#I’m not indigenous so listen to any indigenous person before you listen to me

[rosy-link]

I’d much rather only celebrate Pom Fest as an Arab person than celebrate Thanksgiving. Both of the celebrations are harvest celebrations. They’re both about coming together and recognizing tradition and enjoying food together etc etc. The only difference is Thanksgiving as a holiday is fueled by idealized colonialism and Pom Fest is not. I would want to have just Pom Fest and no Thanksgiving to be a tradition of my own in my home. The idea of having my wife, family, and friends together to enjoy Pom Fest is so nice. I don’t plan on having any kids, but if I did I would want them growing up having an appreciation for their heritage and their family and their roots. I wouldn’t want them to grow up with an appreciation for Thanksgiving just to have that ruined by its origins.

I know this opens the floor to ideas like, “ oh well should get rid of quinces because those were patriarchal and awful” but i quite frankly don’t know how much that type of a celebration correlates to this exact scenario. Both were heavily communal celebrations, sure, but a quince is a much more individualistic celebration that isn’t a national holiday. To equate those two kind of things, to me, is a false equivalency. Same goes for Christmas and Easter and whatever have you. The disillusionment that comes with learning the truth about Easter and Christmas doesn’t exactly come close to the disillusionment that comes with learning the truth about Thanksgiving. Again, to equate those things is a false equivalency.

However, what about generally for Americans who aren’t Arab? Okay, maybe celebrate “maize” and corn. We have a whole song! It does have the juice! Instead of centering the celebration around turkeys and family, you can center it around learning about how the Indigenous people harvest food and what Indigenous people find to be symbolic in their food. You can teach your kid about your area’s specific tribe. And maybe you can teach that without having your child cosplay as a certain racial group.

#idk this is a mess #and incoherent #these are my thoughts #i’d love to hear your thoughts #indigenous #arab #pomegranate festival #thanksgiving #its corn #a big lump of knobs #it has the juice #i can’t imagine a more beautiful thing #I’m not indigenous so listen to any indigenous person before you listen to me

[pinkieloveheartpastel]

Once again, people don’t actually care about black women. Because when it comes down to it, they will do everything in their power to shift the focus onto something else in order to ignore the truth.

“Rap making you uncomfortable doesn’t mean you have to avoid it” are you fucking serious? Black women CAN’T avoid it. We have to deal with misogynoir every single day and then hear about it in the majority of rap music. And then witness black women being beaten and nobody doing a damn thing about it. wtf is this shit. What you see as “just rap music” is the reality of MANY black women.

We are constantly raped, beaten, spat at, called all kinds of slurs, killed, and you want me to NOT be uncomfortable when I hear shitty rap music reinforcing violence against black women? Fuck you and fuck everyone who agrees with you.

—————————

EDIT May 29th, 2024:

• Wasn’t long before some FUCKIN LOSER would reblog this ignoring what I said and instead talking about how all rap music is shit and isn’t art, so let me make this perfectly fucking clear, since nuance isn’t a thing any-fucking-more.

Fuck you too and all the rest of the racist trash you’re with. As a person who writes rap music myself, I criticize rap music because rap music is something I’m very passionate about, besides metal and rock, and I enjoy finding rap artists who aren’t bigoted. I criticize shit because I care and I want to see things change. Not because I think all rap music is trash. Tf??? I also find comfort in listening to rappers who don’t think my entire existence deserves violence, but whatever.

Criticizing a genre is not the same as declaring a whole entire genre trash, and it pisses me off that I always have to clarify shit because y’all just come out of the woodwork salivating at the chance to be racist and ignorant and just all around insufferable.

But if I criticize metal for its history of racism and misogyny (there are, apparently, still so many white supremacists in black/death metal, for example.), oh no, it’s only because of the people in it, not the genre itself. Funny how nuance shows up there but not in rap.

And rap music is, in fact, art. It is poetry like every other genre of music. It’s another way to make music, and every lyric written is a form of poetry. Always has been. To not recognize that is to be blatantly ignorant for the sake of being racist. The point is to not use rap as a way to promote shitty behavior, which bleeds into real life.

If you refuse to read the OTHER FUCKING POSTS (including one I made on my alt blog about how I became alternative) that I had mentioning a few rappers that I actually liked, as well as realize that I said majority rap and not all rap music, and instead decide to take the word nuance and shove it so far up your ass you forget it even exists, then you were already lost and I’m fucking tired. Nowhere did I say all rap music was trash. But I bet you already knew that and just wanted an excuse to be racist and generalize a whole entire genre.

SO AGAIN.

Barkaa (Australian Blak Indigenous Rapper) (I especially love her songs For My Tittas, Blak Matriarchy, and Bow Down)

Cinnamon Babe (Black, Metal and Rap artist) (My favorite songs from her are The Man and Bad Dog)

Raja Kumari (Indian American Rapper) (My favorite songs are NRI, The DON, Goddess, City Slums, etc)

Tkay Maidza (Zimbabwean-Australian Rapper) (Beautiful singer and rapper)

ALT BLACK ERA (Black British Rappers, also teenagers)

Delilah Bon (White British Rapper) (My favorite song from her is WITCH, as well as many other songs like Dead Men Don’t Rape)

[roseghoul26]

Charles Smith x gn!Reader

"Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. 'Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.' He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. 'Yeah?' You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low." Synopsis: A brush with hypothermia forces you and Charles to camp out in an abandoned cabin. Having to resort to some more intimate means of survival, will you be able to keep your feelings in check for the hunter, or will the proximity force you to confess?

Tags: Fluff, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hypothermia, Huddling for Warmth, yes this is a cuddle for warmth fic, idc if its cheesy, Oral Sex, Gender-Neutral Reader, Fem Anatomy for Reader, Face-Sitting, Love Confessions, but in a twist its not the reader who gets frozen, surprise!

Author's Note: listened to chappell roan the entire time while writing this (hence the title). i also got so distracted by stardew valley my addiction has returned also, there’s a moment where the reader touches charles’ hair. as a non-indigenous person, i’m not fully educated when it comes to hair and the importance it holds in native american culture. i did research, but i could still be wrong. if i have made any errors, please let me know, and i will change it. 

If you never had to see snow again, you’d die happy. 

Tightening the fur coat around your body, you tried to preserve what heat you had left in you. The cold air of Colter was like a leech, sucking you dry of any warmth and joy. And it wasn’t just affecting you, you noticed. Glancing around the room, everyone seemed to be in a similar situation, with as many furs and clothes on their bodies as they huddled around the laughably small fire. 

The gang had been in Colter for about a week, hiding away from the law after the disaster that was Blackwater. You don’t remember much from that day, most of it a blur in your memories, but you remember the bloodshed. Pointless, ruthless bloodshed. You hoped you’d never see something like that again. 

Shivering, you almost regretted giving your extra jacket to Abigail, who had wrapped it around Jack. You were only feet from the fire, but it might as well have been hundreds of miles away with the way it was doing nothing to warm you. With a huff, you rubbed your fingers together, simply sitting and passing the time until someone asked you to do something or you had to go back on guard duty. That was all you could do, really, the snow and remote location making it impossible for you to do your normal robbing and thieving. 

There were many times during this week that you’d debated leaving the gang after you all made it out of Colter. You’d only joined about a year and a half ago, Dutch personally inviting you to his group after hearing about your notoriety across the states. Sure, it was nice to have a group like this, but this wasn’t what you signed up for, especially the events at Blackwater. You were promised opportunity and freedom, not brutality and hiding and cold-blooded murder. You wondered, would it be easy to slip away?

Sighing, you slumped forward, and your  legs were numb from sitting on the hard floor. You were on the precipice of coming to a decision, but there were still some things preventing you from taking the leap. You’d become somewhat close with the members of the gang, your lone wolf attitude dissipating as you created bonds with the others. It was easy to get along with Arthur, the two of you becoming fast friends, frequently doing jobs together. You spent most nights chatting with the girls in camp, chatting until late in the night. You respected Hosea, and even Dutch for some time, the recent events shattering that respect for him. To some degree you’d created a connection with each member of the camp, keeping you tethered to one place. 

There was one person in particular, however, that kept pushing those thoughts of leaving out of your mind. Charles Smith, the taciturn hunter that you’d become weirdly fond of these past few months. You’re not sure what you’d call your relationship with the man. The two of you were friendly, maybe even friends. When Dutch sent you out on jobs together, it always ended well, working together quite decently, if you’d say so yourself. 

Still, you wished you were closer with him, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying. You found it hard to try and initiate conversation with him, never quite knowing what to say that wouldn’t make you seem like a fool. And when you would talk to him, it felt like you were just talking at him, but if he was annoyed by you, he never showed. He’d just politely nod along, adding a few words here and there. 

But you knew he didn’t dislike you, finding him frequently looking at you around camp, just silently observing. Whenever you’d catch him, he’d just give you a polite smile, before turning away to do something else. Every time he did it, you found yourself grow bashful, your heart skipping in your chest. His starting was certainly not helping the infatuation you had with him.

Yes, your stupid heart had fallen for him, making it hurt to even entertain the idea of leaving. It was ridiculous and irresponsible to have feelings for him, and you knew that. They’d been there since he joined, and you figured that they would’ve gone away by now, but that was months ago. You’d never met a man like him before, someone so strong and fearsome, yet honorable and kind at the exact same time, and you figured that’s why you were so drawn to him.

Arthur knew about your feelings for the man, drunkley telling him during a night out at the bar in Blackwater a few months ago. He almost said something to Charles, who was somewhere in the same bar that night, claiming that ‘this life is unpredictable’ and ‘you gotta do somethin’ before it’s too late’, but you quickly shut that down with a swift kick to the shins. But that didn’t mean he stopped asking you if you’d done anything yet, and each time you’d respond with ‘no’. 

You knew that Charles didn’t think of you that way. You’re unpredictable, reckless, fiery, everything opposite of what Charles is. Where you were chaos, he was calm. Fire, water. And you didn’t want to ruin what relationship you had with him, so you kept your mouth shut (and never got too drunk around him).

A gust of sharp cold wind and the creak of a door broke you from your thoughts, a shiver wracking your body as you turned to see who just entered the cabin. In some cruel timing from the universe, the man who had just been haunting your mind walked in, a fresh dusting of snow hitting the ground as he shook out his jacket. A chorus of greetings came from the group collected around the fire, a gentle smile coming from you before you turned back to face the fire. Charles calling out your name had you slowly turning to him again. 

“Will you go hunting with me? The deer me and Arthur caught didn’t last as long as we’d hoped.” You now noticed the bow in his hand, along with a small quiver of arrows.

“I mean, sure,” you stood up, your cold muscles aching as you stretched, “but I ain’t much of a hunter, ya know. I usually end up scarin’ away animals instead of catchin’ ‘em. The others might be more well-suited for this.”

“But I’m asking you. And I can’t exactly do it myself.” Charles held the bow and arrows out for you to grab. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” Not like I could ever say no to you, you thought as you took the weapon and slung it over your shoulder, and secured the quiver on your hip. “Let’s go.”

With a nod, Charles opened the door, holding it open to let you step outside into the harsh Colter weather. Wincing at the bright light bouncing off the white snow, you were temporarily blinded as you made your way to where your horses were, Charles not far behind you. A light snowfall came down around you as you walked, not terrible visibility wise, but enough to be obvious. You just hoped that it wouldn’t pick up later. 

There was probably a good foot-and-a-half of snow on the ground, making your movement sluggish and awkward. From what little you knew about tracking, though, it meant that it would be easy to pick up an animal's track, so for that you were somewhat grateful. 

It didn’t take long for you to reach your horses, and you went to mount up, only to notice that your horse just wasn’t there. Spinning around, you looked to see if maybe she got unhitched and wandered somewhere nearby, but there was nothing. Whistling, you waited a few moments, seeing if you’d hear the sound of hoofbeats and winnings, but there was nothing. She was just gone.

As Charles mounted, looking equally as confused as you were, you turned and  looked to see who was currently on guard duty, thinking maybe they had seen something. “Javier!” You called out, the poor man nearly jumping out of his skin at the sudden loud noise. “Where’s Hera?”

“Arthur took her!” He shouted back, and you couldn’t help groaning in annoyance. I’m gonna kill you, Arthur Morgan. 

“And you let him?” Javier had made his way over to you now, and you saw him open his mouth to respond, but you stopped him with a wave. “Nevermind, it’s not your fault or your responsibility. I’m just… frustrated.” You took a deep breath, and a cloud left your lips as you exhaled.  “Where’d Arthur go?” You heard the ground crunch behind you as Charles approached on Taima. 

“I dunno,” Javier shrugged. “Him, Dutch, Micah, and Bill went out a few minutes ago, he’s been borrowing everyone else’s horse since his died. Guess it was Hera’s turn.”

“Well, shit,” you sighed, crossing your arms. “You don’t reckon they’ll be back soon, right? Maybe they forgot somethin’?” You missed the way Charles let out an amused huff, your back facing him as you conversed with Javier. 

Javier lightly chuckled. “Look, if you need to go, I’ll let you use Boaz for a bit. It’s not like I’ll be needing him for a bit,” he gestured to the repeater currently in his hands. “If anything happens to him though…” he threatened, gesturing again to the weapon in his hands.

You were about to respond, but Charles beat you to it. “Or you could ride with me. If you’d like.”

You tried to keep your face neutral as you turned to respond, but you had to stop and glare at Javier who was sniggering. Apparently your facial expressions weren’t as subtle as you believed. Thank God you had your back turned, then. 

You turned again, and when you weren't so rudely interrupted by Javier’s childish antics, you responded to Charles. “Are you sure?”

He extended his non-injured hand to you as he nodded. “We gotta get moving though. Only a few hours of sunlight left.”

“Alright.” You linked your hand with his, letting him help you on to the back of his horse with ease. Javier had long since left, already halfway back to his guard post, not before giving you a knowing smile. As you wrapped your hands around his waist, you tried and failed to keep your breathing even, your heartrate picking up substantially. 

Sighing, you refrained from resting your head against his back. This was pure torture, but you knew you were going to enjoy it.

Thank you, Arthur Morgan… I’m still gonna kill you, though. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

He wasn’t quite sure why he offered to let you ride with him on Taima; he was just making it harder for himself to stay away from you. He scolded himself, because someone else had your heart, and he would just end up hurting his own if he kept doing things like this. 

The two of you had sped out of Colter, Charles setting a brisk pace that made the air bite at his skin. The pain was good, as it distracted him from thinking of you. You, who subconsciously shifted closer to him to shield yourself from the air. He felt you adjust behind him until his larger frame was shielding you entirely. 

He expected you to have started talking by now, making some comment about the weather or cursing Arthur out. When you didn’t he felt himself start to grow a bit panicked. Did I make you uncomfortable? Is this too much?

He kept his voice steady, and he gently called out your name. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I figure that must come as a relief.” 

I could listen to you for hours, he thought. I don’t ever want to stop hearing your voice. “Are you alright?”

He felt you shift behind him, your hands tightening where they sat on his waist. Your touch wasn’t even improper, yet he still found his breath hitching in his throat. Charles just prayed that the howling winds around the two of you drowned it out. “I think so. It just… this place is really terrible.” When he nodded in agreement, you continued. “And I’ve got a lot on my mind. Blackwater, the gang, my future… It's a little bit overwhelming.”

“Do you…  want to talk about it?” He offered, and you sighed. 

“I… I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout Blackwater, ‘bout everything we did wrong, what we should’ve done differently, the choices we made. But I especially can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout that girl that Dutch murdered. The way he killed her, no mercy or falter, I ain’t even seen nothin’ like that from him before. Or maybe I chose to look away before…” you trailed off.

“You’re not the one who pulled the trigger. Dutch is the only person guilty of that.”

“Maybe I didn’t pull the trigger, but I’m sure as hell ain’t innocent. I could’ve- should’ve done somethin’. There was plenty of time for me to.”

“Don’t go beating yourself up about the past. The only thing we can hope to do is learn from it and continue on towards the future.”

“But the future is just as terrifying as the past! I’m scared for the gang, for its future. We’ve become so bloodthirsty, and now all Dutch talks about is revenge.” Your voice was becoming more and more distressed. “Is that what we’ve turned into? A bunch of no-good killers who think with their guns? I ain’t- I don’t wanna be that. That ain’t what I joined up for.”

Charles didn’t know how to respond to that. He’d noticed that shift in the gang over the last few weeks, the members become quicker to jump to violence and bloodshed. He wasn’t a saint, the blood on his hands equal to yours, but he was even becoming disturbed by the amount of unnecessary killings happening. 

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout leaving.” Your voice was barely a whisper, like you were ashamed to say it. Charles stilled, shock running through his system. “Once we get out of here. This… this isn’t what I wanna do. I don’t wanna be associated with the Van Der Linde gang if it’s gonna continue heaidn’ in the direction it’s goin’. And I don’t wanna find myself at the end of a lawman’s barrel, noose ‘round my neck.”

