#white paint supremacy

[skeelly]

can we talk about how important white paint is to our society

[canichangemyblogname]

Fuck. We are in desperate need of genocide studies in the US. Because people are genuinely arguing that Nazism— and thus the white supremacy which inspired it— is an aberration of European philosophical tradition, rather than the end conclusion of “Western” ideologies.

“Nazism is uniquely evil” implies it cannot happen here and that it originally happened by freak happenstance. If you singularize the actions of the Nazis, you lose critical analysis of what ideas inspired them (see: US genocide of First Nations People) and how the Germans developed their tactics of oppression and murder (see: German genocide of the Herero and the Nama people between 1904-1908).

I believe it’s time we call this kind of rhetoric what it is: genocide denialism and Holocaust revisionism. It denies the European-created genocides before and after the Holocaust, and it rewrites the history leading up to the Holocaust to purposefully cover up the fact that it can and will happen here. Over and over and over. Such rhetoric also (purposefully) denies victims of genocides the world over solidarity with each other. To justify the destruction of Poland, Hitler asked, “Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?” Would you deny the son of a Shoah survivor the right to march with Armenians? Or would you, like the German state, accuse him of de-singularizing and relativizing the Holocaust and report him to the local antisemitism commissioner?

If you treat Nazism as unlike anything else that’s ever happened or will happen, then you don’t need to worry about it and the tragedies it created happening ever again. “Never again” becomes an empty promise. This type of rhetoric gives people the opportunity to wipe their hands of any culpability in the rise and reproduction of similar systems or other genocides, and they can use this singularity rhetoric to position themselves into a moral category despite supporting similar ideas. That Nazism and the Shoah happened means it was possible and still is possible, among any people.

The “massive, systematic, and efficient nature of” Nazi oppression, brutality, atrocity and its genocidal tactics and policies is a function of modernity and “Western” Enlightenment rationality. It is not an aberration.

[icecreambeach]

Another loss in the "the whiter you are, the more beautiful" war, but now... can't help but think of Arthur Conan Doyle painstakingly describing Holmes as pale at every opportunity. babe was really sitting in the dark describing his ideal man i guess

[ardentpoop]

finally a description of kripke i can respect

[gynoidgearhead]

[Image captions for addition: first, a reply by @racoonsin reading: "What do race and gender have to do with it? Moralism is an analogue of capitalism - a great progressive idea in the past, which over the years became chilling, deeply toxic to humanity." At the end of the addition, the painting "American Progress" by John Gast (1872), depicting a spectral white woman in a toga flying over the advancing white settler-colonists in their wagons and trains, driving away some very upset-looking indigenous Americans on horses and a field of bison, and plowing fields wherever they go (i.e. destroying the carefully maintained native ecosystem). The sky is conspicuously depicted as cloudy and stormy on the left, where the settlers have not arrived yet, and bright and ethereal on the right, diagonally coinciding with the flying frame of the woman. End caption.]

i love disco elysium because “what if we elected the white lady from the manifest destiny painting to be god-emperor of the united nations and with her came the literal end of history, the ever-expanding entropic nothingness that brings about end of days” is the foundational beliefs of the in-universe megaboring centrist option

[smallblueblondie]

Please stop ignoring that white supremacy is a huge core element of radfem/terf ideology.

Like yes they hyperenforce gender roles and stereotypes on all cis women, but it is primarily women of color that they target and accuse of being predatory and "not real women" when they're targeting cis women.

The metrics of "real woman vs trans woman" that terfs love to share are almost all just white eurocentric beauty standards. Small nose, thin fine hair, little/no body hair, petite but somehow curvy, hell I've even seen a post saying skin lightness is a determiner.

Terf/radfem circles are racist at their core. You cannot separate radical feminism from it's violently white supremacist roots. You can't have "anti-racist radical feminism", that's a fucking oxymoron. There is a very clean path from terfs to tradfems/tradwifes, to just straight up conservative republican women.

Yes yes always, terfs are super misogynistic. They hurt all women by forcing them back into the little impossible painful boxes that they claim they're fighting. But one of their biggest targets other than trans women is black women. Not to mention ignoring, discrediting, or just straight up trying to erase all the hard work that black trans women did for queer rights.

Radical feminism is very much transphobic, homophobic, and misogynistic. I'm not saying stop addressing it as such. Don't ever do addressing it as such!

But radical feminism is white supremacy in a coat of pink paint. Please never forget that when talking about how it hurts us all.

[spiderbitesandvampirevenom]

that anon yesterday really ground my gears so lets quickly review some historical facts:

1. white men get accused of rape, pedophilia, and incest, and more often than not escape any form of tangible consequence. this is especially true when their victims are people of color.

2. men of color get accused of rape, pedophilia, or incest, and get lynched before there's even a trial. these accusations often come from white women to escape consequences for sexually assaulting the man in question.

3. rape and pedophilia have been used as forms of colonial-imperial violence to enforce white supremacy by both white men and women who, shocker, almost always got off with any consequences. and yes, its an issue that is still incredibly, horrifyingly relevant today.

4. people of color have been systematically painted as sexual deviants, incestuous savages, rapists, and child predators by white society from the moment they met us, which was then used to justify hundreds of years of enslaving, torturing, raping, and murdering people of color across the globe.

so, to review and add it all together:

rape, pedophilia, incest, and other forms of sexual violence are, first and foremost, an extension of violence, NOT sexual desire. treating sexual violence as solely an expression of desire is a privilege of white heteropatriarchy. when people of color open admit to wanting to engage in acts of sexual violence, they get killed. when white people do it, they make a new porn category for it.

[the-paradigm-web]

It’s art innit..

[puddox]

PSA: the video/meme currently going around with pictures of gnomes skiing set to a remix of "Let her go" by passenger contains multiple images of white supremacist occultist imagery, far too many to be a coincidence, explanation of how exactly under the cut

Many of the paintings that show up in the last third of the video, with an animated gnome superimposed on top of them are depictions of "Hyperborea", a term originally used by ancient greek writers to describe people from their north, more recently adopted by white supremacist occultists as an ancient utopia, and the place of origin for the white race. The video itself originated on 4chan, and was first posted to youtube with the title "Gnome Hyperborea." it, and subsequent uploads of the same video tend to have quite a lot of white supremacists joking about it in the comments. it's part of a wider trend of mixing white supremacist imagery in with remixes of popular music in edited videos, that "somebody that i used to know" remix was another big example of it

[congregamus]

Still processing

[nudeartpluspoetry]

Painter's book is superb.

Vincent G. Stiepevich (American, 1841–after 1910) Harem scene, n.d. The Black Sea Slave Trade gave rise to the figure of the Odalisque, that is the beautiful, white slave girl, a figure of quintessential beauty. Learn more; “Why White People are Called Caucasian.” - Professor Nell Painter of Princeton University

[lalunanymph]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏: 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: misogyny, talks of ageism, unrequited love, dubious cheating, gaslighting, mentions of a/nal, e/xplicit smut, mentions of w/eed, mentions of a/lcohol, substance a/buse, toxic family dynamics, class differences, sukuna is anti-noveau riche, sukuna is a walking red flag, jin itadori supremacy, hiromi and nanami duke it out in court, exposition, mentions of a m/urder, negligence, court cases, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

Treading the world of marriage as a woman past her prime in a judgemental upper class society was a dance that left you exhausted and skittish; wishing you could put an end to its haunting melody. 

As you were ticking fast past the rotten age of twenty-seven, your family’s empire hung by a thread as nervous investors and stakeholders started to ask the golden question: When will your only daughter get married, Jiro? 

Suitors knocked on your door, only to be turned away by your snobbish mother and your equally weak-kneed father who tried to appease her. None of them good enough for you; handsome enough for you or rich enough to grow your family’s vaults. 

That was until Itadori Jin reached out to your family with an offer your father could not refuse.

His older twin brother, Itadori Sukuna, has just been released from an investigation and needed a bride to save the family name. 

They wanted to paint him in a good light to the press: partying bad boy turned a charming, married man who was now working towards building a family with another girl of his standing.

And, that was when you came into the picture.

