million displaced! Hundreds of thousands of homes were destroyed. Gaza as we know it no longer exists. This is an annihilation. A genocide.
The world is watching; Churches are watching. Gazans are sending live images of their own execution. Maybe the world cares? But it goes on.
We are asking, could this be our fate in Bethlehem? In Ramallah? In Jenin? Is this our destiny too?
We are tormented by the silence of the world. Leaders of the so-called “free” lined up one after the other to give the green light for this genocide against a captive population. They gave the cover. Not only did they make sure to pay the bill in advance, they veiled the truth and context, providing political cover. And, yet another layer has been added: the theological cover with the Western Church stepping into the spotlight.
The South African Church taught us the concept of “The state theology,” defined as “the theological justification of the status quo with its racism, capitalism and totalitarianism.” It does so by misusing theological concepts and biblical texts for its own political purposes.
Here in Palestine, the Bible is weaponized against our very own sacred text. In our terminology in Palestine, we speak of the Empire. Here we confront the theology of the Empire. A disguise for superiority, supremacy, “chosenness,” and entitlement. It is sometimes given a nice cover using words like mission and evangelism, fulfillment of prophecy, and spreading freedom and liberty. The theology of the Empire becomes a powerful tool to mask oppression under the cloak of divine sanction. It divides people into “us” and “them.” It dehumanizes and demonizes. It speaks of land without people even when they know the land has people – and not just any people. It calls for emptying Gaza, just like it called the ethnic cleansing in 1948 “a divine miracle.” It calls for us Palestinians to go to Egypt, maybe Jordan, or why not just the sea?
“Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” they said of us. This is the theology of Empire.
This war has confirmed to us that the world does not see us as equal. Maybe it is the color of our skin. Maybe it is because we are on the wrong side of the political equation. Even our kinship in Christ did not shield us. As they said, if it takes killing 100 Palestinians to get a single “Hamas militant” then so be it! We are not humans in their eyes. (But in God’s eyes… no one can tell us we are not!)
The hypocrisy and racism of the Western world is transparent and appalling! They always take the words of Palestinians with suspicion and qualification. No, we are not treated equally. Yet, the other side, despite a clear track record of misinformation, is almost always deemed infallible!
To our European friends. I never ever want to hear you lecture us on human rights or international law again. We are not white— it does not apply to us according to your own logic.
In this war, the many Christians in the Western world made sure the Empire has the theology needed. It is self-defense, we were told! (And I ask: how?)
In the shadow of the Empire, they turned the colonizer into the victim, and the colonized into the aggressor. Have we forgotten that the state was built on the ruins of the towns and villages of those very same Gazans?
We are outraged by the complicity of the church. Let it be clear: Silence is complicity, and empty calls for peace without a ceasefire and end to occupation, and the shallow words of empathy without direct action— are all under the banner of complicity. So here is my message: Gaza today has become the moral compass of the world. Gaza was hell on earth before October 7th.
If you are not appalled by what is happening; if you are not shaken to your core— there is something wrong with your humanity. If we, as Christians, are not outraged by this genocide, by the weaponizing of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness, and compromising the credibility of the Gospel!
If you fail to call this a genocide. It is on you. It is a sin and a darkness you willingly embrace.
Some have not even called for a ceasefire.
I feel sorry for you. We will be okay. Despite the immense blow we have endured, we will recover. We will rise and stand up again from the midst of destruction, as we have always done as Palestinians, although this is by far the biggest blow we have received in a long time.
But again, for those who are complicit, I feel sorry for you. Will you ever recover from this?
Your charity, your words of shock AFTER the genocide, won’t make a difference. Words of regret will not suffice for you. We will not accept your apology after the genocide. What has been done, has been done. I want you to look at the mirror… and ask: where was I?
To our friends who are here with us: You have left your families and churches to be with us. You embody the term accompaniment— a costly solidarity. “We were in prison and you visited us.” What a stark difference from the silence and complicity of others. Your presence here is the meaning of solidarity. Your visit has already left an impression that will never be taken from us. Through you, God has spoken to us that “we are not forsaken.” As Father Rami of the Catholic Church said this morning, you have come to Bethlehem, and like the Magi, you brought gifts with, but gifts that are more precious than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. You brought the gift of love and solidarity.
We needed this. For this season, maybe more than anything, we were troubled by the silence of God. In these last two months, the Psalms of lament have become a precious companion. We cried out: My God, My God, why have you forsaken Gaza? Why do you hide your face from Gaza?
In our pain, anguish, and lament, we have searched for God, and found him under the rubble in Gaza. Jesus became the victim of the very same violence of the Empire. He was tortured. Crucified. He bled out as others watched. He was killed and cried out in pain— My God, where are you?
In Gaza today, God is under the rubble.
And in this Christmas season, as we search for Jesus, he is to be found not on the side of Rome, but our side of the wall. In a cave, with a simple family. Vulnerable. Barely, and miraculously surviving a massacre. Among a refugee family. This is where Jesus is found.
If Jesus were to be born today, he would be born under the rubble in Gaza. When we glorify pride and richness, Jesus is under the rubble.
When we rely on power, might, and weapons, Jesus is under the rubble.
When we justify, rationalize, and theologize the bombing of children, Jesus is under the rubble.
Jesus is under the rubble. This is his manger. He is at home with the marginalized, the suffering, the oppressed, and displaced. This is his manger.
I have been looking, contemplating on this iconic image….God with us, precisely in this way. THIS is the incarnation. Messy. Bloody. Poverty.
This child is our hope and inspiration. We look and see him in every child killed and pulled from under the rubble. While the world continues to reject the children of Gaza, Jesus says: “just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” “You did to ME.” Jesus not only calls them his own, he is them!