“Oh.” Charles found himself at an impasse; did he just keep his mouth shut, or say something that might reveal too much? If you truly wanted to leave, then he didn’t want to guilt you into staying by revealing his true feelings. He understood why you wanted to leave, those same thoughts frequenting his mind as well, but he’d found a reason to stay: you. He hadn't told Arthur that when he asked why Charles was still hanging around a few days ago. His conversation with the other man when they hunted had solidified his stay with the gang, for better or for worse.

Did you feel the same way? You fool, Charles chastised himself. They don’t want you that way.

“Does anyone else know?” 

“No,” you sighed. “You’re the only one.”

A selfish part of him was glad that he was the only one that knew, but he quickly pushed those thoughts away. “Well,” he began, “the only thing I can say is to not do something that you’ll regret… and just know that there’s a lot of people here that will really miss you if you decide to leave.” I will miss you so much that it hurts.

He felt your head connect with his back as you slumped forward, and he jolted at the contact. “Why can’t you just make the decision for me, Charles? I trust your judgment.”

Stay. Please, stay, he screamed in his head. “I can’t tell you what to do, how to live your life. Unfortunately, the decision comes to you,” was his reply. 

“You’re right. You’re always right, Charles,” you laughed half-heartedly. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Still got a ways until I have to.”

“Whatever decision you come to, I’ll support you.” Liar. “Just… don’t leave without saying goodbye, you hear?”

“I promise. Now,” your usual chipperness returned to your voice, “where are we headin’?”

He explained that he was taking the two of you to Lake Isabella, following the Spider Gorge down. The lake had started to melt, meaning animals were more likely to start coming out as the weather warmed. As the two of you rode, you kept close to him, significantly closer than you were when you left. 

Charles pretended not to notice.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

There wasn’t much to look at on the ride down. Everything was white, splashes of black rock breaking up the monotonous landscape, and the occasional tree made itself known. There weren’t any animals, not even a rabbit. It was like you and Charles were the only living souls in the area.

You only spotted a couple of buildings, two of them a small cabin that could house one or two people. One was absolutely destroyed, time and weather causing the ceiling to collapse in, only a skeleton remaining. The other still stood, smoke coming out of the chimney, but you had no idea if the occupants were home or not. 

Taking a mental note of the building, before returning your attention back forward. Charles seemed to be content with just riding in silence, so you settled against him, your head nearly resting on his shoulder. You hadn’t meant to spill so much to Charles, and you certainly hadn’t meant to tell him that you thought about leaving. It’s just that you felt so comfortable with him that you couldn’t help the words from coming out, and you felt ten pounds lighter because of it. 

You didn’t want to drag another person into your troubles, especially over something so trivial in comparison to what the rest of the gang was going through. A part of you wanted this to be the moment in all those cheesy romances you read where the love interest confesses their feelings in order to make the main character stay. But this was real life, and this was Charles you were talking about, the man who would put everyone’s needs before his, even if it hurt. And besides, Charles had never done or said anything that gave you the impression that he had feelings for you. From what you could tell, he saw you as a friend, and nothing else.

Right?

God, you were so desperate for the man you held on to. 

He made no comment when you did actually rest your head on his shoulder. If he did ask why, you’d just say you were cold. You knew you just wanted to pretend that he was yours. 

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. It did little to calm your erratic heart. 

Eventually, the partially frozen Lake Isabella came into view. This area wasn’t too unfamiliar to either you or Charles, having been there a few days prior to dispatch a group of O’Driscolls. Having opened your eyes a few moments prior, you were able to make out a few deer drinking from the newly exposed lake water. You gestured to them, but Charles had already seen them, bringing Taima to a halt behind a large bush.

By this time, the snow had begun to pick up, the sheets coming down obscuring your view ever so slightly. But it wasn’t enough to force you indoors. 

Dismounting as quietly as you could, you readied the bow in your hands, letting Charles lead the way as he snuck closer to them. It was almost supernatural, the way he was able to move so silently. For someone of his stature, you’d never expect him to be able to move so quietly and with such ease, yet here he was. You tried your best to move like him, taking a bit longer as you followed in his footsteps. Charles led you around the edge of the lake, the shore edge mere inches from your feet, occasionally splashing against your shoes. 

Luckily, the deer hadn’t noticed either you or Charles, still drinking without a care in the world. He had stopped by now, moving to the side to let you move ahead. The deer were in range by now, and you only needed to move a few feet closer, making you halt underneath a large tree. The branches drooped under the weight of the snow, a few globs falling off and hitting the ground around you. 

Weirdly enough, you felt at peace. Not because of the hunting, but because of the man who stood a few yards behind you. You felt safe under his gaze, like nothing could hurt you. As you drew the arrow back, you let out a confused noise as the deer suddenly scattered, spooked by something you couldn’t see. 

You turned to look back at Charles, but you realized then that you probably shouldn't've had your guard down so much. A large weight dropped on you from the tree, too heavy and too warm to be just snow. You let out a startled cry, blocking out Charles shouting out your name, panic seeping into his voice. 

Whatever fell on you landed on your back, your face pressed in the snow as you lay on your stomach. It clicked now that there was someone on you, a hand yanking your head back by your hair, warm breath assaulting your face as your attacker spoke. You couldn’t quite make out what exactly he was saying, snow and shock causing your hearing to be spotty. All you were able to make out were a few curses, the word “kill” multiple times, and some racist phrases aimed toward Charles.

Even before the initial shock had worn off, you were fighting back, squirming and moving desperately against the man’s grip. He just laughed, then you heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. He rested the barrel against the back of your neck, the cold metal pressing against the exposed skin. Dread washed over you, numbing your senses far beyond what the cold could do. With the way the man gripped your head, you couldn’t move it, and you strained your eyes as you looked around, desperate to find Charles. Is he alright? Please, let him be alright. 

You saw a flash of movement out of the corner of your eye, and as soon as the weight was on you, it was gone. An alarmed yell left your attacker as he was tackled off of you, being pushed a fair distance before falling onto the frozen Lake Isabella. Rolling over, your hand fell into the cold water, and you quickly pulled it back.

Standing as quickly as you could, the world spun for a moment, your body confused with the many different orientations you were just in. Pressing your back against the tree for stability, you watched as Charles and your attacker rolled far across the ice. You saw the distinct green handkerchief around his neck, and you couldn’t help the exasperated groan that left you. No matter where you went or what you did, you couldn’t escape the O’Driscolls. 

Shouts from behind you had you spinning around, quickly drawing your revolver, the bow long since discarded on the ground. Three more O’Driscolls came running from the woods, only a few yards away from you now, their cries of alarm coming from the two bodies of their members lying in the snow, which you had just noticed. Keeping your aim steady, you took three shots, the gunshots cracking through the still air. The first one hit right in the heart, the second one finding a home between his eyes, and the third one hit the final O’Driscoll right above the shoulder, merely grazing the skin, and the only non-fatal shot. Still, it caused all three of them to hit the snow.

With the final man falling relatively close to you, you ran over to him. Pulling him up by the scruff of his shirt, you held your revolver right below his chin, the hot metal burning his skin. He could not have been more than eighteen years old, a sliver of childhood innocence still left in his eyes as he stared up at you, fear and pain rendering him mute. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You snarled, pressing the barrel harder into his skin. “Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right here, boy?”

Your words seemed to go in one ear and out the other, a few tears leaving him as he stared at you blankly. He was shaking, and you wondered how long he’d run with the O’Driscolls for. He was obviously young, and if this was his reaction to being held at gunpoint, you gathered that he didn’t have a whole lot of outlaw experience under his belt. Against every instinct in your body telling you otherwise, you felt yourself loosen your grip on the boy, a pang of sympathy running through you. 

Sighing in exasperation, you holster your gun, a relieved noise leaving him as you did. Glancing forward, you saw two horses hitched to the trees, seemingly the rides that they came in on. “Go,” you waved. “You ain’t even grown.”

“Th-thank you!” He nearly wept, getting to his feet shakily. 

“But if I ever see ya again, especially as a damn O’Driscoll,” your hand hovered above your weapon. “I’ll not hesitate to put a bullet in your head. You hear me?”

“Y-yes.” He clutched at his shoulder. 

“Now go!” you shouted. “Get outta here! Before I change my mind.” As soon as he sped off toward the horses, you turned back toward the lake. Charles stood above your attacker, beating the life out of the man, his face pure crimson. He was using his injured hand, but he paid it no mind. Blow after blow, Charles’s strikes hit true, the thuds echoing across the water.

You really should not have found it as attractive as you did. 

You let yourself watch for a few moments longer, before you were snapping out of it. “Charles!” You called out. Immediately, he was looking up at you, the man below him no longer even on his mind. Wiping away a smear of blood on his cheek, he slowly made his way toward you, his steps slow across the ice. 

Concern etched across his features as his eyes raked over your body, looking for any injury or hurt on you. “Are you alright?” You asked, trying your best to push down the flush of your cheeks as he stalked towards you. He had an almost murderous glint in his eye, his movement predatory; you especially should not have found that attractive. 

“Did he hurt you?” He completely brushed off your question, his eyes wide with panic. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this disheveled and worried before. 

“Only my pride.” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Charles opened his mouth to respond, but was promptly cut off when the ground beneath him gave way, the weakened ice no longer strong enough to hold him. Immediately, he was submerged under the water, but luckily he was close enough to the shore that it wasn’t too deep. He reemerged seconds later, sputtering and coughing. 

As soon as you heard the crack of the ice, you were running toward the edge, stepping precariously on the ice. In retrospect, it wasn’t the smartest idea, especially when you started walking towards where Charles fell through, but at the time you didn’t care. All that mattered was getting him out. 

Scanning around, you quickly assessed the best way to save him. The hole that was created was way big enough so he could get his arm up, but as soon as he pressed at the ice it shattered, unable to hold anything. As you stepped closer, you felt it begin to break as well, and you quickly moved back to the shore. 

“Fuck…” your hands went to you head, your gloved fingers pulling at your hair. A large stick from the tree you assaulted jumped down from sparked an idea. Grabbing it, you started chipping away at the ice, smashing and breaking it until a path big enough for Charles to go through was created. Standing at the shore, however, you realized  that neither your arms or the stick was long enough to reach the man, who was starting to get dragged down from the weight of the water in his clothes. 

Quickly unhooking your lasso from your belt, you created a loop for him to grab on to, throwing it at him with an accuracy from years and years of practice. It landed right in front of him, and he grabbed on to it as quickly as he could, his movement sluggish. Wrapping it around your hands, you began to pull him to shore. “Hold on!” you shouted at him, and he let out a noise in response. You’d take that over nothing.

It wasn’t incredibly hard to pull him closer, the water helping carry him over. But once he got to the shore, and you discarded the rope, pulling him up onto the land proved to be almost impossible. Grabbing underneath his arms, you pulled with all the strength you had, the muscles in your back and shoulders crying out in pain, but you paid them no mind. It took an incredible amount of effort, but eventually he was fully out of the water, laying splayed out in the cold snow. 

You didn’t let yourself get a moment to recover, instantly running over to his side. Turning his head toward you, you let out a sigh of relief when you say his eyes flutter open. He was absolutely drenched, his heavy winter gear made even heavier with water, and you watched him begin to shake and his teeth begin to shatter. And, if your luck wasn’t already terrible enough, a full on snowstorm had started, causing cold blasts of snow and wind to pelt your bodies. Chalres shivered even harder, and you let out helped sit him upright. “We gotta get you indoors, and soon. You ain’t gonna-” a lump formed in your throat at the thought. “It ain’t gonna be good for you if you stay out here. I’ll need your help, though. I can’t lift you on my own. Just… just find what energy you can to get up. Please.” You couldn’t help the panic in your voice. To say you were scared would be an understatement. 

You’re not quite sure he fully comprehended what you said, but he started to get up, and you forced him to lean a bit of his body weight against you as he did so. When he was up, you slung his arm over your shoulder, nearly sagging under his weight as he nearly collapsed. You called for Taima, whistlin the same pattern you’d heard Charles use for her. 

Within seconds, the sound of neighing and hoofbeats filled your ears, his loyal steed coming to a halt right in front of the two of you. She let out a worried snort, and you reassured her with some soothing noises. “Alright, Charles. Here comes the worst part.” It took quite a bit of maneuvering and effort, but after a minute Charles sat where you did on the ride there. 

His eyes, which were onced unfocused and confused, had regained some clarity to them, and you heard him mutter out your name. You smiled as reassuringly as you could, before you were mounting up on Taima, sitting in the saddle and the reins in your hands. “Hold on, darlin’.” You were too panicked to notice the name slip out, and you took the gasp from Charles as being from the cold. 

With little urging, Taima moved forward, almost immediately breaking into a gallop. You led her back up the trail, heading toward the cabin you saw on the way down. It would take too long to return back to Colter, and with the way the storm raged around you, you doubted either of you would be able to make it. 

As you rode, you felt Charles slump against you, exhaustion taking over his body. You reached behind with one hand, grabbing his knee and shaking him awake. “I know you hate me right now, but I need you to stay awake for me… please.”

He grumbled something in reply, his speech slurred and indecipherable. 

“I’m gonna talk at you, like I always do,” you tried to joke. “And you’re gonna do what you do, which is nod along and pretend you care. Just… just stay awake. You hear me?”

“I care…” you heard him protest, and you just shook your head.

“Uh-huh.” The wind was biting into your cheeks, and your eyes were watering, but you didn’t dare slow. You filled the couple minute ride with your voice, telling stories of your childhood, or random anecdotes you’d picked up from your travels, to recounting the bar fight you’d gotten into a few weeks prior. Charles, despite being exhausted, kept alert, giving one-word responses from time to time. 

He shivered the entire time, and you couldn’t tell if that was worrying or comforting. Panic was steadily bubbling in your chest, finding it hard to keep focus on your stories. Halfway through the ride, much like you did, he rested his head on your shoulder, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. You suppressed a surprised noise as you felt the freezing skin against your own, his nose and lips unnervingly cold. 

“Stay with me, Charles.”

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

It was cold. 

Everything was cold.

Could hair get cold? It sure felt like it. Charles had never felt such coldness in his life before, and he never wanted to experience it again.

He should’ve never gone on to the ice, his brain was screaming at him.

But he had led with his heart, shoving the man off you and following him on to the ice. As soon as he had seen you go down, the other man on top of you, it was like time had slowed down. He had seen red, the two men attempting to hold him down quickly meeting their ends at the hands of his fury. 

He prided himself on being able to keep calm in situations, his anger rarely ever taking a hold of him, and it had never happened since he joined the gang. Guess that streak was broken now. Not that he had any regrets.

Well, he had a few.

He should’ve registered the footprints in the snow leading up to the base of the tree. He should’ve noticed something was wrong, should’ve not been so distracted by you. He should’ve said something.

Maybe none of this would’ve happened then.

But he’s just a man, and man is selfish. He was glad this happened.

Without this happening, he wouldn’t have his arms wrapped around your body, his face buried into your neck breathing you in. Without this, you wouldn’t have called him darling, causing his heart to thump erratically in his chest. Without this, he wouldn’t have been able to pretend right now that you and him were more than friends, a fantasy that he had played out a million times in his dreams.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make the words out. A shiver wracked his body, and he burrowed deeper. God, he was so cold. And so tired.It would be so easy to just close his eyes, to let unconsciousness wash over him… 

He was jolted awake by a hearty shake of his knee, and he heard your voice break through the fog of his brain. 

You had such a lovely voice. He hated how worried it sounded, and all because of him. Or maybe he was happy you were worried about him. He couldn’t tell. Everything was unclear. The only thing he was certain about was the fuzzy feeling in his chest that grew with each glance and each soft word from you.

He was in love with you.

Stupidly in love, in fact. 

He couldn’t stop himself, the words tumbling from his lips like a freefall. But it came out as gibberish, and he felt you shake your head, unable to comprehend him.

That’s alright. He’d repeat it as many times as you needed. 

And as another shiver tore through him, he felt you rub his thigh reassuringly. Despite the thick material of your gloves, he could feel the warmth of your skin, practically burning against his frosty skin. The butterflies in his chest bubbled to life, and he couldn’t stop the small laugh he let out. 

He was infatuated.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The short ride felt like forever, the monotonous landscape that had once been soothing now tormenting you as you searched for the cabin you saw prior. The smoke trail was impossible to spot out in the snowstorm, so you used what limited navigation skills you had to get you there. 

Eventually, the frame of the cabin broke through the sheet of snow, and you nearly cried in relief. You were starting to freeze, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how Charles was feeling. Taima huffed as you brought her alongside the entrance, the steam from her snout dissipating instantly. Quickly dismounting, Charles nearly fell off when you moved, slowly slipping into unconsciousness. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” you snarled, roughly shaking him awake. Yes, you were threatening the hypothermic man. No, you did not care. You were almost inside, and you were not going to lose him. “Do not pass out on me, Charles Smith. Now, let’s get you off Taima.”

Charles muttered out an apology, his eyes reopening as he struggled to get off. His clothes were starting to solidify, clumps of ice forming across his jacket. You helped as best you could, catching him when his feet made contact with the ground, nearly sending you both to the snow. Again, you slung his arm over your shoulder, your other arm holding your gun as you entered the cabin, ready to clear out any homeowners. 

