#National Missionaries

[arclantis-blog]

What Are the 10/40 Window Nations?

The 10/40 window nations are those that fall within a rectangle bounded by the 10 and 40 north latitude lines, as well as the edge of the African continent and the Far East. The window received this name in 1990 from missionary and researcher Luis Bush. From Bush’s statistical analysis, it was a geographical representation of the largest percentage of the world’s population who had not yet heard about Jesus.[1]

There are 54 countries currently listed as 10/40 window nations. These include thousands of people groups, with just as many languages and cultures. Most of the more than 5 billion people – two-thirds of the world’s population – adhere to one of the three traditional Eastern religions, though there are also many local deities served and varied beliefs held throughout the vast array of humanity covered in this area.[2]

Most of these billions of souls have never heard about Jesus Christ and the Good News available to them, no matter their race or culture. This geographical window is also home to 80 percent of the world’s poorest people,[3] those who suffer at or below the commonly held international poverty line of $2.15 per day.[4] GFA World’s mission is to serve the combination of deep physical and spiritual needs endured by “the least of these.”

GFA national missionaries are the perfect people to train and send into places desperate for hope. Each missionary is raised up out of their own country. They receive training in how to best love and serve the people there. They already know the language and the culture to which God is sending them. Their ability to bridge divides because of their own backgrounds is essential in the hard work of reaching those who don’t yet know about the love of Jesus.

Click here, to read more about this article.

Click here, to read more blogs in Gospel for Asia.Com

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

*someone hates paul*

If you need me I'll be crying-

[the-everqueen]

Okay last one I pinky promise

fuck/marry/…get a drink with

Steve Murphy/Donald Pierce/Corinthian

(no ty Shaw, that’s too easy!)

Ty Shaw is baby, i'd marry that man and we'd be the weird poly couple that hosts "dinners" that are also orgies. of course he's the easy option.

once more, we are fucking Pierce. idk i think i could make that man cry. or give him a crisis. would he be sexist about it? yeah. would i be offended? not really. am i his type? also probably not but this is how we'd just end up doing hand stuff while talking shit about work. he seems like a great person to do a bitch fest with.

i'd marry the Corinthian. hear me out. there are no tax benefits BUT i'm poly and a permissive dog owner. is marriage even "real" if it's to one of the Major Arcana? idk, but it'd be funny to give Dream a conniption about it. also i'm assuming this nets me some kind of immortality deal because what's Dream going to do, vet a partner for his nightmare every 60-100 years? qualities in my favor: indeterminate gender, gay, high pain tolerance. my student evals have said that i am a good listener who's engaging in one-on-one but that i also have high standards for grading. also i have religious trauma so we could bond about weird complicated relationships to god. perks for me: a literal nightmare to unleash on annoying faculty members. also someone who can maybe talk to whoever is behind the recurring teeth-falling-out dreams. like, what's up with those.

i would get a drink with Steve. i think he's a little too old-fashioned to fuck, though i might be his type in dudes (short, thicc, Latino). but i get the vibes he'd try to be like, a "gentleman" at me because That Is A Woman and i ain't about that. i do think i could impress him with my taste in mezcal. i'm a total lightweight but he wouldn't take advantage.

[lottiecrabie]

I love that everyone turned over to the dark side (cowgirl) proud cowgirl voter since the beginning and my opinion has not even wavered once

~💋

everyone’s switching sides there’s betrayal Everywhere

[millerflintstone]

You can hide Blaze ads now

[baptist-denominations-poll]

National Missionary Baptist Convention of America

Progressive National Baptist Convention

Image from: Hartford Memorial Baptist Church, Detroit, Michigan (PNBC)

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"...in 1884, the DIA [Department of Indian Affairs] announced that it would be opening new boarding and industrial schools in British Columbia. In the early 1880s, only seven federally funded mission schools were operating in the province, including boarding schools at Metlakatla, Port Simpson, Yale, Chilliwack, and Mission, with a total enrolment of 544 students, 322 boys and 222 girls. In the opinion of local DIA officials, Metlakatla was the most desirable spot for an industrial school because it already had the necessary infrastructure. It was also the epicentre of growing Indigenous resistance on the Northwest Coast.

Though the conflict at Metlakatla in 1882, tensions persisted in the community and surrounding area. Indigenous Peoples were frustrated at the failure of government to prevent further settler encroachment on their lands. In response, Ts’msyan and Nisga’a citizens created new political organizations to fight back and assert their sovereignty. In fact, DIA officials who wanted to open new schools on the Northwest Coast often heard complaints from parents, including, “what we want from the Government is our land, and not schools.” Moreover, news of the 1885 war between Canada and the Métis and allied Cree, Assiniboine, and Saulteaux communities made its way over the Rocky Mountains. W.H. Lomas, the Cowichan Indian agent, confirmed the growing danger:

Rumours of the Metlakatla land troubles and of the North-West rebellion have been talked over at all their little feasts, and not often with credit to the white man.

Lomas warned that the provincial government’s disregard for Indigenous Peoples was tantamount to playing with fire and that action should be taken immediately to dissuade further dissent and prevent a general uprising. The “smouldering volcano” of Indigenous-settler relations once again threatened to erupt. Settler fears about Indigenous resistance, as Ned Blackhawk argues, directly inform colonial policy. In this context, and with Duncan out of the picture and Bishop Ridley in charge, the Metlakatla school was retroftted to become the province ’s first official industrial school.

John R. Scott, who had taught in Australian schools for Indigenous children, was chosen as its first principal. When he reported for duty in 1888, he found its condition unsatisfactory. There was no furniture to accommodate the pupils. After securing proper lodgings, Scott toured neighbouring communities to convince Indigenous parents to send their children to the school. He travelled to Fort Simpson and Kincolith and also visited a number of fishing camps along the Nass River. Of his journey, he wrote:

At these places I called at nearly all the huts and houses, and wherever I saw any children I explained to their parents the objects of the school and the provision made by the Government for educating Indian boys.

Some parents were interested, but Scott’s efforts were mostly met with indifference. Unfazed, he took in four boys, and two more pupils followed shortly thereafter. On May 13, 1889, he officially opened the Metlakatla school with just six students. By the end of the year, fifteen boys, four Nisga’a, eight Ts’msyan, and three Haida, were attending. Ottawa soon deemed the Metlakatla experiment a success and began preparations for new schools in the province. As in the colonial period, Anglican, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Catholic missionaries competed over newly available federal funds. Given the widely known difficulties with mission day schools, Powell proposed that boarding and industrial schools be established in strategic locations throughout the province as “the more desirable and advantageous course.” Considerable debate ensued among the churches and the DIA about the number and most suitable locations for such schools, with Powell and Indian agents relentlessly lobbying the DIA. In the end, three schools were established in 1890: Kamloops in the interior, Kuper Island, of the east coast of Vancouver Island, and Cranbrook in the southeastern mainland. Allocated per-capita grants of $130 per annum per pupil based on annual attendance, all three were run by Catholic missionaries and staffed by the Oblates of Mary Immaculate. All three were also situated in areas with significant Indigenous opposition to colonization.

In the late 1870s, Kamloops was identified as a hotbed of discontent over the provincial government’s land policy. In the summer of 1877, when two reserve commissioners arrived to investigate Secwépemc complaints, they quickly received of an alarmed telegram to the Indian Branch in Ottawa: “Indian situation very grave from Kamloops to American border – general dissatisfaction – outbreak possible.” Kuper Island and the parts of Vancouver Island that were located in the Cowichan Indian Agency also had a reputation for resistance. Most notably, Indigenous Nations were angry over the state’s attack on the potlatch, a ceremony and important economic gathering that Ottawa outlawed via an 1884 amendment to the Indian Act. In the late 1880s, the Kootenay region was also seen as troublesome. In 1887, provincial reserve commissioner Peter O’Reilly, Trutch’s brother-in-law, laid out reserves in the Cranbrook area in an unsatisfactory way, and Ktunaxa citizens, particularly Chief Isadore, were dissatisfied.