We look at the holy family and see them in every family displaced and wandering, now homeless in despair. While the world discusses the fate of the people of Gaza as if they are unwanted boxes in a garage, God in the Christmas narrative shares in their fate; He walks with them and calls them his own.
This manger is about resilience— صمود. The resilience of Jesus is in his meekness; weakness, and vulnerability. The majesty of the incarnation lies in its solidarity with the marginalized. Resilience because this very same child, rose up from the midst of pain, destruction, darkness and death to challenge empires; to speak truth to power and deliver an everlasting victory over death and darkness.
This is Christmas today in Palestine and this is the Christmas message. It is not about Santa, trees, gifts, lights… etc. My goodness how we twisted the meaning of Christmas. How we have commercialized Christmas. I was in the USA last month, the first Monday after Thanksgiving, and I was amazed by the amount of Christmas decorations and lights, all the and commercial goods. I couldn’t help but think: They send us bombs, while celebrating Christmas in their land. They sing about the prince of peace in their land, while playing the drum of war in our land.
Christmas in Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, is this manger. This is our message to the world today. It is a Gospel message, a true and authentic Christmas message, about the God who did not stay silent, but said his word, and his Word is Jesus. Born among the occupied and marginalized. He is in solidarity with us in our pain and brokenness.
This manger is our message to the world today – and it is simply this: this genocide must stop NOW. Let us repeat to the world: STOP this Genocide NOW.
This is our call. This is our plea. This is our prayer. Hear oh God. Amen.
(Source)
I found these on Twitter a while ago. Original creator unknown.
I can't stop you ascribing hateful, paranoid meanings to these images, but they're not about blaming religions. Jesus was a Jew born to a community of Jews in Palestine, the cradle of the Abrahamic faiths. He was raised and loved by them, betrayed by their rulers* and killed by Romans. He's a Prophet of Islam. End of.
*Y'know, like how the people of the Arab and Muslim nations love Palestine and crying to help them, except their leaders are greedy and rotted to the core. The ruling class will always only serve the empire.
Edit: alt text provided by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters
#tag has stopped trending so please boost#catholicism#christmas#christianity#orthodox christianity#jerusalem#bethlehem#free gaza#save gaza#free palestine#christ child#racism#western imperialism#evangelical christianity#lutheran#us imperialism#fuck israel#israeli war crimes#israel is a terrorist state#white supremacy#colonization#manifest destiny#theology#anti zionism#christian zionism#human rights#war propaganda#i/p#knee of huss
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◇ Limitless
gojo satoru x reader
It felt so real.. Gojo Satoru was dead. Or so you thought until you woke up in a cold sweat staring in the eyes ot your one and only.
wc 1.9k
warnings: basically sfw besides death (everyones alive lmao. He’s just a sweetheart in this one.
hope u all enjoyed as i havent had the time to write with passion until a couple days ago!
They said he was the strongest.
The six eyes.
The untouchable.
The one who stood tall over everyone else with unforgiving grace and supremacy.
Your lover..
Was dead at your feet.
His eyes that glittered effortlessly- shinier than an afternoon sun on blue ocean water blew out quicker than a fire with no wood, leaving it lifeless with the rest of his body in the center of his own blood like a seance.
Dead eyes stared up towards heaven, arms sprayed out ready to be taken where the god’s felt he shall rest for good.
You couldn’t hear your own scream of despair over your rapid heartbeat and ringing in your ear that seemed to get higher and higher.
Pitchier and pitchier.
You couldn’t even feel yourself being pulled back by his students as you tried to launch yourself to his still body; to hold his hand one last time even if it wasn’t warm anymore from the fire of his passion.
Why are you just laying there?
Get up, Satoru!
“Satoru!” You called out for him again, a glimmer of hope wishing the anguish in your voice was enough to jumpstart his heart back alive.
Satoru.
.
.
“Satoru!” You cry out, feeling wetness drain down your cheeks and swept away as they fell.
The ringing in your ears was still present as you jolt up, taking in your surroundings in a frantic state as cold shivers run up your spine from anxiety and shock.
He’s dead..
The space in front of you was a blur leaving your body in a fight or flight response, hitting whatever was in your sight- a dark silhouette of warmth grasps your shaky wrists together condemning you a danger to yourself.
He’s dead.
Another hand holds the plush of your cheek, wiping away the tears from your hot, damp skin.
The ringing slowly subsides as your name being called repeatedly echos around the room to your ears and your vision becomes clearer.
“(Y/n)..? Hey, look at me..” He calls out for you.
That velvety voice is more coarse than usual as the morning hour slowly rises to shine at you both through the thin black curtains.
Your breath starts to slow, turning into feint, uncoordinated hiccups of air; the cool breeze of the open window wisps by the curtains, lifting to let the moonlight illuminate the figure by your side.
Satoru.
The light of the moon casts over his pale skin and white hair in a sapphire blue sheen, eyes glittering down at you in confusion and worry; lost of its usual unserious nature.
The air hits your sweaty face as you begin to let yourself feel.
His warm hands you thought you’d never feel heat from again.
And the blood running through his veins, continuing to let his heart beat.
His hair messily frames his sharp face as he digests what is happening.
There was no way to describe the fear dragging in his stomach like an achor from waking to the screams of his name wailed out by you at his side.
You don’t answer his questions, instead pulled into his lean chest, basked into the healing sensation of love radiating from his lively body to yours. The thump of his heartbeat to remind you it’s still there,
that he’s still here.
His sweet words muttered quietly to the shell of your ear that it is alright,
“Everything’s okay. I’m here, baby, I’m here.” He whispers running slender fingers through your hair, lulling your worries away. “What’s wrong?” He asks full of soft fret.