The first time you saw Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was a moment you would never forget.

The tattoos swirling around his face should’ve given you pause; made you backtrack on the idea of marriage to the Itadori house the second it left your father’s lips—especially when it came to a man like him.

In his neatly pressed white button-down which strained over his (admittedly) impressive pecs, and pair of expensive Bottega slacks, he would’ve been the picture of sophisticated upper class if it weren’t for the tribal lines on his face and arms—the sight almost making you high tail it out of the cafe you were both seated in.

It was the first time you were meeting him without your parents to chaperone. Bodyguards stood by the doors, stationed close by in case the press got too nosy. 

With this being the first time you were talking to him without your mother lingering in the background, you were free to eye him up and down, unsure of what to make of the disdain setting his mouth into a hard line.

He was different from the men you had encountered before. Tall in an imposing way and with his shock of pink hair, you could spot him from a mile away in the middle of a crowded room. Sukuna carried himself with an air of princely cruelty, often staring down the line of his nose; astride the white stead of his borned privilege and high position in society. 

But, the one thing that stood out were his eyes.

The warmest brown dissolved into a shade of vermillion which shone blood-red under different lights.

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes off them or stare at them for too long, and you sensed rather than knew how much he enjoyed your discomfort. 

He swivels his coffee, spilling some down the pristine white cup. Somewhere behind him, a guard stifles a yawn.

“So… what do you like to do for fun?”

You sit up straighter, practiced to perfection with your reply. “I love watching horse races, Itadori-san. On some days, I prefer pottery and painting. I’ve always wanted to open my own art gallery.”

He glances at his nails, looking almost bored. “And why didn’t you open your own gallery?”

It’s a cordial question at best, but you bristle as if he had just mocked your interests.

“I… don’t have the time,” you mutter meekly. 

He looks up at you, and you think he might finally unleash the scathing remark he’s been holding back for the last few minutes.

“What does a prissy girl like you know about not having time? I thought you thrived on wasting your life away with hot pilates classes and private-jetting to islands?”

You bite back your fuming reply, masking your discomfort with a bright smile. “Itadori-san, you judge me so harshly. I only attend one hot pilates class per week.”

What you hoped was a light-hearted reply dissolves into a sour note when he sighs and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, sweetheart. I know this can’t be easy on you, too, but you don’t know what’s at stake here.” Sukuna leans forward, invading your space with the spicy sweetness of his cologne. “I have a reputation to change and you have daddy’s money to keep. We’re both each other’s salvation from the shit our family put us through so I need you to work with me here.”

You frown, unsure of what he was trying to get at. “But, I am trying to work with you. I’m here on this date, aren’t I?” 

“You gotta look decent,” he doesn’t beat around the bush. Gesturing to your modest midi floral dress and neutral beige Mary Janes, the look of disgust on his face breaks something in your chest. “You’re dressed like a goddamn Mormon college girl. For someone very rich, you sure don’t have taste.”

Offended, you stared at him, unable to fathom what he had just said—how he had just insulted you unprompted and in broad daylight.

But, Sukuna doesn't give you time to revel in his words. He grabs a cigarette from his pocket, ignores your wrinkling nose as he smokes openly in this establishment. The waiters don’t dare to cross him, pretending the smell of tobacco doesn’t faze them.

You, however, were finding it harder to mask your disgust. For the sake of your mother’s excitement at finding you a suitable match, you tried to tame down the anger frothing in your veins, slapping on a sweet, yet sardonic smile.

“And what is your definition of ‘taste’, Itadori-san?”

He peers at you over the veil of smoke, taking his time to piece together his reply. “Plunging necklines. Satin. Bows. Thinner heels. I need a mature woman by my side, not some plain old maid playing dress up as a prepubescent girl.”

His words stung, and you leaned back, suddenly feeling too small. The cafe lights felt like a pair of microscopic lenses studying your every move, highlighting your discomfort and sudden unease. Your skin flashed hot and cold, the anger cresting and ebbing. Whenever you were upset, you didn’t lash out or cry, preferring to fall silent until the storm passed.

Despite a tiny voice in the back of your mind telling you it would be useless to try, you attempted another shot at winning his validation; hoping Sukuna would bestow it unto you readily and without mockery.

“Then, why don’t you come and shop with me? I’m sure a man of your taste would help my image.”

He stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. You’re reminded of a snake—its tongue scenting the air to determine whether to strike, unlidded eyes locking onto its target. 

Sukuna thaws, tapping off the excess ash onto the floor. You try not to cringe at how the poor waiters would have to sweep all of that up once he had left.

“Fine. I’ll help,” he says like it's the biggest feat in his life to perform. “But, on one condition.”

Eager, you nod, not wanting to turn him off or jeopardize a moment with such a handsome man who wouldn’t look twice at you if it weren’t for your last name.

“We push the wedding back by a month.”

Flashback: One week ago

Tensions were running high in the courtroom.

Rows of judges and the impassive jury hollows out in shades of gray, fading into the white buzz of his mind as Sukuna glances at his brother’s ashen face. Outside, the hungry press waits, sharks roaming in deathly waters waiting for the first drop of blood.

Itadori Jin clenches his pen in his white-knuckled grip. Their defense attorney, Hiromi Higuruma leans close to him, whispering something under his breath. 

Sukuna can’t hear him from his vantage point on the testimonial seat, but he can venture a guess when his younger twin nods, pushing his glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose.

“Higuruma-san, please take the floor,” the judge intones, allowing for their docketed defense to play out. 

The ruthless, cold lawyer clears his throat, and stands. 

He turns to face the jury, those soulless eyes sparking with a passion Sukuna has never seen before in all his twenty eight years of knowing the old lawyer.

“Your honor—Judge Itachi. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. How many of us have often mistaken goodwill for evil? We don’t bite the hand that feeds us and yet, we have every right to question when something isn’t as sanctimonious as it seems.” He turns his dark gaze to the rows of people.

“Itadori Sukuna has devoted half of his life to the bolstering of young athletes. Football is one of his biggest passions and he often pays meticulous attention to the facilities that nurture the talent of our future sportsmen. The sole person to be blamed for the murder of young Masamichi Ryota isn’t the man sitting on that podium—it’s to be found in the coach who pushed him beyond his capabilities and forced him to play even with a ruptured spleen—”

“Objection, your honor.” Nanami Kento, an unctuous piece of shit in a neatly-pressed suit who thrives on taking cases pro-bono to bolster his spotless reputation, stands. He adjusts his tie, looking at the plaintiff’s family—the coach’s great mustache trembling as he holds back his anger. 

“The post-mortem report submitted shows that Coach Tanaka has explicitly asked for a leave of rest for the star player. But, the rejection letter—traced from Itadori Sukuna’s hand, I might add—explicitly denied that request on grounds of the millions of yen he has betted on that poor boy’s success.”

The crowd moves, a great sea snake whispering, scales rustling. Unsure of whether to attack or stand down.

“Your Honor, that is a stretch,” Hiromi drones. “The young man was known to have a history of smoking and a regrettable habit of shooting ecstasy. A fact, we found out later on, that was unearthed in the same autopsy reports you had just shared, Nanami-san.” 

This time, the two attorneys stare each other down. 

Sukuna fights back a smirk at the blonde man’s narrowed eyes. Beside him, Tanaka, the coach, hangs his head.

“While his death is very regrettable and a horror to his family and loved ones, Masamichi was not known for reigning in his… impulses. He has a weak will and a fondness for abusing substances.”

“Objection,” Nanami raised his voice. “Defaming the deceased’s name is a violation of—”

“Order, order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel, shaking his jowls as he glares down from the stand. The room quietens. Nanami takes a deep breath while Hiromi glances at his watch. 

“Nanami-san, the Defamation Act 2013 does not apply to this situation as Masamichi is not a minor. A lawyer of your caliber should know this.” Nodding towards Higuruma, he says, “Continue.”

This time, Sukuna can’t help the chuckle slipping from his mouth. 

Hearing him, Jin shakes his head with a glare, hazel eyes drilling Now’s not the time, asshole deep into his skull. 

Higuruma, having heard his slip, also narrows his eyes.

