#student christian movement

[here-there-were-dragons]

my mother is absolutely convinced of some nonsense conspiracy theory that (in her words) "originally humanity lived in peaceful all-woman societies of goddess worshippers who took care of eachother and lived in harmony, while males were roving loners that had no society and never cooperated. that changed when the men banded together and overthrew the peaceful woman-dominated societies, and enslaved us all." and, according to her, this is proof that a woman-dominated world would be innately more peaceful, and that men are innately violent and evil and should be either barred from holding any legal power or leadership roles or at least should be (again in her words) "gelded like bulls" to remove their testosterone before even being considered for such a thing.

she also evidently believes that the problem with all religions today is primarily that they aren't "goddess worshippers", because she seems to think goddess religions are inherently peaceful and pure too and seems to be especially obsessed with "Isis" in particular. the very very few times she's openly considered it unambiguously bad for some population or another to have been exterminated (she's got a bad case of devil's advocating genocide brain), she's gone out of her way to make up some crap about how said people were a peaceful society of goddess-worshippers, almost always of isis. delusions of isis-worship seem to be the only thing that ever causes her to consider any arab or middle-eastern culture, society, or ethnicity to be relatively uncomplicatedly undeserving of extermination, in fact, because every fucking time she doesn't immediately start devils-advocating it and making remarks about how "the rest of the world should box them in and let them blow eachother up" it's when she's whinging on about how whatever specific micro-ethnicity she's thinking about are or were traditional persecuted isis-worshippers.

the sole major exception to her weird fixation on isis worship justifying worthiness of life is the whole israel thing going on, in which she has consistently made very obvious that literally the only reason she's against the genocide of palestine is because it gives her an excuse to even more openly hate jewish people than she already did. and honestly i'm not sure even that's true because i think she's made some offhand remarks about palestinians having probably been peaceful isis worshipers before the jews infected them with christianity or something anyway.

so for the last, however fucking long it's been i've been constantly having to listen to her go off about how this behavior is in the jew's blood or whatever and that they literally invented all genocide because somehow the concept didn't exist before them and wouldn't have ever been invented by the rest of humanity without those jewish aliens dropping it in i fucking guess apparently and she furthermore goes on about how every single genocide and mass-oppression movement in history is directly inspired by them, ESPECIALLY the nazis, and THEN i have to listen to her rant about how, basically, wwii was something they entirely brought on themselves by "dominating the economy and treating everyone not them like shit" and the nazis were just "using their own tactics back at them". and then she goes on a rant about how the people the original jews exterminated back in the day (aka the first ever genocide, which they invented, because jews invented genocide and hate according to her) in the middle east region were peaceful matriarchal isis-worshipers.

and then she starts making comments about arabs being backwards and palestinians either being mysogynist muslims that should be boxed in to blow eachother up with everyone else or secret peaceful isis worshippers corrupted by men's cruel hand, sometimes in the same sentence, entirely dependent on which group she's more in the mood to hate at the time.

it's exhausting. beyond exhausting. her sole purpose in existence seems to be to have the singularly most exhausting set of politics physically possible to fit into one person.

just, sometimes i think, if there really is anything at all to the incredibly stupid and inexplicably popular idea that anyone or anything has a Purpose tm to exist for, i feel like my mother's purpose is to be walking proof to me of a Type Of Guy That Is Real, cause i sure as fuck would have trouble inventing this mess if it wasn't standing right in front of me spewing confusingly bipartisan hate. all of her thoughts and opinions are these long winding nonsense chains that feel like if that man carrying thing sketch about the friend with confusing politics was a person. on meth.

[heritageposts]

Germany's leading Social Democratic Party (SPD) and the opposition Christian Democratic Party (CDU) have ordered high schools in Berlin's borough of Neukolln to distribute brochures titled The Myth of Israel #1948. [...] Neukolln is one of Berlin's most diverse and international boroughs with a large Palestinian community. [...] The brochure states there are five "myths" around the creation of the state of Israel, which are subsequently refuted in short essays by various authors. In the first section, debunking myth #1, that Jews and Arabs lived together in peace before Israel was founded, Israel's pre-state militia, the Haganah, responsible for the destruction of 531 Palestinian villages and the expulsion of 700,000 Palestinians between December 1947 and the summer of 1948, is promoted as a merely "defensive" Jewish resistance movement. Under 'Myth #2: Israel was established on stolen Palestinian land', Masiyot states that the acquisition of land by Jewish immigrants to Palestine took the form of a legal exchange of capital for an official title deed. At no point in history was land illegally conquered by Jewish immigrants, the author of the text, Michael Spaney, claims. Even land conquered following the wars of 1948 and 1967 and the subsequent construction of settlements, which are internationally recognised as a violation of international law, did not occur unlawfully, it says. "Anyone who uses the accusation of land theft as an argument demonises Israel and denies its legitimacy, i.e. acts out of antisemitic motives," Spaney wrote. "Myth #5: Israel is to blame for the Nakba", includes a text by researcher Shany Mor titled "the UN is distorting the meaning of the Nakba: its view of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is extremely one-sided". In the text, Mor states that "displacement during war - then and now - was nothing unusual". He also labels the UN's attention to the Palestinian cause "obsessive" and the Arab defeat of 1948 a myth.

. . . full article on MME (23 Feb 2024)

[theexodvs]

Biblical answers to MRA’s questions

Q: What is the appropriate response to a woman beating her male partner?

A: Eye for an eye (Lev. 24:19-20) is the maximum appropriate response regulated in Scripture. Remember that this works both ways.

Q: What is the appropriate response to a woman accusing a man of sexual violence or misconduct?

A: The same for any accusation by anyone of any gender, towards anyone of any gender, for any kind of act: presume innocence, according to Deuteronomy 17:6. Remember that this works both ways.

Q: What is the appropriate response to a woman falsely claiming a man is the father of her child?

A: The ninth commandment.

Q: What is the appropriate response to a woman misusing child support money provided by who is assumed to be the biological father of her child, conceived in intercourse rather than IVF, etc?

A: The mother and father should have been married before considering intercourse (Genesis 1:28, 2:24). If the woman is, in fact, misusing the money in this fashion, she is violating the eighth commandment.

Q: What is the appropriate response to women taking everything from their ex-husbands during a divorce?

A: Divorce should be a method of last resort, when absolute push meets absolute shove, for reasons relating to adultery (Matthew 5:31-32, 19:9). The Bible has no direct teachings on division of goods as a result of divorce, but Biblical divorce is subject to strict legal processes and permits a divorced woman to marry, suggesting the intent of Biblical divorce law is to ensure the woman survives (Deuteronomy 24:1-4). It is arguably appropriate, then, for a man to pay his ex-wife alimony as long as she does not remarry. Jesus tells us to seek out-of-court settlements, and to be on guard for being deprived of all our wealth if we proceed with a lawsuit (Matthew 5:25-26). This is a complicated issue that is to be resolved on a case-by-case basis.

Q: What is the appropriate Biblical response to intercourse between a female teacher and her male student who has not achieved the age of majority?

A: The Bible rejects any concept resembling an age of accountability (Psalm 51:5, Romans 3:23, Ephesians 2:3). Before we concentrate on the teacher, we need to concentrate on the young man. His parents were responsible for teaching him (Proverbs 22:6), and that includes the seventh commandment. So if he has intercourse with someone to whom he is not wed, both he and his sexual partner are guilty of violating the seventh commandment; if this is in violation of his parents’ clear instruction, he is also guilty of violating the fifth commandment. If, however, we was not instructed to pursue his personal purity, it would have been better for his parents to be tossed into the sea with millstones around their necks (Matthew 18:6).

Q: What is the appropriate Biblical response to young men conceiving children before the age of majority, borne and birthed by women above the age of majority, and being required to pay child support?

A: Fathers have a primary duty to ensure the survival of their children (1 Timothy 5:8). Notice, it says, “And whoever does not provide for relatives and especially family members has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever,” rather than, “And whoever has achieved a certain age to be arbitrarily defined 2000 years after this writing and does not provide for relatives and especially family members has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.” Even the controversial laws regarding slavery in the Bible, found in Deuteronomy 20, are to ensure the survival of POWs, war widows, and their children. If a father cannot find a means of employment, then the child’s grandparents, who should have instructed the father on proper conduct, would be responsible.