Your eyes are clenched in this neck, the mental picture of his morbid body etched inside. “I’m scared to go back to sleep.” You choke out.
It hurt to even say it outloud.
But he didn’t need to hear it to know what you dreamt about.
You now lay down, head to his chest while running your fingers down his now grown out hair that tickles the base of his neck.
Gojo lays you on him, purposefully letting your head rest of the gentle thump of his steady heartbeat, large palm petting down your hair. Your breathing becomes stable, softly huffing breaths as you slowly fall asleep in his comfort.
It pinched his heart knowing dreaming of such things was an internal fear you’ve always had coming to fruition through your consciousness. He lays there wide awake listening to your light snores of sleep. Gojo couldn’t exactly blame you for having nightmares like this. He practically was playing a risky game of chess with the grim reaper every other night.
It wasn’t death that scared Gojo Satoru, the afterlife was the last thing he was scared of.
As a man whose mere existence puts the rest of the world in check, there were many things he could control. But he hated to admit there were some he just couldn’t.
However leaving you alone in a world where he watches cruelty rule over compassion, that is what scared him the most.
Your sweet, angelic self that only deserved to live a life of happiness and self-fulfillment. He was too selfish to leave you by yourself, refusing to ever let it happen.
Even if he was on his last leg, fighting the red devil to crawl through limbo to come back to you, he’d win and succeed to your embrace.
Before he met you, he’d always wondered if death was more kind.
His thoughts are cut off hearing you stir in your sleep, shifting to another position clutched on his body, heart skipping just from how peaceful and enchanting you are.
A world with you without him just simply did not exist in his eyes , and he’d keep it that way.
He’d always win, for you.
So happy to have finished this I kind love it and tried to have a more serious theme in the literature; so I hope I expressed that a bit better 🫶🏻
Really needed some copium if y’all know what I mean :(
Please follow, like and reblog ʕ⁎̯͡⁎ʔ༄
#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk leaks#jjk oneshot#gojo x reader#geto suguru fic#nanami x reader#pitou.writes#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#pitou.fics
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can you please do 42!miles with a baddie like a Megan type vibe? SHE HAS A PINK JEEP
💗💗💗💗
— SHE A BADDIE
— pairing: e42!miles x fem!black!reader
— genre: fluff
— summary: what its like for 42 miles to date a reader with a "baddie like megan" vibe.
— a/n : i felt like i was a lil lazy writing this, sorry ! can yall tell i got excited abt the jeep n the attitude part.. its litch what kept me writing this whole thing 😭 also, a car creeper is those lil things u slide under to fix the underside of ur car
— a/n 2: changed the way i start writin a jus a lil, petition for head over heels 42 miles supremacy !! + this was so fun.. like i was writing this n i was like "lemme be this when i grow up" LMAOOO so ty for the request anonnn, mwah and enjoy !!
MILES FALLS IN LOVE with you every second. like, honestly, just do anything, he's wrapped around your finger.
maybe he'll try and hide it, but you make him fold 24/7. you dont even have to do nothing.
it's just something about your energy, the way you dont give a damn about nothing, he just loves it. y'all are like beast boy and raven.
"mama, you killin' me right now."
"hm? did i do somethin'?"
"i love you so, so much. i swear, you make me weak."
"aww, hun, I love you more."
"yeah, keep dreamin'. now, lemme love on you."
hype man, hype man, HYPE MANN
when I say if you want to do anything he's here for it, he's here for it.
you wanna get your hair done? he's at your service.
you wanna go to the mall? he's already throwing you the keys to your jeep.
you wanna get your nails done? show him your options (he always likes the french tips, esp this.)
"Y'know Miles, i think this set ain't looking too good no more.."
"You wanna get new nails?"
"Mhm, wanna help me pick?"
"'Course I do, let's see em."
does not care what you wear, he's always gonna say you look gorgeous. plus, he can fight. but, he's always got his hands on your waist. always.
you're your own girl, he knows that. he spoils you, yes, but he'll always let you do your own thing.
he can't explain it, but when you refer to him as "my man", or your anything, really, it does something to his heart.
yk when latto goes "ty to my man"? yeah, that's you.
"My nails? Yeah, my man helped me pick 'em."
you have attitude. Miles doesn't mind, he's a "yes ma'am" kind of guy, but if it's to him, hes gonna shut you down.
a lot of the times, you won't care, and it won't end in an argument, becuase he's still shutting you down regardless.
"Miles, you lost your shit or sum."
"Amor, drop that tone f'me, aight?"
you are a party animal, and Miles? He'll just be in the back, watching you do your thing with your friends. If you ask him to dance with you though, he will for sure.
Will he throw money on you? Yes, yes he will. (Not sexual btw !)
Your jeep. He has his own car, but he honestly loves yours the best.
He helped you decorate it, all pretty and pink
He will happily get in your jeep while you blast Megan or Rihanna because c'mon now, who wouldnt?
I'm insistent he's good with mechanics, so he'll tune your car whenever you need him to, bryson tiller or tory lanez playing while he does so. (i'm losing my shit rn.)
"Cariño, ¿puedes pasarme esa llave inglesa? It's to ya left." (Baby, can you pass me that wrench?)
he'd say, sliding out from the car creeper under the hood of your pink jeep, sliding back in after you passed him the tool.
and after about 15 minutes, he'd come back out, putting a dirty cloth over his shoulder, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
its a sight to see: white tank top, slightly stained with grime from fixing your car; his favorite gold chain glistened in the sun, adorned with beaded glints of sweat from his neck.
"Aight, i think she's good, you can start her up if you wanna."
