#and calling someone who actually has it a faker?

[jewishbarbies]

i hate trish paytas with a burning passion for what she’s done to so many communities, but especially the jewish and DID communities, so i’m not shedding a tear for her. but what colleen did was so incredibly fucked up and that shouldn’t happen to anyone. she needs held accountable. just remember that trisha isn’t suddenly the good guy.

[thats-sir-dyke-to-you]

I hate the online DID community bc ive never seen a group of people who are more obviously faking. Like its impossible to find community.

[leptonyx-constellate]

btw if you think "fakers" in plural communities are a legitimate pressing problem that needs to be fixed and is actively harming plural communities at large, i really think you should step back and find some perspective. coming from a collective with DID that has been fakeclaimed on many occasions for various reasons, we need you to ask yourself these questions:

(A) who are you accusing of being fakers? what characteristics are you looking for to determine if someone is faking? (B) do you know for a fact that they're faking, or are you just assuming they are because they don't act "plural enough" in your eyes? (C) is there anything similar between you and these (apparent, so-called) fakers that others might use against you? (for example, having too many introjects, having introjects of a particular type/source, having too large or too small of a system, having too much or too little communication between your sysmates, having too much or especially too little amnesia/dissociation (especially if you have a CDD), having certain comorbid mental illnesses (personality disorders, schizo-spec disorders, psychosis in general, etc), having or not having certain kinds of trauma (especially if your system is traumagenic in any way), etc) (D) do you think people theoretically faking plurality themselves are leading to people not believing plurality exists or believing its so rare, or do you think it's more likely that the pervasiveness of fakeclaiming others and choosing not to provide benefit of the doubt is what's leading to people dismissing plurality as something fake or too rare for them to ever be concerned with it?

and finally:

(E) do you think people who are actually faking plurality (who are most likely doing it to get attention or find a sense of community/friendship) will suddenly stop faking because you chose to be cruel to them, or could it be possible that it's more likely that they'll be more willing to listen and change if you're kind and respectful and offer compassion to any true struggles they might have?

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ KISS ME, THEN. ❞

— poly! satosugu verse, satoru x reader, fluff, a first kiss :p, he’s such a lovesick fool My God.

Gojo doesn’t think he’s ever gotten totally lost in someone before; not like he has with Geto, anyway. But that was before he met you, a person who actually kept him intrigued and imbedded themself in his fickle thoughts. At some point after Shoko introduced you to them, he became trapped—blue of his eyes left wandering amidst the hue of yours, mind tangled in the string of your comebacks that rival his own. Gojo’s never met anyone else so good at keeping him on his toes.

“Kiss me, then.”

A lump shoves its way down his throat at your taunt. The sun has almost fully departed, spare edges of it peeping over the horizon to cast a golden light over the empty park. Deep shades of purple and orange cascade throughout the sky, a wondrous sight who’s an expert at captivating—but all Gojo can focus on is your lips, upturned in a smirk and coated in a distracting sheen of gloss.

Admittedly, his confession was bold, an ‘I want to kiss you’ that’s been lingering on his lips the last half hour you two have been talking. And your response was unexpected, as is a lot of your words and actions towards him and Geto. A playful remark to call his bluff, though the way you steadily eye his lips too pushes Gojo to believe you want him to kiss you just as much.

You sense a waver in his never ending confidence. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Blue eyes finally meet yours, and Gojo does an anxious nibble on his bottom lip. “Shut up. Give me a second.”

Aw, how cute, you think. “What, gotta hype yourself up first? Where’d all that confidence go, Satoru?”

The way you flow out his name to be swept away with the wind makes Gojo’s heart stutter. He could never answer your question, because admitting that your teasing words had drained him entirely of self-assurance filled his throat with sand. But if there was one thing Satoru Gojo was good at, it was faking.

He feels you tense beneath his tentative palm, cupping your face and your skin sets fire to his fingers. You’re warm, chasing the cold from his hand as he rubs a thumb over your soft cheek. Despite the playful smirk still gracing your lips, Gojo can recognize the anxiety in your eyes because you’re a faker, too.

