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pearlessance · 23 days ago

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A Dance In The Dark

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel has always taken care of you. Always been your kind, attentive protector. And that doesn’t change, even when you read a scene from a dark romance novel and discover your tastes may be a bit more sordid than you once thought. But even in this he wants to grant you your every wish—and when he offers to put on a mask and chase you through the woods, the opportunity is just too wicked to pass up.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content MDNI, feelings of embarrassment and shame, established relationship, Joel ties readers hands with his belt, knife play, BDSM undertones (primal play specifically), sexual aggression, degradation, fingering, p in v, hair pulling, shameless smut this is basically just pure filth

NOTE: this is a cowrite i did with joelmillersgirlfriend! we busted this out in less than two days because i was bound and determined to get this published on the best holiday of the year! please check out her stuff over on AO3 where we have several other cowrites because i love her 🩷

happy halloween my loves 🩷

Read on AO3!

MASTERLIST

You don’t tell him right away. Don’t tell him at all, really.

Joel discovers your peculiar fascination all on his own.

He’s late coming home from work. His dinner sits on a plate in the microwave, leftovers packaged and put in the fridge for his lunch tomorrow. His lack of punctuality is nothing new, but you’ve always been good at filling the time and finding a distraction while you wait for him.

On this particular night, you’ve changed out of your clothes and into one of his T-shirts, nestled into a soft cocoon on his side of the bed, book in hand. The tea in your mug on your nightstand has gone tepid, too lost between the pages to consume anything but the content in a timely manner.

You’d found it in the horror section, a book written by a name you’d never heard of, a story of a young woman’s abduction with overarching themes of perseverance and self-discovery. You find it a bit graphic from time to time, the details of her torment vivid and lifelike. But that’s to be expected in a horror novel and doesn’t surprise you.

The part that does surprise you, however, is the romantic undercurrent between the woman and her captor. He makes declarations of love, fully admitting his obsession with the young woman, claiming to want nothing from her but her own empowerment.

It’s an even bigger surprise when you reach the halfway point and discover that your horror novel is also an erotica. And the text is well-written, pulling you into its depths, and you think it might be the craziest yet best book you’ve ever read if for nothing else than the way it makes your heart race behind your ribcage.

“Is it that good?”

His voice startles you so badly the book falls from your hands and into your lap. “What?”

Joel laughs, a soft sound of amusement. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, toeing off his shoes. He leans over the edge of the bed to press his lips to your forehead, and you find yourself swimming in the subtle affection.

And you know it’s because you’ve been reading smut for the last three hours straight, but the feel of his lips against your skin is heavenly. You abandon the book, tucking the edge of the dust jacket inside the pages to mark your place and discarding it onto the nightstand. It’s second nature as you twist your hands into the soft fabric of his flannel and pull him close.

He smells like pine and sawdust and sweat. His hands are rough and calloused as he cradles your face, lips turning upwards against yours. When you deepen the kiss, sliding your soft tongue against his, Joel laughs again, a little darker this time. He pulls away and the loss makes you whimper because you need him. And the bastard knows it. Because when his gaze roams over your face, lingering on your lips, there’s a heavy undertone of lust behind the playfulness. “S’alright, sweet girl,” he says gently. “None of that whinin’. M’gonna take care of you like I always do. Just wanna know what’s brought this on is all.”

You’re not sure you can admit the truth to him. And even more than that, you don’t have the words to explain that what’s got you so worked up is a scene in your book where the main character is being chased through the woods, her captor wearing a Halloween mask, under the pretense that if he catches her, he’s going to fuck her. Your cheeks warm at just the idea of such an admission, so instead you say, “I just missed you is all.”

Joel doesn’t believe it for a second. He knows you like the back of his hand and sees easily through the lie. And when he glances at your book on the nightstand twice, you know you’ve been caught before he even says a word. “Thought that was one of those scary books you like.”

“It is,” you tell him. Because, technically, it’s the truth.

He narrows his eyes at you, that all-knowing smirk still plastered on his face. “Yeah? Bein’ scared’s what’s got you all squirmy like this?”

As much as you’d like to deny it, to argue his assessment, Joel leans over a little further and his weight on top of you, heavy and sure and safe, makes your breath catch in your lungs. Warmth pools low in your belly and that low, husky tone in his voice only makes matters worse.

“Think whatever’s in that book’s got you all worked up. What’s it about, baby? Hm?” Joel shoves the blanket out of the way and slides his hand between your body and his. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the feeling of his hands on you, the contrast of his roughness against all your softest parts. It’s like the first time every time, and you can feel the steady thump of your heart as it hammers behind your sternum.

Heat rises up your chest when his hand touches your favorite spot, already knowing what he’s going to say. You’re drenched, the insides of your thighs slick with excitement. Joel breathes out a tell-tale hiss at the feeling, pulling back to glance down at you. Humor is suddenly nowhere to be found on his face, no smirks or teasing words. Just dark, hot lust, turning Joel’s eyes black.

“Christ,” Joel groans, continuing to explore between your legs.

You don’t want to tell him what the book’s about, and thankfully he seems to forget he’d asked the question as his long fingers find their place, curling inside of you.

Joel keeps his promise. He takes care of the ache for you like he always does. He makes you finish on his fingers and his tongue and when he finally sinks deep inside you it feels like relief. You warm up leftovers for him afterward, and he doesn’t pressure you about talking about your book. Instead, he tells you about his day while the two of you sit at the kitchen table and the light of his love fills you from the inside out.

You finish the book in less than two days, but its content lives in your head for far longer.

Showering, cooking, running errands - you find yourself thinking about that scene in the woods so often you begin to wonder if it’s altered your brain chemistry.

That weekend you go out for drinks with a couple of girlfriends, letting Joel know you’ll likely be late coming home. He makes you promise to call him if you need a ride and says he’s going to invite Tommy over to watch the game.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Joel’s little brother practically lived with the two of you until Maria stepped into the picture, and you pinky swear to call if you need him.

You don’t, though. You spend more time gossiping and laughing and catching up than you do drinking. But it’s dark when you pull into the driveway, and though you don’t see Tommy’s truck you assume Joel might have picked him up and you fully expect to see him standing in your kitchen with a hand in the fridge grabbing another beer.

Tommy’s nowhere to be found, though. And there’s no referee calling shots on the flat screen. There’s no sound at all, in fact. At first, it alarms you. But then you see Joel sprawled out on the couch in sweatpants and a navy blue t-shirt with a book in his hand.

He glances up from the pages only long enough to smile up at you and say, “Hey, sweetheart. Have a good time?”

You hesitate, watching him from where you stand at the doorway. Joel read occasionally, but only if he needed to. If he wanted to learn a new song on guitar, if he had taken on a new car project and had to teach himself how to repair it. He didn’t read for luxury.

“Yeah, it was nice. What about you? Where’s Tommy?” you questioned, tiptoeing over to where Joel was spread out. The book was positioned in a way that didn’t allow you to see its cover, but it most definitely wasn’t one of Joel’s manuals.

Joel turned to grin at you, his eyes scanning your body, stopping to look at the frown on your lips.

“He canceled, ditched me to hang out with Maria,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. Your frown deepened as you moved closer to Joel, still eyeing the book in his hand that was conveniently covered by his large palms.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come back sooner,” you said, reaching down to run your palm through his gray-streaked hair. You had convinced him to stop touching up his roots, some sick part of you loving how mature he looked.

“I didn’t wanna interrupt. ‘Sides, I wanted to see what got you all worked up the other night,” Joel explained casually, finally exposing the book he was holding. All of the colors left your face as you processed what was happening, that he was more than halfway done with the story. Joel was well into reading the disturbing erotica, but somehow still hadn’t put it down.

“This is some dark stuff. You’re telling me that this is what had you drippin’? Had you clenched around me, legs shaking?” Joel asked, breaking heavy eye contact with you to go back to reading.

“Come on, Joel. Give it back,” you whined, reaching down to pull it out of his hands. The word embarrassed didn’t cover how you truly felt. Mortified was a better fit.

He wrestled around in your hold, turning his back to you and shielding the book with his body. “Not yet, I’m just about to reach the good part. I wanna know what happens when he catches her.”

Maybe not mortified. You were fucking humiliated. Tears threatened to spill as you reached down, pawing at Joel’s arms to grab the book. “Stop it. It’s just a stupid fantasy, I know it’s dumb.”

Joel glanced back to see the wetness filling your eyes, instantly releasing his grip so you could take the book back. His large palm reached up to cradle your face, to comfort you.

“Hey now, I never said it was dumb. I didn’t mean to upset you. I guess I never really knew you were into that kind of stuff. Nothing’s wrong with it.”

His words are sincere and make you feel a little bit better, but you still feel ashamed that Joel had read the book. You know he’d never judge you, but it feels like your closest kept secret has been thrust into the light without your permission. Warmth spreads over your face, down your neck, twisting your stomach into knots. “I know but I…I just didn’t expect you to read it.”

“Then I won’t,” he says quickly, pushing himself up off the couch. He places a warm hand on the side of your neck and says again, “I won’t. I promise. No tears baby, alright?”

You nod and sniffle, trusting him, knowing that his words hold sincerity. Exhaling a long breath, you try to shove the mortification away and focus instead on this man before you who loves you enough to learn everything about you, even the things best kept hidden.

Joel gives you the book and you shove it in the back of your side of the closet, hidden beneath a shoe box. He helps you out of your dress and showers with you, washing your hair while you tell him all about girls’ night and the newest gossip.

After, when you’re both cozy in bed, wrapped up tight in his strong arms, stealing his warmth with your cold feet against his legs, you think maybe you might’ve overreacted about the book. You know Joel would never judge you, not even about this. You think maybe the embarrassment comes from somewhere within, that maybe it’s more like insecurity than shame. And so you say, “I’m sorry about earlier. You can finish the story if you want.”

Joel presses a kiss into your hair. “Not really my type of book, anyhow.”

Even though he says it mostly to comfort you, the words make you laugh. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and can feel the vibration of his amusement as he shares the moment with you.

And when you both settle enough to speak again, his voice is a little quieter as he asks, “You want me to do that to you?”

This time you fight your shame. Wrap it up tight and store it away for something else, something more worthy than a peculiar taste. You think about yourself in place of the main character, running between thick tree trunks with dead leaves crunching beneath your feet.

You think of Joel in place of the woman’s captor, mask over his face, presence dark and looming as he seeks you out. A shiver runs down your spine, so sharp and demanding that your body trembles in his hold.

“S’okay if you do,” he murmurs. You can feel each word through his chest, a delicious tremor against your suddenly too-hot skin. Joel lifts his hand and brushes your hair gently away from your face, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. “Know it did somethin’ to you. Turned you real greedy the other day. Hm?”