Nanami uses this moment to pounce on Sukuna’s perceived indifference.

“He openly mocks the death of one of Japan’s brightest football stars, and yet, we’re supposed to believe in his goodwill? If you were to speak of my client’s dead prodigy, you should take into account what kind of man Itadori Sukuna truly is.”

Commanding the floor, the sharply-dressed blonde man takes center stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Judge and jury. Itadori Sukuna hails from an affluent family, but do not let that distract you from how he uses his position in society to silence those lower than him.” Looking straight into Sukuna’s eye with that infuriating, righteous stare these bootlickers always had, Kento seethes. 

“He is a drug-addled playboy who spends his time exploiting young talent for his own gain. These young men under his program are little more than betting fodder for him and his other rich friends. Wouldn’t you say that is correct? How many times have we seen him in the news because of his drunk folly? If he were an actor, we would’ve banned him from screens, and yet, because of his standing in society, we commend him for exploiting our sporting talents—and ultimately, playing in the negligence to cause someone’s death.”

Higuruma bristles, not expecting his opponent to pull out his client’s reputation and smear it across the courtroom floors.

“You claim defamation is uncouth, and yet, you’re doing the same thing to my client, Nanami-san—”

“Order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel again, this time looking irritated at how this case had turned.

Sukuna suddenly catches sight of a woman from across the room. She’s glaring at him with unabashed hatred, her dark eyes swollen and red-rimmed, lower lip wobbling. Beside her, the man he assumes is her husband wears a stony mask, his gaze locked on the floor, completely still except for the rapid rising and falling of his erratic breaths.

They were both clad in a dress, shirt and slacks that looked like they belonged to the 90s—neat and clean, but shabby in a way that only these lower class scum could pull off if the dress code given to them was business casual. 

These must be Ryota’s good-for-nothing power hungry parents who threw him into the harsh pits of Japanese football in hopes of improving their standing in society. How plain and old they look. Sukuna fights back the urge to sneer at them, keeping his expression neutral.

It’s like Jin’s voice is in his ear: Do not misbehave. Do not give them more reason to already hate you. Remember—Jin’s infuriatingly kind eyes were unflinching and serious. They’ve just lost their son. Have some compassion and remorse.

“Attorneys, return to your seat. The jury has already made their decision and I, for one, can vouch for it.”

Sukuna feels his palms going clammy, and suddenly, the idea of investing in sports from Ino’s advice was making his stomach turn.

I’m going to kill that bastard once I’m out of here.

Removing the slip of paper from the white envelope of justice, Judge Itachi clears his throat.

Higuruma sits back down, his viper-like eyes locked on the judge’s face. Trying to predict the outcome.

“The court today has deemed the case Itadori v Japan’s Football League a negligence in duty of care concerning Masamichi Ryota’s untimely death.”

No one is breathing, all attention on the judge with his pockmarked face. 

Sukuna is fixated on Jin, whose head is bowed, eyes closed. If this blew up in their faces, a case like this would cause Itadori Enterprises to suffer a major investor fallout.

And once again, the blame of their family’s bad fortune would be on him. 

Sukuna swears the last time he was this nervous, he was waiting for Este’s pregnancy test results to come back negative.

It was one time, ‘Kuna! She had tears in her eyes, the stupid white stick clenched in her hand. Can you lay off of me and take responsibility for once in your goddamn life?

He should call her after this—apologize to her. God knows it would be his last fuck before he has to spend half of his life behind bars for the death of some schmuck kid whose name he had already forgotten.

Judge Itachi speaks again, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Therefore, the jury and I have come to the conclusion. In the case of Itadori Itadori-san, we find him—”

The clock ticks. Every lung is constricted—jury, attorneys, a few press members who had managed to bribe their way in. Sukuna recognizes them with their obnoxious yellow press tags; thinks how many of these leeches would get a raise once they broke the scoop on him.

Oh, the irony, he muses. His downfall being their salvation to fighting back against the rising cost of living.

“—not guilty.”

…

Sukuna is unsure if he’s heard it right.

Not guilty. 

Not guilty. 

Not guilty.

He doesn’t react immediately, blinking slowly like a fish caught out of water. The oldest son of Itadori Wasuke tries to meet his twin’s eye, but Jin is as shocked as he was, frozen with his laser-sharp focus trailed on the stand—trying to digest this turn of events.

Higuruma is the one who finally breaks the ice, standing and bowing to Judge Itachi. On cue, the rest of the room follows suit, getting to their feet and showing the retreating judge their begrudging respect.

Sukuna bows jerkily, unused to such a humble gesture he had almost forgotten how to do it.

In front of him, the brat’s mother starts to bawl, her husband’s arms coming to wrap around her as they both shuffle out of the courtroom, looking older and grayer than when they had entered.

Sukuna doesn’t have much time to force a lick of sympathy for them, not when this farce of a trial was over and he was late for Ino’s party.

He hops down the stand, ambling easily to his younger brother who was whispering in low tones with their lawyer. A few feet away, Nanami Kento reassures the coach and his family, painting a picture of trying to achieve righteous justice for that good name—a feat Sukuna knew he would never achieve.

After all, the Itadori empire wasn’t built on rainbows on sunshine but pure, hard grit. And a little bit of blood and here and there to get what they want.

Jin looks up, frowns. “Let’s catch the sedan and have a smoke. You and I have a lot to discuss about.”

The way he said it made Sukuna feel like a kid again, about to be chastised for peeing the bed or killing off the pet goldfish.

Higuruma packed up his briefcase of documents, and a pack of bodyguards stationed around the different points of the courtroom swarmed to the middle, shielding the two brothers and their lawyers the second the doors opened and the press descended on them. 

Flashing lights went off in a wave of clicks, the vultures with their cameras snapping his humiliation at every angle for their publications; boldly throwing their questions at him without fear now that the great Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was knocked down a peg or two. 

Itadori-san, can you comment about Masamichi-san’s death at length? 

One woman with a silver bob shoved a mic in his face. The guard on his right quickly elbowed her out of the way, throwing his arm up to hide Sukuna’s visage from the bug-like chittering click of these press leeches and their expensive cameras.

Itadori-san, this news must come as a shock. What does this mean for the future of Itadori Enterprise?

Will this affect any future mergers, particularly a rumor circulating about a potential collaboration with Nara Corp? 

Itadori-san, do you ever regret investing in football?

A few sport reporters were also seen trying to push their way through the crowd, recorders in hand to glean some golden nuggets for their pathetic column.

Itadori-san, what does your verdict mean for the future of the Japan Football League?

Itadori-san, did you know that Masamichi-san was about to prepare for his university entrance exams? How does his death make you feel?

“No comment,” Higuruma intones, taking Jin and Sukuna both by the elbow to steer them towards their waiting car like they were teenagers again; back when he had to bring the twins straight into Wasuke’s study to discuss their future inheritance.

A fresh-faced rookie Sukuna had never seen before stumbles in front of their entourage, and he’s mortified to see a pink lipstick print on the front of the intern’s tag.

Royale News' first appearance in such a serious case.

“Itadori-san, you’re already approaching the ripe age of thirty," the dim-wit says. “Do you have your eye on a woman who can domesticate you? Can you ever be tamed?”

Amidst the overlapping voices and chaos, that question sticks to Sukuna like sweat on skin during an unbearable summer heat, unsettling him until he sinks into the sedan with Jin beside him and Higuruma on the opposite seat. 

The door closes shut, bodyguards standing in front of the heavily tinted side windows to keep the press from clamoring after them.

Once the chaos was left behind on the freeway in a cloud of smoke and ashes, did Jin lean forward to raise the privacy screen. With the driver unable to hear them, his younger twin reaches for his packet of Montecristos, lighting three of them up and passing one to each man.

Higuruma accepts his offer with a nod, while Sukuna grabs the nicotine-laced vice from him with a ferocity that takes his brother aback. He inhales deeply, exhaling rings of smoke which fogs up the car, tasting cherries, cedarwood, tobacco and his freedom. 

“Easy, ‘Kuna,” Jin mumbles tersely. Sukuna resists the urge to flip him off.