Breath hitches, and you watch as he leans in a little closer, your heart pounding faster and faster as Gojo nears you. The faint smell of his cologne dances around in your nose, your restless fingers gently tugging the hem of his shirt. Your lips brush, and then he’s giving you a short peck, fleeting and cute and enough to have red painting him from ears to neck. Satoru lingers for a split second, desireful gaze on your lips still—you’re sweet, like the strawberry dessert he shared with you when you got here, and Gojo so desperately craves another taste. And you give him the perfect excuse to do so.

“Again.”

tagz: @anthoosies @staryukis :3

[the-alarm-system]

How Anti Endos made me in denial even longer, and how Pro Endos made me Accept it

When I was younger, I always had Red at my side. Red is my protector, he always has been. I didn’t understand him, I didn’t understand his existence. I’d hear about DID, I met people with DID, but to me Red didn’t match what they have felt. I would tell people that I had another person in my head, someone who may allude to DID but I’d affirm that it was not DID. It was something else to me, something I didn’t know for sure. At some point I thought that Red was given to me by the Gods. He would deny this but it’s what made sense to me.

I was in anti endo circles, I still saw myself as a singlet and my system friends were very anti endo. I thought it was just the right non-harmful sides, I didn’t know the actual arguments. I just thought that’s how it was supposed to be because DID hasn’t made sense to me yet. I was a “singlet” who didn’t understand why there was another with me. anti endos circled around r/fdc and I didn’t want to accept that I may have a headmate because I didn’t want to be a dirty faker like they all hated. I didn’t want to be harmful towards my friends

One time I saw this pro endo term, it was about a system granted by deities. This made me think, but I ended up just blocking them because no endos are bad right?

then I saw an anti endo argue that schitzogenic is dangerous and thoughts in someone’s head was stupid and fake and just hallucinations. I thought “but between you and them, what is the difference in the idea that they have someone in their head too?”

then I found the term plural, it was inclusive, it made sense to me. But I stayed in denial

then scald appeared, he was loud, he would front a lot, he wouldn’t just appear when I was in danger like red did. I decided to take the term plural, I didn’t call myself a system yet, at the time plural is what made sense. I felt like I didn’t have the right to “appropriate” the did struggle. I was plural, I was many. Then finally at some point

I realized I could have DID, my headmates were sourced from trauma. Things started to connect, I stopped denying it. I had to the way Scald would be. Anti endos held me back, pro endos saved me. I owe them everything.

[zeravmeta]

i want to talk about jeanne and jeanne alter. first off white woman (laugh track so loud it shakes the building) ok now that thats out of the way what I really want to talk about is how interesting i find the dynamic between the two because for all that jalter is this 2 kool 4 skool edgy jeanne born from a grudge the truth of the matter is that regular jeanne is far more insane than her. jalter is very much this tortured soul born from gilles’ agony but the fact of the matter is that shes actually quite easy to understand. The moment she and her anger are validated she immediately chills because yeah, she was someones idea of what jeannes anger would be, in every respect she is a fake of a fake because the regular jeanne is so insane and inhuman that she feels basically no remorse guilt or resentment for every wrong she committed and was committed against her. jalter is a counterfeit, a fake who unlike every other faker in the series doesnt really aim to surpass jeanne as “jeanne d’arc” (nothing says a faker cant surpass the original), but rather exist entirely independent of jeanne d’arc because her idea of surpassing jeanne is entirely rooted in being jalter instead. Its why in every subsequent appearance she went around jumping between hobbies, learning how to read and write and generally trying to ingratiate herself in every clique she could, she doesn’t want to be just the fake alter of jeanne, she wants to be recognized as her own person separate from jeanne.