Q: What is the proper Biblical response to male-only conscription?

A: The Bible is actually more vocal on which men shouldn’t go to war than should (Deuteronomy 20:5-8). It is worth noting that after the Conquest of Canaan, ancient Israel never fought a war of choice unless it was in a state of mass idolatry. If conscription constitutes chattel slavery, as has often been argued, it violates Exodus 21:16. Thus, regardless of what’s between a soldier’s legs, there is nothing in Scripture to support conscription, and plenty to suggest that conscription and the sociopolitical situation which usually belies it are transgressive.

[ms-demeanor]

So there's this stucky fanfic blog (leave me alone, i hate marvel movies and like it when blonde men are bleeding; see also my recent interest in dungeon meshi) that I used to follow that had some major mod drama and basically stopped posting in 2020. I still get it as a recommended blog when I'm scrolling pretty regularly.

Here's what its archive looked like very recently:

Aaaand here's what its archive looked like starting November 3rd:

It is a compendium of the most absolutely rancid shitlib takes available and is going to be GENUINELY useful for a research project i'm working on because I periodically see these things float across my dash but I don't follow enough people who engage with these kind of posts to know what's a good source of them.

I only noticed it in the first place because it popped up as a recommended blog with a picture of trump, whereas normally when i see it recommended it's old fic or fanart.

Anyway, I'm torn between which of these two posts I scrolled past at a glance are my favorite. This one agitating about why censorship is good, actually and the government should ban tiktok (if you don't know why it's a bad thing to set a precedent that the US government bans the use of specific app I just can't help you, i'm sorry, even if you think tiktok is bad you shouldn't want the government banning apps) or this one that uses a Bill Maher quote that is explicitly about the hypocrisy of american civic religion to represent a group calling itself "The Christian Left."

First of all, Bill Maher is, essentially, a conservative and antivaxxer who thinks that Democrats keep losing because they're alienating their base by supporting things like universal healthcare (maher has cheerfully said on his show that he thinks we shouldn't charge taxpayers to make fat people healthy and that the best healthcare is a diet; he has also said a healthy diet is why people don't need vaccines, and you should skip the fast food to avoid getting the flu, and that vaccines cause alzheimers) and cancelling student debt.

Second of all:

As a very reddit-type atheist myself, I wish more people would remember that Bill Maher is not interested in christian morality, he is interested in pointing out hypocrisy as a cheap gotcha (and is absolutely uninterested in responding when people point out his own hypocrisy - he is a neat demonstration of why there is essentially no utility in pointing out when people's actions don't align with their stated beliefs).

Anyway, it's clear that the mod drama on a decade-old MCU fanblog was justified, thank you, unhinged mod, for the repository of liberal memes, and everyone, please please please accept that bill maher is a huge piece of shit and you don't want him to be the face of your movement.

[unsolicited-opinions]

Bro no one hates jews for ethnicity, news are hated for faith.

If you are an atheist "jew", no one gives a shit about you.

Stop pretending to be a victim and trying to appropriate antisemitic struggles.

I'll address these point by point.

Jewish readers, please share your thoughts!

You wrote: "No one hates Jews for ethnicity, [J]ews are hated for faith."

"Hitler...defined the Jews as a race and not a religious community, characterized the effect of a Jewish presence as a “race-tuberculosis of the peoples,” and identified the initial goal of a German government to be discriminatory legislation against Jews."

[Source]

More here

As David Baddiel put it, "I'm an atheist, but that would get me no free passes out of Auschwitz."

The Jews are a people. Judaism is the traditional religion of that people. A Jew who does not engage with that religion does not cease to be a Jew by Jewish definitions OR by antisemitic definitions.

You wrote: "If you are an atheist Jew, nobody gives a shit about you."

First, see above.

Second, you're incorrectly assuming that a Jewish atheist is not engaged with Judaism.

Here's the thing:

Judaism isn't necessarily theistic.

Let's set aside the explicitly non-theistic movement of Humanistic Judaism for a moment (huge topic for another time) and just talk briefly about theism in Judaism.

Most kinds of Judaism, while certainly encouraging faith, do not require it. There are no thought crimes in Judaism, no crucibles of faith, and no requirements that one announce or perform proof of belief for witnesses. Those things are often parts of Christianity and Islam, but in Judaism...not so much.

In Jewish thought, it is not what you believe about metaphysics which lifts you up, ennobles you, improves you, or makes the world a better place. In Judaism, you pursue those things by how you behave.

Sola fide is a Christian concept which Judaism does not share. Judaism is a profoundly existential religion with ethics which are overwhelmingly humanist.

I was raised in Reform and Conservative congregations...and non-theistic/atheistic/humanistic views were very common there.

When I was studying to become Bar Mitzvah, our congregation's Rabbi made crystal clear to me that there was no contradiction between my identity as a Jew and my inability to swallow the idea of an anthropomorphic, sapient, interventionist God who cared at all about petitionary prayer. He felt that wrestling with God was a very Jewish thing to do. He introduced me to Maimonides' apophatic theology. Decades later, I'm still grateful.

Many Jews pray, I believe, not to be heard by God, but so they can hear their own hearts and minds. This is why kavanah is important and why I disliked (and still dislike) prayer-by-rote and rituals performed for the sake of ritual. It's more mindfulness meditation than petitionary prayer.

There's a famous Hasidic story, recorded by philosopher Martin Buber in his "Tales of the Hasidim," about how Judaism views atheism:

The Master teaches that God created everything the world to be appreciated, since everything is here to teach us a lesson.

One clever student asks "What lesson can we learn from atheists? Why did God create them?"

The Master responds "God created atheists teach us the most important lesson of them all- the lesson of true compassion. You see, when an atheist performs an act of charity, visits someone who is sick, helps someone in need, and cares for the world, he is not doing so because of some religious teaching. He does not believe that God commanded him to perform this act. In fact, he does not believe in Goda at all, so his acts are based on an inner sense of morality. And look at the kindness he can bestow upon others simply because he feels it to be right."

"This means," the Master continued "that when someone reaches out to you for help, you should never say 'I pray that God will help you.' Instead for the moment, you should become an atheist, imagine that there is no God who can help, and say 'I will help you."

You wrote: "Stop pretending to be a victim and trying to appropriate antisemtic struggles."

I invite other Jews to advise if I have appropriated anything which is not mine.

Your opinion, though? Your view, as a non-Jew, about what is or isn't Jewish? On what is or is not mine in my heritage? Your claim, framed by your obvious and absolute ignorance of my life, my family's history, Jewish history, Jewish theology, and Jewish philosophy, that I have not experienced antisemitism and am "appropriating?"

I don't have a single fuck to give about any of that, and neither does any other Jew

Still, thank you for the writing prompt. It helps to crystalize my own thinking and provides an opportunity to educate.

[akiva-echo]

Edit: Tumblr ate some of my tags but whatever.

HaShem Yishmor, you may have experienced several of these. If you have and are comfortable sharing your experience, feel free to comment or send an anonymous ask. As always please rb for sample size :)

[crowsoundsonly]

dr. barnes

pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader

word count: ~6.5k

summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.

warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)

a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!

“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.

You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.

Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.

You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help. 

…

“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.

You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide. 

“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.

You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.

“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”

He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman. 

Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that. 

You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.

“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”

You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better. 

“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”

“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.

They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it. 

“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.

“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.

“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”

He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back. 

“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”

…

You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.

But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open. 

Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.

The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.

You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.

It is definitely going to be a long semester.

…

Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.

And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.

“Yes. Here at 7:30?”

He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile. 

…

You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up. 

“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”

He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.

“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos. 

The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.

“How many people were found dead?”

“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.

“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.

“What do you see?”

“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”

A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.

“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.

“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.

Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.

Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.

“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.

“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue. 

You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.

Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay. 

When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”

Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.

And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.

“I’m sorry, I–”

You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.

Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.

You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.

He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth. 

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.

“Me neither.”

He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.

…

You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30. 

The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way. 

The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming. 

The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble. 

You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.

The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back. 

Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?