Instead, he drags his gaze to the lawyer smoking quietly in front of him, smiling sleazily in triumph. “You did a good job, Higuruma. If I were you, I’d ask for a raise.”

The Itadori scion expects his brother to join in the jest meekly, like he always does. Not glare at him with pure vitriol in his eyes, the kind Sukuna had never seen Jin harbor for him.

“You scumbag,” Jin mutters hotly. His brother half expects him to throw a curse word or two with how riled up he was. “You were supposed to dump this stupid hobby. I gave you the money to start a foundation for good press. Not throw it all into some useless human betting ring. Are you an imbecile?”

That was a new insult. Jin rarely ever threw him a good verbal uppercut, and Sukuna must’ve really fucked up to earn this side of his younger twin brother.

He plasters on a sleazy smile, giving his otouto a once over. 

“Well, aren’t you a fucking ray of sunshine? You should be glad Higuruma managed to avert the crisis and get me out of it. Or, are you going to piss in these blessings?”

“I would rather you didn’t embroil yourself in such a shit show in the first place.”

Jin sighs, sags into the seat and massages his temple. “One day, Sukuna, you’re going to give me a heart attack and you’ll have to take over oto-san’s company. Then, you will know true responsibility. True suffering.”

Sukuna hums, staring outside at the scenery flying by.

“Neither the company nor its investors would last a day with me at the helm. So, for your sake and mine, I’m going to ask the doctor to keep the life support machine going even if you’re hanging onto your last breath, dear brother.”

“Good luck with that,” Jin refutes with a slight snarl. “I would explicitly mention it in my will to refute your efforts at reviving me.”

“Then, I will rebuke your will.”

“You can’t because I actually have a son to execute it.”

“Yuuji is two. He can’t even hold a pencil.”

Any insult towards his beloved son would never be tolerated by the famed Itadori family man. Jin puffs out his chest, about to berate his older brother, when Higuruma stops them both with a sigh.

“If only your parents could see the both of you now. How disappointed they would be in you, Sukuna.”

Hiromi sucks in a deep breath of the sweet cigar, turning his head and exhaling lightly out of politeness for smoking in his employer’s car. 

Despite his hulking muscles and blase attitude, Sukuna can’t help but glower in petulance at any mention of Wasuke and Kasumi’s disappointment in him. Growing up as the black sheep has casted a permanent cloud over him—his best efforts were seen as second tier in comparison with his perfect, golden brother. And Sukuna resents any mention of it.

Their family lawyer continues on, as if he hadn’t made two of them heel to an uneasy stop.

“At your age, you should be taking over Jin’s part. But, your brother is too nice. He took up the burden so you could do what, exactly? Party every night? Sleep with models? Get involved in scandals?”

Hiromi sighs, and Sukuna turns his glare outside the window, unwilling to take such a personal beat down. 

“Your mother had hoped you would snap out of your selfish streak. She even thought you would settle down and give her some grandchildren by the time you turned twenty five. But, you had to be pictured… fucking… the mayor’s daughter during a gala. How crude.”

“Stop talking down to me like you’re even at my level, Higuruma.” Sukuna snaps and something in his tone catches the other two men off guard. “You think just because we employ you in our good graces, you have the fucking right—”

“What Hiromi is trying to say is this,” Jin interjects before this could escalate into a full fist fight. “Both of us have come up with the best way for our family to get past this scandal.”

Sukuna has heard this a thousand times before. The Itadori pockets were bottomless when it came to preserving their good name.

“How?” He sneers, dismissive and mildly insulted that the two of them had made a decision for him without his input. “Don’t tell me you’re going to flush out more money to keep the press quiet. We can’t keep using the same strategy over and over again.”

In answer, Hiromi and Jin share a look. Sukuna suddenly feels like the car seat he’s on is about to be pulled from under him.

Wilted ash drips from the tip of his neglected cigar. He tenses, darts his vermillion eyes between his two conspirators and wardens.

“Hiromi and I have come up with a better idea,” Jin begins his pitches like he always does—with a little smile and a sniffle. “The idea is—”

“Marriage,” Hiromi intones, taking one brother aback and the other on a guilt trip. 

Jin grimaces. Sukuna stumbles with the words stuttering out like a reckless oil spill.

So, the only thing he could spout was, “M-marriage?! What kind of trickery is this? Jin—” He looks to his otouto, hoping against hope his ears are just fucked up and he didn’t actually hear Hiromi saying the tragic, forbidden ‘M’ word.

“—this has to be a mistake.”

“No, it’s not,” Hiromi steps in to cover Jin’s ass, placing himself at the front to take the bullets of rage that would no doubt rain down on him once the whole plan was laid bare to the older, hot-headed twin. 

“We believe that with your souring reputation and increasing questions surrounding your perpetual bachelorhood, settling down with someone would be in the interest of the family business. And of course, your inheritance.”

Hiromi makes sure to dangle the most effective carrot in front of him; that sadistic bastard.

Sukuna seethes—confusion, anger, disappointment and fear coalescing to overtake his first instinct to run. Numbing him with his inaction of thoughts and body. 

Hiromi lifts his heavy-bagged eyes, pinning him right to the spot. The knife slices deeper, cutting him from the inside out; hammering in this decision he absolutely had no say in unless he would want to kiss his lavish lifestyle goodbye.

“We need to get you married off by the end of the year.” A death sentence knells right into his chest; Hiromi digs the pain deeper. 

“In fact, the sooner, the better.” 

Sukuna remembers the very first time he had seen you in your wedding dress. 

It was a chance encounter as he passed by a Morinaga boutique in downtown Shibuya; his brother having orchestrated the entire meeting so Sukuna would catch a glance of his future bride trying on her custom-made dress.

With her head bowed, and shoulders bare under the light, the older Itadori twin thought her figure was appeasing and pleasing to the eyes. That is, until she turned around with her naked face and he had to physically stop himself from recoiling.

“Is that her?” he demands, unwilling to believe Jin would sell him out like this. Shades of disgust lines his tone, and he tries not to put his stupid twin in a headlock and break his neck.

Jin notices his reluctance and makes a face. “She’s unlike the girls you whore yourself out to, that’s for sure.”

The more he looks at you, the more Sukuna is starting to think this was a mistake.

“She’s so… boring. Vanilla. Are you sure this is what you think is best for me?”

Since their father passed on and the business went to his younger twin, Sukuna was often painted in their society and by the media as the irresponsible Itadori—the audacious older brother, the partier.

The playboy.

Often having a gaggle of girls at his mercy, he was not exempted from warming beautiful model’s beds, and having flings with other trust fund babes—bad habits his younger brother was desperately trying to get him to shrug off to take on more of the family business mantle. 

“You’re almost thirty, ‘Kuna. It’s time to act like it.” 

Jin sighs, removes his glasses. The action reminds him so much of their father that Sukuna pauses for a second, blinking away the mirage of that senile, old man.

Sukuna hadn’t noticed just how old his younger brother had gotten.

Dressed in a sleek trench coat costing four times more than a McDonald workers’ monthly salary, Itadori Jin was quiet and unassuming, yet only his twin brother knew that still waters ran the deepest.

An inch shorter than him and with a kid from his old, dead wife, Itadori Jin was the antithesis of Sukuna’s recklessness. Where the older twin was all hulking machismo and a massive ego, his brother was soft-spoken and with a sharp mind that was always one step ahead of his, bringing their father’s company back from the brink of bankruptcy and launching it into international waters from his sheer will. 

Sukuna respects the guy, and as much as he wants to rile Jin up and pop a vein on his younger brother’s temple, he tempers down his sarcasm, preferring to roll his eyes.

“Whatever. So, her daddy wants the merger money and you want me to settle down with some ugly chick?”

Jin winces, wishing his brother wasn’t being this curt and lewd. 

“Her father wants an heir. And he wants 40% of our shares. That’s a whole different game.”

“He can’t have those.” Sukuna was irresponsible as they came, but even he understood the basic math of divesting half of your company’s assets to a party other than your stipulated stakeholders. “The Nara family already holds 22% of our board and the Ikina’s are up close with 15%. If those vultures take 40, how’re we gonna break even in the next quarter? We’ll be bleeding red if we give into their whims.”