and the reason thats so significant is because the original jeanne gave up every bit of herself without a single regret. it’s brought up by mephistopheles in her interludes but the reason why jalter was such an impossible idea to exist is because jeanne is so committed to god and her cause that mephisto considers her lacking in humanity. jalter refers to herself as a mercy born for jeanne because shes someones idea of jeanne having been avenged, jeanne having given in to human anger at being betrayed and thrown away. But jeanne in having never broken was also hollowed out, by her own hand no less. anyone halfway familiar with the apocrypha novels knows that jeanne is genuinely kind but also merciless when needed: she has no issue striking down the children jack creates because they are already forsaken and jeanne knows she cant save them alone, she tells atalante to her face that while god is merciful she very much isnt, jeanne freely admits that she believes humans are ultimately evil despite being capable of good, she doesnt even consider herself a saint because as much as she would have liked to remain a farmgirl she threw herself into a war knowing the death it would entail and was not even phazed by it. jeanne heard gods lament but she was not aided by god, she did everything because she was helping god, and had no issue having a cruel and pitiful death for that. which causes mephisto to call her fucking insane! mephisto in her interludes doesnt try to break jeanne by having her face every horrible thing in her life, what mephisto aimed to do was simply have jeanne admit that she did feel some kind of emotion about it, any anger, resentment, even despair, because jeanne at the very least deserved that. but she never does, which in turn terrified mephisto because he’s someone who ultimately values humanity and in his eyes, jeanne was freely throwing hers away. despite every atrocity she faced, jeanne still did hold hope for humans and was fine throwing herself away for their sakes.

But it’s also why jeanne is so kind to jalter in turn. jalter is the human jeanne wished she could be but ultimately isnt, the version of her who was allowed to be human. jeanne is too unshakeable in her principles to ever let herself break or be broken, but jalter doesnt have that commitment, that sense of duty or even that discipline. jalter, for all that she is an impossibility, is free to be herself, more than anything she allows herself to be free when jeanne never did. jalter might on the surface be the evil version of jeanne but truthfully she is the kindness that jeanne was never afforded, and while mephisto couldn't really break her, at the very least he was able to get her to admit that even if there was no resentment, she did hold a wish to live. and above all, there was nothing wrong with that wish. jalter forces jeanne to acknowledge her because even if jeanne didnt let herself stop and always ran towards her end, there were people who did grieve for jeanne, people who cared about jeanne d’arc the human and not the symbol. when jeanne first meets jalter in orleans, the first question she asks is if jalter has any memories of their past, because those memories of simpler days and simple happiness were enough for jeanne to fight for. and when jalter told her no, and yet in turn forced jeanne to acknowledge her, jeanne had decided to give that simple happiness to jalter.

jalter is not jeanne d’arc, she could never be jeanne d’arc and she doesn’t even want to be her, but jeanne wants to be kind to jalter, because it would also be allowing kindness to herself. and for all that jalter is abrasive towards jeanne, she also knows that her existence hinges on the fact that someone did care about jeanne on an individual level, so no matter how annoying she might find her “original”, the truth is that jalter existing and being happy as herself is also the wish and the validation for jeanne to be happy as herself. jalter might be the dark reflection of what jeanne could have been, but the dark reflection is not an admission of evil or the possibility of revenge, its the idea that jeanne could live for herself and have individual human happiness, and it ties back to what jalter always establishes about herself: once something is born, it cant ever be erased.

once the impossible idea of jalter was born, so too was the impossible idea of jeanne d’arc allowing herself to live as a human.

[wordingg]

Drunk Boys

Summary: Edwin agrees to go to a Halloween party with Charles. When they both start drinking enchanted alcohol, things get out of hand.

AN: Written for Dead Boy Ween, Day 11, prompt: Halloween.

Somehow these fills keep getting longer and longer. This is another one that I would be open to writing a sequel to, if there's interest in it. It ends on sort of an ambiguous sad note.

“The two of you are going to a house party? On Halloween?” Crystal asked incredulously.

“What, you think we can’t fit in at a house party?” Charles asked, sincerely puzzled.

“You, I understand. It’s Edwin that I can’t picture partying, let alone somewhere as informal as someone’s house,” she said with a pointed look at Edwin. He was seated behind the desk, occasionally moving papers from one pile to another in a transparent attempt to look uninterested in the conversation.

“It is not my preferred activity for revelry,” Edwin said, dry as the desert.

“Do you have a preferred ‘activity for revelry’?” Crystal asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I think it’s wonderful,” Niko interrupted them to add. “It’s like an iconic teenager experience. I’m happy for you guys.”

Edwin frowned faintly in Niko’s direction, but held his tongue like Charles expected. Edwin was incapable of saying anything even vaguely not nice to Niko.

“Thanks, Niko,” Charles grinned, throwing himself onto the couch, even though there was definitely not room for him on the tiny loveseat. He ended up mostly sprawled across the girls’ laps, Crystal groaning and slapping his arms away and Niko humming happily and resting her bubble tea on his stomach.