…

The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.

In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too. 

When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong. 

Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears. 

From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.

You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair. 

The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest. 

“Hey.”

You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood. 

“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”

A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”

“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.

This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.

But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”

Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.

“7:30?”

“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.

…

The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.

Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”

“I do, too.”

The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.

You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.

Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city. 

A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.

The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.

“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re good dogs.”

He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.

“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.

You laugh but do as you are told. 

“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds great.”

You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly. 

“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”

The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.

“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name. 

“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”

He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.

“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.

You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.

…

Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream. 

“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”

You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk. 

“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”

“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.

You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.

“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.

“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.

You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.

His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.

In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.

You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements. 

“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.

He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.

“Can I see it?”

Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.

Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch. 

No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement. 

Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.

You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.

Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.

“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended. 

At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you. 

“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.

Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.

When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more. 

His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.

Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.

Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high. 

Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”

a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

[machetegirl109]

Synopsis: After spending the whole Bible study daydreaming of Abby, she finally makes your fantasies come true. *inspiration: vacation bible school by ayesha erotica*

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, F/F, modern!AU, suggestive and offensive language, religion, abby&reader are 18, smut, angst, switch!abby&reader, dom!abby, sub!reader, thigh riding, fingering(r&a!receiving), oral(a!receiving), no aftercare, mean!abby x reader

important info about my stories here

©machetegirl109 (credits to VBS by ayesha erotica that inspired me to write this) DO NOT copy/steal my work OR post it on any platforms

Word Count: 2.6k+

Oneshot: Vacation Bible School

❝︎and like every other shitty love story

you came and went❞︎

Church camp happens every year during the summer. It lasts for a week; during this time, you live together in cabins, explore the outdoors, and dine in community, all while learning about religion.

You’ve been taking part in attending ever since you were a little kid. The campgrounds are filled with kids, teens, and young adults. The VBS director would be supervising the assisting staff that consisted of other members of the Christian church, where they were divided into group leaders, an audio/video coordinator, music director, Bible story tellers, game leaders, craft supervisors, and kitchen staff.

This year would be the last summer camp trip for you and the other 18 year-olds before you all start college.

Every year you’d be eager for the summertime, wanting nothing more than to arrive at the huge campsite with lots of green space, bushes and trees, picnic tables and a bonfire. Paths that led to the big main cabin where indoor activities and supper were held, another that led to multiple smaller cabins scattered around a secluded area with some portable wooden toilets by the end of the trail and finally a path that led to the forest where a beautiful river was at as well as a hiking trail.

Although you did enjoy being surrounded by the calming nature and your fellow church peers, what made you anxiously wait for the one week vacation every year was her. Abby Anderson. You two met years ago when you were kids, having to spend the days around each other as you two learned about Jesus and his rules. You and the blonde girl quickly became friends; however you never spoke to each other outside the camping grounds. In day-to-day life, you would only admire her from a distance. Whether it was on the Sunday evening services, or at the school; you paid attention to Abby’s movement as she kneeled to pray, or when she talked to those around her.

Something about her made your hands shake with nervousness, your heart skipped beats just by the thought of her so, so pretty eyes and her strong arms—

“What do you say, miss Y/N?” The pastor interrupts your thoughts and you move your eyes from Abby who’s sitting in front of you to his direction.

“I’m sorry, pastor. What was the question again?”

“What is the message in Ephesians 5:3?” He asks again and your peers, who are seated in a chair circle as the pastor stands in the middle, turn their heads towards you as they all wait for an answer.

“Uh, I… I don’t know…I’m sorry.” You shamefully look at your hands down on lap.

“That is okay, Y/N. We are all here to learn, isn't that right kids?” They all move their heads up and down, agreeing with the pastor. “Can anyone tell me what is the message in Ephesians 5:3?”

“I can.” One of the students complied.

“Yes, Abigail. Go ahead.” As soon as he calls out her name, your head shots up and you’re looking at the girl in front of you again. She clears her throat and before she begins to speak, her eyes meet yours.

“But fornication, and all uncleanness, or covetousness, let it not be onced named among you, as becometh saints;” Abby concludes, her blue eyes never leaving yours. Soon, the priest thanks her for the answer, proceeding with his class and the blonde gives you a small smile. She manspreads on her chair and you feel the blood pump faster into your veins as your body grows hot.

Abby is wearing a white tank top that exposes her strong muscles, black skinny jeans with a heavy-looking belt as well as a pair of black chuck taylor’s. You can’t help but wonder how she would look on top of you, with her blonde hair forming a curtain around your head and her big hands roaming through your body.

After spending the rest of the Bible study distracted staring at the pretty blonde across from you, the class comes to an end. “Alright,kids, that will be all for today. Go ahead and enjoy your last day here and make sure to be ready to attend the bonfire tonight!” The priest leaves the open room located inside the main cabin and soon the students follow behind. Each leaving at their own pace as they conversate with their friends. You look around you and notice Abby is still seated in her chair, like you. She smirks before standing up, making her way to you.

“You seemed a bit distracted. Anything interesting in your mind?” Abby reaches her hand out for you to hold as you leave your chair.

“Oh, nothing, it’s stupid. “ You smile shyly and hold onto her, who soon drops your hand after helping you up. She hums in response as she licks her lips and points her head towards the door, hinting you to follow her as she begins to walk.

“Well, now I need to know what stupid thing you were possibly thinking about while you stared at me the whole study.” You hide your face in your palms, cringing at how you shamelessly looked at her during the class.

“Sorry…” You muffle through your hands before dropping them to your sides again. “I didn’t mean to stare.” Abby lets out a small laugh at your reaction, loving the way you get so shy around her. You two keep walking until you reach the path that led to the area where many small cabins were scattered around.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.” She quickly scans the area around, checking to see if anyone can see or hear the two of you. “I think I already know what you were thinking about, though.” Her eyes drop to your plump lips and your throat goes dry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You play dumb and Abby chuckles.

“Hm. I think we were both thinking about the same stupid things.” She raises her hand to your cheek, lightly massaging the pad of her thumb onto your soft skin and then pushing it down to your bottom lip. You feel as if your heart dropped to your core as heat and pulse grows inside your panties. Her hand teasingly grips your neck before she drops it and takes one of your hands into hers, guiding two walk towards the portable wood toilets by the end of the trail.

She looks around once again, checking for people and opens the door as she rushly gets in, pulling you with her and shutting the door closed. Your back presses into the wood as one of her hands pushes you against the wall by the neck. Abby’s blue eyes turned a shade darker, desired in them as she placed her knee between your legs, earning a small moan from you.

“You’ve been watching me the whole week,” She says as her free hand creeps under the hem of your shirt, fingers lightly tingling the skin of your stomach. “But I’ve been watching you too.” She palms your left breast harshly, flicking her calloused finger on your nipple and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. “You know the expression you make when you stare at me?”

You stay silent and her grip around your neck tightens.

“When I ask something, you answer.” Abby says softly and removes her hand from your chest, sliding it down to the side of your hips, carving her short nails into your skin as she moves you to grind against her hard thigh; making you bite your lips as you feel your clothed cunt rub deliciously against the material of her jeans. “Answer me, Y/N.”

“I-I don’t know, Abby…”

“You stare at me with this really pathetic expression on your face,” The lights inside the small compartment die down suddenly before turning back on – And as you look at Abby again, a shit-eating grin appear on her pretty lips.

“The expression of someone who just really wants me to fuck them stupid.” You snake your arms around her neck and she lets go of yours, now hugging your waist as she guides your movements. “Do you want me to fuck you stupid?” Abby whispers in your ear with a rough voice.

“Yes-Yes, Abby. Ple-please.” You ask as you hide your face onto her neck, her pinewood scent filling your nostrils and you moan into her skin. Your hot breath hits against her neck and Abby feels your arousal mark a spot on her pants. A soft blush runs over her soft freckled face and her boxers start to feel heavy by her own wetness.

“Please what, angel?”

“Ple-please fuck me, Abby.” You remove your head from its previous position and forcefully grabs the back of her hair, pulling her face towards yours as your lips smack together. Abby bites and pulls onto your bottom lip and soon her tongue sneaks into your mouth, making the kiss become more heated and sloppy. She hugs your waist tighter. “I want you,” You say in between the kisses. “Jus-just fuck me already, ple-please.”