In answer, the corners of his brother’s mouth twitches. “I see you’ve been doing your homework. Impressive.”

They both have stopped in their tracks, standing a little ways on the sidewalk where prying ears couldn’t hear their discussion.

Jin suddenly turns serious. “L/N-san has struck gold with new fintech models. We need to curry his favor if he wants to reduce the patent price for us to move on with Project Armstrong. I hope you understand the gravity of this situation.”

Usually, Sukuna prefers not talking business with his brother in such broad daylight without a drink in hand. But, seeing as how Jin has left him no choice, he relents to this impromptu exchange, feeling more and more like some wild stock being sold in a farm the longer he speaks to his brother. 

“And she’s nicknamed the Wisteria Woman because her entire family latches onto fame and power like leeches,” he bristles, catching Jin by surprise. 

See? Even a useless ass like him could bother with basic research. And the rumors were nastier than he imagined.

“I already don’t like the sound of that—of her.”

The younger Itadori cocks his head. “Then, I think you should be honest with her if that is how you feel. That this is a business arrangement and nothing else.”

Sukuna flicks a cigarette from his leather coat’s pocket, sticking it between his teeth.

“Say I agree to this plan. What’s in it for me?”

Without a beat of hesitation, Jin replies: 

“110% of the profit.”

Sukuna nearly spits out his stick. 

The amount yawns before him, looming zeros and zeros staring him in the face. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jin teases, though there’s tension crinkling in the corner of his eyes.

Switching gears, Sukuna turns mellow; even slaps on a smile. “I see. Interesting.”

“So. Are you on board with this?” 

In the distance, he sees your silhouette exiting the bridal shop, bags in hand with your maids or girlfriends following behind. The sunlight does little to bring any depth to your expression or features, but he appreciates that you look semi-decent from his vantage point.

“Fine,” he says, clicking open his vintage Dupont to light the tip of his cigarette. “Count me in.”

He supposes that even with such an embarrassing family background that will drag the Itadori name through the mud, the high stakes more than made up for such a lackluster wife.

His favorite whore sighs right into his shoulder, the smell of his cum, sweat and her expensive perfume strong on her skin.

After ejaculating right onto her tits and smearing it everywhere down her belly, Sukuna was exhausted and in a need for something stronger than nicotine. Rolling over, he picks up a joint Ino had passed to him as congratulations for making it out of that nasty as fuck trial, lighting it up and inhaling with a tremendous sigh.

Este’s lips are right on his shoulder, kissing a path from his deltoid to collarbone. Sukuna wraps a hand in her soft, brown hair, holding her firmly in place as he makes a move like he was about to kiss her; her lips parting and smoke pouring into her waiting mouth, her hitched inhale pulling a cruel smile across his own lips. 

She turns her face away, eyes watering and fighting back a coughing fit. “Asshole.”

“An invitation for anal? Gladly, baby.” He turns her onto her belly, peals of laughter muffled by the pillow, strong arms holding her down as he positions her on her hands and knees, joint stuck in between his teeth.

Este turns her face to the side, catching his eye. Mascara smudges around her eyes, her red lipstick feathering at the corners of her impishly smiling mouth.

“What’re you doing, ‘Kuna?” 

“Y’know what I’m doing,” he murmurs, cock stirring at her wiggling hips and devilish grin.

“Are you really going to take my ass?” 

He sucks in another inhale of the joint, feeling the high slowly unlocking his muscles and turning his brain fuzzy. “Scared? Afraid daddy might find out his daughter is going around offering her virgin hole to any rich man who’s on the marriage market?” 

Condescension drips in poisonous tendrils, and she bristles. “Fuck you, ‘Kuna.”

In one swift motion, he’s sheathed inside of her, feeling her walls choke down on his cock. His head tosses back, sweat glistening off the tribal tattoos on his chest, hips drawing back and snapping forward in languid thrusts. 

The moon shines strong. Cheap Southern alcohol pumps in his blood, his sweat soaks through her skin and hair, damp skin illuminated by the ember tip of his joint. 

“Isn’t that what I’m already doing to you?” He drawls, and her body starts to shake. 

“We still—mhm—h-haven’t talked about your m-marriage…” 

Her voice fades; cracks on the reality of him no longer sharing a bed with her.

Jesus. Does everyone know about this? 

Sukuna doesn’t do anything to comfort her, except for slipping a hand between her legs to rub soft circles on her clit as a flimsy apology.

She keens, white-knuckled grip fisting the soft blankets. Her mediterranean mix shows under the weak light, tan skin stretching over defined back muscles, dark roots growing past the brown dye job she gets done once every two weeks.

In another life, Sukuna thinks he could’ve been in love with her.

Este screams his name as she shatters around him. Sukuna tosses the half-smoked joint back on the side table, not caring if it would catch on something and burn her room down. He’d just fuck her through the flames until she asphyxiates and succumbs to both the lack of oxygen and her orgasm.

She clings onto him, a second layer of skin he wants nothing to do with. 

Sukuna pushes her away not so gently, grabbing his joint and snuffing it out with the heel of his palm. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, reaching for his shirt, pants. She watches as he dresses, still dazed and starry-eyed from her release.

“Are you going back to her? To Y/N?” 

Sukuna crinkles his nose, as if the mention of your name was enough to make him lose his appetite. “Don’t be stupid. No. I’m going back to my place for a shower and a nightcap. I’ll see you around.”

Tossing her a nonchalant wave, Sukuna leaves Este’s sheets, knowing that in a few more days, he would be back here again.

That’s the thing he likes about Este Nara—she’s easy. Not just to get in bed, but to get away from. She doesn’t bitch or moan about him being distant and aloof. She takes his cruelty without much flinching, seeing the dangerous man lurking under his tattoos and barely thinking anything of it. 

If she even had half a brain to think.

He revs the engine of his Ducati Superleggera, hightails it past her condominium with his helmet buckled haphazardly around his neck; not slowing down, wishing he could leave his problems in the dust being kicked up by his tires.

“What do you mean he’s trying to push the marriage to a month later?” your mother seethes over her coffee, glaring at you.

You shrink from her anger, pushing around a soggy banana with your fork tines. “It’s what he told me,” you argue back weakly. “What was I going to say?”

“What about actually standing up for yourself and doing what is best for our agreement?” 

She arches a perfectly groomed brow, waiting for you to respond. You cast a despairing look to your father who picks up his glass of bourbon, sipping on it while he listlessly scrolls through his iPad. 

“Listen to your mother, my little light.”

“I did,” you tried again, willing them both to understand. Bunching your fists over your lap, you take a deep breath, hoping they would listen. “I did everything you asked me to: not interrupt him. Let him talk. Laugh at his jokes. Everything,” you emphasize. “And yet he asked me to consider pushing the marriage back by a few weeks. What else could I say?”

You reiterate your question, growing hotter in the cheeks. Finally understanding why some people could have a heart attack in the middle of dinner when the entire situation was spun around to paint you as a villain when you had tried your best to be as cooperative as you could. 

A grimace stretches across her plastic-filled cheeks. People often said your mother could win a beauty pageant on her worst days; rising above other beautiful women with her wit, charm and charisma. Of course, she was also the daughter of a department store king, so the money graciously ‘donated’ to these glittery showcases put her many steps forward compared to other contestants.

“I don’t know where I went wrong in raising you,” she sighs, dramatic as always. “Jiro, please. Can you speak to Itadori Jin-san and tell him what our daughter told us? There is no way his brother can resist this offer.”

Offer. Like you were a cow to be traded in the market.

“Lia, I told you, Itadori Jin-san has no control over Itadori-san. That’s his nii-san. It would be a perversion of authority if he forces Sukana-san’s hand in any way.”

Her expression sours. “Well, isn’t there some way we can orchestrate a reunion, perhaps? A dinner or getaway to officially welcome them to the family?” 

You blanch at the idea of seeing Sukuna again, stewing in your mortification and humiliation when he had already made it clear how distasteful he finds you.

You’re about to say you don’t mind going with Sukuna’s timeline when he sets his glass down with a pensive look on his face.