A blast of heat hit both of you as you creaked the door open slowly, and you heard Charles sigh with relief. A quick scan around proved that it was empty, and you gently set Chalres in front of the still burning fire. You realized now that the occupants were probably some of the O’Driscolls that just jumped you, and the cabin now stood empty for you and Charles. Relaxing slightly, you put away your gun, then added a few more logs to the fire pit, the flames lapping at the wood eagerly. 

To call the cabin small would be an understatement. It was large enough to fit both you and Charles comfortably, but you can’t imagine that the few O’Driscolls camping here temporarily had a lot of legroom . A single twin sized bed was lined up against the wall, cloth and other materials covering the windows beside it. There was a fireplace, a small stewpot, a nightstand, and a chair. Extra sleeping bags and rugs adorned the floor, a few cans of fruits and vegetables scattered across the floor. You saw the occasional empty bottle of alcohol, and you even found a pack of cigarettes. 

Charles seemed to wake some, the warmth of the fire breathing some life back into him. You saw him look around, body still shaking. He looked even worse than you thought, his normally warm-toned skin devoid of any color, and his hair was plastered to his face. As you crouched down in front of him, you went to push back a few strands, your gloves long since discarded, but you refrained. 

“A-Are you alright?” You heard him ask again through chattering teeth, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Even though he saw freezing, likely suffering from hypothermia, he was more worried about your well being.

“I’m not the one who fell into the freezing lake. What were you thinking?” You weren’t angry, your words surprisingly gentle despite the fear in your heart. 

“I-I wasn’t… I-” his body cut him off, shivers wracking his body. 

“We gotta get these clothes off of you,” you picked at the offending garment, the material barely budging. You started to work the heavy coat off his shoulders, the roaring wind outside the only noise.

Suddenly, Charles was grabbing at your wrist, stalling your movement. You were halfway done with taking it off, the water melting off of it coating your hands. “Taima…” you heard him say.

“I’ll go make sure she’s secure,” you quickly rose to your feet. “Just get undressed. We need to get you warmed up.”

Stepping outside, the gusts hitting your body caused you to let out a curse. Taima was  still where you left her, stomping impatiently in the ground, shaking out her coat as she tried to keep warm. When you clicked your tongue, she came prancing over, ready to get out of the wind. 

You led her to the attached stall, which was in pretty decent condition. It blocked out a lot of the wind, and it shared a wall with the fireplace, letting some of the warmth to the horses as well. There was some hay left scattered on the ground, and you took off her saddle, setting it on the stand. You left the horse blanket on, giving her some extra protection. 

When you were done, you moved to leave, and you felt Taima brush affectionately against your head, nuzzling her snout into your shoulder. Laughing, you pet her neck affectionately before she removed herself to continue eating at the hay. Making sure the gate was secure, you headed back into the cabin. 

Charles was still undressing when you entered, his back to you. Even his undershirt was soaked through, the material clinging to his body like a second skin. It was at that point it clicked that the man you were infatuated with was going to be bare before you soon. You found yourself turning away, uncharacteristically embarrassed, shrugging off your own jacket and laying across the back of the chair. If it was any other person, you’d’ve not reacted this way, your lifestyle not allowing for much privacy. But of course it had to be Charles getting undressed in front of you, and you found yourself growing quite warm. 

Taking the lasso from your belt, you strung it across the room, making a makeshift clothesline to hopefully dry his clothes faster. His jacket, which was a wet pile of fur, was the first to be hung up, the rope creaking precariously under the weight. Luckily, it held, and you added each new item as he took it off. 

You made sure not to look directly at Charles, and you saw in your peripheral vision as he worked off his shirt. Your throat was suddenly dry, hands shaky as you continued to hang items up. Why, out of all people, did it have to be Charles? It was like God was tormenting you, giving you what, but keeping it just out of reach. 

You must’ve made a noise, because Charles was turning toward you, concerned. You finally let yourself look at him. He was partially done unbuttoning his shirt, the collar open, but you saw that he was struggling with the small buttons, his fingers barely working. “May I?” you asked, gesturing toward his shirt. The sooner he was out of the wet garment, the better.

He paused for a second, contemplating. “Yes,” he consented, lowering his hand at his side. Stepping forward, your hands resumed his work, quickly undoing the rest of it. Do not make a big deal of this, you repeated in your mind. You were simply helping a friend not die from hypothermia, not unbuttoning the shirt of the person you were hopelessly in love with. He shrugged it off, practically peeling it from his body. You were especially careful to only look him in the eye now, not daring to look at his newly exposed chest. 

Turning your back to him to hang up the shirt, the unmistakable clang of his belt hitting the floor had you stilling. Exhaling shakily, you heard him take off the remainder of his clothes, all making themselves comfortable on the floor. You didn’t dare turn around to grab them. Instead, you headed towards the bed, pulling off the heavy duvet. Walking backwards, you held it out to him behind you. You heard him murmur out a small thanks, taking the blanket from your outstretched arms. 

You gave him a few moments. “Are you… decent?” you asked, keeping your gaze up even with your back turned. When he gave a noise of confirmation, you finally turned back around. After situating his discarded clothing, you gathered some of the canned goods strewn about before setting your boots next to Charles’ beside the fire. You sat down next to him on the various furs and bedrolls. Charles had the blanket wrapped around his body, and you tried really hard to not concentrate on the fact that he was completely bare under the duvet. 

You opened one of the cans with your knife, tossing the lid of it behind you and handing it to the man beside you. “Eat. You need to get your strength up.” You saw him open his mouth to protest, but you cut him off before he could. “There’s plenty of food for the both of us. Now, eat.” You pushed the can of what looked to be sweetcorn in his hand, and he finally took it, tipping it back into his mouth and eating slowly. 

He was still shivering, but he was slowly becoming more and more alert, and his teeth had ceased their chattering. Quickly finishing the can of food, he placed the empty can beside him, rubbing his hands together beneath the blanket. You were looking into the fire, and you could feel his eyes on you. He didn’t say anything, just observing you like he normally did. 

This time, however, it felt like his eyes were picking you apart, like he could see every secret beneath your skin. Clearing your throat, you stood up, gathering up the remainder of his clothing and hanging them up. You were scared that the longer you sat by him, the likelihood of you having to confront your secrets would increase tenfold. “You need anythin’? More food? Water? Coffee?” You asked, drying your hands on your pants. 

“I’m g-good,” he responded. 

“Have you warmed up at all?” He shrugged in response, the action barely noticeable with the heavy blanket around his shoulders. You didn’t bother to hide the concerned frown on your lips as you crouched beside him. Running the back of your hand, you winced when you were met with deathly cold skin. “Shit…” you cursed, pulling your hand away, and you failed to notice Charles chasing after your warmth.

Standing up, you began to pace the room, trying to keep the dread you felt at bay. Your mind was running wild with thoughts, all ending in worse case scenarios. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to keep calm, just for Charles’ sake. You wouldn’t do him any good if you were freaking out. You tried to think back on the basic first aid you’d learned through the years. Most of the things you’d already done, like getting him out of wet clothing, getting him food, getting him in front of a fire. Was there anything else you could do? Or did you just have to sit and wait and pray that what you did was enough.

You knew Charles was watching you pace, doing nothing to calm your racing heart. You ran your fingers through your hair, a gasp leaving your lips when you finally remembered. Body heat, which means… oh. 

Goddamn it all. 

You hoped you didn’t look too alarmed. It’s not that you were opposed to the idea, but it would make it significantly harder to bottle up your feelings. In fact, doing this might just smash the bottle all together, causing you to spill your heart to him. “So…” you began nervously. How the hell were you supposed to ask this?

“So…?” Charles repeated, raising a brow. 

“I-I… well…” you ran your hand over your face. The wall was looking quite interesting right now. “I was wondering if you’d like… I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anythin’... if you’d like for me to share my warmth?” That sounds so weird. “It’s just, you’re not gettin’ any better… and I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you. I couldn’t bear it.” The last part you whispered, and you doubted he even heard it. 

Something flickered across Charles’ face, too quick for you to recognize. He looked conflicted, and you chewed nervously on your lips. Did I cross a line? Oh God, did I make this weird? He’s gonna hate me-

“I’d like that,” his voice cut off your minds’ rambling. 

Letting out a breath of relief, you gave him a small smile, which he returned. Okay, this is happening. Again, do not make a big deal of this. This means nothing. Your hands, which weren’t steady, began to work at your button up. Charles slowly looked away, his eyes darkening slightly. “I’m not gonna take everythin’ off,” you reassured, taking the look in his eye as concern. Taking your gun belt off and setting it on the bed, your pants and socks were off next, joining the belt, leaving you in only your undergarments. 

Slowly, you approached him, your steps uncertain across the bedrolls and furs. You tried to keep calm, but the reality of what was going to happen quite soon was causing your heart to pound against your ribs. He watched you approach, head turned back around. You couldn't imagine it was comfortable for his neck, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

Finally, you stood in front of him, partially blocking the fire, which caused your shadow to cast over Charles. Without breaking eye contact with you, he pulled the blanket back, inviting you in. Your shadow, thankfully, blocked out any newly revealed skin, but you still found a blush creeping up your neck. 

Without giving yourself a chance to back out, you sat yourself on his lap. With your legs wrapping around his hips, your ankles were barely able to interlock. His following sigh sounded pleased, and you found yourself smiling as he wrapped the blanket around the two of you, creating something akin to a cocoon. He kept his hands braced on the ground beside him, refraining from touching you.

Charles was indeed freezing, and you let out a discontent noise at the contact. “Sorry,” you more felt than heard him say, your faces mere inches apart. 

“I should be the one who’s sayin’ that…” you sighed, and you rested your hands on his shoulders, beginning the process of warming his body back to a normal temperature. “I should’ve been payin’ better attention, then we would’ve never ended up in this mess.” Not that I’m complaining too much. 

The two of you sat together for a few minutes, letting Charles simply enjoy your body heat. “I don’t think either of us were expecting an O’Driscoll to come falling out of a tree.” You heard him say.

“It certainly wasn’t on my list of things to happen today,” you laughed, your hands moving down his shoulders to his biceps. Having him under your touch like this really put into perspective his sheer size. “And neither is this. Any of this. I’m sure you weren’t plannin’ on takin’ a bath in Lake Isabella today.”

“Can’t say I was. But, you-” Charles cut himself off, his eyes widening the tiniest bit. If you weren’t so close, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. You gave him a confused look, and he just shook his head. “It’s nothing. I almost said something foolish,” he tried to dismiss, embarrassment evident on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say somethin’ foolish the entire time I’ve known you.” You tugged at one of his arms, bringing it between your bodies after he shifted his weight on to the other arm. You clasp his uninjured hand between yours, blowing hot air and trying your best to return some life back to the ice cubes that were his fingers. “You know I ain’t gonna tease you for what you say, right?”

“I know,” Charles sighed, but he didn’t elaborate further. You didn’t push, not wanting to wreck this moment between the two of you. You felt him flex his fingers between yours, a relieved noise leaving him as more feeling returned to them. Eventually, you let go of his hand, but it seemed like he didn’t quite know where to put it, hovering a few inches above your waist before returning back to the ground. “You can touch me, Charles.”

You held back a content noise when you finally felt him grasp your waist, his fingers resting on the waistband of your undergarments. Occasionally, his fingers would brush your bare skin, your undershirt having rid up when you had sat down, and you felt goosebumps erupt across your skin. 

Moving to his injured hand, you eyed the now wrecked bandage, blood and water causing the material to practically dissolve. You tsked disapprovingly, and began to peel off the old wrapping, discarding them across the cabin. You were expecting to see the wound completely reopened, especially because of the punches he threw at the O’Driscoll, but were pleasantly surprised to find a pretty much healed injury. It was slightly irritated, sure, but it must’ve been healed for at least a day or two.

“And here I was scared that we’d have to chop off your hand,” you joked, flipping his arm over as you examined the now scar. “This has been healed for a day or two now. You’re probably only gonna have a light scar from this.” Realization dawned on you, and you chuckled. “Charles, you could’ve gone huntin’ on your own today.”

“I could’ve.” He didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “Still, I did want to do it with you, but I could’t just ask. I needed an excuse.”

“You never need an excuse, Charles. I’ll gladly go huntin’ with you, injured hand or not.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You felt him squeeze your hip gently, a playful grin on his face. It had your stomach doing somersaults, and you tore your eyes away to begin warming up his other hand. It was strange, seeing him so carefree like this. It was a look you’d never really seen on him, but you rather enjoyed it. “Only hunting?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you teased, drawing out the syllables. “Whatcha have in mind?”

“Not quite sure yet. But it’ll just be us.”

“Like a date?” You joked, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“Sure. Like a date.”

A giddy smile cracked across your lips, and you gingerly kissed the back of Charles’ hand before letting it go, where it immediately joined his other by settling on your waist. Your ears were burning, a flustered blush growing across your body. Here you were, sitting on a naked Charles’ lap, only the thin material of your undergarments separating the two of you, but the thing that made you bashful was him asking you on a date. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him chuckle, the hands on your waist moving up your back, keeping your body pressed close to him. The digits were still a bit chilled, but you didn’t mind. The blanket around the two of you was barely hanging on at this point, and you tried your best to keep it around him. Like he did on the horse, you felt him bury his face in the crook where your neck and shoulders connected. 

Although it was significantly less cold than the last time, you still shivered at the contact. You felt his lips brush against the skin, and you could barely feel the light kiss he pressed there, gone in an instant. So many thoughts and emotions were running through your mind at that moment. You mostly felt relieved, your feelings for the man no longer feeling so one-sided. Your mind was so loud, in fact, that you barely heard him mumble something against your skin. You realized that he was thanking you, and you responded with a confused noise.

“You saved my life today. Twice. I haven’t thanked you yet.”

“I wouldn’t’ve just left you, Charles. I couldn’t. I…” you trailed off, a confession ready to leave your lips. The bottle had cracked, its contents spilling out as you tried to damndest to keep it all contained. “If I remember correctly, you also saved me today. Nothin’ good would’ve happened if you weren’t there today.”

You felt him tense, an almost pained sound leaving him. “When I saw you like that… I don’t ever want to see that again.”

You moved back so that you could see him again, and you cupped the side of his face with your hand, relieved to find the skin significantly warmer than it was moments ago. “I’m alright. Thanks to you, I’m safe.” 

He relaxed slightly, but his eyes were filled with so much sadness that it had you frowning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that scared before,” he whispered, resting his own hand atop yours. “The best thing in my life, and I almost lost it today.” Both of you seemed surprised by his words, but you didn’t let him backtrack.

“But you didn’t. You are the one who got that man off me, and showed him the error of his ways.”

He chuckled at that, but then another frown adorned his lips. “I didn’t… unsettle you, right? I… I saw your eyes widen after you called me off him. You’re not-”

“Never. I know you’d never hurt me.”

Relieved, you felt him go fully lax under your touch. His whole body had returned to a normal temperature, you noted, the heat under the blanket beginning to become sweltering. With your thumb, you stroked his cheek, feeling the raised skin of the scar across his cheek. He let go of your hand, moving it back to the ground to keep the two of you propped up as you leaned forward. The duvet fell slightly, exposing his shoulder to the air, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Keeping your hand on his cheek, your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “Although, I do think you looked rather beautiful.”

He practically shuddered, a pleased smile on your mouth as you leaned back again. Keeping only a few inches between your faces, you watched as his eyes flicked down to your lips before returning up. “Yeah?” You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so low.

You nodded, the fingers on his cheek moving to brush a few strands away from his face. His eyes were dark, pupils blown out but not because of the low light. “I always think you look beautiful,” you murmured. 

He hummed in response, and you felt the hand on your back creek up, resting at the nape of your neck. He didn’t pull you forward, he just held you. “Next to you, however, I imagine I look quite plain.”

“Oh, hush,” you chided while smiling. 

“I’m serious.” You felt him play with the hair at your neck, fingers running lightly through the strands. “It’s distracting, how beautiful you are. Whenever I walk into a room and you’re in there, you’re the first thing I look at, and I can never bring myself to look away. At night at camp, you look so at ease, the fire illuminates your face in a way that makes you look ethereal. I can do nothing but watch you, too stunned to speak. You plague every waking thought, and you haunt my dreams. You’ve unknowingly burrowed yourself into my heart, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You were at a loss for words, your mouth moving but no words actually came out. Choosing to ignore the way your heart celebrated, you let out an airy chuckle. “I think that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk.” 

He laughed. “I can keep it short, if you’d like?”

“I didn’t mean that,” you scoffed. “What could possibly condense all that?”

Charles gave you a look, like he couldn’t believe you hadn’t caught on by now. A part of you knew what he was going to say, but you wouldn't believe it. You needed to hear it from his lips. The hand playing with your hair stilled, the only sound being the crackling fire behind you. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

He said it like it was the simplest thing ever, like it hadn’t just completely flipped your world upside down. He had taken your bottled up feelings and opened it himself. Taking your responding silence as a negative thing, you felt his hand fall slightly, a worried look crossing his face. You didn’t give him much time to worry, pulling him closer with the hand still cupping his face. Your foreheads connected, and your lips were almost brushing. “You mean it?” 