Abby lets out a moan by hearing your pleas and holds your hips still as she lower her lips to your neck. She nibbles and licks at your skin and you let out heavy breaths and pleasure filled moans. She moves one of her hands to your exposed thigh due your skirt riding up, and she slowly slides it closer and closer to your heat as she caresses your hot skin. Soon enough she cups your pussy through your dripping wet panties, the feeling of her warm hand sends a wave of electricity through your body and you moan her name out.

“I've been wanting to do this all week,” Abby confesses. She slowly drags your panties to the side and runs two fingers up your slick, collecting the liquid of your excitement. “Fuck… You’re so fucking wet for me. So ready for me, baby.” She gives you a quick and soft peck on the lips and suddenly thrusts her ring and middle finger inside your weeping cunt.

“Ah ah ah Abby!” You moan as you feel her fingers filling you. Abby begins to move her fingers in-and-out of you, starting off slow and soon she picks up the pace, pumping them fast and with precision inside you. You rock your hips, following her fingers' pace, causing your clit to deliciously and harshly rub against the palm of her hand. “Fuck Abby,,, you're–ahh fucking me so good…”

Abby lets out a quiet laugh and leans in for another messy kiss, saliva dripping off of both your chins as you make out. She soon fingers into you deeper than before, the tip of her fingers meeting that spongy spot inside you. She presses onto it and you rub your clit harder into her palm. You break the kiss, lips swollen for the biting and sucking.

“I'm gon-gonna cum,”

“I'm here, angel. Cum for me, baby.” Soon something inside you snaps and you feel your body shake as a pleasure washes over you.

“Such a good fucking girl, making a mess all over my hand.” Abby helps you ride out your high, her hand and leg drenched from you as she carefully removes her fingers from your sensitive cunt, letting out a hiccup once you feel empty again. You attempt to catch your breath, chest rising up and down rapidly as you both look at eachother. You hold her hand towards your mouth, cleaning her sticky fingers from your orgasm and she opens a small smile.

“You're so hot,” Abby says giving you one more kiss before removing her leg from in between yours.”So fuckin’ dirty for me.” You kiss her back, pulling at her bottom lip and asking for tongue passage which she happily obliged to. Pushing Abby against the wall, your hands fall to her hips, undoing her white studded belt and letting it fall to the ground. “You're gonna make me feel good, Angel?” She smirks upon seeing a naughty look on your face and you nod.

“Yeah, Abby, I'll make you feel so good…” You kiss her lips and neck one last time before you move towards her breasts and stomach. When you reach her crotch, you shamelessly rub your face against it, causing her to gasp and moan as she forces you onto the floor by your shoulders.

Abby helps you unbutton her pants and you bring them down along with her boxers as you kneel in front of her, the smell of her pussy makes your mouth water. She frees one of her ankles from the clothes, propping her leg over your shoulder and you snake your arm around her tight to keep her secure. She looks down at you, looking like a pretty and desperate little slut just for her. One of her hands goes to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to her glistening lips. You lay your tongue out and you slowly lick her slick bottom to top, reaching her throbbing bud and giving it a harsh suck.

“Uhmm, fuck,” She moans upon the contact, pushing her hips closer to you mouth. “Yeah, just like that, baby.” You finally bury your tongue into her cunt, exploring her as she lets out a string of breathless moans. Abby begins to grind against your face, your soft muscle lapping on her mouthwatering pussy and your nose softly and deliciously brushing against her clit. “Look at me,” She pats your head and you bring your eyes up to her but never stopping fucking your tongue into her. “Lookin’ so beautiful on your knees for me, ahh– s-so so fucking perfect,”

Abby soon feels the tension that sits on the bottom of her stomach is about to explode. Her moves become more messy and rapid as she chases your face. The leg that is up your shoulder starts to shake, the trembling of her body making her to hold onto your free shoulder for support. You notice Abby will soon break and change the focus of your thrust to her needy button, lick and circling your tongue on it and adding two fingers into her.

“D-don't stop, fuckfuckfuc–” Her hips stutter as you scissor your fingers into her, never stopping giving attention to her clit. You feel her pussy gushing around you and she soon releases her juices, making a mess on your hand and face. Abby breaks eye contact as she presses the back of her head onto the wooden wall. She closes her eyes and furrows her brows while coming down from her orgasm. You distance your mouth from her now sensitive clit and gently remove your fingers from her. She drops her leg off of your shoulder and you, still on your knees, move to help her fix her pants and belt.

“No, it’s okay,” Abby moves away from your touch, making you slowly stand back on your feet. “I can do it.” She pushes her black jeans back up and grabs her belt off the floor, quickly wrapping them around the waistband of her jeans. You quietly observe her, hopeful thoughts run around your head, thoughts about you and Abby becoming closer after today – The last day of camp. “So, uhh,” She nervously runs her hand through her blonde strands as her face displays a shameful and regretful expression.

“We should get going, th-the last bonfire will start soon…” You feel as if the ground disappeared, your heart squeezes inside your chest and tears form in your eyes. “Uhm… I'll see you around, yeah?” She quickly exits, leaving you alone in the compartment. You look down at your knees, red and swollen from all the kneeling, and then you look around the small porta wooden potty, your hand palms your face as you take in what just happened. Regret fills you for what you and Abby just did – In a damn porta potty, at church camp nonetheless – and at how easy you gave yourself to her, only to be tossed away just as easily.

ೃ⁀➷ thank you for reading! feel free to comment your thoughts, reblog, leave a heart and follow me˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

x-18 banner by @fic-dumpster

[socialistexan]

How does someone become a Supreme Court Justice and not know about the existence of anti-crossdressing laws? A number of them are still on the books (including new ones through the drag bans recently passed)

Those laws are foundational to the LGBTQ movement, the reason we even had Stonewall was because the bar was raided by cops looking to arrest anyone violating New York's anti-crossdressing laws. That's partially why the first people to fight back were Storme Delarverie, Miss Major, Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson, because GNC and trans people were tired of being constantly targeted with arrest and police abuse.

This is what happens when you are sheltered your whole life in the Conservative Christian Fundie Bubble.

At least she's showing an openness when learning about these things. I'm sure it will be a 6-3 decision, because every high-profile case which the national Republican party decides is a priority will always be 6-3 (Dobbs, Student Loans) no matter how open a Justice may seem in the past or skeptical they are of the conservative legal case (Gorsuch and Barrett seemed with Tennessee's case), and we know anti-trans laws are a priority for MAGA because of the $215,000,000 they just spent on transphobic ads.

[planet-gay-comic]

Make Love not War

Historical Peace Movements and the Ongoing Relevance of War and Peace Since antiquity, philosophers and state leaders have grappled with the concepts of war and peace. Early on, thinkers like Plato and Aristotle recognized the destruction that wars can bring and advocated for peace as the ideal state for humanity. In the Middle Ages, the Church played a significant role in promoting ideas of peace, including through the 'Peace of God movement', which aimed to minimize wars among Christians.

The modern era saw the emergence of organized peace movements, particularly in the 19th century, when societies such as the American Peace Society and the British Peace Society were founded. These organizations advocated for the peaceful resolution of international disputes and laid the groundwork for later international cooperation to prevent conflicts.

The 1960s: A Turning Point The 1960s marked a high point of peace movements, driven by the shadow of the Cold War and the fear of nuclear annihilation. In the UK, this led to the founding of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament (CND) in 1958, whose peace symbol became a global sign of resistance against war. In the USA, the Vietnam War mobilized wide sections of the population, especially young people and students, who through organizations like Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) and others, initiated massive protests and demonstrations against the war.

The Carnation Revolution: A Peaceful Overturn A prominent example of a successful and predominantly peaceful revolution is the Portuguese Carnation Revolution of 1974. This revolution not only ended nearly five decades of dictatorship in Portugal but also inspired movements worldwide that saw changes could be achieved through nonviolent means. The soldiers who carried carnations in their gun barrels became a lasting symbol of peaceful change and demonstrated that the military can play a constructive role in promoting democracy and human rights.