A detachment of the newly formed North-West Mounted Police (NWMP) under the command of Sam Steele was sent out from nearby Lethbridge, Alberta, as a show of force to deter further conflict. As tensions eased and the police were redeployed, the barracks that had been built for them were updated “for industrial school purposes in the interests of the Indian children.” The fact that Indigenous children were to be institutionalized in an old NWMP barracks established to check the power of their parents confirms that the structures of settler colonialism in British Columbia developed in the shadow of colonial conflict over the land, as Blackhawk shows was the case in the American West. Indeed, the principal of the Kootenay Indian Industrial School, Nicolas Coccola, acknowledged that when the school opened in 1890, the Ktunaxa were “on the eve of breaking out into war with the whites.” State schooling thus emerged in what Blackhawk calls the “maelstrom of colonialism.” The new school system was tiered, and the funding available to schools depended on their rank and utility to the DIA. At the bottom of the hierarchy were the Indian Day Schools. Given their high rates of irregular attendance and inability to separate children from their parents and communities, they were seen as inefficient but still necessary stop-gaps. Thus, most day schools received only a few hundred dollars of federal funding, barely enough to cover a teacher’s annual salary. Paying the remaining costs was left to the churches. Nevertheless, by 1890, ten were in operation, mostly on the coast, at Alert Bay, Bella Bella, Clayoquot, Cowichan, Hazelton, Kincolith, Lakalsap, Masset, Nanaimo, and Port Essington. By 1900, their number had jumped to twenty-eight in all parts of the province. Securing regular attendance remained an issue, however. In 1884, Harry Guillod, the Indian agent for the West Coast Agency, informed the DIA of a disturbing incident:

Rev. Father Nicolaye has had trouble with the Indians. He, as a punishment, shut up two pupils for non-attendance at school, and some sixty of the tribe made forcible entry into his house, and three of them held him while others released the boys … It is very uphill work trying to get the children to attend school, as the parents are indifferent, and are away with them at other stations for months during the year.

Far from being agnostic about schooling, Indigenous parents organized against the teacher and advocated for education on their terms. Gwichyà Gwich’in historian Crystal Gail Fraser notes that Indigenous parents often “understood the implications” of Indian education “while demonstrating their awareness that their complicity within the system did not equate to unqualified approval.” Parents and guardians actively negotiated their circumstances and “proved remarkably successful in their capacity to transform, to greater and lesser degrees, emerging state structures and policies around schooling.” Still, such activity convinced the DIA that boarding and industrial schools were necessary to separate children from their parents and communities to facilitate re-education and assimilation.

Indian Boarding Schools, originally designed for younger children and located on or near Indian reserves, were a step above day schools in the DIA ranking. According to state officials, they had the advantage of being able to house children and establish some distance from parents for much of the year to disrupt Indigenous lifeways. Indeed, Métis historian Allyson D. Stevenson argues that “disruption and dispossession figure prominently in the colonization of Indigenous kinship.” Their per-capita grant was usually in the range of sixty to eighty dollars, and some also received free or cheap land grants to open new facilities. In 1890, boarding schools were operating at Coqualeetza, Port Simpson, Mission, and Yale. The All Hallows Boarding School at Yale originally accepted Indigenous and white pupils, the latter mostly the daughters of Anglican families in the Diocese of New Westminster who were unhappy with the non-denominational public school system being implemented across the province. As Jean Barman writes, All Hallows was unique in that it was both a boarding school for Indigenous girls, complete with DIA funding, and a private Anglican school for white pupils who paid fees. By 1900, there were seven boarding schools, with new institutions being established or recognized by the DIA at Alberni, Alert Bay, and North Vancouver. Most incarcerated Indigenous children from many different Nations from across the province.

The highest rank in the new system was reserved for the Indian Industrial Schools. The first schools were mostly paid for by the federal government, but an Order-in-Council of 1892 shifted substantial costs back to the churches. Missionaries were now expected to operate the institutions on per-capita grants that were below the then-current level of expenditure, usually $130. The government assumed that teaching would be done on a volunteer basis or would be covered by churches. The inadequate funding simply exacerbated existing problems. Nevertheless, by 1900 new industrial schools at Alert Bay, Coqualeetza (which was upgraded to an industrial school), and Williams Lake joined Metlakatla, Kuper Island, Kamloops, and Kootenay. Within twenty years, the number of Indigenous children attending federally funded schools of all kinds – day, boarding, and industrial – had doubled, reaching a total of 1,568 by 1900."

- Sean Carleton, Lessons in Legitimacy: Colonialism, Capitalism, and the Rise of State Schooling in British Columbia. Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2022. p. 121-126.

[arclantis-blog]

Why Are 10/40 Window Missionaries Needed?

There are more than 7 billion souls on the planet Earth. Of those, two-thirds live between 10 and 40 degrees north latitude, in Africa and Asia. Most of this mass of humanity has never heard about Jesus Christ. Additionally, 80 percent of the poorest people in the world live in these regions.[1] The needs are deep and great for 10/40 window missionaries.

“In this present era, Americans are becoming more and more unwelcome in foreign countries, especially in those of the 10/40 window,” states Aylissia Lee, a writer for Just Disciple. “So, it is important that we partner with Christians of other nations that will be far more effective in reaching those in countries that are not welcoming to Americans.”[2]

This is one of the reasons why GFA World created its national missionary program. Through discipleship and training, they raise up missionaries within a country, not from the outside, to love and serve their own people. These workers already know the language, culture and possible barriers to receiving care, both physically and spiritually.

When a GFA national missionary is able to serve in the country of their birth, the language and cultural obstacles are often removed. They are more readily welcomed by the locals and can communicate the deeper truths that come with hearing about Jesus and the Gospel.

They can also relate to the unique struggles that the people of that area encounter, from lack of education and clean water to inadequate income. Knowing the complex issues that surround each of these challenges, a GFA missionary can enter into their troubles with love and compassion, helping to connect them with the lifelines offered through GFA.

Since there are so many basic needs in these countries, GFA workers are always looking for how they can bring things like clean water wells, farm animals and education opportunities to the many impoverished people. Their eyes are on both the practical and the heart needs of each individual.

Click here, to read more about this article.

Click here, to read more blogs in Gospel for Asia.Com

[uwmspeccoll]

The author, Angela Hovak Johnston.

Johnston and Marjorie Tungwenuk Tahbone, traditional tattoo artist.

Catherine Niptanatiak: "I designed my own, something that represents me and who I am, something that I would be proud to wear and show off, and something that would make me feel confident and beautiful. . . . I have daughters and I would like to teach them what I know. I would like for them to want to practice our traditions and keep our culture alive."

Cecile Nelvana Lyall: "On my hand tattoos, from the top down, the triangles represent the mountains. . . . The Ys are the tools used in seal hunting. . . . The dots are my ancestors. . . . I am so excited to be able to truly call myself and Inuk woman."

Colleen Nivingalok: "The tattoos on my face represent my family and me. The lines on my chin are my four children -- my two older boys on the outside protecting my daughters. The lines on my cheeks represent the two boys and the two girls on either side. The one on my forehead represents their father and me. Together, we live for our children."

Doreen Ayalikyoak Evyagotailak: "I have thought about getting traditional tattoos since I was a teenager. . . . When I asked the elders if I could have my own meaning for my tattoos, they said it wouldn't matter. My tattoos symbolize my kids."

Mary Angele Takletok: "I always wanted traditional tattoos like the women in the old days. I wanted them on my wrists and my fingers so I could show I'm Inuk."

Melissa MacDonald Hinanik: "As a part of celebrating my heritage and revitalizing important traditional customs that form my identity, I believe I have earned my tattoos. I am a beautiful, strong young woman. I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend, and an active community member. I reclaim the traditional customs as mine, I re-own them as a part of who I am."

Star Westwood: "We still have some of our culture, but some things are slowly dying. Having tattoos helps us keep our culture alive. . . . . My tattoos represent my dad and my dad's dad. The ones closest to my wrists represent my sisters."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

National Tattoo Day

July 17 is National Tattoo Day. To celebrate, we present some images from Reawakening Our Ancestors' Lines: Revitalizing Inuit Traditional Tattooing, compiled by Angela Hovak Johnston, co-founder with Marjorie Tahbone of the Inuit Tattoo Revitalization Project, with photographs by Inuit photographer Cora DeVos, and published in Iqaluit, Nunavut by Inhabit Media Inc. in 2017.