“We’ve had a standing invitation for years, but this one,” Charles gestured at Edwin, who huffed and put his nose in the air, “has never been open to going.”

“Oh? Why the sudden change?” Crystal asked Edwin, her tone a little arch but mostly curious.

Edwin sighed and fiddled with the papers again. “No particular reason,” he mumbled, unusual for him but maybe he disliked all the attention.

Charles didn’t want Edwin to get self-conscious about agreeing to go to the party and change his mind, so he quickly changed the subject. “It’s like the biggest ghost event of the year! It’s super fun.”

“I didn’t realize ghosts had a social calendar,” Crystal said with a raised eyebrow.

“There are certain days of the year when spectral energy waxes and the veil that separates the living and the dead thin,” Edwin explained in what Charles thought of as his professor voice. If he was professor-ing at them, then Charles’ distraction must have worked, and he was back to feeling comfortable. “Both Samhain and Beltane mark days when the balance between light and dark, summer and winter, are perfectly balanced. This makes them ideal days for rituals regarding the dead.”

“He means that Aleister Crowley enchants a whole house every year and throws a crazy rager in it where ghosts can actually interact with the living and get drunk and all that,” Charles adds with a grin to the two girls.

“I suppose, if you want to be crass, you could explain it like that,” Edwin said crossly.

“Aleister Crowley is a ghost?” Crystal asked with big eyes “A ghost that throws Halloween parties?” she added, sounding even more surprised.

“He’s completely off his chump,” Edwin snapped, “A fake in all but the most rudimentary of magicks,” he added with a curl of his lip.

“We don’t like him, as a rule,” Charles said with an apologetic look at Edwin. Edwin was too busy scowling down at the surface of the desk to notice. “He called Edwin a, uh, what was it, a poodle something?”

“Poodle-faker,” Edwin spit, then winced, like just saying the word left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Yeah, that,” Charles sighed.

“I’m sorry, but what does that mean? Poodle-faker? Off his chump?” Niko asked quietly.

Edwin made a face like he’d rather chew on a shoe than explain what those words meant, so Charles quickly answered, “Off his chump is like, he’s totally nuts, off his rocker like. Poodle-faker is like an old timey insult that means you hang out with women too much,” Charles added that last explanation carefully, hoping that his tone got across how stupid of an insult he thought it was. He didn’t totally understand what it meant or why that was an insult, but he knew that Edwin had been in a properly awful state for days after that casual insult, so it must have meant a lot to him.

“So, he’s a monumental dick,” Crystal said dryly.

“Yes,” Edwin agreed enthusiastically.

“Why do you want to go to a party thrown by someone who’s a monumental dick?” Niko asked as sincerely as she asked every other question that ever escaped her perfect pink lips.

“Because I’ll be there to kick his spectral ass,” Crystal said with a grin that showed the sharp points of her teeth.

“No way!” Charles exclaimed, sitting up fast enough that Niko’s tea almost spilled, though her quick reflexes saved it from toppling off of Charles’ stomach and all over the girls’ laps. “You guys can’t come,” he said frantically.

“Why not?” Crystal asked, her eyebrows communicating that she was two seconds away from wanting to fight him about it.

“Because any party thrown by Aleister Crowley is a dangerous place for the living to be,” Edwin said darkly, giving Crystal a severe look. “He has no respect for anyone, but he especially does not respect the living. Or women,” he added with a troubled frown.

“Ew,” Niko said quietly before sucking her drink loudly through her straw.

“We can all go to Miss Ava Gardner’s party on Beltane,” Edwin said with a nod, like it was already decided. “She is a consummate host and a lovely woman. You’ll be safe as houses there.”

That set them off on a completely different tangent, with Crystal and Niko asking Edwin and Charles how many dead movie stars they knew and how many lived in London and what Crystal and Niko could possibly do to earn a polite introduction.

They never quite circled back to why exactly Edwin wanted to go to Crowley’s Halloween party. Charles was happy that Edwin wanted to go, he had been trying to get him to agree to go for literal decades after all, but the lack of explanation was concerning. Crowley was shite, but the party was fun and it was a huge get together for all of undead London. Charles had been a ton of times, though it was a lot less fun without Edwin there.