Current Situation: War and Peace in the 21st Century Today, at a time when conflicts are increasing in many parts of the world, the issue of war and peace remains of crucial importance. Regional conflicts, the risk of escalation of violence, and the humanitarian crises caused by wars call on us to learn from history and strengthen active peace efforts. The lessons from movements like the Carnation Revolution and the protests of the 1960s show that societal and international pressure can be crucial in bringing about political changes and securing peace in the long term.

Base image generated with DALL-E, overworked with SD-1.5/SDXL inpainting, manual editing and composing.

[matan4il]

Hey! Anon from the last time here! By "Pro-Palestine Westeners" I was partially referring to all these students from Columbia and MIT who were illegally occupying the school grounds and harassing/hurting the actual Israeli/Jewish/Middle Eastern/the other generally decent students.

I know there's Pro-Palestine people who are actually decent, but all these college students are risking suspension/expulsion/jailtime because they'd rather chant pro-Ha*as slogans rather and listening to news from biased fonts rather than educating themselves on what's really happening. Some people would rather stay in their ivory towers, rather than going outside and touching grass.

I also know there's LGBT+ people in Palestine and other parts of MENA, and all I wish for them is that they live long enough to find a place where to live freely and out of the closet, without suffering persecution from their government.

Hope this clarified at least a little bit my other ask, and sorry it sounded so ambiguous. Finally, let's hope that Eden Golan gets at least in the top 5 at Eurovision 2024, just to spite anyone who booed her.

Hi Nonnie!

Thank you for sending this ask to clarify the previous one, it's what I thought you meant, and I'm glad to hear I wasn't too off.

TBH, as a gay woman myself, with gay Palestinian friends who are a part of my queer community, and whose struggles I know well, that's the first group I thought about as well. Then I thought about the fact that under Hamas law, husbands can rape their wives with impunity. I thought about the way the Christian population (the biggest non-Muslim minority under Palestinian rule) has demographically plummeted in the areas that Israel passed on to Palestinian control as a part of the Oslo accords. I thought about black people, whose ancestors were kidnapped because of the Trans-Saharan (i.e Arab) trade slave, and are still treated as lesser humans because of that (based on their skin color, they are still referred to in Arabic to this day as "Abeed," meaning slaves).

I think this last group, which most people don't even realize exists, deserves a bit more info shared about it:

Pretty sure black activists in the states, who don't know the history (and present) of the Arab slave trade, or the persisting anti-black racism that exists in Palestinian society, have no clue they're being exploited against the same Jewish community, which stood with Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil rights movement, even having some of its members paying with their very lives for this. I hope they wake up and realized they're being used for antisemitic purposes by the same people who enslaved and are still discriminating against some of their people.

But it's funny how the world's activists and human rights defenders seem to ignore the plight of these marginalized Palestinians, isn't it? Almost like, because they're NOT being oppressed by Jews, rather by fellow Palestinians, and can't be used to justify antisemitic rhetoric and action, then they don't count. So much for minority solidarity and intersectionality, right? It doesn't extend to Jews, and it doesn't extend to Palestinians who can't be weaponized against Jews.

Regarding the last bit of your ask, bless you for being hit with Apollo's dodge ball and predicting Eden making it into the top 5, despite every effort made by the jury members of so many countries, the awful people in the audience, and members of fellow delegations. It was magnificent!

Sending you hugs! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[hungriestofbears]

A year ago, I met up with my university's reform rabbi and a group of friends to go out to Brooklyn for a multi-congregational Simchat Torah event. I was excited. But then we received the news about the attack.

I was sitting in the shuel numb, eating food somehow, watching orthodox students dancing and laughing because they didn't know. When we arrived in Brooklyn, it was a somber service with no dancing. I was wondering if my friends and family in Israel weren't responding because of the chag, or something worse I couldn't let myself think about. As October progressed, my Jewish friends and I experienced more blatant antisemitism in Manhattan. Slurs, spitting at us, throwing coins. Every day, I waited for the bus by a huge wall covered in hostage posters that were torn down every day, and replaced every morning without fail. I stared at the graffitied facts of elderly Holocaust survivors, girls my age, children.

As many Holocaust survivors are still alive, so are the Nazis that tried to genocide us, and all the goyim who stood by and watched and let it happen. Their ideology is not dead and it feeds the propoganda of the Pro Palestine movement. The world has grown comfortable using anti Zionism as a cover for antisemitism when 90% of Jews are Zionist, and their hate only proves to us more why we need Israel as a safe haven. They can choose to ignore the news they want, to call the news that they disagree with all lies and the news they want to believe as all 100% true - but that will never change the truth. That Jews predate their Christianity and Islam, and many have tried to wipe us off the face of the earth and they won't succeed now. We have survived and we are survivors and we will continue to survive however much they don't want us to. Am yisrael chai and bring the hostages home at any cost necessary.

[secular-jew]

Please share and help stop propaganda and educate people.

I was born to hate jews. By Kaseem Hafiz

It was part of my life. I never questioned that. I was not born in Iran or Syria. I was born in England. My parents moved there from Pakistan. Theirs was the typical immigrant story: Move to the West hoping to create a better life for themselves and their children.

We were a devoted Muslim family, but not extremists or radicals in any way. We only wanted the best for everyone - everyone except the Jews. The Jews, we thought, were aliens living in stolen Muslim land, occupiers involved in a genocide against the Palestinian people. Our hatred was therefore justified and just. And it left me and my friends vulnerable to radical extremist arguments. If the Jews were as evil as we've always believed, shouldn't those who support them - Christians, Americans and others in the West - be just as evil?

All of this had its desired effect. At least it did on me. It changed the way I looked at the world. I began to look at the suffering of Muslims, including in Britain, as the fault of Western imperialism. The west was at war with us, and the Jews controlled the west. My experience at the university in the UK only reinforced my increasingly radical conviction. Hating Israel was a badge of honor. Set up an anti-Israel, pro-Palestinian rally, and you were sure to attract a huge, approver

While in uni, I decided that the protests and propaganda against Israel were not enough. Real jihad requires violence. So I made plans to join the real fight. I want to drop out of college and join terrorist training camp in Pakistan. But, fortunately for me, fate intervened - in a bookstore.

I came across a book called The Case for Israel by Harvard law professor Alan Dershowitz. The case for Israel? Which case could that be? The title itself infuriated me, and I started reading the pages almost like a travesty. How ill-informed, how stupid, can this guy be to defend the defenseless? Well, he was a Jew. That must have been the answer

👉Still I am reading. And what I read challenged all my dogmas about Israel and the Jews: I read that it was not Israel who created the Palestinian refugee crisis, it was the Arab countries, the UN and the corrupt Palestinian leadership. I read that Jews did not exploit the Holocaust to create the state of Israel; the movement to create a modern Jewish state dating back to the 19th. century, and eventually to the beginning of the Jewish people almost 4000 years ago. And I read that Israel is not engaged in genocide against the Palestinians. On the contrary, the Palestinian population has actually doubled in just twenty years.

👉What I saw with my own eyes was even more challenging than what Dershowitz had written. Instead of apartheid I saw Muslims, Christians and Jews coexisting. Instead of hate, I saw acceptance, even compassion. I saw a violent, modern, liberal democracy, full of flaws, for sure, but fundamentally decent. I saw a country that wanted nothing but to live in peace with its neighbors. I watched my hate melt before my eyes. I knew just then what I had to do.

Too many people on this planet are consumed by the same hate that consumed me. They have been taught to despise the Jewish state - many Muslims through their religion, many others by their university professors or student groups.

So here's my challenge to anyone who feels this way: do what I did - seek the truth for yourself. If the truth can change me, it can change anyone.

I am Kasim Hafeez from Prager University.

[nexwsyexw-the-curious]

Marxism is as alien to my people as Capitalism and Christianity are.

- Russell Means, an Oglala Lakota patriot, July 1980

Below is an copy of the speech from which it comes, and a link to the full transcript at the bottom.

The following speech was given by Russell Means in July 1980, before several thousand people who had assembled from all over the world for the Black Hills International Survival Gathering, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. It is Russell Means's most famous speech.