For thousands of years, Inuit have practiced the traditional art of tattooing. Created the ancient way, with bone needles and caribou sinew soaked in seal oil, sod, or soot, these tattoos were an important tradition for many Inuit women, symbols etched on their skin that connected them to their families and communities. But with the rise of missionaries and residential schools in the North, the tradition of tattooing was almost lost. In 2005, when Angela Hovak Johnston heard that the last Inuk woman tattooed in the old way had died, she set out to tattoo herself in tribute to this ancient custom and learn how to tattoo others. What was at first a personal quest became a project to bring the art of traditional tattooing back to Inuit women across Nunavut.

Collected in this book are photos and stories from more than two dozen women who participated in Johnston's project. Together, these women have united to bring to life an ancient tradition, reawakening their ancestors' lines and sharing this knowledge with future generations. Hovak Johnston writes: "Never again will these Inuit traditions be close to extinction, or only a part of history you read about in books. This is my mission."

Reawakening Our Ancestors' Lines forms part of our Indigenous America Literature Collection.

Angela Hovak Johnston (right) with her cousin Janelle Angulalik and her aunt Millie Navalik Angulalik.

View other posts from our Indigenous America Literature Collection.

[lolahauri]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ It's Your Sex I Can Smell, P2

Ship: Ticci Toby/Reader

Type: Explicit Smut, F/M, Part 2/3. (MDNI)

Contains: Dom Reader, Sub Toby, Missionary Position, Handjob, Female Masturbation, Vibrators, Edging, Orgasm Control, Crying, A LOT of Teasing & Begging, Creampie, Praise, Dirty Talk, Lots of "Good Boy", Love Confession, Post-Sex Cuddling.

Words: 3k

M/M Ver: Coming Soon...

A/N: Hope this doesn't disappoint! So sorry for the wait. <3 Part 1 <-

Much to your dismay, nearly all of the shops in town were closed today. Meaning your only options for grabbing household essentials were a couple gas stations that decided to stay open on a national holiday. You weren’t happy about it at all, but you tried to look on the bright side. At least you could get home to Toby sooner, right? Now that you don’t have to browse a large grocery store. 

You moved the small bags of food to one hand and opened the door to the cabin. “Tobes! I’m home early!” you yelled out into the living room, not checking to see if he was actually still there first. “I guess it’s some kind of… holiday…?” Your voice lowered and your sentence was interrupted when you heard strange sounds coming from the opposite end of the house. 

“The fuck is that?” You thought to yourself as you set the bags on the table. It sounded like some kind of crying almost? Was Toby hurt? What could have even happened in the hour you were gone? He was literally the only one home. It couldn’t have been a cooking accident, he was eating when you left. Plus, he was clearly not in the kitchen. 

Worried someone, or something, had broken in, you moved cautiously down the hall, pocket knife in hand. You weren’t sure at first, but you knew now the sound was definitely coming from your room. But why would he be in your…

....

....

Oh!

You covered your mouth to hush the loud gasp threatening to escape. Peeking past the doorway to your room once again, you almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Toby, your best friend, in your bed, masturbating, and smelling your… used underwear... Jesus Christ. 

It wasn’t often you were left speechless, but this was one of the rare times you were. What had you most confused though were your own feelings. You wanted to believe it was just something between pity and disgust, but the heat spreading between your thighs told you that wasn’t all you felt. 

It was embarrassing, really. On one hand you wanted to yell at him, slap him across the face for being so fucking disgusting. But on the other, you wanted to keep watching, maybe even join him. There’s something so grossly erotic about watching him please himself with your belongings, thinking he’s alone, that he’ll get away with it and you’ll never know. 

You didn’t even realize how hard you were spaced out until you were snapped out of it by Toby’s orgasm. Your cunt throbbed suddenly, your eyes widening again. He was whimpering and crying out your name while his cum soaked your underwear. You cringed at the sight, it was both sickening and insanely arousing. As he went to remove the article from his lap, you figured now would be as good a time as any to make your presence known. You didn’t want him to get too tired before you could play with him a little. 

Walking into the room quietly, you leaned against the door frame, putting your knife back in your pocket. “Having fun, Toby? God, you’re so fucking pathetic.” You bit your lip and smiled to hold back a laugh, watching as he immediately jumped at the sound of your voice and locked eyes with you. Did he really not know you were there at all? Guess he’s not only a pervert, but fucking oblivious too. 

You could practically see the gears turning in his head as you stepped further into your room. He began sputtering out apologies and stuffing his cock back into his pants, tripping and stuttering over his words to the point you could barely understand him. He seemed so caught up in his panic he didn’t even notice that you’d turned to lock the door, now carefully stepping towards him.

“Relax, Tobes. I’m not gonna hurt you. Jesus...” You couldn't help but giggle a little, he's kind of adorable when he's scared.

Wait, what? That shut him up right away.

"U-uhm, you-you're not?" He looked and sounded both confused and cautious. Is this some kind of trick? Are you about to kill him? His heart raced as you stepped right in front of him.

"No, of course not." You took off your jacket and carefully climbed into the bed with him, straddling one of this thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck. "I wanted to join you actually. Is that okay, Toby?

Toby looks up at you in disbelief, wondering if he actually died and went to heaven. He figures this has to be a trap, there's no god damn way you're trying to fuck him right now.

But on the other hand, you definitely could've killed him already if you wanted to. You must not mean any harm. So what's the worst that could happen then? You lead him on, you don't let him cum? He would deserve that so he couldn't really complain-

"Toby? Hellooo?" He jumped at your voice, clearly unaware he was lost in thought.

"S-sorry, uh, yes? Of course!" His voice cracked a bit. He carefully put on a hand on your waist, testing the waters first. He then gazed up at you with those big brown puppy eyes, waiting for you to take the lead.

"Great. You just lay back and be a good boy then, got it?" You whispered. He obediently nodded in return, whining at the nickname.

Time for the fun to begin.

You ran your hands from his shoulders all the way down his torso, just barely feeling the muscles and scars on his body through his sweatshirt. His breathe becoming shaky the further you trailed down south, the anticipation making every hair on his body stand up. By the time your fingers reached the waistband of his boxers, he was nearly squirming under your touch.

His jeans were still unbuttoned and barely covered his growing bulge, leaving him to be easily accessed. You held one hand on his hip to keep him still, and let the other move to his cock, gently palming him through his boxers. A relieved sigh slipped past Toby's lips as his cock jumped at the sensation.

An uncomfortable ache spread between your legs the longer you played with his cock. Squeezing your thighs together was no longer providing any relief, but you just couldn't stop teasing him. Every little noise that came from him made a spark of electricity shoot through you, and the feeling of his cock non-stop twitching and throbbing under your palm only made you want more.

You could sense you weren't the only one feeling impatient though when he started bucking his hips up to meet your touch. Toby let out a strangled moan as you ghosted your fingers over his tip, feeling that it'd already begun leaking precum, leaving a small wet patch on his underwear.

"Please..." His voice was barely above a whisper, moving his hips up again to press into your hand.

"Mm-mm." You shook your head at him and removed your hands from his bulge. "None of that. Stay still and tell me what you want."

He whined in discomfort, covering his reddening face with his hands, already struggling with the loss of contact. "Plea- please..." Is all he managed to get out. "God, this is embarrassing" he thought.

" 'Please' what? C'mon, be a good boy and use your words." Hands now tracing along the waistband of his underwear. His only response was a groan in frustration, trying again to thrust up, only to be met with you pinning him down harder with both hands. "Listen, I'm not going to say it again, Toby. Tell me what you want, or you're not getting anything at all." 

"Ughh. Fuck, just-just touch me. Please, anything. Need... need more." He was tossing and turning underneath you, getting increasingly antsy and impatient

"That's all I needed to hear." Before he could whine in annoyance at your condescension, you'd already dipped your hand back into his pants. Only this time instead of more teasing, you fully pulled his cock out and brought his pants down just enough to leave him fully out on display. He wasn't the only one craving more.

The cool air hitting his blazing hot skin made him shiver, but you were quick to start warming him up. You gently wrapped a hand around Toby's cock as you knelt between his legs, stroking him at an agonizingly slow pace. He didn't complain yet though, he was just happy you were touching him at all.