"Yay! thank you for fixing my car, baby, I love youu."
you'd squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck to plant a kiss on his cheek, your pink tinted lip gloss staining his face.
"Ain't no problem princesa, I love you too."
© all444miles 2023. do not plagerize, copy, or repost my work in any way shape or form, without my permission.
likes, reblogs, comments and asks are always appreciated !
#— 🍧: 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐔𝐏 !#miles morales#atsv#earth 42 miles morales#prowler miles#spiderman#atsv miles#earth 42 miles#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales x reader#miles morales x you#miles morales x black!reader#miles morales blurbs#black!fem!reader#atsv imagines#atsv prowler#atsv miles morales#spiderman atsv#atsv x reader#miles morales appreciation#miles morales imagines#earth 42 miles x reader#miles morales drabble#miles morales earth 42 x reader#miles morales fluff#miles g#earth 42!miles#42 miles morales#earth 42#earth 42 miles fluff
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i hope we continue to see more protests within the US military. i see a lot of leftists and folks who are anti-military who have such an open disdain for the people who are in the military, yet neglect to considering the conditions this country makes to produce ideology, poverty, and the illusion of choice to make all kinds of people choose to enlist in the military. You ever see those videos of ROTC kids recording each other asking why they joined the military and everyone's like, "healthcare", "it helped me go to college", "I was bored" or "free ptsd lol". I hate to remind everyone but folks who are in the military are people, too, and they are the same victims and perpetrators of violence as the rest of you, we have all been shallowly conditioned to view each other as enemies just because one person is wearing army greens and the other is not.
some of the biggest anti-war advocates are those who engaged in war. Veterans who genuinely believed they were protecting the US against "terrorism" come back with blood on their hands, and they choose to realize that it was US imperialism that forced them to carry out violence, instead of doubling down and shielding themselves from the fact that they too are capable of atrocities... This is a class of people who are intentionally conditioned to be as poor and as ideologically aligned to US imperialism so that the military has a never-ending pool to send their youth to destroy other country's youth. The only people I have ever heard say "do not join the military" are those who ARE military.
This is in no way to ever excuse or explain away any of the atrocious war crimes and violence this industry and its people have committed against others. What I am saying is that we absolutely cannot cast aside the individuals who have been victimized within US imperialism, even if they are wearing army greens. I was speaking with my Palestinian classmate last week and another classmate--a member of the US air force-- walked up to me and struck up a conversation. My military classmate showed me her new bird, bid both of us goodbye, and left. My Palestinian classmate asked me if I was close with her, and I said we talked quite often, and she said, "I never met a person who's in the military. I still hate the military, but I never knew that they did, too. I didn't realize that they were also victims."
If my Palestinian classmate--one who is actively watching her own community die--can understand that it is not individuals who are the problem but it is in fact systems, US imperialism, white supremacy, capitalism...why can't we all? And she has EVERY reason to hate any individual military member. A lot of online activism just creates more barriers. if your optics look bad, complicated, or contradictory, you are cast aside. Everyone has got the be the perfect activist, you can never make a mistake or share a half-baked thought, you should always believe every word from a marginalized persons mouth (because being marginalized doesn't mean you're not entrenched in white supremacy too!) and you should never question what you see...Do you know what you sound like? The very imperialists who are convincing poor whites to vote against themselves. Perfectionism is white supremacy. Black & white thinking is white supremacy.
I'd rather have a military member who genuinely believed in the US imperialism machine but was disillusioned after being deployed as my comrade than some leftist who cherishes the performance of "being a good person". I don't want "good people" in our movements. I want humans who care. I want humans who make mistakes and who learn from them. I want humans who accept the messiness of a person. I want humans who hold others accountable and allow themselves to take responsibility for their actions. I want people who change for themselves and others.
fight systems, not individual people. we can change each other, but if we're too preoccupied looking like the World's Perfect Activists, we will only consume each other alive. Connect to your fellow humans, forever and always.
#muertotalks#a mind dump after seeing so much come out after the self immolation of the us air force member#i know hes not the first one to self immolate for palestine#and he might not be the last#i hate the military#i really fucking do#but i choose to see the people within them as victims within the overall system just like the rest of us#i will never go through what they did to make them choose to enlist#i never struggled with poverty homelessness healthcare or social acceptance#i wont shame them#shame is not productive#i want them to know there are civilians who support their protests#i want them to know that we their allies too#a note on my palestinian classmate#if youre arab or also a colonized person impacted by the us military feel free to hate every member of the military#i dont intend to police yall in how you choose to feel your anger#im angry with you#the point i mean to make is about understanding and compassion#someone who has every right to hate these people still chose to see them as the people they are#yes i even want the best for the “bad” people in the military too#i dont want these people to continue the ideology but we cant stop that without dismantling these systems#and we cant do that without creating spaces for healing and reform and growth#so many thoughts so many thoughts#none of this is easy#i fight daily against impulsively hating the world#everyday is a fight to choose compassion and understanding#but being a leftist and doing leftism is not fucking easy#if you genuinely think it is it isnt#and you may be missing the point of what leftism is#anyway
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Jedi Survivor Photomode Tips: Portrait Lighting!
There are four lighting features that impact Survivor’s photomode: the environmental light, Cal's lightsaber, the exposure slider, and the three spotlights. Let's use them all 🔆
Environment
The environment/lighting teams at Respawn have designed incredible locations across all these different Star Wars planets. Pay attention to how the already-placed lights impact your portrait: I have a running shortlist of favorite locations that I often go back to when creating a specific look.
Environmental lighting also includes effects like fire particles, weapons, Merrin’s magick, etc. If you get your timing right, these can add extra color and visual interest to your photo.