Arousal pools low in your belly, and you can hear your heart in your ears. You think he could convince you to do anything when he talks like that, voice low and gravelly. “Maybe,” you say. “I don’t know.”

��Read another part,” he whispers. His thumb travels slowly down your chin, over the curve of your jaw, down the column of your throat. “He’s got that switchblade in his hand. Touches her real nice, all sweet and loving. But he keeps that blade right…” Joel drags his index finger slowly across your neck. “ Here .”

The sound that escapes you is more than need, it’s something else entirely; more like desperation. You didn’t think it was possible to want him any more than you already do but this Joel who strikes just the right amount of fear in you? He makes your mouth water, makes you tremble and shake with just the caress of a single touch.

He grips the back of your thigh with his free hand, pulling you close, pressing you tight against the growing erection behind the cotton fabric of his boxers. Joel’s always been insatiable for you, sometimes getting worked up just from staring at you too long. But you begin to wonder if this is something he wants, too. “Should take you out someplace real nice,” he mutters. “Get all dressed up. You can wear that pretty pink sundress I like. Take you out to a nice dinner, treat you so fuckin’ good…an’ when the sun sets, I’d drive you someplace real dark. Let you loose.”

Even though he’s barely touching you, thumb stroking the skin of your hip gently, your clit pulses between your legs, hips shifting against him of their own accord. Your breath comes fast and labored and you think you’ve never been this fucking wet before—never wanted him so bad . It feels like you can’t think, can’t breathe without it, without Joel .

“Give you a head start,” he continues. “Long enough for me to put a mask on. Wouldn’t even let you see it ‘til I catch you…An’ I will catch you, sweet girl…but you’d have no way of knowin’ who it was. Could be me. Could be anyone.”

The idea is filthy and disgusting but your body doesn’t seem to mind. Your spine arches, breasts pressing up against his chest. Joel lays there stone still, holding you, letting you rut against him like a woman starved. “ Please ,” is all you manage to choke out. He hardly acknowledges the word, but you can feel the smirk form on his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I’d fuck the good girl right out of you,” he says. “Fuck you ‘til you’re nothin’ but a dumb little slut.”

“Jesus— Joel .” He's degraded you before, but it’s never been like this, never felt like this. You reach between your bodies and palm his cock in your hand, and a dark laugh leaves him as he helps you.

In a few quick movements, he pulls himself out of his boxers, shoves your panties to the side, and sinks his cock inside of you, filling you so full it hurts . But you don’t care, because there’s nothing more you need than this, and thankfully he understands. Like he always does .

Joel fucks you right then and there, whispering filthy things all the while, and you think he’s always understood you. Maybe even more than you’re able to understand yourself. Older and wiser and gracious—always giving you exactly what you need, exactly what you want.

Before you fall asleep that night, he kisses you softly and asks, “Do you want me to tell you before it happens? To warn you?”

You’re not sure how to answer at first. Because the concept as a whole terrifies you; it’s new and foreign and dangerous. And you think you might need the warning to calm yourself enough to enjoy it.

But you trust Joel. More than anyone else in the world, you know he’ll always keep you safe. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you.

And so, you pull the blankets tighter around your shoulders and say, “No. I want it to be a surprise.”

That night, you dream about a man chasing you through darkness whose hands feel more familiar than your own. You think about it for the next week. Daydreaming at work, while you’re making dinner, while you’re driving to run errands. It’s all you can think about, the only thing that fills the gaps of silence in your day-to-day life.

You wait. And wait. And wait .

Joel tells you Friday night that he’ll have to work overtime this weekend to make up for a lost part shipment. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Saturday morning he encourages you to sleep in, kisses your forehead before he leaves, tells you he loves you. And despite no inclination from him, you have a feeling that today is the day.

When you wake up a little while later, the sun casts shadows through the blinds, and you notice that Joel’s placed that pink sundress on his side of the bed. Laid it out for you.

You shower and groom yourself, mentally preparing for the moment it finally happens. It has to be today. And if Joel is lucky and planned it out right, he’d find out that you opted out of wearing panties underneath the sundress. He’d find you slick, shaved, aching in anticipation.

He notices your nervous excitement when he comes home from work, late and covered in sweat from a long day. You’re practically bouncing on your heels, having spent the entire day filling the time, waiting for his arrival. The sun had already started to set in the distance - you probably only had about an hour left of the day.

Please, God, let it be today .

“Sorry I’m late, sweetheart. Had an electrician cancel last minute, left me scramblin’ to get the project covered. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he muttered into your lips as he greeted you. His arms wrapped around you, his body warm and hot against the thin fabric of your dress.

“That’s okay,” you say. “Everything go to plan other than that?”

“Sure did. Finally finished up that warehouse over on Cherry Street. Figured I’d go out and celebrate.”

You find yourself deflating at the words. Because, usually, Joel celebrating the end of a big project means the involvement of Tommy, too. And if Tommy’s there, then tonight is decidedly not the night.

Joel seems to notice the change in your demeanor. He places his hand on the side of your face and drags his thumb down your jutting bottom lip, releasing it with a wet pop . “Wouldn’t be a celebration unless I had a pretty little girl to buy a drink, now would it?”

Either way, even if it’s not tonight, you know you’ll enjoy the time with him like you always do. So you shelve your disappointment and timidly ask, “Will it be…just the two of us? Did you want to invite anyone else?”

He shakes his head, a playful spark glinting in his warm eyes. “Nah. Just wanna take my baby out. Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out. Sound good?”

You know your nod of approval probably looks too hopeful, too excited, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not with this golden excitement fills you to the brim, the anticipation making your hands tingle.

It only takes Joel ten minutes to change out of his work clothes and into a nice pair of jeans and a flannel, but it feels like forever. He asks you about your day while he drives to your favorite restaurant, and listens intently even though you have nothing interesting to say other than the fact that you’ve changed the curtain on the window above the dining room table.

He opens the car door for you and holds your hand as he directs you through the crowd at the restaurant, and orders for you when the waiter comes over. Even though you get the same thing every time, the gesture makes you feel small and safe and cared for.

You drink a glass of wine, and he tries out some sort of hoppy beer. Joel tells you about a song he heard on the radio that he wants to learn on guitar, but while you try to listen all you can think about is what comes after this.

A million thoughts run rampant through your head. He hasn’t said anything about it, hasn’t given you any hints besides laying the sundress out for you, but the rush of it all weighs heavy on your chest. Paired with the lowered inhibitions from the wine and you interrupt him to say, “Joel. Can you just…can you tell me? I changed my mind. I want to know so bad.”

That playfulness returns to his eyes. He tilts his head the smallest bit and leans over the table to hear your whispered words. “Tell you what?”

“You know ,” you insist. “Don’t make me say it here.” Despite the embarrassment that climbs your cheeks as you listen to the chatter around you, you can’t wipe the grin from your face. You try to hide it behind your hand instead.

“Can’t say I know what you’re gettin’ at here, girl,” he says. But that knowing smirk says otherwise. You can see the challenge in his eyes, the push for you to ask the question you’ve been swallowing down all night.

Folding your arms on the edge of the table, you lean in as close as you can and ask so softly, “Are you taking me to the woods tonight?”

He smiles—a big, toothy show of enjoyment, and leans back in the booth. Joel’s big, you’ve always known it…but seeing him now, shoulders broad and rugged, arms straining beneath the cotton sleeves of his flannel… God , he makes you weak. You can feel yourself flush beneath his scrutinization. Can feel the familiar stickiness of your arousal begin to gather between your legs, too. “An’ why would I do that, sweetheart? Ain’t nothin’ out there for a little thing like you.”

The wine is sweet on your tongue as you take the last sip and shrug casually, pretending as if your hands don’t tremble with anticipation. You try to put on a show of confidence. “Never know,” you say. “Could be a big, bad wolf out there that needs hunting down.”

Joel laughs at that, but he’s waving down the next waiter he sees for the check.

When you leave the restaurant, you realize now the sun has fully set and the darkness has descended. The moon hands high in the sky, the only illumination granted apart from the headlight of Joel’s truck. He helps you into the passenger side and buckles you in, hands gentle and caring, always taking care of you.

Pressing a kiss to your shoulder, he asks a single-word question. One you know is likely equally for his comfort as it is yours. “Okay?”

You are. Despite the fear that begins to rise in your chest, knowing the impending events likely to unfold, despite the shadows and the traversing of the unknown, you know that you’ll always be safe with Joel. “I’m good,” you promise.

He drives for far longer than you expect. Past every stoplight, outside of the city limits, weaving through the backroads until you’re well and truly lost. Every time you pass a wooded area you think he’ll slow to a stop, but he doesn’t. And every moment fuels the adrenaline coursing through you, ratcheting both your panic and excitement to immeasurable heights.

When he does finally stop, pulling off to the side of a road you swear you’ve never been down before, your heart is beating so fast you can hear it in your ears.

He pulls the key from the ignition and the lights cut out, wrapping the both of you in complete darkness. You can make him out just enough, though. Enough to see the predatory look on his face, enough to sense the danger you’ve placed yourself in.

Your mouth goes dry and your brain goes fuzzy as you watch Joel reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a switchblade that glimmers in the moonlight. The small knife makes a snapping noise when it opens, gleaming, taunting you. Excitement buzzed through your body, a nagging voice in the back of your head screaming to run.

“Better get a move on,” Joel whispers, his face shadowed and lips pressed into a grim line. The energy had shifted so quickly that you were uncertain what to do. Even if you did try to run, you doubted that your shaking body would make it very far.

A brooding intensity surrounded Joel, and even though he barely moved to reach back and grab something out of the back seat, the air still felt tense with a silent warning. In his free hand was a gas mask, worn and frayed. The round, glass eye lenses were clouded, displaying its years of disuse. He reached up with one hand to slip the mask down his face, leaving only his eyes revealed.

The white-hot heat that was burning through your veins somehow ignited even further when he finally locked eyes with you. Joel’s eyes were narrowed, carrying a different energy behind them; one that was full of mischief and lust. The moment lasted for a couple of beats…

One, two, three…

And then Joel’s hand snapped out, reaching rapidly to lock around your wrist. Thinking, breathing; none of it mattered. The only thing on your mind was running, some animalistic survival instinct that you didn’t know still existed within you taking over. Your wrist easily slipped out of his grip as you flung open the car door, escaping Joel and running into the dark forest.

There was a chill in the air that made your breath fan out in front of you while you ran, your heavy footsteps practically echoing through the woods. Every couple of moments you would stop and glance around, attempting to see through the endless rows of trees. You didn’t see anything and only heard the sound of your own breathing.

Joel could be scary when he wanted to. Like that one time, a couple weeks into knowing him. Some asshole had followed you around the grocery store late one evening, trailing behind aisle after aisle until your hands were shaking in fear. Joel was one of the only people you had befriended in town since you were new to the area.