“Of course.”

“Well… for how long?”

“How long have I been with the gang?”

Surprised, you laughed lightly, and he visibly looked confused. “So this entire time, you felt the same way?”

It took a second for him to process your words, a wide grin appearing when he did. “I guess so.” He paused for a moment, and you felt him take a deep breath. “You love me?” He asked, his voice small and uncertain. 

You moved your face back an inch, giving you room to nod. “I do. For the same amount of time, too. I was too scared to say anythin’, I didn’t wanna ruin what we had. And I kinda thought I annoyed you to death,” you chuckled. “But if today reminded me of anythin’, it’s that this life is too unpredictable to have regrets.”

“Arthur gave you that lecture too?”

You rolled your eyes. Of course he didn't heed your warning about not playing matchmaker with you and Charles. But still, you might have to thank him later. “Despite what he claims, he’s a nosy bastard.”

He hummed in agreement, and a silence hung over the room, anticipation heavy in the air. With the lightest touch, you felt him bring you forward with the hand on the back of your head. “I wanna hear you say it,” you heard him ask. 

“I love you, darlin’.” Both hands now cupped his cheeks, and you hovered your lips above his. “Kiss me?”

“Gladly.” You felt his hand move to cradle your head, pulling you in the final distance until your lips were colliding. There was only a hint of chill left on his skin, easily melting away against your warm mouth.  His lips were soft, softer than you imagined, and you let out a pleased sigh. It was a surprisingly quick kiss, and you sucked in a breath when you felt him pull away, his eyes blown out. 

He was also panting, and his fingers wove into your hair, like he was grounding himself. Moving forward, you tried to reconnect your lips, but he moved his head so that your lips collided with his cheek instead. A jolt of panic shot through your body, thinking you horribly misread the situation. “I want… I want this,” he reassured. “But I want to make sure you want this. That you want… me.”

You’d never met a man like Charles Smith, and you’re sure you’d never meet another like him. Never, ever had you heard of or met a man explicitly asking for consent like this, and it got you more excited than you thought it would. “I’ve wanted this for a while now,” you admitted, resting your touch on the junction where his shoulders and neck met. “I’ve dreamed of a moment like this more times than I can count. I want you, Charles. I need-”

In a complete switch up, he crashed his lips against yours, muffling your words. If the first kiss had been gentle and hesitant, this one was hungry and confident, lips eagerly moving against yours. He was practically devouring you, like he couldn’t get enough of you. With every small noise that left you, he seemed to grow more bold, and you felt the fingers in your hair tug slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it caused your lips to part. Within seconds his tongue swept into your mouth, eager to explore you. 

The blanket had long since fallen off, bunched up on the ground surrounding the two of you. Pushing him lightly on his shoulders, you eased him on his back. Your hands planted on his chest when he made contact with the furs, your lips not separating for a moment. He was a pleasant temperature under your fingers, his skin surprisingly soft, just like his lips. You were straddling his waist now, your hands barely keeping you from laying your entire weight on the man. 

He had let go of your head, his hands moving to your waist to keep you secure. His grip was strong, but not enough to leave a mark. A part of you wanted him to, but you didn’t say anything. If he wanted you like you wanted him, then there would be a next time.

Rocking your hips, you felt a growing hardness barely separated by your thin undergarments. You felt him groan when you did so, and he tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth. When he moved his head away to suck in some air, your hands snaked back up his neck, nearly covering his ears. You’d thought your attempts at warming him up were fruitful, but when you felt how cold his ears were, you made a concerned noise, your lust temporarily forgotten. “Your ears are freezing…”

He looked like he couldn’t care less, but then a mischievous smile crossed his face. “You gonna warm them up, then?”

“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do?” You giggled, and you made sure that your hands fully covered them. You had easy access to his lips, and you gave him a quick kiss. 

“Not with your hands, my love.”

You smiled at the endearment, but his statement confused you. Cocking your head to the side, you moved your hands off his face, settling them back on his chest. “What-?”

You didn’t get to finish your question, the hands on your hips effortlessly pulling your up toward his face. Your knees now straddled the sides of his head, your thighs practically where your hands were, covering his ears. You looked down at him with wide eyes, a flush creeping up your neck at the implications. Surely he doesn't want that, right?

Charles let out a satisfied noise, and with his hands now on your thighs he eased you on to him. You let him, but you kept a few inches between his mouth and your body. He genuinely seemed upset by that, and you felt him press a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh, causing a shiver to run through your body.

“Please, let me taste you,” he pressed another kiss to the inside of your legs, this one closer to your aching center. If he moved any closer, he was bound to feel your wetness through the fabric. “I want you to fall apart on my face.”

You exhaled shakily. “You want to?” You asked, almost in disbelief. This man was unreal.

He nodded, the action causing his chin to brush against your center. “Let me make you feel good, my love.” When he pulled you down again, you didn’t keep any distance between the two of you. You felt him press a kiss to your clothed center, a smug grin on his face when he felt your arousal. He didn’t say anything, just pulling you down closer to his face until your legs were fully wrapped around his head, no space between the two of you. 

You felt his tongue flick out, simply tasting you through the damp fabric. He did it again, and again, and his hands tightened on your thighs. He was indirect with his tongue, but each swipe had you letting out small moans. A mix of his saliva and your arousal was causing the fabric to become even more wet; they were most certainly going to be wrecked. 

The small kitten-licks were nice, but you needed more. Charles knew this too, and you felt him work his fingers under the material of your undergarments, pulling them down your ass and thighs. It took some awkward maneuvering, but eventually the garment was off, being tossed somewhere to the side by you, leaving you in only your undershirt.

He wasted no time, pulling you back down onto his face with a growl. Parting you with a pass of his tongue, he let out a pleased noise, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. Charles was insatiable now, lapping and drinking you like you were the best goddamn meal he’s ever had. His eyes were hooded, drunk on you. When his broad strokes turned into concentrated flicks on your clit, you moaned loudly, your thighs turning vice-like around his head. 

It spurred him on, working your clit with markman’s accuracy, bringing you closer and closer to your climax in record time. You heard him groan something under you, and you let out a breathy sigh when you realized he was groaning your name over and over again.  

This entire time, you had kept your hands to yourself, but you were growing more and more desperate to touch him. Reaching down, your hands tangled in his hair, and then almost immediately releasing it like it burned you. For a second, you panicked, thinking yet again you crossed a line, which seemed to be a repeating event this evening. You knew his hair was an important part of his culture, and you would never forgive yourself if you did something to upset him.

Without even slowing down a beat, you felt him grab your hand, leading your back towards his head. He closed his eyes when he felt you weave your fingers through the locks, his hips bucking when you tugged slightly. 

You were getting close now, and you felt yourself moving against his face in time with his tongue. “Charles,” you whined, and he hummed in response. “I’m- I’m gettin’ close, darlin’,”

As you neared your release, you heard the sound of skin-on-skin from behind you. Turning around, you saw Charles stroking himself, getting off to eating you out. “Oh my God… Charles…” you breathed out, barely able to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight behind you.

His eyes were hazy with lust as he peered up at you from between your legs, and you could feel yourself begin to tip over the edge. Sighing out his name, you felt him grin. Before you could even process it, he sucked on your clit, pushing you over that edge as you came hard on his face. You were crying out his name, but your voice sounded distant to your ears, temporarily out of your body as you orgasmed. Charles kept his tongue moving as you came, drawing out every bit of pleasure from your body.

It took you a few moments to recover, and the first thing you were able to hear was the obscene noise leaving Charles’ mouth as he drank in your release. Secondly, you realized you had a death-grip on Charles’ hair, and you quickly let go, and you tried to apologize, but your words were jumbled. He continued to lap at you, but it quickly became too much, your body beginning to feel overstimulated. You rolled off of him, being mindful of the fireplace even in your post-orgasmic haze.

Glancing over at Charles, you found him already watching you, just like he would do in camp. With a soft smile, you scooted closer until you were pressed into his side. He gave you his arm to la on, and you felt him kiss the top of your head. It was silent between the two of you, simply taking the moment to catch your breaths and recover. 

You couldn’t help looking down, though, having to stifle a gasp when you saw how big he actually was, having only gotten a glimpse of him early. He was going to feel good, but you knew you would be sore for a few days after. Not that you cared. 

Looking back up at him, you let your fingers trail up his chest, resting right above his heart. It was beating erratically, just like yours, and you heard him let out a noise when your fingers “accidently” brushed over his nipple. You heard him whine out your name, and you slowly sat up. You were able to see him clearer now, and he looked like a mess. His face was covered in your slick, glistening in the firelight, and his hair was all tousled from your fingers. But the best part was the pure bliss on his features.

It was almost comical, the way his eyes snapped open when you pulled off your shirt, exposing your chest to him. “You’ve got somethin’ on your face,” you tried to joke, but your voice was quite hoarse. You tossed your shirt at him, giving him something to wipe his mouth with. He merely set it to the side, unbothered with the mess. Propping himself up with an arm, he offered you his free hand, pulling you forward when you took it in yours.

You nearly fell right on top of him, your muscles pure jelly. Laughing, you were just able to get upright before he was kissing you. It was weird, tasting yourself on him, but you found you didn’t mind. You didn’t keep your lips on his for too long, moving down his jaw, then down his neck. You weren’t straddling his hips, so the positioning was a tad bit uncomfortable, but you didn’t care. 

Moving down further, you trailed kissed across his collarbones, then down his sternum, his breathing growing uneven as you went lower and lower. A hand now rested on the back of your head as you continued downward, reaching a patch of hair that started at his belly button. It surprised you, the rest of his body being relatively hairless, but you weren't complaining. In fact, you were imagining seeing it peek out from under his shirt as he stretched, his clothing riding up with his arms. Even though it was relatively innocent in the light of everything else the two of you were doing, it had you pressing your thighs together, trying to relieve the returning ache between them.

Following the happy trail, you ran your fingers through the hair as you adjusted closer to his member. His was achingly hard at this point, and his breathing stilled when you ghost your lips over the tip. Leaning over him, you flicked your tongue out, licking up the bead of precum. The hand and your head tightened into a ball, and you could tell he was fighting every urge to buck himself down your throat. Next time, you thought. 

Moving down further so that you sat between his legs, you spit into your hand before you grasped him. He was velvety soft as you slowly began to stroke him, a mix of your name and a moan leaving his lips as you did so. With heavy eyes and part lips, he watched you pleasure him. “You feel so good in my hand,” you murmured, “butI think you’ll feel even better in me, no?”

His response was slightly incoherent, but you could tell he was agreeing with you. “In a second, darlin’. I wanna taste you, too.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Charles found his voice again, although it sounded very strained.

“But I want to. Don’t make me beg for it.” You weren’t really intended to suggest anything, but the look on Charles’ face at your comment had you grinning. “Unless you want me to?”

“I-” he was stunned, but you could tell he was imagining it, and liking it. 

“Please, darlin’, let me suck your cock,” you fluttered your lashes at him. “I bet you taste so good… just let me taste you, please. I need it so bad, darlin’. I need your cock-”

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Charles cursed, which was more arousing than you thought it would be. “Yeah, go ahead, my love.”

Pressing one last kiss to the tip, you flattened your tongue and ran it up his length, and you heard him moan. You did it a few times, receiving a similar reaction each time. Eventually, you slowly took the tip of him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around while doing so. Taking more and more of him into your mouth, you were only able to take him halfway before he was pressing against the back of your throat, and you relaxed as best you could, not wanting to trigger your gag reflex.

Taking the rest of him in your hand, you began to bob your head up and down. Hollowing your cheeks until you reached the tip of him, you then ran your tongue across the slit, before moving back down his length, keeping your tongue flat. You repeated this action for a while, falling into an easy rhythm. You felt him buck up a few times, but other than that he kept his hips relatively still, letting you have your way with him. His hand didn’t push you further down him, he just simply held you, moving back the hairs that tried to fall in your face. 

You heard him moan out your name, and you groaned. “You feel so good, my love,” he praised. His words turned into a surprised moan, whe, with your free hand, started moving slowly up his thigh, moving inward until you brushed against his balls. He nearly jumped with the contact, causing his cock to go further down your throat than you'd like, causing you to rear back coughing. 

Immediately, he was apologizing. His hand was now on your cheek, wiping away the spit around your mouth as you recovered. “Are you alright?” He asked, and you nodded, not trusting your voice at that second. You could tell that he still felt bad, and you pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“I’m alright,” you managed to get out, and you cleared your throat some more. “Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“So did you, touching me like that” he teased, his earlier concerns dissipating when he saw that you truly were okay. “I wasn’t gonna last long even before you did that.” Pulling you up to him, he kissed you, and you finally straddled his waist, his cock resting between your bodies. 

You weren’t given much time to savor his lips before your world was quite literally turning as he flipped you on to your back. The furs nestled nicely against your skin, and you locked your legs around Charles’ waist, grinding yourself against his member. His head fell against your chest, and you felt him brush feather-light kisses across your skin, much like you did. But a new eagerness had overtaken you, and you grinded again against him, and you felt him chuckle. “Patience, my love.”

“I’ve waited long enough, Charles. I need you in me.”

“You think you’re ready for me?” If those words came out of any other man, you would’ve laughed at the arrogance those words held. But you knew it came out of a place of genuine concern for your wellbeing, scared of hurting you. He was large, and you knew that it was probably going to hurt when he entered you, but your lust fueled brain did not care. You need him in you now, consequences be damned.

“Please,” you whispered, and he adjusted so that his face was level with yours. 

“Alright, but if at any point-”

Kissing him quickly, you smiled at him, brushing back a long strand of hair that fell in his face. “I will. I trust you. Now,” you kissed him again, “fuck me.”

He didn’t respond, pressing a kiss against the tip of your nose before you felt him press into you. He kept his eyes on your face, gauging your reaction as he slowly entered you. The initial breach was always the worst part, and you couldn’t help the slight grimace that crossed your features as he breached your entrance. He halted, but you urged him further by pressing your heels into his back. 

The stretch was unlike anything else you’d ever felt, satiating a need you didn’t know you had. Tangling your hands in his hair, you pulled your face against yours, resting your foreheads together. “God, you feel so good,” you panted as he pressed himself deeper into you. You were certain that he was going to ruin you for any other man. 

Hearing him chuckle made you realize you said that last part aloud. “After this, you’re stuck with me, my love.”

Because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, and you were curious to see how deep his possessive side went, you pushed further. “Am I now?” Yes. 

For a second, it seemed like Charles couldn’t tell that you were teasing, but when he saw the playful glint in your eye he played along. “Do you think anyone else could make you feel like this?”

He was nearly fully sheathed in you, and you fought the urge to just pull him the rest of the way into you “I dunno. If I remember right, I asked you to fuck me. It sure don’t feel like you’re doin’ that.”

Finally, he was fully in you, your hips flushed together. You both let out content moans, and Charles gave you a moment to adjust. “You want me to fuck you?” He confirmed, and the words sounded even filthier coming from his mouth. 

“If you don’t, I’ll find someone who will.” 

Letting out something akin to a growl, he pulled out of you quickly, leaving only the tip in before he was slamming back into you, hands gripping your hips tightly. He set a brutal pace, and your head rolled back, your moans and cries filling the air. With the way your head was, it caused your back to arch, meaning your breasts were right in his face. With zero hesitation, he took one into his mouth, sucking and toying with the nipple in his mouth. Releasing it, he switched to the other one, making sure to give both apt attention. 

Tugging at his hair, you brought his attention upwards. Smashing your lips against his, your kiss was open-mouth and messy, more tongue and teeth than anything. His hips were snapping against yours, incessant as he pounded into you. 

“Yes! Charles,” you wailed, tearing your lips away from his to do so. He kept his lips busy, nipping and kissing the skin at your jaw and neck. A particularly hard bite had you gasping, and you felt him smirk against your skin. Your senses were completely overwhelmed in the best way; all that you could register was him, the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he looked. 

He leaned over you now, broad arms caging your head in. His dark hair fell in waves around him, blocking out any other visual in the room. All you could do was look at him, and he was a sight for sore eyes. Color had long since returned to his cheeks, the skin there darkening with exertion. His eyes were locked on to you, dancing around your face and chest like he couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to look at. His plush lips were parted, soft gasps of air leaving him with each thrust.

Another snap of his hips had you grasping at his back and shoulders, pleasuring washing over you as another orgasm began to build up. Your nails dug into his skin, no doubt leaving marks, but it didn’t seem to deter him. In fact, he let out a low moan, and it had your cunt clenching around his cock. 

Babbling his name, your nails ran down his back, leaving in its wake angry red lines. “You feel so good… like you were made for me.”

“My love…” he sighed, and one of the hands at the side of your head cupped your face,  bringing you right to his lips. His length was reaching places in you that you didn’t know existed, filling you deep and hard, just like you wanted. You were going to become addicted to him. 

“I’m so close, Charles…” Releasing one of his shoulders, you snaked your hand between your bodies, moving to start touching yourself. You weren’t expecting him to quickly grasp your wrist, bringing it out of the way and replacing your hand with his much larger one. He began to rub at your clit, slow circular movements that juxtaposed the fast in-and-out of his cock. His ministrations had you seeing stars, and you felt yourself reaching completion again that night. 