Lightsaber
Cal’s lightsaber! It’s made of light! While everyone has their own color preferences (ginger saber supremacy) keep your color choice in mind when using the saber as a key light.
Bonus tip: Cal’s saber can also be used to help light NPCs 👀 Photomode allows you to toggle Cal’s visibility on and off, but the ambient glow from the saber will remain. It’s pretty easy to tell when I’m using this trick: just look for a bar-shaped catchlight in the character’s eyes.
Speaking of catchlights - they’re a great way to add life to your portrait. If the environmental light doesn’t hit the character’s eyes, I’ll often use the first spotlight as a key (main) light to try and create that reflection.
Spotlights
I’m often using spotlights in two ways, either intensifying the environmental light or pushing the image with stylized lighting. The first creates more interaction between the character and their surroundings, while the second adds drama and visual interest. My favorite portraits are often a mix of both.
Here’s a breakdown from a recent photo: the unlit photo (1), a yellow spotlight as a key (2), a red rim light that connects to the neon sign in the background (3), a green rim light for stylization and repeating color (4), and the final image (5)
Other spotlight tips: play with moving them closer/further away from your subject, along with the intensity of the light itself. Some colors (white, yellow) are more powerful than others (red, blue). If I can’t get the color I want from one light, I’ll place two in the same location and drop the intensity to blend them - blue and green make turquoise!
If you want to be a nerd like me (though I'm in this industry so it's kind of my job) study lighting that’s used in real life portraiture and cinematography. Techniques like short lighting, three point lighting, butterfly lighting, etc.
Exposure Slider
The exposure slider in photomode is a helpful option when the entire scene is darker/brighter than you’d like. It’s also a good way to isolate your subject from the background: drop the exposure down, then use spotlights to add light back to your subject. Note that the spotlight brightness is impacted by the exposure as well, so you’ll need to crank the spotlights up to compensate.
Photo editing
Survivor’s visuals have a beautiful dynamic range and photomode does a great job protecting its highlights and shadows, though that often means less contrast. So if it’s a favorite portrait, I’ll add some contrast back in and often push complementary color into the shadows (yay color theory!)
--
So I've been slowly writing notes for a full-fledged video tutorial and wanted to try a thread-style post in the meantime. Lighting is such an important part of photography, both IRL and virtual, but it's not the easiest tool to use. This is more theory than a practical how-to, but hopefully some of it is helpful?
If you made it all the way down here, you get... a turbo dog or something. Two turbo dogs! 🌭
#star wars jedi survivor#jedi survivor#cal kestis#photomode#virtual photography#star wars#jen makes jedi tutorials
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Some scholars and activists are calling for a decolonized state for all of those between the river and the sea. However, this would necessitate that Zionists relinquish their ideology of ethnic supremacy.
This is hardly a new or radical position, such an entity was suggested by the Arab states as a counter-proposal to the 1947 partition plan. Naturally, this was rejected by the Zionists. That we barely ever hear about the offers that the Yishuv/Israel rejected should be an indicator of the nature of mainstream discussions on Palestine and the silencing of Palestinian voices. The Palestinian Liberation Organization also called for establishing a secular, democratic unitary state for all its citizens. Naturally, none of these proposals included genocide, ethnic cleansing or mass murder.
These anxieties are not unique to Jewish Israelis, settlers in many different colonies throughout history have echoed these same sentiments. If we were to take a look at the narrative surrounding anti-Apartheid South Africa activism and boycotts, we would find eerily similar projections and arguments.
For example, In an article for the Globe and Mail under the title “The good side of white South Africa” Kenneth Walker argued that ending the Apartheid system and giving everyone an equal vote would be a “a recipe for slaughter in South Africa”. Others, such as Shingler, echoed similar claims, saying that anti-racist activists were actually not interested in ending Apartheid as a policy, but in South Africa as a society. Others came out to claim these activists were actually motivated by “anti-white racism”, fueled by “Black imperialism”. Political comics displayed a giant soviet bear, bearing down on South Africa declaring “We shall drive South Africa into the Sea!”
Sound familiar?
[...]
Regardless of your ideological leanings, the reality is that we are already living under a de facto one-state reality. Israeli politicians proudly boast about never allowing a Palestinian state to materialize. Israeli school books already erase the green line. Israel already rules the lives of everyone there. Palestinians calling for the dissolution of this naked colonialism is legitimate and just.
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Not sure if this is the right place to ask this but I gotta start somewhere. I've been learning a lot about indigenous history and activism as I work on deconstruction, and a sentiment I come across a lot is bitterness towards Christianity. I cannot emphasize enough how much I fully understand. The rough bit is that sometimes when I read their work, I get the implication that there's nothing worth saving in the Church/Christianity- that to hold on to it is to hold on to all the colonialism and white supremacy and yuck.
As a disabled trans Christian, I get that, but it still hurts. I love God and am a Christian despite everything. I want to be an ally to indigenous people, but I want to follow God this way too. I know those aren't mutually exclusive, but it feels that way sometimes. Do you have any insight for me to find peace in this regard?
Thank you.
Hey there, thanks for the question, sorry for the delay!
This is something I've also wrestled with — a question I ask myself over and over, and probably always will. I cannot offer you peace, because as Jeremiah 6:14 says, "There is no peace!" — not while our faith continues to be wielded as a weapon against so many peoples. What I can offer you are some of the thoughts that have allowed me to continue to be Christian with hope that this faith can be better than what it's long been misused for, and the resolve to do my part to make it so.
First, that Christianity isn't unique in being co-opted by colonialist powers.
Any belief system can be twisted for violence, and many have been. If Christianity didn't exist, white supremacy still would — colonialist powers would have found a different belief system to twist into justifying their evils.