He’d showed up five minutes after you’d called him, despite the fact that you knew he lived over ten minutes away. Joel approached the man, and you were grateful that you weren’t the one he was speaking to. Despite not hearing his words from where you were standing, you could see the dark anger on his face, a look that made your blood run cold.

The guy who was following you left immediately after, scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Joel followed you home in his truck even though your apartment was on the other side of town. He’d never been scary to you .

Until now.

Joel’s body came out of nowhere, grabbing you and yanking you against him. The switchblade pressed onto your throat, your heartbeat pounding against the cold metal. You couldn’t see Joel since his vice-grip had your back pushed on his chest.

“You call that running?” he asked, letting his fingers skate down the skin of your thigh, just under the low cut of your sundress. His calloused fingertips caught against your soft skin, raising higher and higher.

“I think you wanted me to catch you. Here you are, lettin’ me rub on you like the little slut I knew you were. I haven’t even properly touched you yet, but you’re already spreading your legs for me.”

Your face warmed at his degrading words. He was right. The excitement of the story wasn’t only the anticipation, but it was the thrill of the hunt. As much as you wanted Joel to touch you, to make your vision blur just from using his fingers, you knew you couldn’t give in so easily.

With all of your strength, you push away both of his hands, ripping out of his grip. He reached down to grab you but you snatched his shirt instead, pulling at it fiercely in an attempt to dodge under him. You heard the fabric rip, but you were too afraid to really acknowledge it.

You took it as an opportunity to escape, dodging Joel’s grasp. You wasted no time in steadying yourself before sprinting away, only sparing a quick glance back to see Joel. His shirt was half ripped, the gas mask blocking any form of expression on his face.

“Damn, baby,” Joel spoke. He stood, shrugging off his flannel before using the switchblade to finish ripping the fabric of his shirt. “If you wanted me to get naked, you should’ve just said so.”

As much as you wanted to watch the way Joel’s chest flexed in the moonlight, you couldn’t handle any distractions. You had to run.

And you did run for what felt like hours. By the time you stopped for a moment, your heartbeat was in your throat and you could feel a slick mess building between your thighs. Your legs were speckled with dirt and pieces of leaves from the way you were kneeling on the ground, searching for Joel.

You didn’t see anything extraordinary through the branches of the forest, but you heard something. A snap.

It was enough to get you back on your feet in an attempt to flee.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. Though your eyes betrayed you, you could sense his closeness, could sense the space between you lessening with each passing moment. Sweat beads at your hairline and your panting echoes between the trees.

The cracking sound of wood beneath his heavy work boots cuts through the deafening silence, and you turn abruptly and throw yourself in the opposite direction. But Joel’s fast, too fast .

He catches up to you in a second, and you know you won’t get lucky twice, yet still you try. You push your legs as hard as you can, running as fast as you can, trying to navigate the uneven terrain.

Joel’s fingertips grasp your shoulder, and you pull away from him so violently you lose your balance, scraping your knees against the rough forest floor.

You quickly turn onto your back, kicking yourself away from him, trying to see through the thick fog of terror in your mind. His slow breaths sound mechanical through the gas mask’s respirator. He looms over you menacingly, looking every bit the wicked man you know he can be.

His shoulders rise and fall slowly, his breaths even while you struggle to catch yours. He tilts his head, a predator indulging in the chase.

And you know right then that you’ve been caught. Stuck in the spider’s web with no hope of extraction. Your voice shakes when you speak. “Joel?”

There’s no softness in him now. None of that gentle ease he always has with you. He lowers himself to the ground, knees on either side of your hips, and grabs for your hands.

You struggle against his hold, even knowing it’s useless. He wraps a calloused palm around your wrists and squeezes tight, and when you buck your hips up against him, trying to wiggle out from beneath his heavy weight, it serves no purpose but to further diminish the little energy remaining in your weary limbs.

Joel raises your arms above your head, pushing your too-sensitive skin deep into the earth, trapping you in place. You can hear the clicking of his tongue behind the mask. “Stupid little girl,” he says. “Never had a chance. Did you?”

His voice is muffled, deeper. You know it’s Joel. Behind the fear, behind the adrenaline, you know it’s him. But it doesn’t sound like him, not in the way you’re so accustomed to, and it sends a chill down your spine.

He adjusts his position, sliding down your legs just enough to grip the bottom of your dirt-stained sundress and rip it upwards. The air feels like ice against your center, slick with your arousal. You clit pulses with need, despite the way you still fight him, struggling nonsensically in his tight hold. “Look at how fuckin’ wet you are, baby,” he says. “Haven’t even touched you yet an’ that pretty pussy’s just fuckin’ crying for it, ain’t she?”

Your spine bends, arching off the ground. The sounds that leave your mouth are animalistic, a desperate whimpering, a wanton need.

And then suddenly his hand is tangled in your hair, pulling hard at the roots, holding your head up just enough to witness your exposure. “I said look ,” Joel grits out. “Want you to watch just how fuckin’ selfish she is. You listenin’ to me?”

“Yes— yes, ” you choke out. The muscles in your neck strain to keep your head held high enough to see the moment he lets go of your hair. But you heard him loud and clear, and you do just as he says.

His hand slips between your legs, and you fight the urge to let squeeze your eyes shut as his fingers slide over your clit. He circles it roughly and you can feel yourself clench around nothing, your body begging to be filled, begging for Joel . He uses the perfect amount of pressure, deft fingers moving fast, and it takes less than a minute before that familiar warmth begins to trickle in.

But you want more, you always want more, and so you find yourself lifting your hips upwards, trying to shift his hand lower, trying to let him know right where you need him most.

Joel laughs. A sick, maniacal sound that sends a cold flood of terror through you. “See? What’d I say? Fuckin’ greedy ,” he says. You know it’s meant to be an insult, but there’s a strange fondness as he says it. An undertone of worship.

You sigh out his name, unable to form another word, forgetting all else that came before this moment, disregarding all things that may come after. All that matters is this, all that matters is him .

“She wants it so bad,” he murmurs. “An’ I’m gonna give it to her.” His movements are cruel and almost painful as he turns you over, pulling your hips out from under him. Joel shifts your wrists to his other hand and sets them against the small of your back, using his free hand to force your head down. The earthy smell of decaying leaves greets you, and you greedily suck in cold breaths of air, trying to will your heart to slow its racing.

You can’t see his movements but you can feel him shift behind you, and a second later can hear the familiar clink of his belt buckle and the swish as he rips it from the loops of his jeans. The bite of leather is harsh as he winds it around your wrists, tightening it in a familiar, practiced way.

“Joel,” you breathe out. It sounds like a plea in your ears, and maybe it is. Because everything is too much, too intense . You need all of him, you think. Need the wickedness, that dark thing he’s been hiding all this time. But you need your Joel, too. The one who buckles you in, who kisses your forehead before he leaves for work in the morning. The one you know will always keep you safe, even when he defiles you. “ Joel ,” you say again.

His hands freeze on your hips, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his skin as he leans over and presses his cheek to yours. He waits for you to speak, giving you as long as you need to sort through the heightened emotions.

Your brain feels like mush and you struggle to form a coherent thought that’s more than one or two words strung together. You know you’re terrified. But you know, too, that you don’t want him to stop. And so all you manage to say is a barely audible, “I love you.”

He cradles your head in his hand, thumb stroking gently over your temple. And then he runs his nose over the curve of your jaw, and though he doesn’t say it, doesn’t break the spell he’s so carefully created in order to indulge your wildest fantasies, you know that no one has ever loved anyone the way that Joel Miller loves you.

But just as quickly as that gentleness appeared, it vanishes into nothing like the fog of your breath in the cold air.

“Gonna show you what happens when little girls roam into the woods,” he says. You can feel his erection as he presses it against you, heavier and harder than you think it’s ever been before. “Can try an’ hunt down the big bad wolf all you want. But if he catches you …”

You’re a trembling mess in his strong hands. His words are the only beacon keeping you grounded, you’re certain of it.

The metal teeth of his zipper grate as he pulls it down and undoes the button of his jeans, pulling his cock out. He slides the head through your arousal, coating himself in your slick. “Just know, whatever he decides to do with you is gonna hurt .”

And then he’s pushing his length into you in one smooth movement, leaving you no time to adjust to the size of him. The stretch is painful and foreboding, every muscle in your body tensing up at the impact. “ Fuck— oh my God —”

“Can pray all you want, but there’s no one out here to save you,” he spits. Joel doesn’t give you a single second to breathe before he’s rocking his hips into you, setting a punishing pace. You can feel his cock throb inside you, can feel that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

You grit your teeth against the pain of it, fingers flexing in his grip. “ Joel —I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can, baby,” he says, voice low and echoing. “I know you can. So shut up and fuckin’ take it.” He leans over you, pressing the side of your face into the ground. You can taste moss and earth but with each thrust, the pain is quickly subsiding, replaced instead with a blinding pleasure.

That warmth builds again, coiling around your spine. Pressure builds quickly and you can feel yourself dripping around him, making a mess of the coarse hair above his cock. “Joel— fuck .”

He reaches on hand around your hip, easily finding your clit and strumming it with swift, practiced movements. You clench around him and he lets out a deep groan in response. When he leans forward and tells you, “Open your mouth,” you do so immediately, brain fuzzy and overstimulated, unwilling to do anything unless he tells you to.

Joel slides two of his fingers into your mouth and shoves them so far down you nearly choke. It’s instinctual when you close your swollen lips around him and suck.

You can hear the smile in his words as he speaks. “There you go,” he mutters. “Told you how this would go, didn’t I? Told you what would happen. Nothin’ but a dumb little slut for me now, baby, hm? Yeah?”

All you can do is nod, unable to form a single coherent thought. Your orgasm hits hard and fast, almost unexpected. It washes through you, electricity dancing beneath your prickling skin. Your moans reverberate through the trees, and you’re suddenly glad he’s driven you so far out so no one can hear you.

“Oh, she likes that ,” Joel says, talking you through it, circling your clit and fucking into you a little harder. “Likes the way it feels to be all full’a me, hm? Yeah, there you go. Gonna give this pretty pussy just what she needs.”

His rhythm falters, staggering just the smallest bit. And while he’s just given you the best orgasm of your fucking life, there’s something about this that makes you feel finally satisfied, full in a way you’ve never been before.

The moment he bottoms out inside of you, Joel turns you on your back and pulls the mask off of his face. His cheeks are flushed and rosy, but there’s a sense of completion in his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in your own. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, the bridge of your nose.

And all you can say is, “Oh my God.”

Joel laughs. It’s one of those full, good-natured belly laughs. Your favorite kind. “Well? Was I better than your book?”

You cover your face with your hands, muffling your giggles between your fingers. “Much better.”