After a few slow pumps of his cock, you stopped to tease his tip, smearing the precum dribbling out and using it as lube as you continued. Toby's face was flushed and sweaty when you started to pick up the pace, jerking him off just quick enough to not be too teasing, but still not enough to bring him to the edge. Just what you wanted.

"F-faster..." He begged, huffing and gripping the bed sheets.

"You want more?" You smirked when he nodded his head eagerly. "Okay, what's the magic word?"

Normally he would've been pissed off at you for talking to him like that, mocking and taunting him, but right now, any shame he had was long gone. He was willing and ready to do any and every thing you asked of him.

"P-lease! Pleasee go faster!" His voice strained, body twitching underneath you. The constant flow of whimpers makes your cunt throb painfully, but you aren't done playing yet. You're just getting started.

"That's it, good boy, good boy." You leaned your head down a bit to spit on his aching cock, immediately earning a high-pitched moan from him. You started jerking him off at a fast pace, letting your other hand move down to cup his balls. He gasped as you began to gently massage and rub them, feeling almost overwhelmed with pleasure.

He whimpers your name and grips your arms tightly, "I'm- I'm getting s-soo close. Holyy shit"

"Yeah? You wanna cum?"

"Fuuck yess, please let me cum." He sounded so cute and pathetic you almost considered letting him. But unfortunately for him, you're not done yet.

"Mm, I don't think so." The hand that was stroking his cock slowed to a full stop before you pulled both of them away. He whimpered at the sudden loss of contact and looked at you with half lidded eyes, looking like a sad little puppy.

"W-why?" Was all he could get out, his voice sounding so weak and defeated.

"Oh come on, you already came once today. I should be able to have some fun too, don't you think?." He looked away and blushed, feeling guilty and embarrassed. You shuffled out from between his legs and moved further down the bed.

"Tell you what," You started to pull your t-shirt off, "I'll let you watch. And maybe if you behave I'll let you touch yourself too. How's that sound?"

Toby's eyes were glued to your tits the entire time you spoke, but eventually he stuttered out an agreement. He couldn't deny that he had definitely fantasized about watching you masturbate before. He'd be crazy to not take you up on this offer.

You then slowly pulled down your shorts and panties, trying not to giggle as you watched him follow your every move, practically drooling in anticipation.

When you were finally undressed, you leaned back on one arm, spreading your legs and letting Toby see the mess he made of you already. His cock jumped at the sight of your glistening cunt, whining a little under his breathe.

"Tobes, open my nightstand and toss me my vibrator." He listened straight away, doing it as fast as possible, so eager to watch.

You started on the lowest setting first to tease yourself a little, wanting to last as long as possible and give Toby a real good show. The toy buzzed lightly as you slowly ran it up your pussy, wetting it with your juices.

A relieved sigh escaped you when the toy finally reached your neglected clit. Despite being fully exposed to the rooms chilly air, your skin was on fire. Waves of tingling heat washing over you.

You slowly rubbed it in tight circles, watching Toby the entire time. He was anxiously shifting in his seat, wanting so desperately to join you, but he knew he had to wait for your approval. He looked so cute sitting there waiting for your command. God, how you wanted him to just crawl on top of you fuck you right then.

That wouldn't be a punishment, though. You'll have to let him take lead next time.

Your cunt clenched around nothing as you lowered your gaze to his cock, imagining how it'd feel inside you. He's big. It'd probably stretch you out real good. Fuck, this is going way too slow for your liking. You needed more.

You inhaled sharply as you turn the vibration speed up, setting it at medium. "Shit..." You rubbed your clit in long, slow strips. It was getting hard to stay slow, you wanted to cum so bad, but you tried to hold out as long as possible.

"You wanna join, Toby?" Looking into his eyes, you could already tell the answer.

"Ye-yes please." He replied so cautiously, yet he was quick to grab his aching cock. He started to jerk himself off like he was in a rush, way too fast to not cum soon.

"Hey, slow down. Stay with me, 'kay?" You said as sternly as you could at the moment. But you had to admit your confidence was faltering at bit.

Toby nodded and slowed down, his breathing getting shaky and ragged as he stared at your cunt, watching your juices drip onto the sheets. He felt so hot and dizzy. All he wanted was to be inside you. He couldn't stop the whimpers that came out after each stroke of his cock. He sounded like he was about to cry.

And that only turned you on more.

You clicked your vibrator one last time, putting it on the highest setting and rubbing yourself faster. You cursed and moaned as you swiped the toy across your clit over and over and over. The muscles in your thighs and abdomen started to tense up. An intense pressure rapidly building up. You were going to cum at any minute, you couldn't stop it now.

Toby was feeling the exact same way, listening to your pretty moans as he watched you fuck yourself was making him lose his god damn mind. He started begging you to let him finish too, he couldn't handle anymore edging. He might actually start sobbing if you deny him again.

"Can I cum wi-with you? Please? Please, please, please!" His voice cracked and wavered, small tears brimming his eyes.

You were seconds away from your climax now, but you still didn't let up, "No-no fucking way! Don't you -oh fuck- don't you dare fucking cum. Wait till- till you're inside."

You could barely get your sentence out before cumming all over your vibrator. The feeling hit you like a train, like you were about to pass out from the intensity and exhaustion. You nearly screamed from the pleasure, quickly becoming overstimulated as you rode out your orgasm.

When it was over, you felt limp, barely able to keep yourself propped up. Damn. Guess you will have to let Toby take it from here. You've probably punished him enough anyway, why not give him a treat?

You lazily tossed your vibrator onto the floor, calling Toby's name and catching his attention immediately. The look on his face made your heart jump.

Oh, poor baby. His eyes were so glossy with tears, panting from being worked up so much. But what a good boy he was, listening to your every word. He's definitely earned this.

You spread your legs open again, beckoning him to come forward. "C'mere baby, finish inside me, you earned it."

He didn't wait a second to jump at the opportunity, not wanting to wait and have you change your mind. He crawled on top of you and wasted no time slipping himself inside.

You both gasped at the intrusion, his big cock stretched you out perfectly, and his eyes were rolling back at how fucking tight and soaked you were. He didn't even have to wait to start pounding into you like an animal, he slid right in and fucked you with ease.

Toby knew he wasn't going to last long, so he savored this feeling as long as he could. He buried his face into your neck, moaning after each thrust, slamming into you as hard and fast as he physically could.

He was falling apart quickly though, the way your walls squeezed around him left him breathless. He gripped onto the sheets tightly and sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat. Not hard enough to bleed, but enough to make you gasp and tighten around him. You felt so good he couldn't believe it.

He wished this could last forever, but he just couldn't hold off any longer, feeling the pressure of his long-awaited orgasm sneak up on him already. He moved his hands off of your sheets and snaked his arms underneath you and around your torso, pulling you into a tight embrace before he came.

His thrusts became sloppy and erratic as he reached his climax, now completely unable to hold back all his pretty little noises. His exhausted body trembled as he came deep inside you, crying into your neck and muttering "i love you" over and over again. He stayed inside until he was totally spent, trying to cock warm you as long as could.

It took all of his willpower to finally pull out of you, he wished he could relish in the feeling of being inside you forever. But for now, cuddling your sweaty, equally tired self would have to do.

He collapsed next you and pulled you back into his chest, refusing to let go of you even to clean up, insisting you wait until morning to shower together.

And you accepted that, too tired to argue back as you felt sleepiness take over, quietly dozing off with his strong arms wrapped around you.