“Charles, I-”

“I know. Let me feel you fall apart.” He pressed a quick kiss to your lips.

His slow movements turned rapid, groaning when he felt you clench around him. With a cry of his name, you came, pleasure rolling over you in waves. This one was stronger than the first, feeling like every nerve in your body had been set aflame. Your eyes rolled back, the world temporarily turning dark as your eyelids shut. He kept his eyes on you the entire time, a reverent look in his gaze. With the way your walls were fluttering around him, and the quickened pace of his hips, you knew that he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

His arms went back around your head, continuing to move as he chased his own release. You heard him gasp out, quickly pulling out of you, and you let out a discontent noise as he no longer filled you. He stroked himself a few times, hand moving fervently up and down his length. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you would’ve had taken him in your hand yourself, wanting to feel him as well. Moaning your name, you watched as he came, his release spilling over your stomach. His hips canted forward a few times as he worked through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

You loosened your legs that were wrapped around his waist, and silence hung over the two of you as you both processed what just happened. A small laugh left you, breaking the trance, and you saw him smile back at you, mirroring his laughter with his own. You watched him grab the blanket that was still bundled up on the floor, and he tore off a section of it, the sound of fabric ripping startling you slightly. 

Wiping his release from your skin, he tossed the soiled cloth to some corner of the room. It’s not like this was your place, anyways. Opening your arms, you invited him to lay with you, and he gladly accepted. He was careful to keep his full weight off of you, but he still lay partially on top of you, his head resting on your chest. It was comforting, and you felt yourself begin to grow a bit sleepy. “Are you warm yet?” You teased, running your fingers soothingly through his hair, and you felt his chest rumble with laughter.

“I think so,” he responded, bringing the blanket around your bodies. The fire was starting to die down, but neither of you moved to add fuel to it. He murmured something, and you gave an inquisitive sound. “I love you,” he repeated, his brown eyes filled with emotion as he stared up at you.

“I love you, too.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he quickly shut it. “What is it?” You asked, and he sighed, his warm breath tickling you.

“Does that mean you’ll stay?”

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten about your earlier conversation. The vulnerability in his voice had your eyes watering, and it didn’t take much thinking to reach your answer. Sure, you were scared for the future of the gang, and you were scared that with each passing day you’d find yourself closer and closer to finding your end at a rope or a barrel, but none of those fears mattered, not anymore. Not when you finally had all that you wanted in your arms. And who knows, maybe you’d end up leaving in time, but you knew you wouldn’t be leaving alone.

“Yeah, I’ll stay. Besides, you still owe me a date.”

His responding smile solidified that you had made the right decision. Whatever the future held, you knew it would be easier with Charles by your side.

#charles smith #charles smith rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #charles smith x reader

[queer-geordie-nerd]

israel is not "indiginous land" im sorry. i understand you want a place to call your own and it sucks that you dont, but it doesnt give you the right to push out an entire other nation of people. there are hundreds of thousands of people who are older then your state. it sadly just isnt feasible

First of all, you’re obviously completely ignorant of the thousands of years of Jewish history in the area that is the modern state of Israel, long, long before the Arab colonisation of the same area. If it’s indigenous to anyone, it absolutely is to the Jews. Read a history book or several.

Second, a two state solution is possible if everyone acts in good faith, no need for any pushing out, though sadly, peace seems a long way off right now - although Free Palestine activists routinely use genocidal slogans and rhetoric in relation to Israel and their belief that it shouldn’t exist at all - so who thinks they have the right to push out an entire other nation of people now?

Lastly, it’s not *my* state - I’m not Jewish or Israeli, as I have stated several times, just a goy who won’t be silent while one of the most persecuted peoples in the history of the human race are having to endure a huge rise in hatred against them, by people who parrot completely ahistorical, conspiratorial and frankly, lunatic shit straight out of a Nazi playbook.

I do quite often reblog posts by Jewish bloggers talking about their experiences because a) in solidarity and because there is no point in me just talking about how against antisemitism I am if I ignore Jewish voices on the subject that affects them and constantly talk over them instead - far too many people are doing that and b) the posts are often very informative and educational for me personally, and perhaps you might benefit from doing the same thing. Listen to what Jewish people are saying.

[fierceawakening]

It’s funny to me.

I was talking yesterday to a good friend who told me they were really disillusioned with the pro Palestine movement when a group they’re part of is using space in a synagogue and they’re hearing how scared people are. They’d been very pro Palestine before this and still are, but now are also really concerned about what people are saying in the name of the movement.

I on the other hand was a part of high control feminist groups years back, and one of the people who had power in those groups happened to be Jewish (please note I am NOT SAYING they gained control of it through conspiracy or any of that bs.) So in those groups, one of the ways you “checked your privilege” was to realize “Zionism just means Israel has a right to exist, like any other country” and accepted that, if you didn’t despise all Jews, *you yourself were “a Zionist”* because that was all it meant.

Another person told me, “the only reason white Americans see Israel as settler colonialist is because they feel guilt for what they did to their own indigenous people. Jews literally can’t be settlers, as we are indigenous.”

So for me, suddenly hearing “Zionists are evil” was a trip. I’m not evil!

And both of us have really started to see cracks in the facade. From both ends.

I dunno. I guess the best advice I have is… do your own research.

Listen to your friends but don’t take them as experts. Don’t do the thing where you turn your brain off because they’re marginalized in a way you’re not so you import their opinion like a browser bookmark.

[dearqueerdeers]

no wait actually as an avid reader English classes pissed me off so bad in high school. before high school I just found them vaguely annoying because it was super easy stuff— the author says in paragraph 3 that daisy is mad. Which of these word is a synonym for “mad”?— but in high school they really started to lean into analysis that was deeper than “surface level”. Here’s the thing. I’ve been writing fanfiction since I was 11. I know how to read between the lines. I know how to analyze shit. Been doing it forever. So I get to English classes where they’re asking me to do that and I go “great! this will be fun!”— only to be told that I am, in fact, wrong, in my interpretation of whatever current book we were reading.

This happened a lot for a lot of books (I am autistic lmao), but the one that infuriates me to this day is when we read Things Fall Apart in my senior year English class. Note that we did not read Heart of Darkness, which supposedly this book was a response to, so I could very well be missing a chunk of analysis here. It essentially followed a man living in Nigeria pre-colonialism and followed his life as European “missionaries” slowly started invading the surrounding area & eventually his home. According to my English teacher, Heart of Darkness portrayed the indigenous people in African in a very negative light and erased a lot of their culture, and Things Fall Apart was written as a rebuttal to showcase the rich culture and interior lives of the people portrayed as “savages” in Heart of Darkness.

And yes, the book did a wonderful job of showcasing the presence of a thriving culture and the personhood of those living in Nigeria! However. This teacher absolutely refused to hear any analysis that painted the main character in a bad light. If you pointed out that any of his actions were bad and suggested that he had personal growth to do, she’d shut you down immediately. I specifically was told “it’s a different culture and you can’t judge them based on our cultural standards.” My class was told the protagonist was a good guy trying his best, & that’s what the book was trying to showcase. If you listened to my English teacher without ever touching this book, you’d probably think it was about a guy doing his best and who therefore didn’t deserve the violence he experienced at the hands of the colonizers. (Disclaimer here that shouldn’t need to be said but I’m saying it anyways: You can’t “deserve” to be colonized. No culture or individual person should ever be forced to endure colonization. Full stop, period, end of story.)

Here’s the thing. This dude sucked balls, guys. He murders his adopted son. He hits his kids. He abuses his wives. & the whole time shows no learning from any of these actions. And those actions formed my analysis of the book! My analysis was that this guy sucked hard and the point of the book was that even when people suck, colonization is bad. My TEACHER’S analysis (and the only analysis she allowed us to discuss) was that this guy was a good guy and the point of the book was to make us feel bad that a good guy was the victim of colonization. I don’t even think I need to unpack why that’s totally bullshit, y’all have reading comprehension skills lmao.

To this day I still bitch about this book and this unit to my friends who were in that class. Not that any media analysis should ever be considered “right” or “wrong,” but to be told I was wrong in my analysis when I so very clearly was not was infuriating.

#post inspired by that post about banning books #we should ABSOLUTELY be taught to critically engage with media. #we should be taught analysis. #but if your teaching of media analysis involved one singular Correct answer and marking everything else as Wrong? you aren’t doing it right #I half-considered turning in an essay to that teacher over that book where I ran with her analysis #and accepted that him being a good person made him not deserving of racism #except flipped it and gone ‘okay if that’s true. then this guys must’ve deserved racism for being a shit person ��\_(ツ)_/¯’ #and just ran with the whole essay like that lmao #unfortunately my high school was in Small Town Racism Texas and the chances of someone un-satirically writing that same essay were. high #abuse mention #things fall apart 😒 #my post

[janeaustenmademedoit]

I want Swifities, white Swifities in particular, to understand how incredibly privileged it is to essentially say, “she said she is the happiest she’s ever been can we please shut up now?” My answer to this question is no, and here’s why.

This mentality of “she’s happy so I’m happy” dismisses what POC, Black women, and the Jewish and queer communities are trying to say and get people to understand. It gives Taylor the excuse to do whatever she wants without considering the consequences, repercussions, or harm her actions cause fans within those marginalized communities.

If I bring someone into my community who says and does problematic things that makes other members of my community uncomfortable, then I have a duty to call in that person or choose not to associate with them anymore.

Taylor is not beyond critique and judgement. You can wish for someone’s happiness while also letting them know hey this is a problem, can you please address it. She put herself into this position after the Miss Americana documentary where she wanted to be on the right side of history then turning her back on everything she promised or doing the bare minimum.

I would also like to mention that her speech before playing Question..? seemed very pointed and truly sounded like, “I see what you’re saying online and here is my statement: I’m happy so please leave me alone.” This is a complete slap in the face to the marginalized communities who are trying to call you in and hold you accountable and seems like a pretty convenient out to try to sweep this under the rug. It also panders to the most toxic portion of the Swiftie fandom and essentially gives them permission to be nasty to Swifties who belong to those marginalized communities.

All people want Taylor to do is listen to what they’re saying, sit in her discomfort, think and reflect on what is happening, then take meaningful action. She did it when people called her out for fatphobia with “Anti-hero” and she responded by changing her video, I really don’t understand why this has to be any different.

Lastly, feminism is not feminism if it’s not intersectional. Any “feminism” that doesn’t include POC, Indigenous, disabled, the queer and transgender communities is white feminism. Period.

#taylor swift #taylornation

[a-freak-gasoline-fight-accident]

i’m the only Normal bitch at my work so ofc i get stuck having lunch with the little twisted hypocrite christian racist who asks me too many personal questions. this bitch Donna, who’s been there n left before i got there has come back, and ofc i’m stuck on break with her and she keeps asking personal questions, trying to work me out, trying to see if she can be racist in front of me’ testing the waters. i Know what she’s doing so i give her 1 word responses and no details. TODAY we were in the break room together and she brings up the indigenous voice to parliament and asks me if i’ve seen the pamphlet someone had printed out and passed around work (which i’m pretty sure is ILLEGAL), i said ‘No that sounds like misinformation and propaganda’ (looking back i probs shouldn’t have said that lol but oh well c: teehee) and she went quiet for a little bit and then straight up asked me if i had any aboriginal blood. i said ‘No’ just to show her that it’s not fucking WEIRD for a white person to give a fuck about indigenous peoplesssss, PLUS i could not think of anything else to say to that yes or no question and iidk how to be Rude to ppl, i’m also not used to being talked to either so [shrug]. ANYWAY then as i was at the sink trying to wash my mug and spoon as fast as i could to get tf out of there, she goes ‘Ya know, it’s the indigenous ppl around the world who’ve had it the roughest; aboriginals, native americans, american n*gros (yes she used THAT word), even southern americans’. i am not stupid, i know what this bitch is doing, so i’m at the sink just giving non-committal nods like i’m only half listening. then she says ‘You know i pray a lot, i pray alot. and you know, my prayers always get answered.....do you pray?’ ya know, trying to see if i’m a Good Little Christian girlllllll, i was fucking 0.2 seconds away from telling her ‘No, i’m actually Buddhist’ and walking out of that room. instead i just shook my head and said ‘Nah, not really’. then excused myself bc the half hour break was over. THEN as i was at the counter later, another coworker told me that it was Donna herself who had printed out and brought in the pamphlets on monday skdjgjsdjgsdf like ofc she did lol <3 i’m so glad i still wear a mask, they’d see me grin so much. then the same coworker asked me about which way i’m voting n i said ‘Yes’, n she said ‘Yes is as in you want it though...’ like she was warning me that i was voting wrongly <3<3<3<3 n i was like ‘Yeah i know, i’m voting yes FOR it’.

#personal #tried telling them that dutton just didn't want the voice to succeed bc then when lnp got in again he'd have to MAYBE listen to them but the #coworker i was at the counter with brought out a pamphlet n asked me if i wasnted to read it n i was like No <3 #later i went out the back and n i think i caught the end of a convo about how the Sorry was BS bc my 2-faced coworker is belgian n they neve #never got a sorry #skdfjgjkdsfghdsfjg #i feel like a sexy lil sheep in a den full of scraggly old wolves #small country town are the WORST #it's just so fucked up to me that a store that's supposed to Help ppl in need is full of racists #but then later the coworker #small country towns #might actually b getting inchrested in buddhism 4 real. tho i don't think i have it in me 2 fully kermit 2 a faith #i was half-joking when i thought about telling that bitch i was buddhist. i shoulda. #actually. it's weird. later that day i went in2 homewares n on a table there were 2 buddha candle holders. a sign perhaps?

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 121

All Dogs Go to Heaven/The End of Time Part 2

“All Dogs Go to Heaven”

Plot Description: Sent to investigate an apparent werewolf attack, Dean and Sam follow the clues to a mother and son with an unusual dog

(FINALLY someone listed Dean first. It is his birth right as the elder sibling)

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: probably not. Guy didn’t stand a chance, and he didn’t make any horrifically stupid mistakes

Crowley is fucking ruthless

I love the boys being absolutely RUDE, downright INSULTING to the cops while posing as feds

Damn, Sam. You said DEAN was the shoot first ask questions later guy. But now you don’t even wanna INVESTIGATE this guy before definitely declaring him a werewolf??

I’m sorry…what?? I mean, sure it was the dog. You could glean that from the description but…this is…it’s disturbing

Oh god, is the DOG THIS LADY’S EX(/a werewolf)???

SAM!!! That is circumstantial evidence at BEST. (And we know it’s not her)

Sam really would sell anyone to Satan for a corn chip these days. Damn.

Oh no. It’s not a werewolf, but I’m pretty sure it’s wildly disrespectful to indigenous people if *I* say what it actually is

SAM. *SAM*!!!! It shouldn’t be funny. But Sam addressing this dude like a literal dog (because that’s the form he’s taken the whole time) and then answering the guy’s “go to hell” with “already been. Didn’t agree with me” he’s so sassy

There’s THIRTY of them?? Oh…it’s…as Dean said, a sleeper cell. He was supposed to turn the family he’s been staying with once he gets the word

Sam noooo not the whistle and trying to get him to play fetch. Stoppppp

The entire episode is just me yelling “Sam!! No!!” He wanted Dean to take the shot on the pack leader even with innocent people in the way

Oh…so you can just shoot them normally, I guess?? It’s super anticlimactic when you can just shoot them normally, though Bobby usually has whatever the boys need to kill a monster, so it’s not like that’s typically a problem

Sam telling Dean the things he’s done since losing his soul, and then saying that even though things were harder when he had one, he wants to go back to being that guy. I won’t lie, if he’s not lying, I’m proud of him.

“Been On My Mind…”: Nope. 3.

“The End of Time Part 2”

Plot Description: The Doctor faces the end of his life as the Master’s plans hurtle out of control

I DON’T WANT HIM TO GOOOOO. I literally waited til the last minute I thought I could possibly get through this before midnight arrived. My decompression time after work needed to be a lot longer than normal

God…I kinda wish I knew more about Old Who. I know precious little about the Time Lords outside the Doctor and the Master (though obviously less about him).

Is it bad that Donna’s making me wanna dye my hair again? I’ve been really good at not because I might wanna go back to my natural color…but who knows??

HE CALLED HER HIS BEST FRIENDDDDDD 😭😭😭 like I know it but…to hear him say it

These moments between the Doctor and the Master…can you imagine having one person and one person only in the entire universe who could possibly understand everything you’ve gone through? And they do, and they HATE you, and you COULD love them if they’d only back down a LITTLE (aaaaaaaaand I’ve just described Touya and Shoto again. godDAMMIT)

THIS BODY WAS BORN OUT OF DEATH, ALL IT CAN DO IS DIE?!?!?!?!?!?! When will these writers from 2009/2010 stop hurting my feelings about 2022/2023 manga things????