Ten years older than your mother and with a brilliant mind born from the best business school in Tokyo, your father was not a man to be played with; his word was law, and that was how he spearheaded the tech scene at the tender age of twenty-five with nothing but a dream and his gritty determination. 

Knowing he had to prove himself to your grandfather—your mother’s father, on his capabilities to build a home and a better life for a woman who already had everything—made you wonder how he did it.

From nobody to somebody. It’s why no matter how he treated you, he would always have your respect.

“A getaway?” Jiro murmurs, an idea darkening his thoughts. “That could be interesting. Very interesting indeed. I’ll make some plans and we’ll play it by ear.”

He went back to scrolling, ignoring his smugly beaming wife.

Pacified that she had gotten what she wanted, your mother turns nurturing once more, cooing and touching your shoulder.

“We should get you a spa treatment and a light makeover before Itadori-san sees you. Do you have something to wear in mind?” 

As if you were a doll whose only purpose was to be dressed up, this was the reality you were living in for the past twenty-seven years of your life. If Itadori-san didn’t want to marry you fast enough and get you out of your childhood home, you were sure a swift bullet to the head would be the best alternative.

Plastering on a smile, you ponder for a second on your choice. 

“I want to try something new,” you decide. A furrow appears in her brow. 

“What do you mean by new, my dear?” 

“Something Itadori-san would like,” you try to curry her approval, feeling lighter and happier when her solemn face breaks into a knowing smile. 

“He says he loves dresses with satin and plunging necklines. Thinner heels. I think Okuta-san would understand.”

Referring to your personal stylist, your mother nods her approval.

“That’s perfect. I’ll get her to do some digging on some of Itadori-san’s past girlfriends and see what they wore.”

Unruffled by how audacious that statement was, you were truly reminded that this marriage was a cruelty of convenience when her smile deepens.

“I’m proud of you for taking this step, my dear,” your mother’s voice warms, though the implications of them make you freeze. 

“You’re finally proving your worth to the L/N family.”

a.n. OKAY WE'RE SO BACK. ive deleted the first chapter due to low interaction and decided to give this series a second chance by starting with y/n's pov !! this series will rely heavily on feedback and reblogs (my adhd ass cant work on something if i and other people dont care for it) or else it'll be scraped and we keep things moving (i sincerely hope u loved this <3)

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms

[jessicalprice]

culture isn’t modular

I did a thread (actually several) on Twitter a few years ago about Christianity’s attempts to paint itself as modular, and I’ve been seeing them referenced here in the cultural christianity Discourse, and a few people have DMed me asking me to post it here, so here’s a rehash of several of those threads:

A big part of why Christian atheists have trouble seeing how culturally Christian they still are is that Christianity advertises itself as being modular, which is not how belief systems have worked for most of human history. 

A selling point of Christianity has always been the idea that it's plug-and-play: you don't have to stop being Irish or Korean or Nigerian to be Christian, you don't have to learn a new language, you keep your culture. 

And you’re just also Christian.

(You can see, then, why so many Christian atheists struggle with the idea that they’re still Christian--to them, Christianity is this modular belief in God and Jesus and a few other tenets, and everything else is... everything else. Which is, not to get ahead of myself, very compatible with some tacit white supremacy: the “everything else” is goes unexamined for its cultural specificity. It’s just Normal. Default. Neutral.)

Evangelicals in particular love to contrast this to Islam, to the idea that you have to learn Arabic and adopt elements of Arab culture to be Muslim, which helps fuel the image of Islam as a Foreign Ideology that's taking over the West.

The rest of us don’t have that particular jack

Meanwhile, Christians position Christianity as a modular component of your life. Keep your culture, your traditions, your language and just swap out your Other Religion Module for a Christianity Module.

The end game is, in theory, a rainbow of diverse people and cultures that are all one big happy family in Christ. We're going to come back to how Christianity isn't actually modular, but for the moment, let's talk about it as if it had succeeded in that design goal. 

Even if Christianity were successfully modular, if it were something that you could just plug in to the Belief System Receptor in a culture and leave the rest of it undisturbed, the problem is most cultures don't have a modular Belief System Receptor. Spirituality has, for the entirety of human history, not been something that's modular. It's deeply interwoven with the rest of culture and society. You can't just pull it out and plug something else in and have the culture remain stable.

(And to be clear, even using the term “spirituality” here is a sop to Christianity. What cultures have are worldviews that deal with humanity’s place in the universe/reality; people’s relationships to other people; the idea of individual, societal, or human purpose; how the culture defines membership; etc. These may or may not deal with the supernatural or “spiritual.”)

And so OF COURSE attempting to pull out a culture's indigenous belief system and replace it with Christianity has almost always had destructive effects on that culture.

Not only is Christianity not representative of "religion" full stop, it's actually arguably *anomalous* in its attempt to be modular (and thus universal to all cultures) rather than inextricable from culture.

Now, of course, it hasn't actually succeeded in that--the US is a thoroughly Christian culture--but it does lead to the idea that one can somehow parse out which pieces of culture are "religious" versus which are "secular". That framing is antithetical to most cultures. E.g. you can't separate the development of a lot of cultural practices around what people eat and how they get it from elements of their worldview that Christians would probably label "religious." But that entire *framing* of religious vs. secular is a Christian one.

Is Passover a religious holiday or a secular one? The answer isn't one or the other, or neither, or both. It's that the framing of this question is wrong.

And Christianity isn’t a plugin, however much it wants to be

Moreover, Christianity isn't actually culture-neutral or modular. 

It's easy for this to get obscured by seeing Christianity as a tool of particular cultures' colonialism (e.g. the British using Christianity to spread British culture) or of whiteness in general, and not seeing how Christianity itself is colonial. This helps protect the idea that “true” Christianity is good and innocent, and if priests or missionaries are converting people at swordpoint or claiming land for European powers or destroying indigenous cultures, that must be a misuse of Christianity, a “fake” or “corrupted” Christianity.

Never mind that for every other culture, that culture is what its members do. Christianity, uniquely, must be judged on what it says its ideals are, not what it actually is. 

Mistaking the engine for the exhaust

But it’s not just an otherwise innocent tool of colonialism: it’s a driver of it. 

At the end of the day, it’s really hard to construct a version of the Great Commission that isn’t inherently colonial. The end-goal of a world in which everyone is Christian is a world without non-Christian cultures. (As is the end goal of a world in which everyone is atheist by Christian definitions.)

Yet we focus on the way Christianity came with British or Spanish culture when they colonized a place--the churches are here because the Spaniards who conquered this area were Catholic--and miss how Christianity actually has its own cultural tropes that it brings with it. It's more subtle, of course, when Christianity didn't come in explicitly as the result of military conquest.

Or put another way, those cultures didn't just shape the Christianity they brought to places they colonized--they were shaped by it. How much of the commonality between European cultures is because of Christianity?

It’s not all a competition

A lot of Christians (cultural and practicing), if you push them, will eventually paint you a picture of a very Hobbesian world in which all religions, red in tooth and claw, are trying to take over the world. It's the "natural order" to attempt to eliminate all cultures but your own. 

If you point out to them that belief and worldview are deeply personal, and proselytizing is objectifying, because you're basically telling the person you're proselytizing to that who they are is wrong, you often get some version of "that's how everyone is, though."

Like we all go through life seeing other humans as incomplete and fundamentally flawed and the only way to "fix" them is to get them to believe what we believe. And, like, that is not how everyone relates to others?

But it's definitely how both practicing Christians and Christian antitheists relate to others. If, for Christians, your lack of Jesus is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed, for New Atheists, your “religion” (that is, your non-Christian culture) is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed. Neither Christians nor New Atheists are able to relate to anyone else as fine as they are. It's all a Hobbesian zero-sum game. It's all a game of conversion with only win and loss conditions. You are, essentially, only an NPC worth points.

The idea of being any other way is not only wrong, but impossible to them. If you claim to exist in any other way, you are either deluded or lying.

So, we get Christian atheists claiming that if you identify as Jewish, you can’t really be an atheist. Or sometimes they’ll make an exception for someone who’s “only ethnically Jewish.” If the only way you relate to your Jewishness is as ancestry, then you can be an atheist. Otherwise, you’re lying. 