That absolutely does not absolve us from reckoning with the evils that have been done in Christianity's name! This isn't about shutting down critiques of Christianity with "uh well it could have been any religion" — as things played out, Christianity is the religion responsible for so much harm, and we need to acknowledge that and listen to groups who tell us how we can make some form of reparations.
But for me at least, there is some comfort in understanding that Christianity isn't, like, inherently evil or something. Recognizing that it isn't unique even in its flaws helps me look at the problem with clearer eyes, rather than wallowing in guilt and shame, if that makes sense.
Next, that there are Indigenous Christians, and Black Christians, and other Christians of color — that oppressed peoples have found things worth cultivating within Christianity! If they can find something worthwhile in this faith, it would be arrogance for me to deny it.
For instance, even when white slaveholders edited Bibles to remove too much discussion of liberation, even when white preachers emphasized verses about slaves being obedient to their masters, many enslaved people recognized how Christian faith actually affirms their equality and the holiness of their desire for liberation.
Black Theologian Howard Thurman opens his 1949 book Jesus and the Disinherited with a question asked to him by a Hindu man who knew the harms white Christianity had done to both their peoples: “How can you, a black man, be Christian?” The long and short of Thurman’s answer is that, in spite of the pain and exploitation too often inflicted by Christians in positions of power, the oppressed have always been able to see past that misuse of the Christian message to the true message lived out by Jesus Christ: a message of liberation for all.
For more thoughts on why and how to keep being Christian in spite, in spite, in spite...I invite you to look through my #why we stay tag.
___
How I wish that Christianity had never gotten tangled up in Empire! but it did, and it still is, and because for good or ill I cannot help that my spirit is stubbornly drawn towards the Triune understanding of the Divine, the best I can do is to use my privilege and what small influence I have within Christian institutions to move us towards decolonization. What some of that's looked like on the level of my personal beliefs:
I am firmly against any form of proselytizing. I don't support evangelism financially, I speak out against it, I don't platform it. (If someone wants to hear about my faith, they'll come to me — I don't run after them. And if someone does want to have that conversation, I aim to make it a dialogue, where we are learning from each other.)
I continuously work to recognize and uproot Christian supremacy within myself — the beliefs I didn't even realize where there until I started digging. That has included challenging any inkling within myself that Christianity is the "best" or "most right" religion. (One book that's helped a lot with that is Holy Envy by Barbara Brown Taylor.)
I seek wisdom from and relationship with Christians of color. Their insights are vital to our faith, and I try to use what small influence I have to uplift them.
On that last note, here are some resources I recommend as you continue to explore these questions:
This First Nations Version of the Christian Bible is gorgeously written, and a great way to explore scripture through a Native lens.
Native by Kaitlin B. Curtice is a lovely poetic memoir that explores how one person has sought to hold both her Christian faith and Potawatomi identity within herself. (She also has a new book out that I haven't read yet but really want to!)
God is Red: A Native View of Religion by Vine Deloria Jr.
Rescuing the Gospel from the Cowboys by Richard Twiss
I haven't read any of these 4 books but they look good too
This video with advice to non-Indigenous Christians
If anyone has any resources to add, please do!
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Hear me out:
I don’t follow these blogs too much, but
Bob Velseb from “Spooky Month: Tender Treats”?
WARNING: cannibalism, bloody violence, use of firearms, home invasion, toxic mindset.
* * *
When the door came flying off its hinges, you pulled the trigger.
A thunderous bang did echo within the house, followed by the jangle of the bullet casing as it bounced around the floor.
Looming in the doorway was a bulky man dressed for the cold, yet all the bullet managed to do was poke a hole in the fabric of his red turtleneck sweater.
It had been a straight shot at his heart. Any human would have been felled and lying in a dark puddle, but he stood tall and looked down his nose at the wound.
A smile was beaming across his face, the kind that made your latest meal rise in your throat and your hold on the pistol weaken until sweat beaded on your forehead.
His eyes, wild and monstrous, rolled up to yours. “Howdy, neighbour!” There was an ominous deepness and slowness to his voice that simmered with barely contained enthusiasm.
The news bulletin flashed in your mind's eye, and the line between reality and a face on a screen blurred as Bob Velseb stalked into your home.
He moved with the swiftness and quietude of a hunter, the music of Halloween at his back.
Atop his head was a pair of devil horns, plastic and red as the mask covering his hair and face. The curve of the horns formed the same crescent as the upward turn of his lips. His front three upper teeth were visible, catching the silvery moonlight in a grin that reached from one ear to the other.
A mix of saliva and blood dripped from his chin, the clear sheen of his drool having blended into the sanguine fluid in a viscous trail that fell in drops to the floor.
The pitter-patter of these droplets splattering over the floorboards rippled among the silence of the home. Its supremacy came under challenge as the breaths emanating from Bob grew into hungry, panting scrambles for air.
A pinkish tint swelled brighter inside his cheeks with each puff, and this, combined with his unblinking stare and wide-open mouth, gave the illusion of a child bursting with excitement.
Bob jerked forward in a step so rapid that it was hardly noticeable. The board creaked underfoot for just a moment, letting out a squeak like that of a mouse.
The blade, pulled taut in his right hand, bared its pointy end at the floor. It glinted in the dim light of the night, which was filtered and splintered through the shutters of the living room window.
The hulking shape of Bob was silhouetted against this window, all except for the whites of his eyes. His eyes glowed with a cyan tinge, and they strayed from you to the bowl of candy on the kitchen counter for a mere second.
“Did you know?” he mused, lapping his lower lip with his tongue and speaking with the casual freedom of friends chatting over Sunday dinner. “In some cultures, the recently deceased are eaten by their families—” he cocked his head, pupils dilating and grin stretching wider “—as a way of feeling closer.”