Yeah, this rescue could be better

Wilf is so excited (if a little scared) to be in space. Bless him

I can’t tell if the camera just moved or if the ship actually fell a little…but it’s in SPACE WITH NO GRAVITY. It shouldn’t do that

Hilarious that “night has fallen” so all 6 billion or something people/Masters HAVE to start just listening as though there aren’t ones who are potentially still asleep from….like, does he have no idea about time zones? Bit of an oversight for a TIME lord, if you ask me

OKAY. Time out. There’s allowing whatever to happen in your sci-fi and then there’s allowing JUST ANYTHING to happen. The Time Lords threw a diamond from inside the time lock into a projected image of Earth from the end of time and it showed up on real Earth in 2009?? Come on…

Oh, sweetie, your condition just keeps getting worse

I still don’t trust this woman who talked to Wilf on the TV and has now found him on the alien ship

…the Master changed not just alive humans but corpses too? Skeletons?? What the absolute fuck

“We must look like insects to you” “I think you look like giants” 💔 The Doctor and Wilf have such a special and sweet relationship. It’s gonna rip my heart out when he’s the one who will knock four times

Oh wow. There’s a lot I forgot. Hearing Wilf tell the Doctor to not put the Master ahead of making sure that every human returns to being themselves

The terror on David’s face when he hears what the diamond is

(Ok I’ve got another Touya parallel to the Master, but I might have to wait and do an edit later because we are running out of time)

Of course the Doctor can just fix the ship, all parts of it…just like that in a couple minutes

I was gonna say “this is some Star Wars shit (neutral)” but that would actually be very appropriate for today.

Yeah, bestie, that’s what happens when you jump out of a space ship, through glass, onto a marble floor with no parachute

I AM SO FUCKING INTERESTED IN EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED IN THE TIME WAR

I sympathize with this seemingly impossible decision…but the decision to destroy the gate is so great

AND THEN THE MASTER SACRIFICING HIMSELF AND GETTING HIS REVENGE ON THE TIME LORDS WHO IMPLANTED THE DRUMS IN HIS HEAD

(I might not end in time for midnight…this is a longer episode than I thought, I’m pretty sure now)

The melodrama of the Doctor’s agony in the box with the radiation vs it just ending and he just…gets up

Oh…he’s doing his farewell tour, saving his companions and/or their family members

Man, now we’re even in a Star Wars-esque cantina…I swear I didn’t do this on purpose

Oh, the granddaughter of the woman from The family of blood

Well, midnight came and we’re at Donna’s wedding

Wilf blowing a very tiny kiss to the Doctor as he turns and leaves 😭😭😭😭😭😭

GODDDD I FORGOT HE VISITS ROSE IN 2005, TOO

“The universe will sing you to your sleep” can you IMAGINE???

My heart hurrrrrts watching this. I don’t wanna say good bye to Daviddddddd

Oh hi Matt! You strange giraffe of a man

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023 #it’s a few minutes late because I didn’t want to go

[hoodoobarbie]

The mythology of the Siren, Mermaid, Water Spirits & Mami Wata and it’s origins within black feminity.

Today I had to listen to other another black woman rant about how mermaids/sirens/mami wata are evil low key. So this educational post was born in response. 

Did you really think the divine essence of the black feminine wouldn’t protect itself ? That energy exists for a reason.  Suddenly it’s evil, to have teeth and protect yourself from predators. Water is a precious resource. You will be tested to see if you are deserving of it or not. Also these spirits will defend natural resources so they don’t get fucked up by human greed. 

It’s common for some places in Africa for people to offer the Sirens/Mami Wata/Water spirits or make an offerings/contracts with them in order to use the resources on their land. It also keeps the white ppl away too because they cause so much trouble.

Sirens are also associated with being the killers of children and men, but often this is completely misrepresented intentionally.

Men fear the power of the siren because she can override the patriarchy at core and can completely unravel them. The orgins of many water spirits lie in matriachal societies, temples divine feminine and motherhood. This is why temples and sacred magikal knowledge was intentionally destroyed and stolen, especially to empower the white patriarch.

Sirens are also described as thiefs of children and child killers. Sirens have been known to kidnap kids who were being abused or have were murdered near water and take them to their kingdom to restore them.

Sometimes the child returns, sometimes they are not. However in general they are big on kidnapping people, mostly women and giving them powers, if they decide to return. The idea of them eating and killing children, was a lie perpetuated by Greeks to cover up some truly horrific acts. Unfortunate these false accusations have been allowed to continue to perpetuate.

If a siren is acting in a predatory way, there is a reason why as their energy as been disturbed. Sirens are natural guardians. 

So the real question is . . . what did you do ? Did you destroy their habitat ? Abuse a child or a person ? Commit an egregious act against a woman ie rape/murder etc ? Disrespect a sacred place, the land, the seas or rivers ? Steal precious resources that weren’t yours to take ?

These sacred traditions are more than just deities, spirits and our ancestors. All forms of ATR are access to our spiritual mind state as an entire community. When you move in Vodou, you can sense the whole of black consciousness and all of our problem spots, specifically  areas that need healing. 

Oxum-Oshun, Olokun, Yemaya, the Mami Wata, La Baliene, La Siren, Met Agwe, The Simbi - these are all spirits with a connection to waters. Water is life and has always been inherently associated feminine energy. I’m not going into detail about all these cross connections but let’s chat about La Sirene, specifically.

La Sirene, Queen of all Mermaids is more than just a powerful sorceress and queen of song/music and dreams, she is also a keeper of secrets an a guardian of sacred memories & knowledge.

Many of the souls of slaves, from the Transatlantic slave trade that were thrown off the boats into the ocean are her children, citizens and warriors now. She comforts them eternally & they live in paradise. That doesn’t mean all of these souls are at rest, plenty continuously ask their mother if they will be avenged, especially the young children. She also has a close connection with the Indigenous Taino. The isle of Hispaniola also known as Haiti (Ayiti) & the Dominican Republic is her most known domain. 

Let’s not act like slavery and colonization was a cake walk. Rape was common place and mermaids, water spirits offered African and Indigenous women protection and power over men. They became demonized overtime for their hypnotic powers and killing men, who often overstepped their boundaries. Women could leave offerings to these spirits, work or commune with them and be quickly avenged or gain great power and wealth. All of this was threatening to the white patriarchal standard.

La Sirene’s presence in Haiti and other merfolk tales that float around the Caribbean/West Indies, is not without purpose. She has ties to many people and many different cultures. Her sacred symbols are global. This is why I speculate she is much older than people think. La Sirene, is a fairly young evolution. She clearly has ties to much older things. Her older names might have been lost but she has evolved, to save her self and also document other forgotten elements of history in the process. There are those who speculate that La Sirene is the embodiment of a cross mixed culture, the evolution of Indigenous & African water spirits combined, due to the excess trauma of colonization and so the Mermaid Queen was born. Others will argue that she is the Orisha Yemaya but a newer avatar of her.  I hate to argue semantics but I will say this, she exists and her presence is felt to this day, all around the world. 

La Sirene is often depicted as a mulatto woman with eyes like the sea but if you have been blessed to see her in dream state, she does appear sometimes as a brown or dark skinned skinned woman of possibly mixed Indigenous/African ancestry with glowing hypnotic eyes.  Alot of her older depictions, deal with colorism and slavery, but as things have grown in the modern world this imagery has begun to change. However mermaids, are known for their shapeshifting powers - to truly behold her true form, is a gift reserved for the rare few. 

As a keeper of the mysteries, La Sirene also access to many forgotten things in the black subconscious. The element of water is an intensely psychic sign.  Water is her domain, and what is the human body 80% of? WATER! The truth does not hide from her hypnotic eyes. This sacred connection to water and her essence, also means you can  track forgotten elements black history and connect to other deities/cultures who’ve had contact with her & her whole court or other black water spirits as a whole. So let’s take a short historical trip down memory lane.

The Greeks & Black women. Sirens, Aphrodite, Sibyls and other Children of Water 🧜🏾‍♀️

The deity Aphrodite/Venus is of Grecian and Roman legend.  

A little known magikal fact is that Aphrodite/Venus is half siren. She is a child of the water, she was literally birthed this way after Uranus got his balls cut off & thrown into the sea. Much of her Venusian influence and powers of love and beauty come from this element. Now my Mambo doesn’t like mentioning it but Aphrodite, is tolerated by the oceanic court of sirens/mermaids. Any child of water, falls under the domain of the queen. La Sirene has a sort of strange fondness for her and so does Aphrodite for her. However this doesn’t mean they are best friends.  It’s tentative friendship at best and comes with some perks. Aphrodite works quickly for children of water sirens and often will send mermaids to her devotees who misbehave. She has deliberately placed me around her people have pissed her off, to cause mischief. She’s quite petty but also  very generous. I won’t go as far to dare and say she is in the queen’s court, but she does curry favor with the queen. Being born of water, her half siren/mermaid influence has definitely attributed to legends of her beauty in myth but also her treachery with men 🧜🏾‍♀️😂. She clearly also has some sort of homesickness for the world underneath the water, because many of her offerings are gifts of pearls, kisses, sea shells, beauty products etc. Anyone who serves the Mermaid Queen knows the meaning behind those gifts. If you’re a black gyal with water or siren energy and decide to work with Aphrodite, do it!  If you ever irritate her, the least she’ll do is give you pimples and fuck up your skin, she won’t have the full power to completely fuck up your love life like she does with the white girls.  And let me tell you, she has completely ruined some white girls lives by giving them terrible lovers or men.  

The trident 🔱 is known for its connection in Greek and Hindu cultures.  However La Sirene or other African water spirits are depicted carrying it, which is largely ignored in the occult world.

You can track the trident in Hinduism, with the serpent spirits, the nagas or Lord Shiva but let’s focus on it’s Grecian connection. The usage of the trident and Poseidon, even in mainstream society today is associated with him.  This lets us know there is a connection between the mermaids, merfolk and La Sirene/African water spirits. Poseidon’s trident was rumored to made in Athens by the Cyclops - this is the city of Athena. So now we can track an element of black history all the way to Poseidon & Athena. Keep that in your thoughts we’ll come back to that later.

Tridents were also used ceremonially in Africa & India as well, as scepters, tribal weapons and religious symbols.

They were also associated with the sea faring people and fishing. It’s highly likely the origins of the trident are cross mixed between these two societies. Indo-African relations, go back to the Bronze age and the Indus Valley civilization. Which means traveling over by sea to reach each other was necessary. There is historical evidence of African millet being found in a Indian city Chanhudaro, including a cemetary or burial ground for African women.  Maritime relations between these two groups existed before Grecian & the Egyptian Ptolemaic dynasties.

Now of course there are some deranged historians that will try to whitewash history and say the trident has its origins from the labyrs but the Ancient Greeks & Africans/Indians interacted regularly. The trident also looks nothing like a labyrs, which is quite literally a double sided axe.  This is one of the more painful obvious pieces of white washing and historical revisionism. 

Regardless, the trident is associated with water, ceremonial/religious purposes, fishing, battling in the coliseum and the symbol of power for a few African,  Black diasporian an Hindu deities.

🧜🏾‍♀️ Oracles & Sibyls

Some sibyls/oracles were known to be African prophetesses/Mamissi to the Mami Wata/Sirens in Africa, some were stolen or captured by Greeks or Romans, sold into slavery and made to be oracles, some of whom became quite famous in legend. Their connection to these water spirits, is what gave them their gift of prophecy. Not every sibyl or oracle was African but SOME were.  This lead to the sharing and theft of sacred knowledge. It’s likely these women shared this sacred information, with their colleagues, some whom may or may not have been enslaved or kept in these temple and likely this information was traded, for their freedom, power or money etc. This gave way to the usage of sacred spirits and magick being used by men. A great example of this is the snake spirits of the genii, genius spirits (not to be mistaken with genies) and which then evolved into a diluted lesser energy in Greek society being known as daemons (not to be confused with goetic demons) Instead of a woman commanding these specific energies/spirits, the patriarchs decided that these specifics powers were only worthy of being used by men. These spirits were whitewashed, adopted into their religious practices and said to only be given to men at birth. No woman was allowed to possess them anymore.

🧜🏾‍♀️ The whitewashing of Medusa & Lamia. 

In mainstream society these two women stories have been white washed but also to hide a very shameful history and narrative. These two were beautiful women, in older stories of black black mythology were known to be black and they were children of water & daughters of the powerful water spirit/snake/siren divine mother/feminine goddess. 

Medusa was raped by the GREECIAN GOD OF THE SEA, POSEIDON  and Athena covered it up, refused to avenge her and punished her by making her ugly to everyone. It’s speculated in several magikal circles that the snakes in her hair were actually dreads, due to their lack of understanding of black hair and also allegorically might have been a reference to her devotion to the fish or water snake, great mother goddess. A child of the divine feminine, mother goddess was assaulted in a temple by a man and a woman covered it up & celebrated it.

Let’s start there ... cuz this story says a lot! It’s one of the first historical cases  in myth that really documents the issues that surround the black feminine specifically and it was intentionally whitewashed. Then to add insult to injury, Athena made her hideous to all men and her chopped off her head and used as a symbol of protection but also a subtle sign of disrespect to the fullest. This still goes on to this day.

In fact ALGOL, the demon star, which is considered to be strongest protective magick talisman in the occult world today is the HEAD OF MEDUSA. The child of water! BITCH! This energy is invoked constantly and the spirit of medusa is never allowed to rest.

However these egregious acts did not come without a price. Athena at time was a goddess of fertility. However desecrating a child of water or the sirens, is seen as an attack by the divine feminine and can will cause people to be afflicted with fertility and other mental health issues as well. This is speculative but it’s also likely that after this they were constantly visited by droughts, floods or repeating issues with water sanitation & purity after this. Lowered fertility rates and miscarriages might be more prominent, for Athenians and Athena devotees & likely continues to this day.

Devotees of Athena may also develop severe issues when it to their mental health because of this connection. They completely lose touch with their feminine energy and become extremely misogynistic after continued work with her.

Not only did Athena, cause Medusa to be seen as hideous throughout the land but she celebrated when she was murdered and proudly wore Medusa’s decapitated head on her shield. From the feminist eye this virgin deity/woman was extremely male identified and adhered to the patriarchal standard. She was tested by the divine feminine and failed.

Even more strange, Athena’s birth allegorically proclaims her essential character: her wisdom is drawn from the head of a male god; the bond of affection between father and daughter; her championship of heroes and male causes, born as she was from the male, and not from a mother’s womb. A dreaded goddess of war, she remained a virgin and a servant of the patriarchal society and remains so to this day. She is the misogynistic cool girl and very asexual at the core. In fact if you explore more of her mythos, it becomes very clear she hates women. I’m bewildered at how she has become associated with lesbians and the feminine at large, when it’s been very clear that she was intent on transcending her gender from the very beginning, but never managed to escape it.  

To top it off, I’ll leave you with this quote from Aeschylus’ Oresteia by Athena:

“There is no mother anywhere who gave me birth, and, but for marriage, I am always for the male with all my heart, and strongly on my father’s side. So, in a case where the wife has killed her husband, lord of the house, her death shall not mean most to me.”

Queen Lamia was a said to incredible beauty who seduced Zeus, (a literal man whore) which as made Hera jealous. Hera cursed Lamia with infertility and insomnia. She went insane and is said to have killed her own children and ate them. Zeus is said to be the one who gifted her prophecy and gave her the ability to take out her eyes, so she would not be irritated at the site of other happy mothers.

She became associated with a child eating monster who was half woman and half snake, which ties into the Libyan snake cults. She was associated with phantoms, the shapshifting laimai or empusai and the daemon spirits.

Medusa and Lamia were Libyan by heritage and came from a place in Africa where temples to the water snake mother goddess & divine feminine were common before they were destroyed by invaders intentionally. These women likely had extreme gifts of seduction, mind control and other abilities etc. It’s highly likely that Queen Lamia used her powers of seduction, at the behest of her people to save them from colonization and was demonized for it. Zeus’s temple was in Cyrene in Lybia, so this is far more than an allegorical story. This may be a real life story that was disguised in mythos. Unfortunately deeper research into this subject has turned up many dead ends for me. It’s highly likely Medusa was a priestess of the the matriarchal Mami Watas or water goddess/snake spirits and was likely raped intentionally in Athena’s temple, as a show loyalty to the rising patriarchy by descrating the symbolism of the great mother and the divine feminine. This was likely an attempt to lessen power and status of the matriachal societies that existed at the time. Rape was common war tactic amongst colonizers and news of such disgrace would likely spread like wildfire. This also solidified Athena’s place amongst the male gods and gaining her their respect. Athena and her devotees went a step further to show their allegiance to the patriarchy, by stripping Medusa of her beauty supposedly and exiling her, then parading her decapitated head on shields, when going into battle likely with Libyan enemies.

This is just a brief explanation of a few horrific acts in history, which were whitewashed & explain why the essence of the black feminine has evolved to become more protective, predatory and fierce. She learned to defend herself. Now she kills those who threaten her. 

Fun history tip: Usually anytime you see a snake in Grecian mythology, just know something got whitewashed, because the truth was really fucked up, made them look really bad & a black woman was there.

🧜🏾‍♀️ The black feminine is capable of more than you know.