~

A/N: Thanks for reading! I luv you all! (❁´◡`❁)

[baptist-denominations-poll]

National Missionary Baptist Convention of America annual meeting.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"…both Vancouver Island and the new mainland colony were severely cash-strapped. The solution to this problem lay in land. Perry notes that “land lay at the heart” of the colonial project in British Columbia; it was the “medium through which colonial society aimed to reconstitute itself.” Indeed, David McNally and Glen Sean Coulthard stress that land is “foundational” to settler capitalism because so-called primitive accumulation “pivots on the theft, enclosure, and parcelization of the earth.” Accordingly, some colonial officials justified usurping Indigenous lands by invoking the doctrine of discovery and viewing the region as terra nullius – empty and free for the taking. The local government was already taxing certain exports (such as gold and coal) and imposing tarifs on all imported goods to generate revenue for public spending, but now the Colonial Ofce encouraged it to steal and sell of Indigenous lands, at a high price, to raise additional funds to support various initiatives, including schools. This is how, as Aileen Moreton-Robinson points out, the “possessive logics of patriarchal white sovereignty” were “operationalized, deployed, and affirmed” in the British Empire. Herman Merivale, permanent under-secretary for the Colonial Office, explained the scheme:

Might it not be desirable to suggest to the Governor that in any funds acquired from the Sale of Indian Reserves – which it might be intended to appropriate in the service of the Indians – a good portion should be set aside for the purpose of a school for the education of the children ... As V. Couver’s Isld and B. Columbia advance in prosperity they should not overlook the civilization & interests of the Indian, which so far as I can see can be best promoted by the establishment of industrial & educational Schools for the younger members of that race.

As in other settler colonies throughout the British Empire, Merivale’s proposition became policy: portions of reserved and stolen lands were sold, and part of the proceeds went to the creation and funding of schools that could teach new generations of Indigenous people to accept colonial authority and to contribute to the emerging capitalist economy.

Colonial Secretary Lord Carnarvon confrmed as much in an 1859 letter to Douglas:

In the case of the Indians of Vancouver Island and British Columbia... I would enjoin upon you, and all in authority in both Colonies, the importance of establishing Schools of an industrial as well as an educational character for the Indians, whereby they may acquire the arts of civilized life which will enable them to support them- selves, and not degenerate into the mere recipients of eleemosynary relief.

Douglas agreed.

The frst laboratory for the new policy was Victoria, where two recently arrived Anglican clergymen, Reverend Alexander Charles Garrett of the SPG and William Duncan of the CMS, worked among the lək̓ ʷəŋən, as Lempfrit had almost a decade earlier. Garrett came to Victoria in 1859 and quickly rose to prominence. An ordained priest, he was elected principal of the newly created Indian Improvement Committee, and Duncan, a lay cleric, became its secretary. In 1860, Garrett wrote on behalf of the committee to request that Douglas “be good enough to grant a site on the Indian reserve for a school house and master’s residence, for the benefit of the Indians” near Victoria. Given that the project needed “some substantial and reliable source from which to draw the necessary funds,” he suggested that a grant of money at least equal to the amount that the Committee may be able to raise, would be required to meet the expenses of erecting the necessary buildings and also that one half the amount of expenditure for the maintenance of the Institution, should be secured by the Government from some source local or otherwise, the Committee to raise the other half.

In essence, Garrett proposed a cost-sharing agreement between missionaries and the government, a model that became standard for Indian education in Canada by the 1880s. He assured Douglas that in supporting the initiative, he could help Victoria become “the seat of a flourishing and efficient establishment for Missionary and Industrial enterprise.”

- Sean Carleton, Lessons in Legitimacy: Colonialism, Capitalism, and the Rise of State Schooling in British Columbia. Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2022. p. 57-59

[opencommunion]

one reason (white) queer people misuse the term homonationalism is that they see queerness (or whatever you want to call it) as naturally disaffiliated with the US empire. so they understand homonationalism as a divergence from a natural mutual antagonism between queerness and empire. they talk about homonationalism as if it's an exclusively "normie gay" project, and as if it's a divergence from, rather than a consequence of, the overall trajectory of western lgbtqia+ politics. ironically it’s that self-exceptionalization by the queer, on the basis of their queerness, that imbricates them in homonationalism. they produce themselves as a homonationalist subject, and reproduce homonationalism, every time they articulate their queerness as individualized freedom. and Puar actually anticipates all of this in her original theorization of homonationalism in Terrorist Assemblages, and that's why it really helps to go to the text instead of osmosing queer theory solely through tumblr posts (esp when tumblr is so white and the queer theorists are not): "Some may strenuously object to the suggestion that queer identities, like their 'less radical' counterparts, homosexual, gay, and lesbian identities, are also implicated in ascendant white American nationalist formations, preferring to see queerness as singularly transgressive of identity norms. This focus on transgression, however, is precisely the term by which queerness narrates its own sexual exceptionalism.

While we can point to the obvious problems with the emancipatory, missionary pulses of certain (U.S., western) feminisms and of gay and lesbian liberation, queerness has its own exceptionalist desires: exceptionalism is a founding impulse, indeed the very core of a queerness that claims itself as an anti-, trans-, or unidentity. The paradigm of gay liberation and emancipation has produced all sorts of troubling narratives: about the greater homophobia of immigrant communities and communities of color, about the stricter family values and mores in these communities, about a certain prerequisite migration from home, about coming-out teleologies. We have less understanding of queerness as a biopolitical project, one that both parallels and intersects with that of multiculturalism, the ascendancy of whiteness, and may collude with or collapse into liberationist paradigms. While liberal underpinnings serve to constantly recenter the normative gay or lesbian subject as exclusively liberatory, these same tendencies labor to insistently recenter the normative queer subject as an exclusively transgressive one. Queerness here is the modality through which 'freedom from norms' becomes a regulatory queer ideal that demarcates the ideal queer. ... I am thinking of queerness as exceptional in a way that is wedded to individualism and the rational, liberal humanist subject, what [Sara] Ahmed denotes as 'attachments' and what I would qualify as deep psychic registers of investment that we often cannot account for and are sometimes best seen by others rather than ourselves. 'Freedom from norms' resonates with liberal humanism’s authorization of the fully self-possessed speaking subject, untethered by hegemony or false consciousness, enabled by the life/stylization offerings of capitalism, rationally choosing modern individualism over the ensnaring bonds of family. In this problematic definition of queerness, individual agency is legible only as resistance to norms rather than complicity with them, thus equating resistance and agency.

... Queerness as automatically and inherently transgressive enacts specific forms of disciplining and control, erecting celebratory queer liberal subjects folded into life (queerness as subject) against the sexually pathological and deviant populations targeted for death (queerness as population). Within that orientation of regulatory transgression, queer operates as an alibi for complicity with all sorts of other identity norms, such as nation, race, class, and gender, unwittingly lured onto the ascent toward whiteness. ... To be excused from a critique of one’s own power manipulations is the appeal of white liberalism, the underpinnings of the ascendancy of whiteness, which is not a conservative, racist formation bent on extermination, but rather an insidious liberal one proffering an innocuous inclusion into life."

Jasbir K. Puar, Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times (2007)

[arclantis-blog]

What Are Some 10/40 Window Facts?

Here are some of the most important 10/40 window facts according to Joshua Project:[1]

Nearly two-thirds of the world’s population live within this designated area.

80% of the world’s poorest people groups live here.

Thousands of different people groups and languages comprise these areas.

More than 3.45 billion of those in these regions follow one of three traditional Eastern religions.[2]

Most of the people groups have never heard of Jesus and do not have a Bible in their language.[3]

This designated area between the 10 and 40 north latitude lines includes the largest swath of humanity and also the largest number of people who have never heard about Jesus.[4] They are also often closed to outsiders for various reasons. Likewise, some of these places are dangerous for geographic, political and economic reasons.[5]

Religion is more than just a set of beliefs for many of these people groups. According to Alyssia Lee, a writer for Just Disciple, “If you do any sort of studying on these religions, you will quickly find that it is not merely a religion or practice but rather it is grafted in the culture; to renounce one of these religions is to renounce heritage, family, social standing, etc.”[6]

This means that serving these people groups and sharing the love of Jesus with them takes a special understanding of how people develop their beliefs as part of their culture. Someone who truly understands the culture can come in and minister to them effectively.

That is why GFA World trains and sends national missionaries. These men and women are born and raised in the countries where they serve. This gives them intimate knowledge of the culture to which God calls them. No matter how well-versed one might become through study of another culture, an outsider will never be as fully integrated as someone who has lived in the culture their entire life.

Click here, to read more about this article.

Click here, to read more blogs in Gospel for Asia.Com

[auragasmics]

WRITHING HEARTS!

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° synopsis! it's marriage for business, pitting you as the engaged bride to one Gojo Satoru, known as a shameless playboy. but when your heart yearns to be with Geto Suguru, the lover behind closed doors, you'll do anything to wind up in his arms!