Bob had raised the index finger of his free hand and was jiggling it alongside his words. In that instant, he resembled a schoolteacher giving a presentation in front of the blackboard.
The smile on his face tightened into a snarl as soon as you started to creep backwards. His veneer of innocence was torn away like an unwanted curtain, and in its place was a glare, a predatory and deathly one.
“Going somewhere?” The tip of his knife was lifted in the direction of your chest. He was salivating like a dog, streaks of froth leaking from the corners of his lips.
A twitch began to infect his fingers as if he were itching to grab and hold.
You calculated the distance between where you stood and the back door. It was half the distance between you and Bob, which he went to close with an eager dash.
The blade rang as it sliced the air, and if not for a duck and a dodge, your blood would have stained the floorboards. Bob swung his knife with wanton passion and charged at you, each swing holding the weight of a brick wall behind it.
Your back collided with the locked door and rattled it upon impact. The stiff and bumpy texture of the wooden frame pressed against your skin as the full force of Bob was caught in your hands, with your fingers wrapping around his wrists and pushing them away from your head.
The pointy end of his knife hovered near your eyeball with a slight shake. Bob bore down on it with all his might, and he leaned forward so that his warm breath was fanning your face.
When his attention flitted between your eyes and the hand of yours that restrained his knife, you predicted the chomp and subsequent spike of pain that came next.
Bob sunk his teeth into your forearm as if it were a delicacy. The pressure was akin to a bear trap snapping shut around your flesh. Lines of saliva traced the length of your arm, intertwined with the driblets of blood secreted by the punctures.
He refused to let go no matter how much you squirmed and wrenched your affected limb. A yelp escaped you that made his cheeks turn red-hot, and his eyes gazed into your crinkled own as if he were seeing something beautiful.
It took you cracking him in the head with the butt of the pistol to loosen his grip. Still, Bob held on and thrust his knife at you every time you attempted to slip past him.
Just as your legs were beginning to buckle, the shrill wail of a police siren cried out in the night. Revolving stripes of blue and red skirted the shutters and painted the interior of the house every few seconds.
Bob ripped his teeth out of your arm and recoiled, head whipping towards the front door. His face contorted into a vicious scowl, and a cyan light flared in his eyes. A rumble in his chest evolved into a growl climbing high in his throat, deepening and strengthening into a roar.
He yanked himself away from you and brandished his knife at the doorway. “Don't interrupt us!” Spit flew out of his mouth, dotting the floor in uneven splotches.
Footsteps thundered across the driveway and up the doorstep, and in a flash of metal rising from holsters, a pair of police officers flooded into the living room with their handguns drawn and pointed.
“Stand down, Bob!” shouted the mustachioed officer.
Bob had a feral look in his eye, and as his body shook while his hand clenched the knife, a bloodthirsty rampage on par with a wild animal seemed all but destined.
However, Bob kept his arms at his side and his teeth to himself when the police officers approached him with handcuffs. At the chink of the cuffs latching onto his wrists, his head swerved towards you.
He was led to the doorway, where a police cruiser idled on the street with its lights flashing against the blackness of the twilight. Before Bob was forced out of your sight, his lips curled into a grin that glowed under the moon.
“See you soon, neighbour!”
#Yandere#Yandere x You#Yandere x Reader#Yandere Imagines#Yandere Headcanons#Yandere Spooky Month#Yandere Bob Velseb#Spooky Month x Reader#Bob Velseb x Reader#Bob Velseb#Spooky Month#Spooky Month Tender Treats#Yandere Scenarios#Flash Fiction#Imagines#X Reader#Reader Insert#Gender Neutral Reader#Yandere Writing
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Tumblr socio-political observation time
Identifying with fandoms and movements and brands to validate yourself has led to a society where your interests define you and your character instead of your character defining you and your interests and I think as a whole that's why performative activism is so rampant
(and likewise it's probably why people are so protective of the things that bring them a sense of self and why it's so important those things remain politically neutral and separate from politics but that's another post)
I dont necessarily think it's a Bad as in something that makes you evil but it is bad in that we now have a lot of people doing things in good faith that some are doing in bad faith and all these people are being painted the same because as a whole we arent critically engaging with ideas anymore
As a millennial I know am very much responsible for creating that climate. I think a lot of us grew up thinking that we could shame people into being "good" the same way that we were shamed growing up anytime we had an opinion that differed from our bigoted genx & boomer parents.
It manifested in a lot of ways but one of the prominent examples that most of us will remember is doxxing. Now I want to be clear that I never did this myself but doxxing, call out posts, block lists, etc were everywhere from I wanna say about 2007 to 2017 when I'd say it's status as a common social behavior started to be frowned upon and ineffective.
We were trying to hold people accountable with those actions.
I think that very much backfired. Bigots just got better at hiding and they learned to co-opt our language and mental health terms to gaslight us when we did call them out until those words became meaningless to use. It's simple to not appear bigoted now. Just don't share anything from known bigoted brands or companies and don't follow anyone problematic. Easy.
Cuz those define you and your character, right? Isn't that why y'all still put "supports x" as reasons for your own call-out posts? That's what validates or voids your good person card. At least, thats what everyone made it seem like a decade ago.
The millennial failure was how superficial it all was. We weren't dismantling anything. We were shaming support of x, y, & z as a way of shaming bigots and racist comments and calling them out, but we weren't actually learning to recognize or dismantle racism itself and that's how 10+ years later most of us are watching our kids deal with the same shit we did except now they're also struggling with critical thinking skills inside and outside the classroom.