#joel miller #pearlessance #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ao3 fanfic #joel tlou #joel the last of us #ao3 writer #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #smut #halloween

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frankieburieshisdead · 1 year ago

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✮ Hobie Brown x male!ballerina reader ✮

You and Hobie started going out about 6 months ago. You met at a black-empowerment student group on your campus years before you had started seeing each other, and you remembered him starkly because he was the only person in the room who had brought up any kind of black queer issue, to which he was quickly shut down. He never returned to the group, and you always thought he was so much cooler than you for that. Being the only dark face in a line of pinky white dancers every day meant that you couldn't give up the small community of black people you had amongst the students. Even if it meant nodding along with arguments like 'gay black folks give us a bad name.' Hobie would never do that. Hobie would have said something. Its part of the reason he swore to never return to organized liberation movements. "If the movement cant be translated to a mentality, its not worth your time my love," he had told you, and you had just smiled, because you knew you would never be as brave and he was. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him.

He brought you flowers on your first date. They were haphazardly picked and thrown about, clearly hand picked from someones garden he had pilchered, wrapped in an old newspaper. You loved them more than anything anyone had ever given you. You still kept them pressed in between a stack of books you kept at your hostel.

He came to every single one of your shows. Even the ones he couldn't afford, at fancy recital halls that made you feel out of place, he would find a way to sneak into the audience. One time, he even managed to get a job as a lighting guy a month before your biggest performance of the year so that he would be there. You still tease him about it.

The first time you went to one of his shows, you stuck out like a sore thumb. It was right after rehearsals, so you were still in your pink leotard and sheer brown leggings. Angry boys with spiked clothing kept on bumping up around you as the crowd bobbed up and down with the loud music. You couldn't find Hobie anywhere, and you didn't know why you did what you did, but when a particularly hard shove landed you on your hands and knees, scraped up from the grain of the cement floor, you called out for your boyfriend. "Hobie!" You shouted, almost certain he wouldn't hear as the crowd around you swallowed up the noise. Only he did hear, and not a moment later he was behind you, wrapping his long lanky arms around your waist as he pulled you back onto your feet. "You alright sweetheart?" He whispered just loud enough for you to hear. "Just got a bit overwhelmed. Sorry Hobes." You replied. He shook his head fondly at you, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder. "Come with me?"

You spent the rest of the concert in the sound box above the stage, wrapped up in Hobie's big flannel jacket as you cheered on the lovely man you were beginning to fall in love with.

When he told you about the mask, about his other life as a webslining vigilante, you found that you weren't even surprised. Of course, your anti-cop, pro-punk politics boyfriend was Spiderman. It was the first time you had seen him look nervous, so you took his face in your hands and pressed his forehead agaisnt your own. "You're the bravest person I know. I am so proud of you," you whisper against his lips. And then, because it had to be said "don't you ever let yourself get hurt." He kissed you gently and promised.

He broke that promise less than a week later. You were warming up in your room before your first class, far earlier than anyone else was awake, which was why the loud banging on your door startled you so much. Never in a million years did you expect a bloody and battered Hobie Brown to fall into your room. He wouldn't let you call the police. Wouldn't even let you call an ambulance. You would never forget the rasping noise he made as he lay on your floor, blood soaking through your carpet.

You didn't speak to him for weeks after it happened. You were able to bribe some of the medical students from the STEM section of the campus to stitch up your clumsy boyfriend who had fell down the stairs. Apparently, it wasn't even that deep of a wound, just happened to nick a part of the body that blead a lot or something like that. You still woke up shaking when you thought about it.

Hobie does everything to get you to forgive him. He leaves flowers inside your ballet locker everyday, steals new lace for your shoes from the silk shop he knows you lone but can never afford. He apologizes again and again, but you can't look at him without seeing the gasping expression on his face as you thought you were watching him die. It's not until he does the one thing you thought he would never do, the one place where Hobie Brown swore he would never show his face again.

He was at the next black empowerment meeting you attended. You couldn't help the visible shock fall onto your face. "Just for the record, I don't like it here." He stated plain and clear before the meeting had even started. "I think you lot are a bunch of bootlicking, regressive posers who wouldn't know what respectability politics looked if they smacked you in the face." Hobie brought his gaze to his shoes, black locs falling over his eyes. "But I fucked up. I really scared someone I care about, and I dont know how to make it right. He's one of the bravest people I know, and I am so lucky that in some capacity, he chose me." Hobie looked up, directly at you now, "I love you sweetheart. I'm sorry, I should have never put you in that position. Let me make it up to you. However I can baby, let me make it up to you."

You stopped going to meetings. Hobie introduced you to a group of black ballet dancers who he had met when a theater had accidentally double booked his band, and suddenly your community was started to look a lot bigger than the arts campus. He promised you that he would always go to the hospital when he was hurt like that, even if it meant supporting a system of bourgeois control over public health that contributed to the futile distribution of wealth under capitalism. You didn't quite catch that last part. He kept his promise. He made it up to you.

END

#hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x oc #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #hobie brown x y/n #fanfic #hobie brown x male reader #sfw little post #drabble

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kemetic-dreams · 11 months ago

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Roots under Beale: The Significance of Beale Street to Memphis Hoodoo History

In the late 1800s, Robert Church, the first African-American millionaire in the South took great interest in Beale Street. After purchasing land on Beale, Church built Church Park and Auditorium exclusively for black Memphians. He also created a recreational center and an upscale hotel. Beale Street was very important to African American life in Memphis as Church wanted to create a safe haven for black Memphians where African American food, music and entertainment could be celebrated.

A community of healers, conjurers and rootworkers began to develop on Beale. Memphians knew that you could visit the right store or juke joint and find someone with the ‘gift’ to provide magical and spiritual help. Beale Street musicians like W.C. Handy began to speak of the hoodoo culture through the lyrics of their songs. Blues singer Lillie Mae Glover known as ‘Ma Rainey II’ became popular on Beale Street as not only a performer but also a conjurer. She would perform rituals and various spiritual workings for other performers on Beale, as well as random customers who knew to seek her out. One of her special abilities was the ability to make mojo hands for blues musicians. While many hands were traditionally made using roots, lodestone and a red flannel bag, Lillie Mae made hers using common ingredients like sugar, flour and a heap of coal.

It became evident that hoodoo was being practiced in downtown Memphis much to the dislike of the white community. Hoodoo and any African based religious practices were compared to savage paganism that threatened the wives and children of the white community of Memphis. Local police were put on alert regarding the threat of hoodoo and ‘voodooism’ as it was commonly referred to.

The Memphis Press-Scimitar reported:

‘The Voodoo business still thrives on Beale Street. Police, looking for a witch

doctor yesterday confiscated a half a sack full of “Stay Away Powder,”

“Easy Life Powder” and “Spanish Luck Drops” being sold to negroes at

25 cents a set. The “Stay Away” powder, supposed to jinx a love rival,

proved to be nothing stronger than flour. “Easy Life” powder appeared to

be a fine grade of ground clay. “Spanish Luck Drops” were more potent.

They were a cheap but stout perfume. All in all, police figured the 25-cent

collection cost the producers not more than a couple of cents.’

Raids on rootworkers and conjurers were quite common in the city. There is record of a number of arrests where hoodoo devotees were arrested and artifacts such as mojo bags and amulets were confiscated and in some cases destroyed in the presence of practitioners. Hoodoo was not only feared but represented empowerment for the black community, something that the times simply would not allow.

The development of a hoodoo community on Beale Street gained the notoriety of the title ‘The Black Magic District’ as many Memphians knew that one could obtain a cleansing, a black cat bone or guidance from the ancestors by visiting the right individual on Beale. In the 1940s gold miners would visit Beale Street looking for conjurers to help them spiritually locate treasure along the Mississippi River. The rising number of Memphians using Beale Street’s healers as a form of healthcare caused some Memphis physicians to become critical and voice offense against the community’s rootworkers. However as writer Keith Wailoo in has noted “Those who invoked spirits to relieve one’s rheumatism or to subdue one’s enemies would not be driven easily from the Bluff city.” Hoodoo was here to stay.

In 1876, Jewish immigrant Abraham Schwab opened one of Memphis’s most iconic businesses on Beale Street. A. Schwab began as a dry goods store offering everything from cloth overalls to blues records. Years later the store began to carry a number of hoodoo related curios. In fact at one point the store was literally bringing in shipments of over one hundred and twenty tons of hoodoo related candles. The hoodoo community in Memphis would purchase oils, candles, incense and roots from the oldest store on Beale. One of my earliest exposures to hoodoo curios came when as a child I was taken into Schwab by my parents. I remember the scent of incense and the colorful collection of candles and curios. It was a wonderland to the senses.

During the writing of A Secret History of Memphis Hoodoo: Rootworkers, Conjurers and Spirituals, I was given the opportunity to visit the store’s archives and see some of the remnants of hoodoo curios and artifacts. A number of old curios from Memphis based companies like ‘LaClyde Lucky Products’ and ‘Lucky Heart Cosmetics’ were preserved in pristine condition saved for their historical preservation. Boxes of dried rattlesnake root, John the Conqueror and assorted herbs could still be found. A member of the Schwab family shared stories of hoodoo practitioners throughout the years and the many testimonies and stories of customers from the conjure community.

These are but a few of the numerous stories about rootworkers and conjurers on Beale Street that were instrumental in the history of hoodoo in Memphis. The history of hoodoo in Memphis is a story of cultural survival that needs to be told.

#memphis #beale street #rootworker #african #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #afrakan #afrakans #brown skin #african culture #afrakan spirituality

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newmanclu0 · 8 months ago

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The Evolution and Impact of Swimwear: A Deep Dive

Swimwear, an essential part of our wardrobes during the warmer months, has a rich history that mirrors changes in fashion, societal norms, and technology. From the full-coverage bathing gowns of the 19th century to the minimalist designs seen on today's beaches, the evolution of swimwear tells a story of liberation, innovation, and the human relationship with water and leisure. This article explores the origins, transformation, and significant milestones in the world of swimwear, highlighting how it has become a symbol of style, freedom, and identity.

Origins and Early Developments

The concept of specialized clothing for swimming is not a modern invention. Historical records from ancient civilizations, including Greece and Rome, depict individuals wearing garments designed for bathing and water activities. However, the swimwear as we know it began to take shape in the 18th and 19th centuries. During this period, bathing in the sea was popularized for its supposed health benefits, but modesty dictated the attire. Women wore voluminous bathing gowns, often made from wool or flannel to prevent transparency, while men donned shorter garments that covered them from waist to knee.

The Roaring Twenties and the Birth of Modern Swimwear

The 1920s marked a significant turning point in the design and perception of swimwear. Society's attitudes towards leisure and physical activity were changing, and with them, the demand for more practical and less restrictive bathing suits. Women's swimwear started to show more skin, with sleeveless designs and shorter skirts, while men's swimwear abandoned the traditional top, moving towards trunks.