A member of the Oglala Lakota tribe, he was perhaps the most outsized personality in the American Indian Movement, beginning with the 1973 occupation of Wounded Knee. He also had an acting career beginning with his role as Chingachgook in Last of the Mohicans. He passed away Oct 22nd, 2012 at the age 72.

"The only possible opening for a statement of this kind is that I detest writing. The process itself epitomizes the European concept of "legitimate" thinking; what is written has an importance that is denied the spoken. My culture, the Lakota culture, has an oral tradition, so I ordinarily reject writing. It is one of the white world's ways of destroying the cultures of non-European peoples, the imposing of an abstraction over the spoken relationship of a people.

So what you read here is not what I've written. It's what I've said and someone else has written down. I will allow this because it seems that the only way to communicate with the white world is through the dead, dry leaves of a book. I don't really care whether my words reach whites or not. They have already demonstrated through their history that they cannot hear, cannot see; they can only read (of course, there are exceptions, but the exceptions only prove the rule). I'm more concerned with American Indian people, students and others, who have begun to be absorbed into the white world through universities and other institutions. But even then it's a marginal sort of concern. It's very possible to grow into a red face with a white mind; and if that's a person's individual choice, so be it, but I have no use for them. This is part of the process of cultural genocide being waged by Europeans against American Indian peoples' today. My concern is with those American Indians who choose to resist this genocide, but who may be confused as to how to proceed.

(You notice I use the term American Indian rather than Native American or Native indigenous people or Amerindian when referring to my people. There has been some controversy about such terms, and frankly, at this point, I find it absurd. Primarily it seems that American Indian is being rejected as European in origin--which is true. But all the above terms are European in origin; the only non-European way is to speak of Lakota--or, more precisely, of Oglala, Brule, etc.--and of the Dineh, the Miccousukee, and all the rest of the several hundred correct tribal names.

(There is also some confusion about the word Indian, a mistaken belief that it refers somehow to the country, India. When Columbus washed up on the beach in the Caribbean, he was not looking for a country called India. Europeans were calling that country Hindustan in 1492. Look it up on the old maps. Columbus called the tribal people he met "Indio," from the Italian in dio, meaning "in God.")

It takes a strong effort on the part of each American Indian not to become Europeanized. The strength for this effort can only come from the traditional ways, the traditional values that our elders retain. It must come from the hoop, the four directions, the relations: it cannot come from the pages of a book or a thousand books. No European can ever teach a Lakota to be Lakota, a Hopi to be Hopi. A master's degree in "Indian Studies" or in "education" or in anything else cannot make a person into a human being or provide knowledge into traditional ways. It can only make you into a mental European, an outsider.

I should be clear about something here, because there seems to be some confusion about it. When I speak of Europeans or mental Europeans, I'm not allowing for false distinctions. I'm not saying that on the one hand there are the by-products of a few thousand years of genocidal, reactionary, European intellectual development which is bad; and on the other hand there is some new revolutionary intellectual development which is good. I'm referring here to the so-called theories of Marxism and anarchism and "leftism" in general. I don't believe these theories can be separated from the rest of the of the European intellectual tradition. It's really just the same old song.

The process began much earlier. Newton, for example, "revolutionized" physics and the so-called natural sciences by reducing the physical universe to a linear mathematical equation. Descartes did the same thing with culture. John Locke did it with politics, and Adam Smith did it with economics. Each one of these "thinkers" took a piece of the spirituality of human existence and converted it into code, an abstraction. They picked up where Christianity ended: they "secularized" Christian religion, as the "scholars" like to say--and in doing so they made Europe more able and ready to act as an expansionist culture. Each of these intellectual revolutions served to abstract the European mentality even further, to remove the wonderful complexity and spirituality from the universe and replace it with a logical sequence: one, two, three. Answer!

This is what has come to be termed "efficiency" in the European mind. Whatever is mechanical is perfect; whatever seems to work at the moment--that is, proves the mechanical model to be the right one--is considered correct, even when it is clearly untrue. This is why "truth" changes so fast in the European mind; the answers which result from such a process are only stopgaps, only temporary, and must be continuously discarded in favor of new stopgaps which support the mechanical models and keep them (the models) alive.

Hegel and Marx were heirs to the thinking of Newton, Descartes, Locke and Smith. Hegel finished the process of secularizing theology--and that is put in his own terms--he secularized the religious thinking through which Europe understood the universe. Then Marx put Hegel's philosophy in terms of "materialism," which is to say that Marx despiritualized Hegel's work altogether. Again, this is in Marx' own terms. And this is now seen as the future revolutionary potential of Europe. Europeans may see this as revolutionary, but American Indians see it simply as still more of that same old European conflict between being and gaining. The intellectual roots of a new Marxist form of European imperialism lie in Marx'--and his followers'--links to the tradition of Newton, Hegel and the others.

Being is a spiritual proposition. Gaining is a material act. Traditionally, American Indians have always attempted to be the best people they could. Part of that spiritual process was and is to give away wealth, to discard wealth in order not to gain. Material gain is an indicator of false status among traditional people, while it is "proof that the system works" to Europeans. Clearly, there are two completely opposing views at issue here, and Marxism is very far over to the other side from the American Indian view. But let's look at a major implication of this; it is not merely an intellectual debate.

The European materialist tradition of despiritualizing the universe is very similar to the mental process which goes into dehumanizing another person. And who seems most expert at dehumanizing other people? And why? Soldiers who have seen a lot of combat learn to do this to the enemy before going back into combat. Murderers do it before going out to commit murder. Nazi SS guards did it to concentration camp inmates. Cops do it. Corporation leaders do it to the workers they send into uranium mines and steel mills. Politicians do it to everyone in sight. And what the process has in common for each group doing the dehumanizing is that it makes it all right to kill and otherwise destroy other people. One of the Christian commandments says, "Thou shalt not kill," at least not humans, so the trick is to mentally convert the victims into nonhumans. Then you can proclaim violation of your own commandment as a virtue.

In terms of the despiritualization of the universe, the mental process works so that it becomes virtuous to destroy the planet. Terms like progress and development are used as cover words here, the way victory and freedom are used to justify butchery in the dehumanization process. For example, a real-estate speculator may refer to "developing" a parcel of ground by opening a gravel quarry; development here means total, permanent destruction, with the earth itself removed. But European logic has gained a few tons of gravel with which more land can be "developed" through the construction of road beds. Ultimately, the whole universe is open--in the European view--to this sort of insanity.

Most important here, perhaps, is the fact that Europeans feel no sense of loss in all this. After all, their philosophers have despiritualized reality, so there is no satisfaction (for them) to be gained in simply observing the wonder of a mountain or a lake or a people in being. No, satisfaction is measured in terms of gaining material. So the mountain becomes gravel, and the lake becomes coolant for a factory, and the people are rounded up for processing through the indoctrination mills Europeans like to call schools.

But each new piece of that "progress" ups the ante out in the real world. Take fuel for the industrial machine as an example. Little more than two centuries ago, nearly everyone used wood--a replenishable, natural item--as fuel for the very human needs of cooking and staying warm. Along came the Industrial Revolution and coal became the dominant fuel, as production became the social imperative for Europe. Pollution began to become a problem in the cities, and the earth was ripped open to provide coal whereas wood had always simply been gathered or harvested at no great expense to the environment. Later, oil became the major fuel, as the technology of production was perfected through a series of scientific "revolutions." Pollution increased dramatically, and nobody yet knows what the environmental costs of pumping all that oil out of the ground will really be in the long run. Now there's an "energy crisis," and uranium is becoming the dominant fuel.

Capitalists, at least, can be relied upon to develop uranium as fuel only at the rate which they can show a good profit. That's their ethic, and maybe they will buy some time. Marxists, on the other hand, can be relied upon to develop uranium fuel as rapidly as possible simply because it's the most "efficient" production fuel available. That's their ethic, and I fail to see where it's preferable. Like I said, Marxism is right smack in the middle of European tradition. It's the same old song.

There's a rule of thumb which can be applied here. You cannot judge the real nature of a European revolutionary doctrine on the basis of the changes it proposes to make within the European power structure and society. You can only judge it by the effects it will have on non-European peoples. This is because every revolution in European history has served to reinforce Europe's tendencies and abilities to export destruction to other peoples, other cultures and the environment itself. I defy anyone to point out an example where this is not true.