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° pairings! fem!reader x Geto Suguru

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂  ₒ𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° cw! 4.1k words, arranged marriage au, features Gojo Satoru, mentions of death/suicide, implied infidelity, oral ( m -> f) , missionary, cowgirl, cremepie, Gojo catches you in the act

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° xoxo, chris! sigh, i love this fic </3

A wedding they said, one that would unite the two competing companies into a mass monopoly to control the economic world. You being the poise daughter you were, accepted your parents’ request, relinquishing your chance at finding a pure and true love. It came with not even a bit of resistance, considering that you loved no man except your father.

You even knew the man you’d be wed to within the coming year, one that goes by the name of Gojo Satoru. He was a kind fellow with such charm that any woman could fall for him at the mere wink of his icy blue hues. 

In fact, that’s exactly what he did. What troubled you about the sudden marriage to Gojo was that his reputation was known as a playboy, using women for sexual gratification. It utterly disgusted you, knowing that someone as smug as he would be due to be your groom caused unrest within you. 

When the news had broken on national television, all seemed to be shocked, hailing you as the holy one. You were seen as the one who put an end to Gojo’s promiscuous ways, the photos of you both taking leisure lunches resurfacing from media blogs everywhere. However, that was only a small percent of the truth, something only you kept to yourself.

Those lunches were designed to shield from the public, staging it that you and Goji were such a happy couple. In truth, Gojo’s ways hadn’t changed, only keeping his personal affairs. In the very house purchased for the soon-to-be united by both his and your parents, he brought his mistresses and quick flings to your abode, a separate room reserved for his affairs. 

Even after numerous complaints and teary-eyed woes to your parents, they could not budge. They hated watching as their sweet daughter wailed in agony, sorrow dressing her words in these past few months since announcing the entire ordeal. 

In the darkest hours, that’s when your path just happened to cross with one man in particular, Geto Suguru. Geto was a man of former stature, his family losing their wealth due to extortion charges.

He was left with a small fortune before both his mother and father committed the act of suicide a few days before their prison sentence. From the age of fourteen, Geto was forced to endure the stains left behind by his parents.

He’s been shunned from the corporate world, only being invited to gatherings to dwell in the shadows of those who boasted of their success.

Geto would only linger for a bit before disappearing from sight. He was the biggest mystery, one that had your infatuation written all over it. You were unconsciously embedded in him, the wish to free him from his harrowing loneliness ate at you night and day. It had reached a point where you longer cared for your parents’ wishes, finally placing your desires before their own selfish needs. 

You needed to seek out Geto, for you own sake and at a chance of finally receiving peace of mind. As for how you both met, it was one of sheer coincidence, the both of you entering the lobby of a building your father owned in the city. You were well aware of who he was, his towering physique jutting from the crowd. You couldn’t help but be drawn to him, the rumors and mysteries shroud his name, but not a single person seeking out the answers they desire.

With every step you took towards him, an unsettling coil formed in your belly. Could it have been from the nervous strike attacking your body all of a sudden, or the words from your adolescence that reply at the forefront of your thoughts. A warning from your parents, advising you to stay away from that man, claiming that nothing good ever occurred when involved with him. 

You were refined to believe such an idea, judging the poor man without any pre existing context. You sought to learn the truth of Geto Surguru, especially at the risk of defying your parents. 

Once you had initiated the first words, a bright light was casted onto the darkness that covered Geto’s heart. He clung to you, deeming every intimate moment as rare as the jewels found in caverns. The man became intoxicated with your every fiber, and eventually led to your touch. You both knew it was wrong, but the vines of the budding rose to your romance was something that not even the false engagement to withstand. 

Yet, like the rose, it’s thorn will always come back to prick the one who gave it life, a lesson you would soon learn all too soon. 

“Gojo, could you not flirt while we’re together? It won’t look good for the tabloids,” you suggest, whispering the words of warning along the shell of his ear. He merely shrugs his shoulders, “It’s our engagement party, it’s not my fault there are so many lovely ladies here tonight!” 

You roll your eyes, the veins lining underneath your eye twitching with gall. You had hoped that Gojo would put aside his reprobate methods, even if just for the night.

However, the way he dressed tonight alone told a different story.

He wore a glaucous white silk dress shirt, his chest revealed to the wandering eyes of women who hoped to one day take your place beside him. The black trousers upon his body were tighter than usual, the bulge of his length just teasing the onlookers. His hair was styled neatly, hanging just past his ears with not a strand of the frosted locks out of place. 

Gojo wore a sneering smile, his best accessory by far. You knew that if you even left his side for a second, he’d be out of the room with a woman linked to each arm. Then again, you had nothing tying you to him, the urge to seek out your one true lover hanging above your head similar to the glass chandeliers adorning the ceilings. 

You wore a slim black dress, the neckline ending just below the curve of your ribs. It clung to your figure perfectly, drawing every eye to you. It was a piece that Geto found the most pleasing for the event, his assistance proving itself through all the praise.

Yet, you wished to be with him for the evening, not the snobbish man doomed to marry you within the coming days. It has been almost a year since your engagement to Gojo, but almost a year since meeting Geto. 

“Listen Y/N, you and I aren’t actually married, daring, hell, we can barely tolerate each other. You see, in the public, I’m your loyal husband, changed from his old ways. Yet, in private, I haven’t changed not one bit. I don’t plan to either, I love the way I am. I suggest that you find something that makes you happy too, sweetheart. It’s the only way you’ll survive in this life.” 

You whipped your head away from Gojo, the pestering tone of his suave voice pinched your nerves. Though it was as if the brash message was on demand, the sight of a familiar figure caught your eye, there stood Geto against the door, wearing a black turtleneck with navy blue slacks and a floral patterned suit jacket.

You felt your heart nearly skip a beat, the look of bliss etching onto Geto’s face as he spotted you. You practically ached to join him, your body desperate for the warmth only he could offer. 

Gojo seemed to be interested in socializing, his arm tugging away from the link you both formed an hour prior. He sensed the same urge to leave, to pick his new victim amongst the other beauties. It was only right if you freed him, right?

“Gojo,” you called, “I’ll go get some wine. See you at home later.” 

That was all he needed, ripping away from you to dive headfirst into the bundling crowd. You spun around to face Geto, only to find that he had left his position against the wall. 

A huff seeped from your lips, realizing that it would be near impossible to find a man who wouldn’t allow himself to be found. Gratefully for you, he was already closer than you had expected, just waiting to take you away into his world. 

“Don’t you look absolutely stunning?” A voice hummed, the palm of a large hand slipping along the curve of your shoulder. Just from the subtle peck laid against your skin, you knew who had finally gained their hold of you.

“You know better than to act so boldly like this in public, Geto. I’ll get in so much trouble,” you teased, but you’ve already decided to forego the thought of consequences once the dreamy scent of his cologne flooded your nose.  

“Why, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want the world to know your mine, not that asshole’s.”

Geto slides the pads of his digits down your arm, your skin heating up at his languid touch. You spin around face him properly, a grin gracing both your faces. The urge to kiss Geto ran high, the tension between you both was something that couldn’t be ignored. 

“Can we leave this place? I hate loud parties like these,” you sighed, urging your face near his own.  

“But, it’s your engagement party,” Geto began, “It’d suck to have the bride be missing. Even worse to find her with a man other than her betrothed.”

A shallow pout poked out from your lips, the gloss reflecting the lights from above. “But, I want you, and only you, Geto. Can’t we make that happen?”

From his pocket, Geto pulled out a room key, the silver ridges twinkling before your widening eyes. “It’s the closest we’ll get to having our own space but...it’s better than nothing.”

Without another word, you and Geto took hold of each other’s hand, slipping from the masses and into the darkened hallway of the hotel. You peppered kisses all over his cheeks, the anticipation bubbling within your body. 

In that time that you’ve gotten to know him, Geto was far from all the names and warnings everyone was always so quick to spew. He was kind, gentle with his words and manners. You’ve come to realize that he would never harm a fly, nonetheless, does he live up to a quarter of the rumors surrounding him.

In other words, Geto was the one who had your heart. The marriage would only prove more difficult for the little arrangement you both had. Eventually, the relationship would have to be brought to light, regardless of your attempt to keep it hidden. 