One of the most revolutionary developments during this era was the introduction of new materials. Rayon, and later, nylon and Lycra, replaced wool, allowing for lighter, more form-fitting, and faster-drying swimwear. This period also saw the birth of the two-piece swimsuit, although it was much more conservative than today's versions, covering the navel and much of the midriff.

The Bikini Revolution

The launch of the bikini in 1946 by French designer Louis Réard is perhaps the most iconic moment in the history of swimwear. Named after the Bikini Atoll, where post-war nuclear testing took place, the bikini was as explosive in the world of fashion as the tests were in their own right. Initially met with shock and resistance, the bikini gradually gained acceptance, thanks in part to its embrace by Hollywood stars and the liberation movements of the 1960s. By the end of the 20th century, the bikini had become a staple of swimwear fashion, celebrated for its simplicity and the freedom it offered.

Technological Advances and Swimwear Today

The evolution of swimwear has not only been about style and societal norms but also technological innovation. Today's swimwear incorporates advanced fabrics that offer UV protection, resistance to chlorine, and enhanced durability. Competitive swimwear, in particular, has seen significant advancements, with the development of high-tech suits that reduce drag and improve swimmer performance. Brands also increasingly focus on sustainability, using recycled materials and more eco-friendly production processes.

The Impact of Swimwear on Fashion and Society

Swimwear has had a profound impact on fashion, challenging designers to balance functionality with aesthetic appeal. It has also been at the forefront of discussions about body image and gender norms. The bikini, for example, has been both criticized for objectifying women and hailed as a symbol of empowerment and body positivity. Moreover, swimwear has become a vehicle for self-expression, with designs that cater to a wide range of body types, personal styles, and cultural backgrounds.

Conclusion

The history of swimwear is a testament to human ingenuity and societal change. From the modest bathing costumes of the past to the diverse array of styles available today, swimwear has evolved to meet the changing needs and values of society. It reflects our desire for comfort, our pursuit of leisure, and our changing attitudes toward the body and public decency. As we look to the future, swimwear will undoubtedly continue to evolve, driven by advances in technology, shifts in fashion, and ongoing conversations about identity and inclusivity. Regardless of its form, swimwear will remain a symbol of the times, capturing the spirit of the era and the endless possibilities of design and human creativity.

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duhthewriter · 5 years ago

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2020 vision in 2019

*Things I have learned this year:*

*Reading every day is the greatest thing ever.* I made sure to carve out time each day to read in 2019 (which, if you know me at all was something I did all but two days in 2018, and pretty much the same in all the other years as well). In 2020, I plan to do the same, but to add much more writing and personal development to the mix. I figure I can try to give my eyes a day off from reading, if I chose to journal or to be still in its place. I did not journal or meditate nearly enough in 2019.

*I have too many articles of clothing and will be doing a GIANT PURGE (again) in the first week of the new year.* I’m going to toss out the undies I have that I question each time I put them on as to why I’m still dealing with things that are not comfortable. I’m going to adult and purchase things that make my bum feel comfortable because I will not waste any more time than I absolutely must being uncomfortable. No, I will never fit into those jeans again, so they have GOT TO GO. Same with that shirt I swore I’d wear, but pass over every time in favor of the flannel. NO, you do NOT need a new purse. SHOP YOUR CLOSET.

In the same vein as using what you already have, I’d also like to waste less. *Less single use; more sustainability.* I think the husband and I have done a pretty good job of minimizing food waste by being extra creative in the kitchen, but I’d like to be better as far as everything else is concerned.

*I am an adult and I want to be surrounded and supported with and by other adults.* I don’t need people to fix my crown without telling me it’s crooked, or whatever cliché is going around currently; I want to be around people who don’t care if it’s crooked. I’m not wearing a crown anyway, so get off the strange women empowerment already. Let’s all empower everyone. I know a few men that could benefit from a lift as well. You don’t have to fight a fight just because everyone else is. It’s okay to not agree with culture phenomena.

In the spirit of not digging at old wounds, and admittedly turning a blind eye, closure is bullshit – I can live in a state of denial like the best of ‘em! – you can never truly have closure and that’s okay. Sometimes you just have to accept that something happened beyond your control and move on. *ACCEPTANCE IS THE NEW CLOSURE* and if people tell you otherwise, people are wrong.

GOALS:

*Finish the two books I am writing (2&3), get a better handle on the third I'm conceptualizing (4), and publish the first;

*Stop buying clothes I won’t wear; stop spending so much on clothes even if I will;

*Less waste; more sustainability;

*Eat less meat; eat even more veggies;

*Less social media for wasting time; more social media for outreach (if I’m writing you’re reading!); and,

*Accept & move on – there is no sense in dwelling.

#duhthewriter #readmore #writemore #newyearseve #resolution #acceptance #books #sustanability #socialmedia #2020

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filmjrnl365 · 6 years ago

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#87 American Gigolo (1980)

Director: Paul Schrader

United States

I’m trying to find something that’s from the 1980’s that still holds up without a slick veneer of tackiness. American Gigolo almost made it…but not quite. I watched this movie again for the first time since high school. It’s not that I remember much about the particulars of the plot, but at the time, the movie did leave an impression on me, an aesthetic one. For a high school kid in the middle of flyover country, to watch Richard Gere pull open drawers of ties, shirts and designer clothes was a bit of a revelation. I have to say, this part of American Gigolo has somewhat held up over time. The movie plows virgin territory by showing an American male that gave a shit about how he looked and dressed, took time to educate himself culturally, had a well-appointed apartment, and drove a nice car. Sure, he was a prostitute, but let’s put that aside for now.

Before you roll your eyes at all of this, remember a few things to help put my following trivialities into context. In 1980, the hyper branding of fashion was not anywhere near the magnitude we see today. Large fashion empires were in their infancy. The country and its youth were introduced to a newish concept, the designer jean, ala Calvin Klein. Prior to this small, but ominous, step, not much a guy could do other than graduate into an oxford shirt or some back wood inspired flannel. Also, in terms of design aesthetics, look at American automobiles from the 1980’s, and you will see the epitome of non-descript, boxy, ugliness that came out of Detroit. So, when the lithe physique of the young Richard Gere stands in nude profile, while the California sunlight slants across his bare bottom; this was the aesthetic awakening for a culture still donning moustaches, greasy sideburns, worn out bell bottoms, and Zepplin t-shirts. This is the part of the film that will be lost on younger viewers, who merely see American Gigolo as an exercise in camp and shallow narcissism, but it’s the important part.

Sure, the movie has plenty of credibility lapses by today’s standards, but at the time it looked good, real good, and somehow that was important and needed to be done. The youthful optimism of the decade was palpable. Computers were not a device to troll somebody, or enable circle- jerk gatherings of political sociopaths. No, technology at that time had the sunny optimism of Southern California, long before the onslaught of Silicon Valley and trust fund size rents. American Gigolo sat stoic and quiet on the big screen, like an oversized Nagel print, and that looked and felt really different at that time.

American Gigolo is quite innocent compared to current films that attempt to deal with stories revolving around sex and death. For a plot about fucking and murder, we see neither. What we do see is passage after passage of film that promotes an idealized masculine standard for the late twentieth century. It’s an America where male prostitutes get their shit together, throw on some Armani, get some scruples, and have enough expendable income to lurk around Sotheby’s to find deals on historic artifacts. Can’t argue with that.

The problem isn’t the movie. What went wrong was what American culture did with some of these cues. Our civility didn’t keep up with the technology, we kept designing ugly shit to sell to a country whose aesthetic aptitude was calibrated to Ronald Reagan. We took the idea of looking good and turned it into a culture of obsessed preening. The fact that Gere doesn’t yet have the technology available to pucker his mouth up for a selfie is actually a big bonus in this film. And we might even take Michelle’s (Lauren Hutton) unflinching willingness to employ the sexual services of Julian (Richard Gere) as empowerment, decades before it was culturally sanctioned.

I won’t read anymore into this film, it’s just not there. It’s an unsophisticated move that’s about, well, sophistication, or at least the visual markers of sophistication. By the end of the film, Julian’s manicured world has begun to crumble. He hasn’t shaved and has stooped to driving a rented Ford Pinto. For a guy with apparent smarts, he’s legally inept in the face of being framed for murder with his evasive, petulant silence. And lastly, his self-esteem tanks as he comes crawling back to his former pimps. In a display of horrible negotiating skills, he forfeits just about every shred of respectability he’s “worked” to acquire. But, none of this is really the point here.

The point is: doesn’t he look great?! Even when he walks out in prison attire, he’s better dressed than most of the other slobs that walk through the film. (The blue chambray shirt is fitted, open at the collar, and no slouchy pants anywhere.) Gere’s unconvincing as a character, so what! Look at the shirt and tie combination, and the fucking pants fit perfect! And then there’s Lauren Hutton: statuesque, tanned, and legs for miles! I’ll tell you one thing that survived the 80’s- Lauren Hutton’s hair! Even Ann Bancroft and Catherine Deneuve would nod in approval. Let’s not overlook the great trench coats…not sure how much rotation these get in Los Angeles, but they are worn on par with the likes of Humphrey Bogart, so let’s skip over the temperature snag, and just admit that they look good as well.

So, 38 years later, here’s what American Gigolo can still offer us:

1. Good hair, not big hair, just good hair.

2. Fit and proportion are important.

3. Get a good coat. What kind? Watch the film.

4. Old Mercedes still look great.

5. Can’t have too many dot pattern neckties.

6. Get in shape, and get a tan!

7. Don’t be a rube.

8. Show up on time and do a good job, no matter who you’re screwing.

9. When Lauren Hutton offers, don’t turn it down!

10. Keep listening to Blondie.

filmjrnll365.tumblr.com

#American Gigolo #richard gere #lauren hutton

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sonofadeanwinchester · 7 years ago

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Someday Darling (Part Five)

One | Two | Three | Four

Summary: Leaving LA to go to New York to spend time with your brother might just be the worst/best decision of your life.

Words: 1,182

Student!Sebastian x Reader ; Actor!Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: SWEARING (y’all should just expect that by now) ; FLUFF & jealous!Chris if you squint.

A/N: THIS IS MY NEW STORY! WELCOME ONE WELCOME ALL! If you wanna be tagged, don’t be shy and let me know! ;) SHORT CHAPTER I AM SORRY

Tags: @221bshrlocked @potterhead1265 @shellymaesworld@titty-teetee @pawallday @chameerah@buckylicious@nerdywitch@teresaoliva20 @guera31 @i-should-probably-be-asleep-rn@hvitserksgirl@lancetucker@ssweet-empowerment @ijustreallylovezebras@amandarosemire

**GIF NOT MINE

I woke to the sound of a blender going full speed and laughter in the kitchen. I wrapped the throw blanket around my body and tiptoed down the hall to see what the commotion was about. I peeked around the corner to find Sebastian at the blender, dressed in jogging pants and a tight black shirt, laughing. Penn was at the stove, shoving eggs around in a large pan. He turned to find the pepper and saw me peeking. "(y/n), morning!" He was yelling, trying to over power the blender.