I think a lot of millennials mixed up righteous anger with doing what's right. Thinking that because we were angry about bigotry and taking it out on bigots that meant we couldn't be bigots. I mean everyone is a little bigoted but not like Bigots™ are bigots, you know?
And then we refused to put ourselves under that microscope or think about that any further. We stopped thinking about a lot of things, I think. We started accepting that we would be told what was okay to believe in or say and I think a LOT of millennials esp white millenials still wait for someone else, especially a Black person to speak on something so they can see the "right" side they're supposed to take.
Someone please learn something from this. This is still very much racist and avoiding the issue is still very much enabling white supremacy.
It will only go away if it's directly addressed.
•••
So I'd like to submit a formal request to bring back one good thing from back then. White responsibility for white supremacy.
Some of us may remember some posts that said if anyone should be responsible for engaging with white supremacists and helping them break down their beliefs it'd be white ppl ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ that its dangerous work for anyone else to do (for obvious reasons) and besides that white supremacists won't listen to anyone else. And allies did.
Bring that back.
The defensive white retaliation to this idea is seen on any mutual aid post in comments like "fuck your emotional labor, I don't owe you anything" or "idgaf if youre black/disabled/gay/whatever I don't owe you shit." So for the people getting ready to type something similar in my notes: This is a white supremacist defense mechanism that reinforces BIPOC isolation through individualism without seeming malicious on the surface. We all owe each other something tho; it's how a community operates and how humanity has survived for so long. Don't fall for this line of thinking and don't bring that nonsense to me.
White supremacy won't go away on its own and white supremacists sure as hell won't go away by letting them fester behind block lists until they're old enough to run for senator so if you can handle this task then respectfully, do it.
"but white supremacists are a waste of time to talk to" yeah for those of us who they'd rather see dead.
The labor and time it takes to make a white supremacist see you as a human who says words worth listening to so that you can then have a good faith conversation about politics is not WORTH the effort and risk to safety for the people who they hate. Especially not if we're doing it and getting death threats 9x out of 10 or they just wanted us to waste our time and exhaust us out of being effective
So if you are not included in the list of people that white supremacists want dead then it is worth your time and in fact is arguably one of the most productive ways to spend your time.
Thank you for coming to my ted talk
#i had no business arguing with grown ass nazis when i was a teenager but youre gonna tell me grown women refuse cuz its bad for THEM?#we ALL owe each other something!#grown folks should be volunteering to do this so minors stop feeling like they have ro#my post#whiteness#white supremacy#allies#allyship#sociology#idk how to tag this tbh#rant#observations#colonization#bigotry#activism#millenials#boomers#gen x#gen z#gen alpha
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Direct action works.
Shamefully, there used to be a monument to the confederacy in a cemetery in Seattle, Washington until some cool people tore it down.
From the South Seattle Emerald, July 5, 2020:
A group of local activists supportive of racial justice and the Black Lives Matter movement has taken credit for toppling a nearly century-old monument to Confederate Civil War veterans at Lake View Cemetery in Seattle.
First erected in 1926 by The United Daughters of the Confederacy, the granite monument was a product of the Lost Cause movement — a propaganda campaign of historical revisionism employing school textbooks and memorials to shift attitudes toward the Confederacy after the U.S. Civil War.
The “Daughters” had the granite for the monument shipped in from Stone Mountain, GA, which is the birthplace of the modern Ku Klux Klan.
In advancing the Lost Cause Doctrine, groups like the “Daughters” used statues such as the one in Lake View to heroicize Confederate soldiers and also to serve as forbidding symbols of white supremacy to intimidate newly freed Black Americans.
While protestors had petitioned for its removal and city officials had spoken out against the monument over the years, they had little power to remove it, as Lake View Cemetery is privately owned.
Though the monument has been repeatedly vandalized and defaced, including an incident in 2018 when parts of the memorial were busted, it had stood mostly intact for 94 years.
That was until later Friday night/early Saturday morning when local activists decided to take matters into their own hands, toppling the nearly 10-ton structure.
The activists took credit for the toppling in an email sent to the Emerald at 12:12 a.m Saturday, before news of their actions broke:
This monument to the Confederate traitors, who so cherished the practice of enslaving their fellow human beings that they started a war to defend it, has been a blight on our community for far too long. There is no place for monuments such as these in the More Perfect Union, the America that must surely come, for that nation cannot be born until it makes full recompense to the descendants of those enslaved and ceases to justify or cover up its brutal past.
This action is for everyone, living or dead, who has been stolen, murdered, enslaved, raped, tortured, brutalized, terrorized, displaced, incarcerated, colonized, exploited, or separated from land, family, and culture by white supremacy. May the memory of those who have gone home be a blessing to us all, and may their descendants know the peace of true and everlasting justice.
We uplift and center the demands of King County Equity Now and the Poor People’s Campaign and call upon our neighbors to use whatever power they may have to ensure that these demands are met.
Other than saying they were a “group of concerned citizens” worried about “racism in Seattle and in general,” the group did not specifically identify themselves through a spokesperson who wished to remain anonymous.
However, they did say that they consulted with multiple experts and used gear that was rated to move objects that weigh several tons — and they cautioned others about the dangers of tackling similar monuments and suggested taking safety precautions before toppling them.
Seattle City Council Member Tammy Morales, who represents South Seattle, was supportive of the action.
“This monument wasn’t erected to memorialize the deaths of particular individuals. It was erected at a time when Black communities were being terrorized by the KKK in an effort to keep people down. It’s way past time for these monuments to racism to come down,” Morales said in a text to the Emerald.
The Emerald has reached out to representatives of Lake View Cemetery for comment.
The rubble was later removed from the site by Lake View Cemetery.
As of March 14, 2024 there are no plans to rebuild the monument.
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