Or, if you’re not lying, you’re deluded. You just don’t understand that there’s no need for you to keep any dietary practices or continue to engage in any form of ritual or celebrate any of those “religious” Jewish holidays, and by golly, this here “ex”-Christian atheist is here to separate out for you which parts of your culture are “religious” and which ones are “secular.”

Religious/secular is a Christian distinction

A lot of atheists from Christian backgrounds (whether or not they were raised explicitly Christian) have trouble seeing how Christian they are because they've accepted the Christian idea that “religion” is modular. (If we define “religion” the way Christians (whether practicing or cultural) define it, Christianity might be the only religion that actually exists. Maybe Islam?)

When people from non-Christian cultures talk about the hegemonically Christian and white supremacist nature of a lot of atheism, it reflects how outside of Christianity, spirituality/worldview isn't something you can just pull out of a culture.

Christian atheists tend to see the cultural practices of non-Christians as "religious" and think that they should give them up (talk to Jewish atheists who keep kosher about Christian atheist reactions to that). But because Christianity positions itself as modular, people from Christian backgrounds tend not to see how Christian the culture they imagine as "neutral" or "normal" actually is. In their minds, you just pull out the Christianity module and are left with a neutral, secular society.

So, if people from non-Christian backgrounds would just give up their superstitions, they'd look the same as Christian atheists. 

Your secularism is specifically post-Christian

Of course, that culture with the Christianity module pulled out ISN'T neutral. So the idea that that's what "secular society" should look like ends up following the same pattern as Christian colonialism throughout history: the promise that you can keep your culture and just plug in a different belief system (or, purportedly, a lack of a belief system), which has always, always been a lie. The secular, "enlightened" life that most Christian atheists envision is one that's still built on white, western Christianity, and the idea that people should conform to it is still attempting to homogenize society to a white Christian ideal. 

For people from cultures that don't see spirituality as modular, this is pretty obvious. It's obvious to a lot of people from non-white Christian cultures that have syncretized Christianity in a way that doesn't truck with the modularity illusion. 

I also think, even though they're not conceptualizing it in these terms, that it's actually obvious to a lot of evangelicals. (The difference being that white evangelical Christianity enthusiastically embraces white supremacy, so they see the destruction of non-Christian culture as good.) But I think it's invisible to a lot of mainline non-evangelical Christians, and it's definitely invisible to a lot of people who leave Christianity.

And that inability to see culture outside a Christian framing means that American secularism is still shaped like Christianity. It's basically the same text with a few sentences deleted and some terms replaced.

Which, again, is by design. The idea that you can deconvert to (Christian) atheism and not have to change much besides your opinions about God is the mirror of how easy it’s supposed to be to convert to Christianity.

Human societies don’t follow evolutionary biology

The Victorian Christian framing underlying current Western ideas of enlightened secularism, that religious practice (and human culture in general) is subject to the same sort of unilateral, simple evolution toward a superior state to which they, at the time, largely reduced biological evolution, is deeply white supremacist.

It posits religious evolution as a constantly self-refining process from "primitive" animism and polytheism to monotheism to white European/American Christianity. For Christians, that's the height of human culture. For ex-Christians, the next step is Christian-derived secularism.

Maybe you’ve seen this comic?

The thing is, animism isn’t more “primitive” than polytheism, and polytheism isn’t more “primitive” than monotheism. Older doesn’t mean less advanced/sophisticated/complex. Hinduism isn’t more “primitive” than Judaism just because it’s polytheistic and Judaism is monotheistic. 

Human cultures continue to change and adapt. (Arguably, older religions are more sophisticated than newer ones because they’ve had a lot more time to refine their practices and ideologies instead of having to define them.) Also, not all cultures are part of the same family tree. Christianity and Islam may be derived from Judaism, but Judaism and Hinduism have no real relationship to one another. 

But in this worldview, Christianity is "normal" religion, which is still more primitive than enlightened secularism, but more advanced than all those other primitive, superstitious, irrational beliefs.

Just like Christians, when Christian atheists do try to make room for cultures that aren't white and European-derived, the tacit demand is "okay, but you have to separate out the parts of your culture that the Christian sacred-secular divide would deem 'religious.'"

Either way, people from non-Christian cultures, if they’re to be equals, are supposed to get with the program and assimilate.

You’re not qualified to be a universal arbiter of what culture is good

Christian atheists usually want everyone to unplug that Religion module!

So, for example, you have ex-Christian atheists who are down with pluralism trying to get ex-Christian atheists who aren't to leave Jews alone by pointing out that you can be atheist and Jewish.

But some of us aren’t atheist. (I’m agnostic by Christian standards.) And the idea that Jews shouldn’t be targets for harassment because they can be atheists and therefore possibly have some common sense is still demanding that people from other cultures conform to one culture’s standard of what being “rational” is.  

Which, like, is kind of galling when y’all don’t even understand what “belief in G-d” means to Jews, and people from a culture that took until the 1800s to figure out that washing their hands was good are setting themselves up as the Universal Arbiters of Rationality.

(BTW, most of this also holds true for non-white Christianity, too. I guarantee you most white Christian atheists don’t have a good sense of what role church plays in the lives of Black communities, so maybe shut up about it.)

In any case, reducing Christianity--a massive, ambient phenomenon inextricable from Western culture--to the specific manifestation of Christian practice that you grew up with is, frankly, absurd. 

And you can’t be any help in deconstructing hegemony when you refuse to perceive it and understand that it isn’t something you can take off like a garment, and you probably won’t ever recognize and uproot all the ways in which it affects you, especially when you are continuing to live within it. 

What hegemony doesn’t want you to know

One of the ways hegemony sustains and perpetuates itself is by reinforcing the idea not so much that other ways of being and knowing are evil (although that’s usually a stage in an ideology becoming hegemonic), but that they’re impossible. That they don’t actually exist. 

See, again, the idea that anyone claiming to live differently is either lying or deluded.

There are few clearer examples of how pervasive Christian hegemony is than Christian atheists being certain every religion works like Christianity. Hegemonic Christianity wants you to think that all cultures work like Christianity because it wants their belief systems to be modular so you can just ...swap them. And it wants to pretend that culture/worldview is a free market where it can just outcompete other cultures.

But that’s... not how anything works. 

And the truth of the matter is that white nationalist Christians shoot at synagogues and Sikh temples and mosques because those other ways of being can’t be allowed to exist. 

They don’t shoot at atheist conventions because there’s room in hegemonic Christianity for Christian atheists precisely because Christian atheists are still culturally Christian. Their atheism is Christian-shaped.

They may not like you. They’re definitely going to try to convert you. They may not want you to be able to hold public office or teach their kids.

But the only challenge you’re providing is that of The Existence of Disbelief. And that’s fine. That makes you a really safe Other to have around. You can See The Light and not have to change much.

What you’re not doing is providing an example of a whole other way of being and knowing that (often) predates Christianity and is completely separate from it and has managed to survive it and continue to live and thrive (there’s a reason Christians like to speak of Jews and Judaism in the past tense, and it’s similar to the reason white people like to speak of indigenous peoples of the Americas in the past tense). 

That’s not a criticism--it’s fine to just... be post-Christian. There’s not actually anything wrong with being culturally Christian. The problems come in when you start denying that it’s a thing, or insisting that you, unique among humankind, are above Having A Culture.

But it does mean that you don’t pose the same sort of threat to Christianity that other cultures do, and hence, less violence. 