I waved shyly and went to give him a quick hug, brushing Sebastian slightly. I never meant to touch him, it's just the kitchen in this place is not big enough for two people let alone three. My arms found Penn's waist and I wrapped them around him tightly, sighing as I did so. We never hugged much as kids but now that we were grown adults, hugging was nice. "I'm so hungry! Eggs for me?" I yelled back over the blender, but half way through the sentence, Sebastian shut it off, making my voice echo off the bare walls.

He laughed out loud. "No need to yell, (y/n), we're right here." I gave him a dirty look and sauntered over the table, waiting for the eggs to be finished. "What are the plans for today? I know you have to work Penn and Sebastian has school, but afterwards? Before then I think I'll just explore the city a bit." Penn placed a plate full of eggs and a cup of coffee in front of me. I filled my mouth full of food and coffee and chewed slowly.

Sebastian brought his shake over and started stretching, raising his leg over the counter, leaning forward to stretch his hamstrings. "Well, I am going for a run right now but I actually don't have school today. Professor called in sick so we got the day off, so how about I go exploring with you?" He scrunched his nose, holding his breath as he felt the pull in his legs.

Penn was nodding, chewing loudly. "That's a great idea Seb! (y/n) has never gotten the chance to explore New York the proper way, just take her to your favorite places and then grab her some ice cream from that amazing stand in Central Park!" He shoveled more food into his mouth and slurped hot coffee. "You're so fucking gross when you eat Penn." I placed the last bit of eggs into my mouth and nodded at Sebastian, "that sounds great actually. I'd probably get lost to be honest." I stood and placed my plate into the dishwasher, having to brush by Sebastian again. He smiled brightly this time and scooted out of the way, allowing to give me a bit more room. "I just wanna grab a shower first and I should be ready in let's say 45 min?"

Sebastian nodded and grabbed his shake, "I'm going for a run, be back in a few."

Penn stood now and kissed my forehead while walking towards the dishwasher. "Have you talked to Chris yet today?"

I shook my head and sighed, "I still feel like shit about what happen even though he’s apologized immensely and hasn't given me any other reason to not trust him."

"I don't like the guy, like at all, (y/n), but you should at least check in with him. Kind of what good girlfriends do." He kissed my forehead again and grabbed his briefcase, "have a good day with Seb and call me if you guys get lost." He chuckled and locked the door behind him.

I grabbed my phone off the night stand and speed dialed Chris's number. Just when I thought it was going to be voicemail, he picked up sounding out of breath. "Hey baby!"

I settled into the bed again, bringing my knees to my chest. "Hey babe. What's going on? You sound like you're running a marathon."

He chuckled breathy and explained that he had started running this morning to slim down for the roll he had picked up. "My character is suppose to be slim but still muscular so Andre suggest running to slim down but hit the weights afterwards to keep my muscles. What are you doing?"

I smiled into the phone, as much as I was still pissed at him, I miss him a lot. "Nothing much, Penn has to work and his roommate doesn't have school today so he offered to show me around New York. Guess there is an amazing ice cream stand in Central Park?"

Chris caught his breathing back and I heard him order a protein shake from Smoothie Bank across the street from the weight gym. "His roommate offered to show you around? Any time we've been in New York, it's been at your brother's apartment and the airport. I'm glad you're finally going to be able to cross it off your bucket list."

I hear gulping through the phone and started sorting through clothes to wear for the day. "Hey babe, if you were me, would you wear comfy jeans and that blue sweater your mom got me for Christmas when we first got together or comfy jeans, my AC/DC tank top with open flannel? Sneakers with both of them, of course." I eyed up the two outfits, pondering.

"Babe, you know how much I love you in the AC/DC tank, and I would prefer it if you didn't go looking all sexy for some guy but you'll die of the heat if you wear the sweater. Just go with whatever you'll be comfy in. Oh," I heard him snap his fingers, "you packed the navy blue sun dress didn't you? That's completely not that sexy and you'll be crazy comfy." He smiled into the phone but I was a little offended by his lack of trust.

"Chris, I don't want to start a fight but-"

"Then don't." His breathing was back to normal and he was stern.

I snorted, "but," I grabbed the AC/DC tank and a pair of skinny jeans, "I have never given you any reason not to trust me so I'm going to wear the AC/DC tank because I love it the most and it also smells like you. Just please, trust me."

He sighed into the phone and I could picture his squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger. "Babe, you're right. You have never done anything that made me not trust you. Go ahead and wear whatever you want and have a blast! Call me tonight with details. Love you, doll."

I let a sigh of relief out, knowing that I stood up to him with a dig into our past but it had to be done. "Love you too. Call you tonight." With that, I hopped into the shower and changed into the AC/DC tank, blow dried my hair and was ready to go by the time Sebastian came back.

#someday darling #part 5 #chris evans #sebastian stan #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #au

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nickgerlich · 3 years ago

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A Mini Problem

Let it be known that I am not opposed to change. It is part of our existence, a force over which we have no control. I have long subscribed to the sentiments proclaimed by Canada’s premier rock band Rush in the anthemic Tom Sawyer. “Changes aren’t permanent, but change is.”

But sometimes I have a problem when change is done for the sake of change. It’s kind of like rearranging the furniture when the sofa was already in the best place. Graphic designers updating logos that weren’t broken. Or changing the footwear on the M&Ms spokespersons.

And no sooner had the M&Ms announcement started to fade from public consciousness, along came the news that Disney’s Minnie Mouse is getting a completely new outfit. Far more than simply trading go-go boots for sneakers, Minnie’s ditching her trademark red-and-white polka dot dress for a dark blue pantsuit. British fashion designer Stella McCartney seized the opportunity to do a total makeover.

Now to be fair, I don’t have a horse--or a mouse--in this race. I like going to the Disney parks stateside, and have been many times. I’ve got lots of photos of both Minnie and her beau Mickey. And while the outfit exchange--just like the tweak of the M&Ms shoes--is being pitched as female empowerment and inclusiveness, I’m just not convinced that the method was right.

My wife took one look and said, “Good grief, it looks like she’s wearing pajamas.” Yeah. Nice, toasty flannel pajamas with a matching bow, perfect for the snow day we are having in Texas.

But I nearly dropped a bowl of steaming Brussels Sprouts last night when youngest daughter said, “OMG! They turned her into Hillary Clinton!”

I must admit that, from my male perspective, my views are subject to female discounting. I am all in favor of empowerment and inclusiveness. I recognize that pantsuits are very popular among women in the boardroom, C-suite, and even the West Wing. Heck, they’re just popular. I get that. But was Minnie’s dress somehow limiting our perceptions of her?

In my twisted mind, this is a slippery slope. If this becomes a trend at Disney, then future young girls will be twirling around the living room in their princess pantsuits.

As you might expect, the social graph lit up with howls of protest as well as affirmation. Some conservative television commentators weighed in heavily, with Candace Owens saying “They’re trying to destroy the fabrics of our society.”

While I disagree with that wholeheartedly, I do think the execution was off. Far off. In comparison to the very subtle changes made by M&Ms, McCartney changed garments as well as color scheme, rendering Minnie nearly unrecognizable were it not for the Disney logo.

There are tricky waters to navigate these days. Preceding the recent wardrobe changes, we have had complete rebrands of Aunt Jemima and Eskimo Pies, and removal of iconic branding images that featured blacks or Native Americans. Heck, we now have the Washington Commanders in the NFL.

I applaud those changes. I’m just not convinced that clothing modifications--large or small--convey the empowerment and inclusiveness the companies think they are. You can do that without androgenizing your female protagonists.

But who am I? I’m just riding out the day’s events.

Dr “Catch The Mystery, Catch The Drift“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

#marketing #Disney #MinnieMouse #pantsuit

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my-emotional-self · 7 years ago

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Let Me Protect You Chapter 25/?

Pairings: Chris Evans x OFC Emilia

Word Count: 1,525

Warnings: FLUFF!!!! Swearing, Sexual Tension

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After Emilia’s fiancé cheats on her, she moves to California to live with her brother Eric, who just so happens to be good friends with Chris Evans. Follow Emilia and her roller coaster life through heartbreak, love, and emotional trauma. Will Emilia choose to let Chris into her heart, or will she remain broken and alone forever?

Chris grabbed your bags from the backset of the SUV as you stood there, taking in the glory that was his childhood home. You felt Chris wrap his chilled hand into yours and he squeezed it tightly, giving you reassurance. The two of you walked hand in hand up the driveway towards the front door. Chris didn’t even need to knock because the second you two landed on the top step, the door flung open to reveal his mother.

“Oh my dear boy! I’m so happy you made it here” Lisa said as she grabbed Chris by the arm, pulling him into her for a big hug.

“Hey Ma, it’s good to see you” Chris responded. Even though his back was to you as he hugged his mother, you could tell he had a big smile plastered on his face; it showed in his voice.

Lisa opened her eyes and they landed on you as an even bigger grin appeared on her face. Letting go of Chris, she turned to you. “You must be Emilia. Oh it’s so good to finally meet you dear” she said as she held out her arms to you. Giving her a gracious smile, you nodded your head and made your way into her loving embrace. You felt immediate warmth in her arms, a way a child always felt in the arms of their mother. It made you feel safe, just like being in Chris’ arms. “It’s so nice to meet you too Ms. Evans” you said, still embraced in her arms. “Oh no need for the formalities Emilia, you can call me Lisa, or Mom” she stated with a laugh which in turn made you giggle.

Lisa helped the two of you inside where you shrugged off your coat and took off your boots. She said Shana, Carly and the kids weren’t back yet as they had some last minute Christmas shopping; she suggested Chris show you around and to his room where you two would be staying while she finished up dinner.

The two of you made your way upstairs, stopping every few steps to look at the pictures that lined the wall as Chris would tell you stories behind them. It was wonderful to be in his childhood home, and to be able to hear stories of him and his siblings growing up, just as he heard about you and Eric and your childhood. It made your heart swell the way his eyes lit up talking about his family; making you fall deeper in love with him than before. You just didn’t know if he felt the same way with you just yet; not knowing if he loved you or was in love with you. You wanted to tell him, and not bottle up your feelings again, but you didn’t want to ruin such a great thing in your life; didn’t want him running away.

He stood in front of a door and gave you a warmhearted smile. “This is us” he said, his thumb pointing to the door, “my bedroom” he finished with a wink. You shoved him playfully as you returned his smile. “You are such a doofus Chris.”