So now we, as American Indian people, are asked to believe that a "new" European revolutionary doctrine such as Marxism will reverse the negative effects of European history on us. European power relations are to be adjusted once again, and that's supposed to make things better for all of us. But what does this really mean?

Right now, today, we who live on the Pine Ridge Reservation are living in what white society has designated a "National Sacrifice Area." What this means is that we have a lot of uranium deposits here, and white culture (not us) needs this uranium as energy production material. The cheapest, most efficient way for industry to extract and deal with the processing of this uranium is to dump the waste by-products right here at the digging sites. Right here where we live. This waste is radioactive and will make the entire region uninhabitable forever. This is considered by the industry, and by the white society that created this industry, to be an "acceptable" price to pay for energy resource development. Along the way they also plan to drain the water table under this part of South Dakota as part of the industrial process, so the region becomes doubly uninhabitable. The same sort of thing is happening down in the land of the Navajo and Hopi, up in the land of the Northern Cheyenne and Crow, and elsewhere. Thirty percent of the coal in the West and half of the uranium deposits in the United States have been found to lie under reservation land, so there is no way this can be called a minor issue.

We are resisting being turned into a National Sacrifice Area. We are resisting being turned into a national sacrifice people. The costs of this industrial process are not acceptable to us. It is genocide to dig uranium here and drain the water table--no more, no less.

Now let's suppose that in our resistance to extermination we begin to seek allies (we have). Let's suppose further that we were to take revolutionary Marxism at its word: that it intends nothing less than the complete overthrow of the European capitalists order which has presented this threat to our very existence. This would seem to be a natural alliance for American Indian people to enter into. After all, as the Marxists say, it is the capitalists who set us up to be a national sacrifice. This is true as far as it goes.

But, as I've tried to point out, this "truth" is very deceptive. Revolutionary Marxism is committed to even further perpetuation and perfection of the very industrial process which is destroying us all. It offers only to "redistribute" the results--the money, maybe--of this industrialization to a wider section of the population. It offers to take wealth from the capitalists and pass it around; but in order to do so, Marxism must maintain the industrial system. Once again, the power relations within European society will have to be altered, but once again the effects upon American Indian peoples here and non-Europeans elsewhere will remain the same. This is much the same as when power was redistributed from the church to private business during the so-called bourgeois revolution. European society changed a bit, at least superficially, but its conduct toward non-Europeans continued as before. You can see what the American Revolution of 1776 did for American Indians. It's the same old song. song.

Revolutionary Marxism, like industrial society in other forms, seeks to "rationalize" all people in relation to industry--maximum industry, maximum production. It is a doctrine that despises the American Indian spiritual tradition, our cultures, our lifeways. Marx himself called us "precapitalists" and "primitive." Precapitalist simply means that, in his view, we would eventually discover capitalism and become capitalists; we have always been economically retarded in Marxist terms. The only manner in which American Indian people could participate in a Marxist revolution would be to join the industrial system, to become factory workers, or "proletarians," as Marx called them. The man was very clear about the fact that his revolution could only occur through the struggle of the proletariat, that the existence of a massive industrial system is a precondition of a successful Marxist society.

I think there's a problem with language here. Christians, capitalists, Marxists. All of them have been revolutionary in their own minds, but none of them really means revolution. What they really mean is continuation. They do what they do in order that European culture can continue to exist and develop according to its needs.

So, in order for us to really join forces with Marxism, we American Indians would have to accept the national sacrifice of our homeland; we would have to commit cultural suicide and become industrialized and Europeanized.

At this point, I've got to stop and ask myself whether I'm being too harsh. Marxism has something of a history. Does this history bear out my observations? I look to the process of industrialization in the Soviet Union since 1920 and I see that these Marxists have done what it took the English Industrial Revolution 300 years to do; and the Marxists did it in 60 years. I see that the territory of the USSR used to contain a number of tribal peoples and that they have been crushed to make way for the factories. The Soviets refer to this as "the National Question," the question of whether the tribal peoples had the right to exist as peoples; and they decided the tribal peoples were an acceptable sacrifice to the industrial needs. I look to China and I see the same thing. I look to Vietnam and I see Marxists imposing an industrial order and rooting out the indigenous tribal mountain people.

I hear the leading Soviet scientist saying that when uranium is exhausted, then alternatives will be found. I see the Vietnamese taking over a nuclear power plant abandoned by the U.S. military. Have they dismantled and destroyed it? No, they are using it. I see China exploding nuclear bombs, developing uranium reactors, and preparing a space program in order to colonize and exploit the planets the same as the Europeans colonized and exploited this hemisphere. It's the same old song, but maybe with a faster tempo this time.

The statement of the Soviet scientist is very interesting. Does he know what this alternative energy source will be? No, he simply has faith. Science will find a way. I hear revolutionary Marxists saying that the destruction of the environment, pollution, and radiation will all be controlled. And I see them act upon their words. Do they know how these things will be controlled? No, they simply have faith. Science will find a way. Industrialization is fine and necessary. How do they know this? Faith. Science will find a way. Faith of this sort has always been known in Europe as religion. Science has become the new European religion for both capitalists and Marxists; they are truly inseparable; they are part and parcel of the same culture. So, in both theory and practice, Marxism demands that non-European peoples give up their values, their traditions, their cultural existence altogether. We will all be industrialized science addicts in a Marxist society.

I do not believe that capitalism itself is really responsible for the situation in which American Indians have been declared a national sacrifice. No, it is the European tradition; European culture itself is responsible. Marxism is just the latest continuation of this tradition, not a solution to it. To ally with Marxism is to ally with the very same forces that declare us an acceptable cost.

There is another way. There is the traditional Lakota way and the ways of the American Indian peoples. It is the way that knows that humans do not have the right to degrade Mother Earth, that there are forces beyond anything the European mind has conceived, that humans must be in harmony with all relations or the relations will eventually eliminate the disharmony. A lopsided emphasis on humans by humans--the Europeans' arrogance of acting as though they were beyond the nature of all related things--can only result in a total disharmony and a readjustment which cuts arrogant humans down to size, gives them a taste of that reality beyond their grasp or control and restores the harmony. There is no need for a revolutionary theory to bring this about; it's beyond human control. The nature peoples of this planet know this and so they do not theorize about it. Theory is an abstract; our knowledge is real.

Distilled to its basic terms, European faith--including the new faith in science--equals a belief that man is God. Europe has always sought a Messiah, whether that be the man Jesus Christ or the man Karl Marx or the man Albert Einstein. American Indians know this to be totally absurd. Humans are the weakest of all creatures, so weak that other creatures are willing to give up their flesh that we may live. Humans are able to survive only through the exercise of rationality since they lack the abilities of other creatures to gain food through the use of fang and claw.

But rationality is a curse since it can cause humans to forget the natural order of things in ways other creatures do not. A wolf never forgets his or her place in the natural order. American Indians can. Europeans almost always do. We pray our thanks to the deer, our relations, for allowing us their flesh to eat; Europeans simply take the flesh for granted and consider the deer inferior. After all, Europeans consider themselves godlike in their rationalism and science. God is the Supreme Being; all else must be inferior.

All European tradition, Marxism included, has conspired to defy the natural order of all things. Mother Earth has been abused, the powers have been abused, and this cannot go on forever. No theory can alter that simple fact. Mother Earth will retaliate, the whole environment will retaliate, and the abusers will be eliminated. Things come full circle, back to where they started. That's revolution. And that's a prophecy of my people, of the Hopi people and of other correct peoples.

American Indians have been trying to explain this to Europeans for centuries. But, as I said earlier, Europeans have proven themselves unable to hear. The natural order will win out, and the offenders will die out, the way deer die when they offend the harmony by over-populating a given region. It's only a matter of time until what Europeans call "a major catastrophe of global proportions" will occur. It is the role of American Indian peoples, the role of all natural beings, to survive. A part of our survival is to resist. We resist not to overthrow a government or to take political power, but because it is natural to resist extermination, to survive. We don't want power over white institutions; we want white institutions to disappear. That's revolution.