Yes, mermaids/sirens/snakes & the mami watas can be scary at times but that’s what stepping into mysticism of deep waters is like. Water is capable of many things, it is one of the most powerful elements on earth. It can nourish you and kill you, and that’s the beauty of it really.

We should all be grateful the black feminine is so beautiful, fierce & scares the living daylights out of everyone.

You would be dead if it wasn’t.

#merwitch #black girl magic #mermaid #hoodoo #medusa #mami wata #libya #yemaya #la sirene #blackbloggers #Libya #trident #Poseidon #Athena #aphrodite #Venus #vodou #haitian vodou #olokun #orisha #african traditional religions #atr #dogon #greek mythology #black femininity #black women #black lesbian #matrichary #patriarchy #intersectional feminism

[lunarblazes]

hello hermitblr! today pearl uploaded an episode in which she built a statue on top of her base that depicted a creature known as a windigo. now, a few people may have also had a similar reaction to me, which was to say “hm. aren’t you not supposed to use that creature in things?” and if you haven’t, you’re probably wondering what everyone’s so upset about. so here’s a post about it! (putting it below the cut because i do use the name of the creature, so if that squicks you out, do not look! also, it’s decently long, so. that too.)

before we start, i’d like to say that i am not algonquian or native american in any way and i will not be providing any opinion of my own in this post. i’ve made an effort to only summarize an academic essay i could find written on why western depictions of windigos as a “halloween monster” type deal are problematic for the cultures in which they originate. i’d also like to say that it’s not my place to be mad at pearl or anything like that, nor am i; most americans (and canadians, i think the algonquian tribes extend into canada as well, but because i’m american i’m focusing more on that aspect for the purposes of this post) don’t know about the problems associated with using windigos in creative media, let alone australians! this post is just here to share a resource i found helpful in understanding windigos, the culture behind them, and why mainstream depictions sometimes upset people of the algonquian collective of tribes. i wish i had more resources to share, but alas, one of the most-cited works of academia on the topic is 27 dollars to download and i am a teenager without a job so. yeah. if anyone has more papers to add, feel free! this post will focus on a specific essay i found by kallie hunchman of ball state university.

i also know pearl responded to concerns in her youtube comments asking if calling the creature an onyx deer would help distinguish it from the myth, which is great for her to acknowledge, but unfortunately i’m not super qualified to say whether that action is a step in the right direction or not. i’m going to provide the facts i have and she can come to her own conclusions if she sees this post, as can all of you! feel free to add resources in reblogs as you see fit, and remember to listen to alonquin voices about the issue when doing research. it’s hard to learn about indigenous perspectives in a post-columbian society, but the best way to do it is from the people themselves, if you can track down such sources. i have heard of the superstition around saying the name of this creature, as well, but for the sake of clarity and because my source essay uses it, i will be using it in this post. if that bothers you, please feel free to click off, and i’m super sorry :^(

so! with that said. here is the link to the essay that i will attempt to summarize here: https://openjournals.bsu.edu/dlr/article/download/DLR.7.0.101-112/1771/. it’s a really well written and clear essay, i would highly recommend giving it a read. obviously, it doesn’t speak for all native people on the topic of the windigo (and neither do i, obviously), but i thought it was very useful to understand why the creature is misused and how it came to be originally.

hunchman’s explained definition of the windigo is either a supernatural cannibalistic spirit representing division among a person and their community or a person and their own soul/morals or a person who has been turned into a windigo by such spirit. windigos are always hungry, greed personified, and are sometimes portrayed without lips because they’ve eaten them in their eternal hunger. the original story of the windigo was used in a diverse group of different american tribes, known as the algonquian tribes, as a moral lesson to teach children of how devastating the consequences of forsaking family and friends and one’s own spiritual consciousness can be. these tribes feared the creatures so much that in some cases they avoided speaking its name aloud to prevent being infected by one, hence why people don’t say windigo now (and why i put that disclaimer at the beginning of the post). windigos are always depicted as entirely human in their native stories; emaciated, giant humans, but never with deer horns, skulls, or any fur or animal features. the humanity of the windigo is integral to respecting the origins of the creature.

the problem with using windigos as they are depicted in popular western media, according to hunchman, is that the popular, animalistic, inhuman depictions of windigos are a product of racist stories and ideologies that sought to dehumanize the tribes from which the windigo’s story came. by making the windigo synonymous with the algonquian tribes, the concept of wildness and insanity, and with animalistic traits like deer horns, fur, and claws, many authors succeeded in taking the tribes’ moral lesson and turning it into a raging anti-colonialist danger to white towns. the transformation of the windigo into a halloween monster with antlers and a thirst for blood, an entity of the wild, is a result of white americans trying to profit off of the perceived “otherness” of the natives by comparing them to things like werewolves, yetis, and vampires.

furthermore, there may be legal basis for tribes in the united states to be unhappy with the mainstream use of the windigo. native american tribes maintain the right to permit who uses their stories, how they use them, and why, but in the case of the popular windigo, the tribes from which it hails had no say in how their beliefs were used. writers like stephen king were able to profit off of it because it was considered a “mainstream” monster. (luna’s note here: i’m unsure about this last bit, hunchman didn’t go into much detail about it, but this was my understanding. please read the essay for more clarification)

tl;dr: the windigo has been systematically changed by racist authors to reflect a “creature of the wild” and an animalistic spirit rather than a very human cautionary tale, and the original story has very little ground to stand on in the pop culture interpretations. the problem is not the general usage of the windigo (at least, as hunchman says), it’s that the creature people say is a windigo is a racist caricature of an algonquian story about humanity and the importance of community.

(luna ending note: because this particular interpretation of the windigo is the problem, i’m inclined to draw the conclusion that pearl taking that interpretation for inspiration in her onyx deer is not the right solution, but i definitely appreciate that she’s listening to her audience and their concerns. again, i’m not algonquian or native, and it’s not my place to guide her actions! i’d encourage you all to read up on the topic if you can. it’s very informative and good to know in general :^D any corrections on this post are super welcome if you have experience with the spirit or if you want to correct any of my wording! i’m not very experienced in the topic, clearly, but i do like reading things and writing essays, so. yeah)

#hermitcraft #pearlescentmoon #discourse #DO NOT flood her tag with posts about this guys #i just wanted to maintag this one to get the information to her #i don’t want to bombard her with anything or stress her out over something she just genuinely didn’t know #and as always please listen to the people affected by the misuse of this creature #i’m not one of those people #i just wanted to make sure that i wasn’t like going crazy when i was weirded out by the statue lol and i found a good resource worth sharin #so. yeah! woof this is a long one

[thelostcityofsugarteara]

Hey!!! How are you?

I can request Sorbet Shark, and Sea Fairy with a child!reader (all platonic relationships, keep me away from pedophilia or romantic relationships between children, for the love of God) who is like Iara (has a similar story (like child!reader was thrown into the sea by her brothers (because even though she was a child she was smart and also the most beautiful of the tribe (even though she was a child)) and the fish welcomed her, and she became a mermaid) and a bit of a similar look (being a mermaid lol), but the personality is totally different because how would a child kill people?)?

In case you don't know (most likely you don't), Iara is a character from a Brazilian folklore legend, in which she is represented by a beautiful mermaid who attracts fishermen with her sweet songs in order to kill them.

Before being a mermaid, Iara was a beautiful and intelligent indigenous woman who aroused a lot of envy, even from her brothers. So, to end the problem, the brothers decide to kill her.

However, she is the one who kills them. As punishment, Iara is thrown at the meeting of Rio Negro and Solimões and she is welcomed by the fish and, from there, she becomes a mermaid with the objective of killing men.

This is the legend, it emerged there at the time of colonization of Brazil

Sorry for any grammar mistakes, I'm from another country and my native language is different from English and I'm using Google Translate because I'm afraid of making mistakes in another language ;-;

I'm sorry for not using neutral pronouns when I mentioned child!reader, but I don't know how to use them (even though I've seen them in English, I still don't know how to use them, and I'm also using a translator, give me a discount, and the neutral pronouns in brazilian portuguese are weird, you can't use them without thinking they're weird or silly (and Google doesn't translate them ;-;))

hello !! unfortunately i don’t write for sorbet shark, but i can do sea fairy !! your grammar was perfect :D please tell me if i get anything wrong in this & i’ll correct it !

sea fairy with a friend like iara !!

sea fairy was sad for you when she heard of your story.

she was glad that the fish had welcomed you though, she finally had a friend after being alone for so long.

she doesn’t really support you killing men, but won’t stop you.

sea fairy is careful to not be near-by when you are singing, it’s beautiful but she knows what you’re doing & doesn’t want to witness it.

she invites you to come talk to moonlight with her ! even though you can’t see the guardian of the city of wizards, you can hope that she’s listening & talking back.

she thinks your tail looks fantastic !! sea fairy is a big fan of the colour(s).

you two go swimming together !! she loves swimming even more now because she has you to go swimming with.

sea fairy thinks you look absolutely gorgeous.

i’m sorry about the shortness :( i hope you enjoyed reading !!

#cookie run kingdom #cookie run #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #sea fairy cookie #sugartearawrites

[ailuronymy]

Thoughts on the new discourse? Warrior cats naming conventions and rank names being straight up stolen from native American people? So many people seem to be... Straight up leaving the Fandom or changing all of their fan content and it feels very performative and, people not actually thinking critically and just being scared of getting "cancelled"? I feel like your opinions on these matters are very informed and well written so I wanted to ask given that this blog main theme is, well, warrior cat naming system and that seems to be the main issue of the new discourse.

This is probably going to get long, since there's sort of a lot to say about it in order to talk about this whole thing fairly and constructively, because from what I’ve seen there’s a lot of hyperbole happening, and panicking, and disavowing this series and fandom, and so on, like you say, and also some people genuinely trying to have complex meaningful conversations about racism in xenofiction, and also probably some bad faith actors in the mix--as well as some just... stupid actors. Kind of inevitably what happens when two equally bad platforms for having nuanced discussions--i.e., twitter and tumblr--run headlong into each other, in a fandom space with a majority demographic of basically kids and highly anxious, pretty online teens. I don’t mean that as a criticism of fans or their desire to be liked by peers and “correct” about opinions, it’s just the social landscape of Warriors and I think it’s worth pointing out from the start.  

If I’m totally honest with you, if not for this ask, I wouldn’t actually be commenting on it at all, because none of this is going to impact this blog or change how I run it in any way. But since you’ve asked and frankly I do feel some responsibility to try to disentangle things a little for everyone stressed and confused at the moment, because I know a lot of people look to this blog for guidance of all sorts, I’m going to talk about what I think has happened here, and how to navigate the situation in a reasonable way. 

Quick recap for anyone blissfully unaware: from what I understand, this post (migrated over from a presumably bigger twitter thread) has got a lot of people very worried about Warriors being a racist and appropriative series, and now are trying to figure out what ethically to do about this revelation. The thing I found most interesting about this screenshotted conversation is that it makes a lot of bold claims, but misses some pretty surprising details (in my opinion). If you do look critically at what is being said, here’s a few things to notice--crucially, there are two people talking. 

Person 1 says that a lot of animal fantasy fiction + xenofiction (fiction about non-human/”other” beings, such as animals) is frequently built upon stereotypes of First Nations and Indigenous people, and/or appropriates elements of Indigenous culture and tradition as basically set dressing for “strange” and “alien” races/species etc., and this is a racist, deeply othering, and inappropriate practice. This person is right. 

I’ve spent years researching in this field specifically, so I feel pretty confident in vouching (for whatever that’s worth) that this person is absolutely right in making this point. Not only is it frequently in animal fiction/xenofiction, but it’s insidious, which means often it’s hard to notice when it’s happening--unless you know what you’re looking for, or you are personally familiar with the details or tropes that are being appropriated. Because of the nature of racism, white and other non-First Nations people don’t always recognise this trend within texts--even texts they’re creating--but it’s important for us all, and especially white people, to be more aware, because it’s not actually First Nations’ people’s responsibility to be the sole critics of this tradition of theft and misuse. Appropriation by non-Indigenous people is in fact the problem, which means non-Indigenous people learning and changing is the solution. 

Person 1 offers Warriors as a popular example of a work that has this problem. Notably, this person hasn’t given an example of how Warriors is culpable (at least in this screenshot and I haven’t found the thread itself, because the screenshot is what’s causing this conversation), only that it’s an example of a work that has these problems. And once again, this person is correct. We’ll look at that more in a moment.

Person 2 (three tweets below the first) offers, by comparison, several more specious insights. Firstly, it’s really, really not the only time anyone’s ever talked about this, academically + creatively or in the Warriors fandom specifically, and so that reveals somewhat this person’s previous engagement in the space they’re talking into re: this topic. In other words, this person doesn’t know what has already been said or what is being talked about. Secondly, this person explicitly states that they “[don’t know] much about warrior cats specifically but from what I see it just screams appropriation,” which as a statement I think says something crucial re: the critical lens this person has applied + the amount of forethought and depth of analysis of their criticism of this particular series. 

I’m not saying that using twitter to talk about your personal feelings requires you to research everything you talk about before you shoot your mouth off. However, I personally don’t go into a conversation about a topic I don’t know anything about except a cursory glance to offer bold and scathing criticisms based on what it “just screams” to me. By their own admission, this person isn’t really offering good faith, thoughtful criticism of the series, in line with Person 1′s tweet. Instead, Person 2 is talking pretty condescendingly and emphatically about--as the kids say--the vibes they get from the series, and I’m afraid that just doesn’t hold up well in this court. 

So now that there’s Person 1 (i.e., very reasonable, important, interesting criticism) and Person 2 (i.e., impassioned but completely vibes-based opinion from someone who hasn’t read the books) separated, we can see there’s actually several things happening in this brief snapshot, and some of them aren’t super congruent with each other. 

Person 1 didn’t say “don’t read bad books,” or that you’re a bad person for being a fan of stories that are guilty of this. They suggested people should recognise the ways xenofiction uses Indigenous people and their culture inappropriately and often for profit. My understanding of this tweet is someone offering an insight that might not have occurred to many people, but that is valuable and important to consider going forward in how they view, engage with, and create xenofiction media.

Person 2 uses high modality, evocative language that appeals to the emotions. That’s not a criticism of this person: they’re allowed to talk in whatever tone they want, and to express their personal feelings and opinions. However, rhetorically, this person is using this specific language--consciously or subconsciously--to incense their audience--i.e., you. Are you feeling called to action? What action do you feel called to when you rea their words, despite the fact their claims are not based in their own actual analysis of or engagement with the text? It’s, by their own admission, not analysis at all. Everything they evoke is purely in the name of “not good” vibes. 

Earlier I mentioned that Person 1 is correct that Warriors is absolutely guilty of appropriation of First Nations and Indigenous people and culture. I also mentioned that they didn’t specify how. That’s because I think the most egregious example is in fact the tribe, which in many ways plays into the exact kind of stereotyping and appropriation of First Nations Americans that Person 1 mentions, and not the clans, contrary to Person 2′s suggestion. For instance, in addition to the very loaded name of “tribe”, there’s a lot of racist tropes present in how that group of cats is introduced and how the clan cats interact with them, as well as the more North American-inspired scenery of their home. It’s very blatant as far as racism in this series. 

When it comes to the clans themselves, though, I think it’s muddier and harder to draw clear distinctions of what is directly appropriative, what is coincidentally and superficially reminiscent, and what is not related at all. Part of this difficulty in drawing hard lines comes from the fact that, on a personal level, it actually doesn’t matter: if a First Nations person reads a story and feel it is appropriative or inappropriate, it’s not actually anyone’s place to “correct” them on their reading of the text. Our experiences are unique and informed by our perspectives and values, and no group of people are a monolith, which means within community, there will always be disagreement and differenting points of view. There is no one single truth or opinion, which means that First Nations people even in the same family might have very different feelings about the same text and very different perspectives on how respectful, or not, it might be. 

I’m saying this because something that gets said very often when conversations of racism and similar oppressive systems present/perpetuated in texts comes up, people frequently say: “listen to x voices.” It is excellent advice. However, the less pithy but equally valuable follow-up advice is: “listen to the voices of many people of x group, gather information and perspective, and then ultimately use your own judgement to make an informed opinion for yourself.” It means that you are responsible for you. The insight you can gain by listening to people who know topics and experiences far better than you do is truly invaluable, but if your approach to the world is simply to parrot the first voice, or loudest voice, or angriest voice you come across, you will not really learn anything or be able to develop your own understanding and you certainly won’t be making well-informed judgements. 

In other words, one incomplete tweet thread from two people who are each bringing quite different topics and modes of conversation (or perhaps gripes, in Person 2′s case) to the table is not really enough to go off re: making a decision to leave a fandom, in my opinion. In fact, I think in responding to anything difficult, complex, or problematic (which doesn’t mean what popular adage bandies it about to mean) by trying to distance yourself, or cleanse of it, will ultimately harm you and will not do you any good as a person. It is better, in my opinion, to enter into complex relationships with the world and media and other people in an informed, aware way and with a willingness to learn and sometimes to make mistakes and be wrong, rather than shy away from potential conflict or fear that interacting with a text will somehow taint you or define your morality in absolutes. 