Chris opened the door and gestured for you to enter first; him right behind you with your bags. Looking around the room you gathered it looked just like any regular boys room growing up. There was a full bed in the far corner pushed up against the wall and a nightstand next to it. The opposite wall from his bed had a desk with some papers piled on it, and finally a dresser. His walls were a light blue color and still had a bunch of posters from the 90’s littering them.

Chris moved around you and went to take a seat on his bed. He let out a content sigh as he did. “And this is where none of the magic happened” he said with mock sadness. You burst out laughing, almost falling to the ground. When you looked back up to see Chris, his mouth was wide open as if he was shocked. “You poor poor baby. How ever did you survive?” you cooed as you walked towards him and straddled his lap. Your hands started to trail over his chest which was covered in a grey sweater and it made his eyes pop even more. Up and over his shoulders your hands trailed, never wanting to stop touching him. As your hands reached his head, you pulled off his baseball hat and your nails scratched his scalp. He hummed in approval at your motion and you leaned in to seal his lips with yours. His lips were so soft and warm, even in the cooler state of weather. Chris’ hands made their own journey over your body, starting at your shoulders and making their way south before they finally gripped your ass and gave it a squeeze. You squealed at his ministrations and ground your hips into him earning a rather sexual groan from him. He withdrew his lips from yours with a sigh as he leaned his forehead to yours. “Fuck baby…you’re makin this real difficult not to rip your clothes from your body and take you right here.” The way in which he said that to you, his voice husky and full of lust, made you wet promptly. “You started it” you replied bashfully to him. His body started shaking as a laugh emerged from his lips.

“Chris, Emilia, dinner is ready!” Lisa shouted from downstairs; pulling you away from Chris. His lips captured yours in a chaste kiss once more before standing up. “Are you ready to meet everyone?” he asked, amusement in his voice and a playful smile on his face. “You bet your ass I’m ready!” you answered merrily.

Meeting Shanna, Carly, and Scott was a bit overwhelming you had to admit. All three of them trying to get hugs with you and then passing you to the next one; but overall it was great. You also got to meet all of Chris’ nieces and nephews which was adorable to witness. They all clamored to be with Chris as they missed him so much. Chris finally got them all settled down for dinner at the kids table and he came to sit next to you for dinner.

All six of you adults sat around and talked aimlessly about anything and everything. They all wanted to get to know you better so you told them about growing up in Minnesota and what led you to LA. His siblings were telling you embarrassing stories of Chris growing up and you couldn’t count how many times you almost peed yourself laughing. Chris got his revenge however as he told the story of the greatest prank he ever pulled on Scott. You vaguely remember seeing that interview on Jimmy Fallon, but it was way better hearing it straight from Chris as you were surrounded by his family.

His family was so welcoming of you and it made you feel fortunate to be around them for Christmas. Christmastime was all about being enveloped with those you love and those who love you. The minute you walked into this house, it felt of love and now you were a part of it. A smile didn’t leave your face the entire first night you spent there.

After dinner and dessert was over, you helped Lisa clean up the kitchen even though she kept saying she had it taken care of. You were raised to help clean up after a dinner and you weren’t going to back down now. You and Lisa exchanged more stories while washing the dishes as Chris looked on from the living room; love filling his eyes.

It was a very long day and before you knew it, yawns kept escaping your mouth that you just could not hide anymore. Everyone was surrounded in the living room watching a Christmas movie and your eyes kept drooping down. Chris noticed and whispered to you that the two of you should head to bed. You said your goodnights to everyone and made your way up the stairs, half tripping on steps from your tiredness.

Chris being the gentleman that he was helped you get into your pajamas as your limbs felt like they were made of lead. He stripped you of your clothes and your body was met with the warm flannel of your pajamas. You crooned in approval as you felt warm and cozy on a cool December night on the east coast. Chris gave you a loving smile as he quickly put his pajamas on before making his way into bed to nuzzle up to you. He extended his arm under your pillow so you could snuggle up to his side as his arm came around to gently graze your back.

Chris and you quietly exchanged words back and forth until the two of you were too exhausted to even talk. You felt his soft lips press to your forehead and you gave a lazy smile; your eyes shutting, and body relaxing into the arms of your boyfriend as sleep took over.

Tag List: @evansfanficweekly @ssweet-empowerment @always-an-evans-addict @iamwarrenspeace @patzammit @tacohead13 @valentinesbird @littlemissacorn @white-chocolate-mocha-fan

#Chris Evans x Reader #Chris Evans x OFC #Chris Evans Fanfiction #Chris Evans Fanfic #Chris Evans #Marvel Fanfiction #Avengers Fanfiction #Steve Rogers Fanfiction #Captain America Fanfiction

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trolldomblog · 5 years ago

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Color Magic - Magical Color Correspondences

Color magic is a part of many magical traditions because colors have certain associations. However, bear in mind that some traditions may set their own correspondences that differ from this list. When it comes to using these correspondences, be creative and think outside your normal comfort zone. You may wish to keep a variety of candles, colored paper, altar cloths and fabric, ribbons, or even ink on hand to use in different magical workings. Write spells and incantations in the appropriate color or use the corresponding color paper. You can incorporate stones, herbs, or flowers in the color of your choosing. If you meditate or do any chakra energy work, you can even imagine yourself surrounded in light that is the color you need for your magical working. The possibilities are limited only by your own imagination.

Red

Associated with courage and health, sexual love and lust, red can come in handy in spell work. Use red lipstick to kiss your lover, fill a red cloth pouch with herbs to boost your sex life, or burn a red candle before a challenging endeavor to give yourself a little extra courage. If you play sports or engage in other competitive activities, wear something red under your uniform to help give your confidence a lift. Red is also associated with war and power, so if you're about to engage in conflict - physical or emotional - red can be a useful color to have; consider imagining yourself bathed in a bright red light before you march off into battle. Red is also associated with the root chakra. Because of this, it's connected to both our sense of stability, and how we relate to the physical and material worlds.

Pink

Pink is associated with friendship and pure, innocent love. Got a crush on someone but not quite ready to burn the fires of passion yet? Use pink roses or other flowers to send a message. Dress in pink to attract new friends. Burn a pink candle for emotional and spiritual healing magic or to nurture a new partnership.

Orange

If you're doing a working for attraction and encouragement, use orange in your magical endeavors. Light an orange candle to bring new opportunities into your life; if you seek fun and adventure, wear something orange that really gets people's attention. Orange is a color of creativity and self-expression, so use orange when you're doing magical workings related to issues such as writer's block, or if you're an artist who feels your muse has been stifled lately. Because orange is associated with the sacral chakra, it is related to both sexuality and emotion, specifically in our ability to establish emotional connections to other people. Eating disorders and certain addictions, such as drug abuse and alcoholism, are sometimes connected to the sacral chakra, so use orange for magic related to healing these types of problems.

Gold

Gold is associated, as you might imagine, with financial gain, business endeavors, and solar connections. Hang gold colors around your doorway to draw money into your life or light a gold candle for workings designed to enhance your business success. If you hope to give your career a little magical boost, wear gold jewelry or carry a piece in your pocket. Gold is also useful in matters related to the law, courtrooms, and the justice system; if you happen to be waiting for a judgment in a civil suit or a criminal case, tuck a bit of gold paper into your shoe before you go into the courtroom.

Yellow

When it comes to persuasion and protection, yellow is a great color to use. It's a bright sunny color that lends itself to spreading happiness - and if people around you are happy, they're far more likely to see things your way! Because of its connection to the solar plexus chakra, yellow is also related to self-empowerment. Someone with a strong solar plexus chakra is a person who is well balanced in both their self-confidence and their levels of self-control.

Green

As you might imagine, green is connected to financial abundance and money, but it's strongly tied to fertility magic as well. Green is also related to the heart chakra. It's our emotional center – our ability to love others and to receive love in return. Forgiveness, romantic love, compassion, empathy, and platonic love – all of these are centered within the heart chakra, so use green for spell work related to these matters.

Light Blue

Light blue is associated with magic related to healing, patience, and understanding. Use blue fabric to sew a sachet or pillow stuffed with healing herbs or make a baby blanket with blue flannel to bring about wellness and good health. If you've got a sick friend, inscribe their name upon a blue candle before you burn it. Another great idea is to gift them with a set of blue socks - ever wonder why hospital socks are almost always blue? Blue is also the color of the throat chakra, which is our center of communication. It's what gives us the ability to be honest and open with the people in our lives. Our ability to trust, and be trustworthy, to speak truthfully and fairly, is all rooted within the throat chakra, so use light blue if you need to get to the truth of a matter or open lines of communication.

Dark Blue

If your magical working relates to depression and emotional vulnerability, dark blue is the color to use. Dark blue, or indigo, is connected to the brow chakra, which is where many people believe our Third Eye is located. Our ability to self-realize, to develop our psychic abilities and empathic skills, is connected to the brow chakra is also tied to our ability – and our willingness – to recognize, acknowledge, and then let go of emotional baggage, so use dark blue in workings of this nature.

Purple

Purple is the color of royalty and is associated with ambition and power. If you're heading into a business meeting and know you could run into conflict, wear a purple tie or scarf as an accessory.

In some metaphysical traditions, purple or violet is associated with the crown chakra. This is the part of us that is centered on our connection to the Divine, to the Universe itself, and to our ability to know our place in the grand scheme of things. If you're doing magic related to opening your connection to the deities of your tradition or path, use purple.

Brown

Brown can be incorporated into Earth-related or animal-related workings. If you feel like you need to get reconnected with the natural world, burn a brown candle, or carry some brown soil in your pocket. Also associated with home life and stability, you can use a brown marker or paint to create a sigil on your door or threshold. Inscribe spells or charms on brown paper - sandwich-size lunch sacks are perfect for this!

Black

Use black for magical workings related to negativity and banishment. If someone is bothering you, write their name on a piece of paper. Burn the paper around the edges using a black candle, and as you do so, let them know that you are burning away whatever feelings (animosity, lust, jealousy, whatever) they may have towards you. Burn as much of the paper as you can, until all that’s left is their name, and then bury it. Another option is to write their name on a black balloon, fill the balloon with helium, and then take it far away and release it into the sky.

White

White is strongly tied to purity, truth, and our connection to the divine and our higher selves. Note that in candle magic, many Pagan traditions hold that it is acceptable to use a white candle as a substitute in place of any other color. Use white for workings involving unity and peace, consecration of magical tools, blessings, and cleansing.

Silver

Silver is associated with reflection and truth, intuition, and lunar connections. Use a silver candle if you need to do some full moon scrying, or any sort of working that has to do with developing your psychic abilities, dreaming, or astral travel. Because of its lunar associations, silver is also tied to women's mysteries, the tides, and pregnancy.

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nancydhooper · 7 years ago

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We Took on Our School’s Sexist Dress Code, and We Won

As youth activism rises across America, a high-school senior discusses her peers’ recent victory over sex discrimination.