“Are we in the clear?” He whispered, aligning the key with the slot. You nodded, checking the surrounding area for any onlookers for the last time. He pushes the door from its frame, pulling you and himself into the room.

With a slamming shut, you found yourself pinned against the shiny white paint, Geto decorating the pulse of your neck with pecks and bites. Your fingers found way to his hair, the thick ravenous locks latching around your dainty digits, encouraging Geto to proceed with his display of affection.

“I see you’re wearing that dress I like, almost like you wanted to get my attention,” he ventured, pulling away from the freshly laid trail of bites. You bit your bottom lip, the blood rushing to greet each ministration on your skin. It was all too overwhelming, but you fell prey to the amorous aura surrounding Geto, the searing ache amidst your legs leading your every move.

“I have no clue as to what you mean, I just really like the color black against my skin,” you purred, peering up at the impassioned man through your darkened lashes. Geto snaked a hand behind you, his fingers toying with the zipper lining the curve of your spine. With his lips brushing along the shell of your ear, he whispered the teasing words to spur you on.

“If you don’t mind, I happen to love what’s underneath the dress all the more.”

You surround the nape of his neck with your arms, leading Geto into the kiss just waiting on your lips, nodding frantically at his request. Without breaking the kiss, Geto stripped you bare of the silky material, leaving the matching hunter-green bra and thong set to don your body. 

“Aw, no fair. I didn’t wear anything you’d like,” Geto frowned, drawing away from your lips for a moment.

 You trailed your fingers down to the heavy belt buckle at the forefront of his hips, a sly grin creeping onto your lips. “Y’know how much I love those tattoos of yours, that’s all I need.”

Geto chuckled at your words, the pair of you working in tandem until he stood with only his briefs. He took a firm hold around your waist, lifting you from the cold floor. “I missed this, I’ve missed you,” he groaned, his teeth pinching at the supple skin of your breasts. You giggled in response, “It’s only been a few days, I don’t see how you miss me so much.”

Geto placed you onto the bed, the white sheets contorting around you as he planted his hands on either side of your head. “When you’ve been as alone as I have, you’d understand. In all of my twenty-four years, I’ve never been so happy,” he gushed into the crook of your neck. You giggled in response, “I can say the same, I’m so glad to call you mine.” Geto pried away, placing himself above you once again. 

“See, you love me and I sure as hell love you, I’m tired of hiding it. I mean, why can’t everyone know that I’m so much better than that Gojo. Do I have to demonstrate that to confirm my case,” he groaned tirelessly. 

You shook your head, “No, but I have a feeling you’re about to prove it to me.” 

“Damn right I will,” Geto boasted as he sank down to his knees, his face filling the spacer between your legs. He glared up at you, laying a trail of kisses along the plush of your inner thigh.

“I’ll prove it to you and I’ll do it well,” he quipped, the animalistic tone intertwined with each word. He hooked onto the sides of your panties, sliding the soaked cloth down your legs and away from sight. The calloused palm of Geto’s hand pressed into your stomach, pinning you down to the bed without choice. 

“Stay there for me, won’t you? I just wanna make this pretty pussy of mine happy,” Geto quipped, his lips placing a soft kiss onto the folds of your puffy cunt. You nod in agreement, all tension melting away from his touch. 

With the pad of his thumb, geto parted the lips of your cunt, the viscid mess of slick glimmering in his eyes. He was quick to attach his mouth to you, the flat of his tongue collecting every drop hungrily. 

A sharp gasp flooded your lungs, your back arching beneath him. There was something in Geto that seemed to have your body just fold at his command. In everything he did, he approached it with benign care. He knew every curve, nerve, and crevice of your body, each arc of your curling silhouette accepting him willingly. 

The earthy brown hues of Geto’s eyes were no longer in view, looking back to his head as he continued to immerse himself in your flavor. He rolled docile circles into your clit, a hum of praise vibrating from his throat. 

“Holy—don’t stop, Geto,” you mewed, biting back the moans that sought to fill the walls of the room. 

You sensed a nod of compliance from him, Geto suckling the pearl between his swollen lips. The heavy pool of nerves churning at the pit of your stomach surfaced, limbs stiffening at once. Your vision grew burry, the patches of white light piercing through.

His hands latched onto your wrist, guiding your own hands into the thick strands of his hair. Geto loved whenever you raked through his locks, tugging at the roots whenever the pleasure pooled over the limits you could handle. 

You began to tremble, your legs seeking something to grasp. Geto took notice, the robust strength of his arms clasping the underside of your thigh, He led your legs to drip across onto his broad shoulders, your thighs nuzzling Geto deeper towards you. A rush of thrill sped through his veins, Geto watching his efforts pay off with such pride. 

A harsh arch carved itself into your spine, your walls coming to a steel grip of nothingness as you release the woes of the day all onto Geto’s awaiting tongue. A groan emitted from his throat, the whites of his eyes reverting to the forefront of his visage.  

“Fuck, give it all to me,” he moaned, desperately dragging his tongue across your spasming clit. You rocked your hips against Geto’s slicked muscle, riding out the fleeting moments of your high. Your head tossed back with a final cry, Geto’s name singing from your lips.

He could only chuckle at your state, the pride brewing in his heaving chest. “See, I know Gojo can’t do that, even if he tried,” he jeered, pulling away from you. Geto stood from the ground, a visible spot of precum soaking through his briefs. You reached out to tug at the elastic waistband but Geto tacked your hand down on your stomach, hovering above you.

“Just spread those legs for me, and I’ll take even better care of you,” he hummed, sliding the tips of his fingers to squeeze at the underside of your thigh. You found yourself in the center of the bed, legs pressed into your chest. Geto was swift to strip from his briefs, standing before with eight inches to fill you with, his cock so heavy with the need for relief that it stood upright with no aid, the plushy pink crown of his length just riddled with thick streams of precum drooling from the slit. 

Geto held the base of his dick, gently nudging at your entrance. He studied at how the whole mass of his tip slid inside you, an enticing gasp following suit. 

“Don’t look at anything but me,” he hissed, Geto’s cheeks stricken with heat. He relished in the way you squeezed around him, your walks never fully being able to contort to his size. He would always give you a few minutes filled with kisses and words of encouragement until you adjusted around him, Geto giving you the slowest of thrusts to begin.

 “You’re doing so good, baby, just a little bit more,” he comforted, Geto’s hips driving a bit deeper. You rested your hands atop his broad shoulders, sliding down the expanse of his chest, admiring the way the sleeves of Geto’s tattoos complemented his body’s physique.

With such a strong build of muscles shaping his arms and the cuts of his hardened abdomen, even the patterns of ink that adorned his being were enough to make anyone squirm at a glance.

You were just lucky that person was you.

You eventually found your way to his waist, his hips rutting into you effortlessly. You pulled Geto into you, trapping him in with your legs around his waist. He took in a heavy intake of air, the hull of his chest expanding in compensation. 

“That’s new, something you wanna tell me?” He whispered teasingly. You bit back the onslaught of moans, the want to form an actual sentence gaining the upper hand. 

“Just want y-you closer,” you whined, the girth of Geto’s cock dragging against your walls at a sluggish pace. He stood still for a moment, staring down at you. 

“I’m not going anywhere, promise,” he cooed, pressing a kiss onto your perspired forehead. Geto slid his arm underneath your back, closing the gap between you both. He drew himself from your heat, a spew of curses leaving from his parted mouth. You had no clue as to what Geto had in mind but you knew he was far from done.

“I’ve been dying to have you ride me again, it’s practically all I think about these days,” Geto cooed as he crawled to the top of the bed, his back flush against the wooden headboard. 

You followed behind him, your arms encircling his neck. “Have you now? Is that all you think about?” You grinned, allowing for your legs to plant themselves on either side of Geto. 

“Of course not, but I love it when you do,” he beamed, his hands settling upon the curve of your ass. He kneaded the soft flesh in the palm of your hands, your body jolting in response. 

“Shh, save those chills for when you finally cum, it's a sight that I get to savor all to myself.” 