So. Does Warriors have racist and appropriative elements, tropes, and issues in the series? Yes, of course it does, it’s a book-packaged series produced by corporation HarperCollins and written by a handful of white British women and their myriad ghostwriters. Racism is just one part of the picture. The books are frequently also ableist, sexist, and homophobic (or heteronormative, depending how you want to slice it, I guess), just to name some of the most evident problems. 

But does the presence of these issues mean it’s contaminated and shouldn’t be touched? Personally, I don’t think so. Given the nature of existing the world, it’s not possible to find perfect media that is free of any kind of bias, prejudice, or even just ideas or topics or concepts that are challenging or uncomfortable. I think it’s more meaningful to choose to engage with these elements, discuss them, criticise them, learn from them, and acknowledge also that imperfection is the ultimate destiny of all of us, especially creators.

I’m not saying that as a pass, like, “oh enjoy your media willy-nilly, nothing matters, do what you want, think about no-one else ever because we’re all flawed beings,” but rather that it’s important not to look away from the problems in the things we enjoy, rather than cut off all contact and enjoyment when we realise the problems. That doesn’t mean you have to only criticise and always be talking about how bad a thing you like is either, publicly admonishing yourself or the text, because that’s also not a constructive way to engage with media. 

As I said, there’s a lot to say here, and believe it or not, this is honestly the shortest version I could manage. There’s always more to say and plenty I haven’t talked about, but pretty much tl;dr: 

I don’t find Person 2′s commentary particularly compelling, personally, because I think it’s a little broad and a little specious in its conclusions and evidence, and I also suspect that this person is speaking more from their feelings than from a genuine desire to educate or meaningfully criticise, unlike Person 1. That’s not to say Warriors isn’t frequently racist and guilty of the issues Person 1 is discussing, because it is, but I don’t think this tweet thread is a great source of insight into the ongoing history of this problem in xenofiction, or Warriors specifically, on its own. I would recommend exploring further afield to learn more from a variety of sources and form your own opinions. I hope this helps. 

#just in case anyone sees this post and gets the wrong idea: i'm not inviting debate on this. #i am saying that first nations people are allowed to have ANY relationship with texts because that's how subjectivity works. #they are allowed to have negative neutral or positive experiences of texts--even 'bad' ones that have a lot of problems. #the people in this tweet are just talking about their thoughts and it's their bad luck the world's a public forum and it's spiralled. #the other thing i am saying is that if your approach to media is exclusively to cut out any problematic text like it's a cancer #that's not a great strategy. just straight up. you're better off developing critical insight and your own opinions and confidence. #by most parameters i can think of warriors as a series pretty much sucks really bad and i've been saying that for nearly ten years. #despite being so phenomenally flawed it can still have value--and much of its value in my opinion is IN these conversations about it. #so yeah tl;dr 2: i'm not here to slap-fight with teens which is what much discourse devolves to after 5 mins on tumblr so don't try it.

[dumbputalostheraccount]

had to endure having a stereotypical racist white man tell me the aztecs are dead and that they never had descendants or anything of that nature and that they spoke azteca, and every time i corrected him he just got angrier to the point i had to come up with an excuse quickly because i felt he was going to become violent..

first of all the aztecs were an empire, not people, the mexica were and still are the people. the mexica spoke nahuatl, not “azteca”, azteca is not a language. mexica are a sub group of the nahua people, the nahua people are called nahua because the language we speak is nahuatl. we don’t have the common U.S system where we have tribes or clans, we have pueblos (and even then so many have been lost and erased) which are territories of where our people lived. we still exist. we are still here. the teachers that go preaching in classrooms “the aztecs all died” are wrong. history being taught is whitewashed and always has been. it needs to change. we were enslaved, murdered, and raped, most of us are mixed, and it was never a choice, with the way history is taught today most mixed indigenous people (specially nahua) are told we no longer exist and are told that they are not native when in fact they are. there’s more of us then people realize, more then most of us even realize, especially when we’re taught to mark “white” on censuses, when we’re taught we’re a dead group anyways so not to bother, when we’re taught that we’re barbaric and savage. it was genocide then. it’s still genocide now. we are still being actively erased, even when we’re standing directly in front of you, as i’ve experienced tonight clearly.

black people recognize me as latina, natives recognize me as native, latinos recognize me as latina, asians recognize me as latina, white people are the only ones that don’t recognize me as something fully nonwhite, they only recognize me as something exotic and mixed, but never fully white and it’s obvious, my color fluctuates but currently i am pretty lightskin now and i have green eyes so white people think they can get away with shit in front of me because they don’t think i’m connected enough to my culture(s) and connected enough to myself to say anything, the problem isn’t that they think im also fully white, the problem is that they are openly racist and hateful, and even more racist and hateful around those that can be seen as atleast half white to them. they still think they are superior, and some of these allies out here think like that too and don’t realize it. i’ve had white friends that know i’m native and they would still call hangouts “powwows”, they would mock native dances and native singing, they would ask me disrespectful questions fueled by misinformation and carelessness as if it was everyday knowledge, asking me “oh my god, did your people really cut hearts out and sacrifice people?? that really is so barbaric, i can’t believe that!, your so calm and reserved for being a descendant of people like that!” you believe the colonized classroom knowledge you were taught, and it’s led to me getting in some verbal and physical fights before, i am no longer friends with people like that, i don’t want to hear how i’m reserved and calm when my ancestors were like that.. i’m sorry becky, i don’t like being talked about as if i was a literal animal. and sacrifices were always consensual and sacred for the person being sacrificed and everyone else in the pueblo, unless it was an enemy of the empire the person being sacrificed had a choice, it was a sacred important role and a very honored role. so white people.. LISTEN TO THIS. and also no one owes you any info about their indigeneity unless they offer it, and in that case be respectful and be willing to listen. you tried to eliminate us once, do not do it again, in any form. do not silence us. and when we call you out on something do not get defensive, listen, accept it, take it in and figure out why it bothered you being called out and then fix it to the best of your ability.

#native american #native knowledge #info #aztec culture #aztec empire #aztecinspired #white people smh #white people listen to me #you do not get to decide who is native enough #you do not get to police our identities after you’ve tried and FAILED at eliminating us #you do not know what the truth is because you’ve been taught your own peoples lies #and when we aren’t taught the white mans lies.. we get taught our own peoples traumas #indigenous #witchcraft #explore #race #ethnic minorities #ethnicity #ethnic groups #WE STILL EXIST #read this #united states of america #history #latin america #american history #mexican #mexico #tribe #news #support

[i-watch-too-many-movies]

5 Favorite First Watches of June 2021

First, a quick note. I’m sorry for the sudden disappearance. I decided that Tumblr wasn’t very good for my mental health, and that this was gonna be the beginning of an indefinite hiatus. I don’t know when I’ll be back, maybe every once in a while, but I decided that it’s time to just leave for a bit. However, I wanted to share with y’all 5 awesome movies I saw for the first time this month.

(CW: Abuse, mild spoilers for Miseducation of Cameron Post)

Funeral Parade of Roses (1969) (dir. Toshio Matsumoto)

Okay, to be honest, I admittedly got a little lost, but I had a great time watching this. Its mixture of avant-garde and documentary filmmaking, all while being a secret adaptation of Oedipus is absolutely incredible. So many images just stood out to me, such as the blood running down Eddie’s eyes, the riots being slowed down, sped up, and having static added to them, and the pure sensuality of Eddie and the club owner making love in the beginning (before we know the truth). Yes, technically there’s no evidence of Stanley Kubrick being inspired by this film when it came to making A Clockwork Orange, but the similarities are there, the gang fights in the streets, the girls licking the ice cream, the usage of wide angles, and of course, the sped-up footage set to classical music. It doesn’t make me think less of A Clockwork Orange, but think more of Kubrick for extending his influences. Can’t wait to re-watch and re-absorb its beauty and its surreal nature.

The Miseducation of Cameron Post (2018) (dir. Desiree Akhavan)

The two characters I felt worst for were Mark and Rick. Rick is a gay man raised in the church who is trying to be accepted amongst said church. He has no real answers for his sexuality, because sexuality is a complicated manner. It can’t be explained by “My parents didn’t love me enough” because that’s not the truth. It just has to deal with “You like this gender because you do”. And the last scene we see him in is with Cameron, Jane, and Adam Red Eagle, three people that are comfortable with their sexuality. That scene where he breaks down crying in front of Cameron is where he realizes that maybe everything he has been preaching has been full of shit.

Mark is a kid who nearly killed himself because no matter what he did, he could not please his family. So what does he do? He flips a Bible verse on its head. He relates it to his own struggles, deciding that his so-called weakness was his strength, that he doesn’t need to be saved, that he should find acceptance for who he is, and yet Bethany, the lead Reverend, still believes with all her heart that these kids need to be saved from whatever, showing the hypocrisies in the religion she practices and the book she follows. Rick has no one to go to for his own struggles. He never had the person to tell him that it was okay, and he thought the only way was to tell these kids that they need to change themselves for having different preferences in sexuality than others.

There’s also Adam, my favorite character in the film. They are a two-spirit, described by them as two spirits in their body fighting, and right now, the female spirit is beating the male spirit. They were sent to the camp after their father converted to Christianity and is running for some sort of office, making him look bad with their gender identity. And because two-spirit was a newly defined concept, it makes it all the more tragic that Adam’s father won’t even listen to them.

One of the saddest scenes of the film is when Bethany shaves Adam’s head. Adam is Indigenous, from the Lakota tribe, and their hair keeps getting in their eyes, much to the chagrin of Bethany. Hair is often seen as sacred in different cultures, and even in general, one of the most personal body parts on anyone, so to shave it all off by a white woman to an Indigenous person shows that racism and homophobia walk hand in hand. Powerful white people want to see any sort of expression done by non-white people whether it be through art or through their body gone.

Mysterious Skin (2004) (dir. Gregg Araki)

It’s hard to put into words how this film moved me so deeply. Eventually, I will. I will go through my scattered notes and paragraphs that go off on too many tangents about its brutality and its tenderness, and eventually turn it into a full piece about how it challenged me and my preconceptions of art as well as events in my own past. Those close-ups can either be so horrifying or so achingly sad. It’s not an easy watch, and certainly not for the faint of heart, so be wary and cautious once you do watch it, but just know it handles its themes of abuse and its effects on young men as they get older with such empathy, and honesty. Brady Corbet and Joseph Gordon-Levitt give performances as good as River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho, and that’s the best compliment I can give any film or performance. Amazing film.

Pariah (2011) (dir. Dee Rees)

What does it mean to pray for someone? Is it to hope that their soul sees heaven in an afterlife? Is it to hope that they do well on a challenging event coming up soon, similar to wishing someone luck? Or maybe it’s to hope that they lead the best life they can, that they are happy with themselves and the situation they end up in.

To a lot of fundamentalist Christian parents, it's the first option. To them, that’s the goal. To live an eternal life in a heavenly paradise, and the first step includes not forgiving any of their kids who may be queer at the moment, and hoping they abandon who they are to make them happy, to upend the slight possibility that there is a heaven.

Pariah is about a young woman who is abandoned by her parents, who hope she can abandon her sexual attraction to girls so that she can follow the church with them. They don’t care about her poetry or her fashion sense, they want her to look pretty, more traditionally like a girl, as well as getting a boyfriend. When Alike confirms to her parents that she is gay, her mother beats her, kicking her out of the house, but easily forgiving her cheating husband, because the men are the most protected in the religious patriarchy.

God doesn’t make mistakes is the quote that Alike throws back at her father, accepting herself for who she is, using her mother’s words to make her feel prouder of herself. And much like The Miseducation of Cameron Post, the authority figure makes it a point to do all but say that the religious organizations are hypocrites and we don’t know what we’re talking about, we just want control.

Pariah is a beautiful film, a sad reality about being closeted from the ones you love most, but how sometimes there is no answer other than to leave it all and to feel the fullest amount of pure freedom, and feeling of being alive.

Tongues Untied (1989) (dir. Marlon Riggs)

An absolutely powerful film. Riggs takes a look at his life as a gay Black man and how he is seen by other members of the Black community, as well as the white racists in his life. He looks at his past relationships with white men and how said white men in the gay community sexually fetishize Black men that are in chains, and draw racist caricatures of them, similar to the Jim Crow drawings, only now they seem Black men as sexual objects in that sense. And yet, the Black gay men can’t get into certain sex clubs because of their skin color. Several poems read, narrated, and performed are about the fear of AIDS, wanting to enjoy sex, but not knowing who has AIDS, or that the condom may break. It’s only made sadder knowing that Marlon would later die from AIDS. An important film, a celebration of the Black gay culture in New York.

Other watches and rewatches I really liked:

2 Fast 2 Furious (2003) (dir. John Singleton)

Better Luck Tomorrow (2003) (dir. Justin Lin)

The Celluloid Closet (1995) (dir. Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman)

Cruising (1980) (dir. William Friedkin)

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift (2006) (dir. Justin Lin)

Happy Together (1997) (dir. Wong Kar-wai)

The Night of the Hunter (1955) (dir. Charles Laughton) (rewatch)

Nowhere (1997) (dir. Gregg Araki)

Psycho (1960) (dir. Alfred Hitchcock) (rewatch)

School of Rock (2003) (dir. Richard Linklater) (rewatch)

#funeral parade of roses #the miseducation of cameron post #mysterious skin #pariah #tongues untied #desiree akhavan #gregg araki #dee rees #marlon riggs #lgbt cinema #queer films #these movies are (chef's kiss)

[axvoter]

Blatantly Partisan Party Review VI (federal 2022): Australian Progressives

Running where: ACT and VIC in the Senate; the Divisions of Ryan (QLD) and Sturt (SA) in the House of Representatives

Prior reviews: federal 2016, federal 2019

What I said before: “Put broadly, the Progressives advocate for all the issues that tend to get a favourable run on much of the left, not to mention some of the more socially liberal, climate-aware folks on the centre-right.”

What I think this year: I thought this party would not meet the new membership threshold as I’m genuinely not sure who or where their voter base is. The constituency they are trying to talk to is already listening to similar but louder voices. The party clearly recognises this because they have a FAQ with questions asking how they differ from the ALP and the Greens. On the ALP front, the Progressives go for some both-sides hogwash that “both employers‘ and workers‘ rights are equally important” (spare me! I do not want a party of bosses!). As for the Greens, the Progressives struggle to explain how their attitude towards the climate differs from Green Party principles in any substantive way. As best as I can tell, they think they are able to incorporate evidence rather than opinion more effectively than the Greens? It is a very poor pitch to win over Greens voters.

The biggest topic on which the Progressives appear to be campaigning this year is a federal ICAC. When I loaded their webpage I briefly thought I had accidentally landed on the page for the Federal ICAC Now party, because that very phrase appears in capital letters as the first thing you see. It then scrolls through other headline policies, such as an ambitious target of net zero emissions by 2030: the Progressives oppose any new licences to mine fossil fuels, seek electrification of the transport grid with renewable sources (and unlike some electric car stans, they emphasise the important role rail must play here), and note that agricultural policy requires careful consideration to maximise the sector’s potential to contribute to positive change and protect biodiversity. I like their boldness here.

Their policies on poverty and homelessness include support for a Universal Basic Income and social security payments above the Henderson poverty line, as poverty activists have been demanding for some time now. Some of their tax policy is rather vague and it’s not clear how all of it would work or whether their proposals for reform will actually cover the policies they propose. The Progressives will not, for instance, support any tax bracket over 50%, so even the mega-rich will not be taxed more than 49.99% on, say, any personal income above a million dollars. Other policies include greater funding and independence for the ABC and SBS, abolition of the cashless welfare card, and a treaty with Indigenous peoples.

In general, the Australian Progressives tick the boxes for the urban centre-left but there is no distinctive attribute that makes them stand out. In particular, if you are already voting for the Greens, the Progressives do little to suggest you should preference them higher. And if you are a socialist (like me) or a communist, they go out of their way on the FAQ to tell you that “communist and state socialist ideologies failed to translate into social, economic and political progress and achievement”. This is nonsense; state socialism played a major role in the emergence of the modern welfare state. The famed progressive “social laboratory” of late 19th/early 20th century Australia and New Zealand was an outcome of state socialism—if, in the assessment of French observer André Siegfried, it was socialism sans doctrines.

Perhaps the main audience for this party is people in traditionally Liberal urban electorates who prefer the teal independents in the House of Representatives and are seeking a similar option in the Senate. If you are, say, voting for Zoe Daniel or Zali Steggall in the House of Representatives, then the Australian Progressives have a strong case for your first preference in the Senate. If you are, however, a longstanding Greens voter, or you have socialist inclinations, you might put the Progressives a bit later in your preferences.

My recommendation: Give the Australian Progressives a decent to good preference.

Website: https://www.progressives.org.au/

#auspol #ausvotes #ausvotes22 #ausvotes2022 #Australian election #Australia #Election 2022 #Australian Progressives #Progressives #progressivism #progress #Australian Progressives Party #decent preference #good preference