American Indians are still in touch with these realities--the prophecies, the traditions of our ancestors. We learn from the elders, from nature, from the powers. And when the catastrophe is over, we American Indian peoples will still be here to inhabit the hemisphere. I don't care if it's only a handful living high in the Andes. American Indian people will survive; harmony will be reestablished. That's revolution.

At this point, perhaps I should be very clear about another matter, one which should already be clear as a result of what I've said. But confusion breeds easily these days, so I want to hammer home this point. When I use the term European, I'm not referring to a skin color or a particular genetic structure. What I'm referring to is a mind-set, a worldview that is a product of the development of European culture. People are not genetically encoded to hold this outlook; they are acculturated to hold it. The same is true for American Indians or for the members of any culture.

It is possible for an American Indian to share European values, a European worldview. We have a term for these people; we call them "apples"--red on the outside (genetics) and white on the inside (their values). Other groups have similar terms: Blacks have their "oreos"; Hispanos have "Coconuts" and so on. And, as I said before, there are exceptions to the white norm: people who are white on the outside, but not white inside. I'm not sure what term should be applied to them other than "human beings."

What I'm putting out here is not a racial proposition but a cultural proposition. Those who ultimately advocate and defend the realities of European culture and its industrialism are my enemies. Those who resist it, who struggle against it, are my allies, the allies of American Indian people. And I don't give a damn what their skin color happens to be. Caucasian is the white term for the white race: European is an outlook I oppose.

The Vietnamese Communists are not exactly what you might consider genetic Caucasians, but they are now functioning as mental Europeans. The same holds true for Chinese Communists, for Japanese capitalists or Bantu Catholics or Peter "MacDollar" down at the Navajo Reservation or Dickie Wilson up here at Pine Ridge. There is no racism involved in this, just an acknowledgment of the mind and spirit that make up culture.

In Marxist terms I suppose I'm a "cultural nationalist." I work first with my people, the traditional Lakota people, because we hold a common worldview and share an immediate struggle. Beyond this, I work with other traditional American Indian peoples, again because of a certain commonality in worldview and form of struggle. Beyond that, I work with anyone who has experienced the colonial oppression of Europe and who resists its cultural and industrial totality. Obviously, this includes genetic Caucasians who struggle to resist the dominant norms of European culture. The Irish and the Basques come immediately to mind, but there are many others.

I work primarily with my own people, with my own community. Other people who hold non-European perspectives should do the same. I believe in the slogan, "Trust your brother's vision," although I'd like to add sisters into the bargain. I trust the community and the culturally based vision of all the races that naturally resist industrialization and human extinction. Clearly, individual whites can share in this, given only that they have reached the awareness that continuation of the industrial imperatives of Europe is not a vision, but species suicide. White is one of the sacred colors of the Lakota people--red, yellow, white and black. The four directions. The four seasons. The four periods of life and aging. The four races of humanity. Mix red, yellow, white and black together and you get brown, the color of the fifth race. This is a natural ordering of things. It therefore seems natural to me to work with all races, each with its own special meaning, identity and message.

But there is a peculiar behavior among most Caucasians. As soon as I become critical of Europe and its impact on other cultures, they become defensive. They begin to defend themselves. But I'm not attacking them personally; I'm attacking Europe. In personalizing my observations on Europe they are personalizing European culture, identifying themselves with it. By defending themselves in this context, they are ultimately defending the death culture. This is a confusion which must be overcome, and it must be overcome in a hurry. None of us has energy to waste in such false struggles.

Caucasians have a more positive vision to offer humanity than European culture. I believe this. But in order to attain this vision it is necessary for Caucasians to step outside European culture--alongside the rest of humanity--to see Europe for what it is and what it does.

To cling to capitalism and Marxism and all other "isms" is simply to remain within European culture. There is no avoiding this basic fact. As a fact, this constitutes a choice. Understand that the choice is based on culture, not race. Understand that to choose European culture and industrialism is to choose to be my enemy. And understand that the choice is yours, not mine.

This leads me back to address those American Indians who are drifting through the universities, the city slums, and other European institutions. If you are there to resist the oppressor in accordance with your traditional ways, so be it. I don't know how you manage to combine the two, but perhaps you will succeed. But retain your sense of reality. Beware of coming to believe the white world now offers solutions to the problems it confronts us with. Beware, too, of allowing the words of native people to be twisted to the advantages of our enemies. Europe invented the practice of turning words around on themselves. You need only look to the treaties between American Indian peoples and various European governments to know that this is true. Draw your strength from who you are.

A culture which regularly confuses revolt with resistance, has nothing helpful to teach you and nothing to offer you as a way of life. Europeans have long since lost all touch with reality, if ever they were in touch with who you are as American Indians.

So, I suppose to conclude this, I should state clearly that leading anyone toward Marxism is the last thing on my mind. Marxism is as alien to my culture as capitalism and Christianity are. In fact, I can say I don't think I'm trying to lead anyone toward anything. To some extent I tried to be a "leader," in the sense that the white media like to use that term, when the American Indian Movement was a young organization. This was a result of a confusion I no longer have. You cannot be everything to everyone. I do not propose to be used in such a fashion by my enemies. I am not a leader. I am an Oglala Lakota patriot. That is all I want and all I need to be. And I am very comfortable with who I am."

[doctorguilty]

Petition to: Oklahoma Courts, Oklahoma Legislature, School District Officials, Educators

Reject Oklahoma's Unconstitutional School Bible Mandate

Recently, Oklahoma's far-right and extreme State Superintendent Ryan Walters shockingly announced that he would require the Bible to be taught in fifth through 12th grades, a clear violation of students' freedom of religion. He even suggested providing a uniform curriculum to direct how educators incorporate the Bible into their classrooms. This is right out of the Christian nationalist playbook and, if enforced in Oklahoma, could signal other far-right extremists to pass similar requirements in states across the country.

Click here to learn more about the school Bible mandate and add your name to the petition.

You do NOT have to be an Oklahoma resident to sign. (You do have to be a US resident)

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Dion J. Pierre

The settlement of a federal discrimination suit filed by Jewish students of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) has severed their obligation to pay dues to the school’s Graduate Student Union (GSU), a major victory precipitated by the union’s endorsement of the boycott, divestment, and sanctions (BDS) movement against Israel.

Represented by the National Right to Work Foundation (NRTW), a nonprofit founded in 1968 which aims to abolish mandatory union membership, the students filed their complaint against GSU in March, arguing that its embrace of anti-Zionism discriminated against them as Jews as well as their religious belief that the Jewish people were always destined to return to their homeland.

The students had attempted to resist financially supporting GSU’s anti-Zionism, refusing to pay dues, but union bosses attempted to coerce their compliance, telling them that “no principles, teachings, or tenets of Judaism prohibit membership in or the payment of dues or fees to a labor union.”

With the settlement, they are released from an obligation which they said violated their core beliefs and freedom of association.

“The foundation-backed MIT graduate students who fought these legal battles have earned well deserved victories,” the organization’s president, Mark Mix, said on Wednesday. “Forcing GSU union officials to abandon their blatantly discriminatory dues practices is only the tip of the iceberg: because Massachusetts lacks Right to Work protections, GSU still has the power to force the vast majority of MIT graduate students to subsidize some portion of their activities.”

Mix added that NRTW intends to challenge compulsory union membership in unions pursuing controversial political aims at other universities, including the University of Chicago and John Hopkins University.

“Foundation attorneys are continuing to provide legal aid for all those who challenge the imposition of radical union agendas at the University of Chicago, Dartmouth, and John Hopkins, and they are doing so for adherents of both Judaism and Christianity,” he continued. “But this ordeal at MIT should remind lawmakers that all Americans should have a right to protect their money from going to union bosses they don’t support, whether those objections are based on religion, politics, or any other reason.”

NRTW is currently litigating another similar case brought by six City University of New York (CUNY) professors who sued to dissolve their membership in the Professional Staff Congress (PSC) public sector union after it passed an anti-Israel resolution during the country’s May 2021 war with Hamas. The measure declared solidarity with Palestinians and accused the Jewish state of ethnic cleansing, apartheid, and crimes against humanity.