Geto snaked a hand between your bodies to brace his twitching cock towards crooned as he your entrance. You slid down his shaft with ease, your walls encasing his length snuggly. You lifted your hips, earning a seething hiss from Geto, the pressure already rendering him weak. 

“Why I barely did anything, don’t tell me you’re close already,” you taunted, carding through his locks that dared to cover an ounce of Geto’s lewd look of pleasure.

“Hell no, I just get a little excited, you know that.” 

You swiveled your hips against him, taking Geto in deeper until you felt satisfied to ruin the man beneath you. You couldn’t ignore the knot in your stomach, growing tighter with every rise and fall of your hips onto the unalloyed mass of Geto’s thighs. I

t was hard work to bring that prickling rush of ecstasy among Geto, but it was worth it all, the way he’d become drunk off you. His speech, his thoughts, and even the way he’d latch onto your ass to fondle at the mound of flesh all belonged to you, something that brought you more pride than your own family name.

Heavy pants of need leave from Geto’s strained throat, louder than the pornographic rings of skin crashing against another. You painted kisses and nips onto the velvety skin of his chest all the way up to his lips. 

Geto was sensitive, to say the least, between the deepening strides of your hips, the plush of your lips dancing against his own, and your pretty voice singing his name at the top of your lungs were all the ingredients for a disaster in the making. 

“Princess, how do you think Gojo would react if he found out that a degenerate like me fucked a beautiful little baby into his fiance?” Geto pondered between weak bucks into you, trying to gain back some type of control. 

You struggled for a moment, gathering the words around the mushed thoughts of your mind. “H-He wouldn’t care,” you mewled, using the fleeting bits of your energy to clamp down around Geto. 

“Good, that’s what I wanted to hear,” he moaned, tossing his head back as he came undone, the thick ropes of cum flooding your womb. You released a squeal of glee at the feeling, the sensation being one for the books. 

As you both came down from the high, Geto pulled you into his chest, the expanse of his pecs rising and falling at a staggering pace. “Fuck, you’re so good to me, Y/N.” Geto huffed, nuzzling a kiss onto your parted lips. You remained perched on his lap, back arching into his smothering hold. 

“I love you so much, Geto,” you whimpered, rocking along the thick length still plunged inside you.

“I love you beyond words. I hope that one day soon I’ll be able to m–” he began, only to find his impending sentence being interrupted. 

The sounds of voices rang from behind the door, the clicks of locks echoing around the room. You and Geto had no time to react, only facing who could possibly disrupt the intimate moment. 

“…and I said, "No, who the hell wants chiffon mixing with spandex?" designers are so stupid these days–Oh my! What have we here?!” The voice barreled out, the steps coming to a sudden halt. You shifted around on Geto’s lap, facing the onlooker head-on. 

“Hello…Gojo…” you grinned, staring back at the man, who just happened to have two women strung along with him. You couldn’t find it in you to feel even the slightest bit embarrassed if anything…it felt good to watch Gojo have the dumbest shock displayed on his face.

Geto didn’t budge either, his lips clinging to the corners of your malicious smile. “There seemed to have been a room mix-up…I’ll be on my way then,” he croaked, Gojo’s eyes still pinned on the scene before him.

You and Geto exchanged a quick glance, one filled with disinterest. It also seemed as if Gojo was hurt, hurt to find that his sweet soon-to-be wife had a filthy secret of her own. What a beautiful concept double standard can be, something that can be forgotten once it is done to the doer. 

You turned to Gojo, looking him dead on with an expression of apathy.

“You do that then.”

[psychotrenny]

It’s fucking insane to me how normal Yankee Liberals are about Hawaii. As in like the way they just treat it as an unremarkable fact that their nation controls the island. Like the annexation of Hawaii wasn’t just any old example of Settler-Colonialism, the subjugation of a decentralised non-urbanised people that could be just dismissed as mere “tribes” or what have you. Not to say that such forms of “typical” Settler Colonialism are any less abhorrent or disgusting, just easier to justify from a Liberal point of view. Easier to claim that they weren’t *really* using the land properly or that they were an hopelessly and eternally backwards who only really benefitted from their conquest or that they were doomed and dying anyway and their fate was a mere tragic inevitability not worth dwelling on or… Point is all these arguments are all wrong and stupid and cruel but they can serve well enough to downplay or justify such atrocities in the eyes of Imperial Core Liberals.

But like with Hawaii you don’t have that. The Kingdom of Hawai’i was a sovereign state that was internationally recognised as such by the Great Powers of Europe even at the very height of Western Imperialism. Literacy rates were high and compulsory education was introduced in 1841 (pre-dating the US by 77 years), healthcare was given to all Hawai’ian subjects free of charge, Christianity was dominant (so even the most ardent Imperialist couldn’t claim that the people were in the thrall of some “barbaric superstition” that necessitated the “civilising influence” of empire) and it had a well-developed Capitalist economy dominated by Sugar production.  Like even if we take the Western model of statehood as the be all end all of what separates the civilised from the savage (to be clear hear you really fucking shouldn’t, but many people do so for a second that’s the frame of reference we’ll employ) then Hawai’i was very much unambiguously the former.  But that didn’t stop the US from shamelessly interfering it’s politics Indeed those aformentioned markers of Western-Style “civilisation” and “development” came with the price of allow US missionaries and investors to settler in the islands and become very wealthy and influential. For decades the US used the threat of force to influence the policy decisions of the kingdom, going as far as to regularly send warships in a classic display of “gunboat diplomacy”. In 1887 a US settler militia called the First Honolulu Rifles staged a coup where they forced Kalākaua to accept a new Constitution that heavily favoured the interests of USamerican settlers who had grown very wealthy through their investment in sugar production on the island.  It stripped the Monarchy of much of its power and introducing requirements for voting that heavily favoured US settlers; re-introducing wealth/property requirements that were now higher than even, allowing resident aliens to vote and just outright banning any Asian immigrants from voting (which at that point had as much to do with plain racial hatred as it did to any acting threat they might have posed). This wasn’t enough for the Yanks and 6 years later a group of 13 US settlers known as the “Committee of Safety” outright overthrew the newly crowned Queen Liliʻuokalani when she refused to co-operate. It existed briefly as an “Independent” USamerican dominated republic before the US government decided to official annex it in 1898 (similar to what you saw with Texas or California).

While incredibly controversial at the time due to both strategic concerns with the annexation of ultramarine territories and some level of outrage at the shameless take-over of a sovereign nation (hence the time gap between the coup and the actual annexation), nowadays Yanks enjoy their control over the island without the slightest care in the world. They even turned it into a tourist destination, a heavily romanticised one that not only receives many millions of visitors every year but is constantly mentioned in the popular culture the US then proceeds to export all over the world, literally revelling in their land that is by literally any definition (even the most nakedly pro-imperialist) stolen. The land itself is severely exploited to the point of significant ecological damage, the indigenous peoples too are exploited as many of them live in poverty while US investors grow wealthy from their land and labour. Even their very culture is stolen and monetised, the most marketable parts bastardised into cheap kitsch and the rest of it left to rot, only kept alive through over a century of continued resistance from the indigenous peoples. It’s a very common story of course, but I think it stands out with how utterly ghoulish it is even under the most Liberal of consistently applied worldviews. It would be like if in say 2007 someone set up Disneyland in Bagdad. And yet by the vast majority of the US (and by extension the vassals states whose view of the situation is filtered through the lens of US media and propaganda) it isn’t seen that way. Hawaii is just the 50th state, the only state outside North America and in the tropics (hahaha ain’t that a neat little fact. Geography is so fun J), an island paradise perfect to visit with the whole family and yet still as American as Apple Pie. Even many self-described “progressives” talk about it in this way, at most mentioning the plight of the indigenous Hawaiians with minimal though as to how this situation came about. Like while the story of Hawaii is far from unique; even in terms of the US doing colonialism to Westernised peoples you examples such as the ethnic cleansing of the Five Civilised Tribes from the Eastern USA, it still stands out to me with the sheer level of international recognition and Western-style development that the Kingdom of Hawai’i possessed. Like it’s just such an obvious example of the naked greed at the heart of the USamerican empire, and how utterly bullshit talk of a “civilising mission” and “spreading democracy” is. No matter what they may claim, no matter what excuses they may trot out, Imperialist rapacity has no limits.