[is-this-yuri]

Comparing autistic people to nazis and mormons is not the take you think it is.

i think the problem here is you believe i'm generalizing all autistic people as similar to nazis and mormons. if that were the case, i'd be calling myself a nazi and a mormon. the post you're referring to is about a specific group of neurodivergent people who have fallen into a harmful fantasy about their superiority to the rest of humanity.

every once in a while it's good to ask: is this eugenics? is this racism? is this white supremacy with a shiny coat of paint? it doesn't matter who is perpetrating it or how little power they have to act. we can all be victims to these ideologies since they're so compelling and attractive to believe. this is how we get conservative pipelines. i'm asking you to please be careful. the only answer is love and kindness

[spacelazarwolf]

I apologize you’ve explained this before but why do you think male/female socialization is bullshit? From the way I think about it isn’t it just the fact that certain gender roles are pushed onto afab and amab people by authority figures and thus society in general to dress a certain way, show or not show emotions, forced to cover up, etc? Isn’t this a thing that happens or is there another term for it

I agree that male socialization to justify describing amab people as inherently bad is wrong though. But otherwise isn’t this an actual thing?

i've sort of touched on it in other posts, but i'll use this opportunity to try and collect all my thoughts and expand on some things i've been thinking about lately. i can't promise it'll be all-encompassing, but i'll do my best.

i think when it comes to conversations about "socialization", we're having the wrong conversation. we shouldn't be asking "how did being 'raised male/female' make this person act?", we should be asking "how was this person affected by the gender roles they were taught growing up, and how did it intersect with other parts of their identity?"

to try to illustrate this better than just a wall of text, i'm going to give some examples of "traditional" gender roles that come up a lot in discussions about socialization, and how different people might be affected by them.

"female" gender roles

must be softspoken/speak when spoken to

under white supremacy, black women are painted as aggressive (which is seen as a bad thing) while white women are painted as docile (which is seen as a good thing). how would this gender role affect a black woman differently than a white woman?

jewish women who are raised in jewish culture are generally seen as much more outspoken than the culturally white norm. how would the expectation to be "softspoken" affect them?

how would this affect trans men who are raised with this expectation, but when they transition and are put in the societal role of "man" are expected to be more outspoken? or trans women who have this gender role used against them when they try to speak up?

must focus on being a mother

to society, giving birth is one of the pillars of womanhood. how would this affect a trans man who has given birth or wants to? how would this affect a trans woman who can't?

how would this affect a black woman who deals with racist rhetoric surrounding black people having multiple children? how would it affect a black mother who is afraid of bringing black children into a world that is not safe for them?

how would this affect women who don't want children? how would it affect women who do want children, but still want to maintain their life as an individual person and not just a mother?

must be nurturing and learn how to handle others' emotions

how would this affect women of color who are frequently burdened with managing white people's emotions in conversations about race?

how would this affect all trans people, both those who were raised with this expectation and those who have this expectation put on them later in life, whose safety can be compromised by perceived "outburtsts"?

"male" gender roles

must not express emotions

how would this affect men who are racial and ethnic minorities who are trying to talk about the oppression they face and the grief that comes along with it? especially those for whom showing intense emotions is perceived as aggression?

how would this affect trans men who transitioned later in life who now have to deal with people's negative reactions to them showing the same emotions they've shown their whole life?

how would this affect trans women who were raised with this expectation, and now have difficulty expressing their emotions even though the societal role they're in now "allows" for that?

must be a breadwinner and protector, regardless of personal cost

how would this affect trans men who have different safety needs than most cis men who are now expected to put that safety on the line? (remember malte c.)

how would this affect working class men who are not paid fairly, expected to work more for less, with less benefits and protections, and then don't get to connect with their families and friends the way they might want to?

how would this affect darker skinned men of color who are already at higher risk of police violence who want to protect their loved ones from harm but know if they try the consequences could be deadly?

must not show any femininity

how would this affect jewish and east asian men who are seen as inherently more feminine because of their ethnicity/race?

how would this affect queer men whose expression is more feminine?

how would this affect trans women who are still forced into the societal role of "man"?

how would this affect trans men, who are inherently seen as feminine because of their agab, or if they don't want to present entirely normatively masculine?

particularly when it comes to trans people, depending on when we transition, our agab can have very little affect on any sort of social conditioning we receive. for me, i came out and started medically transitioning when i was 28, almost 29. my life up until that point had been profoundly affected by misogyny and sexism. growing up in a conservative town, i'd been told by the culture that i lived in that my place in the world was to have babies with a nice man, and maybe do some music on the side. i experienced medical sexism that left me disabled, educational sexism that forced me to drop out, and those things are a huge part of why i am who i am today. so it does frustrate me when people say that because i'm a man today i couldn't possibly have experienced or been affected by those things, because those experiences supposedly belong to "women" and by trying to claim them i'm somehow defaulting on my claim to my identity as a man.

i can't change what i experienced or the way it affected me. but just because i experienced one thing doesn't mean that everyone who shares my identity has to have the exact same experience, or that everyone who is the "opposite" identity of me has to have experienced the opposite. the trans boy i know who came out at age 6 is going to have a very different experience. his teachers see him as a boy, he is growing up in a more progressive and accepting community, his parents are fierce advocates for him in social and medical settings, and he is going to have a really amazing life. the kind of life all trans people should be able to have.

my life experiences will be more similar to a trans girl who came out at age 6 and experienced growing up placed in the "girl" role than they will be to the trans boy who came out at age 6 and experienced growing up placed in the "boy" role. and that, to me, is what makes trans experiences so fascinating. the trans girl might not know what it's like to get messaging about having babies being your only role in life because you have a uterus, but those messages about having babies are still going to affect her because having babies is seen as the most womanly thing you can do, and people will use the fact she can't have babies to "prove" she's not a woman. women with uteruses who are infertile often experience similar reactions, people stripping them of their womanhood because they can't carry a child. the trans boy might not know what it's like to have high school teachers speak down to you and put you in the front row so they can look down your shirt in the middle of class, but he'll still know what it's like to have people try to prevent you from transitioning because of your physical capability to have children, and what it's like to live in a world that hates you and wants to punish you for trying to "rise above your station."

every human being experiences some sort of social conditioning, because that's how humans grow and develop. we look to the world around us to try to learn how to interact with others, what society expects from us, etc. there's really no valid argument for the idea that no one experiences any sort of conditioning when they're young, because that's just not how human brains work. it's just that it's not as simple as "male vs female socialization." there are dozens of ways that intersecting experiences like race, ethnicity, ability, neurodivergence, queerness, etc. can affect the way society sees and treats you, the way society expects you to behave, and the way society enforces that behavior. it's not black and white. nothing is.

the only person who can determine how your upbringing may have affected who you are today is you. other people might be able to make observations, but you're the only one who can connect the dots. if there are things you learned growing up that you find were not healthy behaviors or were ineffectual coping mechanisms, you can unlearn them. we are always growing and changing. i've said before, socialization is something that happens to you, not something you are. no one is trapped in their 14 year old self forever.

[thrashkink-coven]

Theists have to deal with the reality that their Gods and symbols will almost inevitably be appropriated by assholes. And it SUCKS

I be trying to do research on Ashtar and Attar and all of his symbolism has been absorbed by antisemites and Heaven’s Gate motherfuckers.

I was having a conversation with Lucifer about how conservatives have largely bastardized the imagery of Jesus and the cross, and Lucifer expressed that the same thing has happened to him and almost every other popular deity in existence. Aphrodite’s symbolism is adopted by terfs constantly, Lucifer’s sigil is deeply tied to alt right white nationalism, just as Jesus’ name is. Just as Odin and Thor are as well. Zeus is often paraded by misogynists and incels. And it SUCKS. IT SUCKS!!!!

This is a special reminder that there are assholes in every theistic community, there are assholes who don’t even truly understand what their deity stands for, (HOW?? ARE YOU A DEVOTEE OF APHRODITE AND A TERF THAT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE) and these assholes are not an accurate representative of that deity or their actual devotees.

Painting any religion, spirituality, or deity with broad strokes because of the actions of the worst of their “people”, is a severe disservice.

I HATE that Lucifer’s legacy is so often distorted because of how deeply he’s been embraced by literal fascists, and with my blog I am trying to slightly level the narrative. There will always be dumbasses that claim that Lucifer does in fact love eugenics and hates jews and gays, but anyone who has had the honour of even being in his presence knows that couldn’t be further from the truth. Anyone who preaches supremacy does not know what it means to be a Luciferian or a Satanist. Not everyone is who they say they are.

Edit: WE DON’T FUCK WITH THE SATANIC TEMPLE OVER HERE