Student organizing is gaining momentum across America — the National School Walkout is proof that a change is happening among young people, and it’s happening fast.

High school students are making a difference on issues, and in communities, of all different sizes. In fact, students in my school district achieved a huge victory just last week. By standing up against a sexist dress code across different high schools in Kenosha, Wisconsin, we showed how student activism anywhere can start off small and then achieve big changes.

I am a member of the Women’s Empowerment Club at Indian Trail High School, which engages in activism to make our school a fairer and more equal learning environment. This year, we agreed on the need to take aim at our school district’s sexist dress code.

The dress code in our school district unfairly targeted female students by banning clothing that is commonly worn by female students, such as leggings, yoga pants, and tank tops. Female students have been kicked out of class and subjected to suggestive looks and comments from older adults. We have felt the eyes of 2,400 students as we get paraded around the building by faculty. Instead of being able to focus on our studies, young women have had to sacrifice our comfort as our bodies are judged as “distractions.”

Meanwhile, school officials have consistently overlooked the clothing decisions of our male counterparts. Whereas at least one of my female classmates was pulled out of class on an almost daily basis, I never saw a single male student disciplined, even when they wore pajama pants and other fashions that violated the dress code.

The enforcement of the dress code against female students who are judged a “distraction” also showed how little faith the school district had in its young men. Through their actions, adults were saying that young men couldn’t control their sexual impulses if a female student entered the room in a pair of leggings. Do we have such little faith in our teenage boys that we have to completely obscure young women’s bodies? Instead, we should be teaching young men that sexual harassment and assault is absolutely never okay, regardless of what a young woman is wearing.

The members of the Women’s Empowerment Club and I knew that we needed to hold our administrators and teenage boys more responsible for maintaining a safe and fair educational environment. We got to work on eradicating the school district’s discriminatory dress code.

After some discussions, we found the most appropriate way to make our voices heard: attending our local school board meetings, which meet once a month at 7 p.m. We intended to be there each month at 7 sharp, and we were.

At the meetings, we shared our personal stories with board members. I testified about experiencing the injustice of the dress code firsthand on multiple occasions, starting when I was a mere seventh grader. I described one time in 10th grade when I was kicked out of class for wearing leggings and a flannel shirt — an outfit I felt safe and comfortable in. That day, I missed a full day of education that included three tests.

I also testified about experiencing male teachers looking me up and down and commenting on my body or clothing choices in front of my classmates, which I find degrading and revolting. As I told the school board, teachers enforcing the dress code against me and my female classmates made us feel more like objects than human beings.

We never bowed down, even when some board members didn’t agree with us. And we weren’t alone. We started an online petition that received over three thousand signatures. After six regular board meetings and two working sessions, the board ruled in our favor. Last week, they voted to finally change the dress code’s bias against women.

When we started this experience, I never could have imagined how big an impact our student organizing could have. This change to the dress code affects current students, future students, and our entire community. Female students like me will no longer feel like we’re being targeted, like our bodies are something to be ashamed of. And although I’m graduating soon, my sister is only a fifth-grader in the school district. I’m relieved that she won’t have to experience the shame that the dress code put me through.

I am so proud to be part of this change in Kenosha and this student movement across America. The best part is that I know it’s not over. Even more positive change is possible, and I can’t wait to see the legacy of our work.

My message to other high school students is this: We can change the society we live in for the better, and we can start right now. Most of us may not be able to vote yet, but we can still make sure we’re heard. Whether your fight is small or big, it can make a difference in the world, so make your voice loud.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.aclu.org/blog/free-speech/student-speech-and-privacy/we-took-our-schools-sexist-dress-code-and-we-won via http://www.rssmix.com/

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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Stop with the leggings shaming and let women dress how they want

Oh the horror … LEGGINGS.

Image: Shutterstock / FXQuadro

United Airlines’ recent leggings ban has done much more than anger the online world it’s sparked an important discussion about the ongoing struggle women face dress in regards to unfair dress codes.

Though the great “should leggings be considered pants?” debate has been around for years, the controversy surrounding women’s dress codes was furiously reignited after Shannon Watts tweeted about two girls being banned from boarding a flight until they changed out of the leggings.

SEE ALSO: United Airlines: ‘Your leggings are welcome.’ Delta: ‘Duh’

Following the severe backlash, Jonathan Guerin, a spokesperson at United Airlines, assured Mashable that the leggings restriction solely applies to a select group of people: employees and their “pass riders,” friends or relatives of United employees who receive free or heavily discounted travel. All other passengers are invited to wear their leggings onboard United flights.

Why your worries are completely justified

Still, if you’re a woman and you’re flying as a pass rider, you are held to a much higher dress standard than others on your flight including being expected to leave your comfy, form-fitting leggings at home.

“Women are always damned if they do, damned if they don’t,” Dana Suchow a writer, stylist, and activist who runsDo The Hotpants, abody-positive blog focused on women’s empowerment told Mashable. “It seems like women exist solely to be judged by others and that there’s no space in which women are safe in to exist in the way that we want to exist … It goes from policing how much makeup we wear to how our hair is done or if our nails are a certain color.”

Other women agree. They rallied on Twitter to offer support and reflect on the fashion regulations that have made them feel “embarrassed” or “sexualized” by others.

Though United’s official statement casts its response as simply following a procedure that “most companies” also enforce, on Sunday, Twitter user Dana Schwartz explained why the dress code controversy matters so much.

Schwartz encouraged women to vocalize their own thoughts on the incident by sharing an anecdote about her shorts being too short in fifth grade. She also put the problem into visual terms by sharing a powerful drawing of a girl wearing “acceptable” clothing on one half of her body and “unacceptable” clothing on the other half.

http://pic.twitter.com/FFZkmI3lGp

Dana Schwartz (@DanaSchwartzzz) March 26, 2017

As dozens of women opened up about dress code-related pressures and negative experiences they’ve had in their own lives in schools, during extracurricular activities and even at their places of employment the problematic expectations of women’s fashion and bodies became increasingly clear. The stories shared, which included criticism for too much jewelry and cleavage, or not enough length, fabric or footwear, are nothing new and often straddle the line between enforcing “appropriate” fashion and slut-shaming.

“I want those girls to know they’re not alone,” Suchow said. “Even though it feels like the world, your schools and even plane companies all the places you spend your money are against you, there are people fighting for you and going through the same struggles. There are people who love you and know you’re worth more than what you’re wearing or how much makeup you have on.”

As beautifully displayed on an oversized white T-shirt by Isabella Villegas an 18-year-old girl who recently came to her 13-year-old’s sister’s defense after she was told her off-the-shoulder top was too revealing aside from being complete BS, dress codes can also promote objectification, sexualization and blaming the wearer for the actions of others. And though males are also given certain dress code guidelines, the strict and limiting regulations often lead to a feeling of shame amongst women.

my 13 year old sister was dress coded for her shirt today for “revealing too much chest and shoulder” so i made her a shirt to change into http://pic.twitter.com/NdRQws91HB

isabella rossellini (@bellavillegas_) March 13, 2017

In a 2015 interview with The Atlantic, Maggie Sunseri, producer of Shame: A Documentary on School Dress Code a short film featuring interviews with high school students about the negative impacts of dress codes explained, “Ive never seen a boy called out for his attire even though they also break the rules … The dress code makes girls feel self-conscious, ashamed, and uncomfortable in their own bodies.”

“But dress codes apply to boys too!” Men, did you feel shame for breaking dress code? For women, it becomes a character indictment.

Dana Schwartz (@DanaSchwartzzz) March 26, 2017

Airline dress code drama is nothing new

Though United’s latest dress code drama is making major headlines, this is not the first time women have been asked to change their physical appearance or to cover up by airlines.

Back in 2012, Southwest Airlines found itself in hot water after reportedly confronting a woman on her flight for showing too much cleavage in her flannel shirt. According to Jezebel, the woman, Avital, was told her cleavage was “inappropriate” and that she wouldn’t be able to fly unless she buttoned up a bit more.

“I didn’t want to let the representative’s Big Feelings about my breasts change the way I intended to board my flight,” she told the publication, “And lo and behold, the plane didn’t fall out of the sky … my cleavage did not interfere with the plane’s ability to function properly.”

And though the airline reportedly offered her an apology and a refund on her flight, “to add insult to injury,” Avital explained, “the guy sitting in front of me on the plane was wearing a shirt with an actual Trojan condom embedded behind a clear plastic applique and had no trouble getting on his flight.”

She concluded: “Slut shaming, pure and simple.”

Last May, JetBlue delayed boarding privileges for a 26-year-old woman traveling from Boston to Seattle because of her clothing. As Salon wrote, the Seattle burlesque performer, Maggie McMuffin, was reportedly told her shorts were too short and a gate agent requested she “cover up in order to get on the flight.”

Hey @JetBlue I was catching a connecting flight in Boston after a lovely flight from New York. Five minutes before boarding I was stopped.

Maggie McMuffin (@MaggieMcMuff) May 18, 2016

“I felt angry. I felt disrespected. I felt disappointed in the company,” McMuffin told the publication, while JetBlue spokesperson, Morgan Johnston, explained the decision was made with families in mind.

“The gate and onboard crew discussed the customers clothing and determined that the burlesque shorts may offend other families on the flight. While the customer was not denied boarding, the crew members politely asked if she could change,” Johnston told Salon.

After purchasing a new pair of shorts, McMuffin reportedly boarded her flight without further incident. JetBlue reportedly sent her a direct message on Twitter after seeing her frustrated tweets, explaining the request came from the pilot.

“It’s getting frustrating and exhausting,” Suchow said, reflecting on the numerous dress code regulations and appearance-based judgements women are constantly faced with. “I just don’t know what the ideal dress for a woman is. I honestly believe that these fake rules exist and keep women focused on their bodies and their appearance.”

“It keeps them shopping and it keeps them spending money instead of fighting for equal rights, fighting for equal pay, fighting for a seat at the table where they are treated equally because we’re so focused on our appearance … that’s what society has told us is important.”

But hey, don’t worry, if airlines dont want you to wear shorts that come above your knees or shirts that drop any lower than your collarbone there are plenty of other amazing fashion alternatives for you to choose from. The New Yorkerjokinglydefinesappropriate female flying attireas “refraining from showing cleavage, too much leg, or the outline of a human body,” and suggests women wear “a baggy tuxedo that looks like it belonged to a nineteen-thirties tap dancer, or a full hazmat suit.”

But rest assured, you dont need to take things THAT far. In the winter its easy to bundle up in ultra conservative sweaters topped with puffy ski jackets to ensure even someone with x-ray vision wont be able to make out any semblance of a female figure, and when the hot summer sun arrives you can strip down to light layers, like a nice mumu and baggy sweats, or full-length overalls paired with a fashionable turtleneck.

Sounds great, right? Just great.

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