Charles tried to push his concerns down. Edwin had agreed to go. Charles didn’t have to be let in on every little twist and turn of his best friend’s thoughts, he could just be happy that they were together.

---

The night of the party, Charles was a mess of nerves. Edwin seemed nervous as well, though Charles expected that had more to do with his anxiety over running into the host and less to do with the party itself. Charles got the impression that Edwin had never been comfortable around people when he was alive, based on the stories that Edwin told. But, Charles had never seen Edwin act anything other than confident and self-possessed in person. Still, Charles wanted the night to go well so badly that he could almost feel his stomach doing flips below his ribcage.

The girls had decided to aggressively have fun without them. They were both decked out in beautiful creative costumes. Charles definitely appreciated all the bare skin and glitter and makeup and Edwin seemed to be fascinated with the pageantry of it all.

Crystal was dressed in huge curling demon horns, red glitter, and a series of sinfully suggestive black leather body harnesses under a tiny halter top and distressed shorts and huge platform boots that looked like they were built with curb stomping as the one and only activity in mind. Niko looked like a dream in pastels and holographic fabric, every movement she made shining and glittering back in prismatic halos of color.

“I’m an angel alien. I think,” she said, adjusting a headband with pink pompoms on bouncing springs on top of her head. The pompoms bounced cutely every time she moved.

Charles barked out a laugh. “Hell yeah you are,” he agreed with a grin.

Edwin curiously fingered her plastic holographic skirt, watching the play of the warm orange light of the office lamps play across it. “You look enchanting. I can barely bring myself to look away from you,” Edwin said with a smile that Niko shyly returned.

“Am I enchanting?” Crystal asked with a teasing smile.

“You’re terrifying,” Edwin said, straightening from examining Niko’s outfit and trying to suppress of a smile of his own.

“And hot,” Charles added with a wink.

“Perfect,” Crystal declared, “Just as I intended.” She flicked a curl over her shoulder while Niko giggled.

Not much later, they were all off. The girls had an impressive itinerary of clubs and bars and parties planned out, but the boys had only one location in mind.

Every year Crowley’s Halloween party was held in a different location. That year it was being held in the Ragged School turned museum down in the East End.

By the time that Charles and Edwin got there, just as the sun set below the skyline, ghosts from all over the city were flowing into the building. The lights were on inside, making every old broken down window shine out into the near darkness of the crisp autumn night like a beacon. Music poured out of the open front door, an odd mix of music from all manner of eras and time frames. The nearby canal gave the chill a humid tinge, making the air around them feel even colder than it really was.

“It feels morbid, doesn’t it?” Edwin asked, frowning up at the squat square facade of the school. It wasn’t grand or beautiful like some of the old buildings left behind from Edwin’s time. Charles thought he might have read somewhere that the building was a warehouse before it was converted into a school for the city’s poorest children sometime around the end of the 1800s.

“Suppose it’s just because we’re school boys, init?” Charles asked. The building did look a little ominous, even with the bright lights and music and all the ghosts slowly making their way inside.

“You ready?” Charles asked with a smile, thinking it was probably better to move inside rather than linger and wonder about times past.

Edwin took a deep breath and visibly straightened himself, his chin tilting up, his shoulders pulling back.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I think,” he said doubtfully, despite his stiff posture.

“Brills,” Charles smiled. “Let’s head in.”

The inside of the Ragged School was absolutely packed with an eclectic mix of people both living and dead with the odd scattering of other kinds of supernatural creatures. The museum itself was pretty sparsely decorated, from what Charles could see through the press of the crowd. It definitely looked like a school, with glimpses of old wooden desks in big empty classrooms and a nice open staircase in the front hall with a polished wooden balustrade. It was obvious that the bits near the front entrance had all recently been repainted and polished up. Charles wondered if it would continue to look that way through the whole school.

Charles and Edwin didn’t have much of a chance to investigate, as they were quickly recognized by a knot of ghosts lingering near the front door.

“The Dead Boy Detectives themselves!” a pretty young man with curly hair and mutton chops said with a cheer.

“You’re both here!” a young woman with her dark hair shaved close to her head exclaimed in surprise. She was hanging from the neck of the young man who had spoken first, her dress so tiny that Charles would have blushed if he was able to.

“Are you on a case?” an older woman with a mischievous smile asked from their other side.

Charles recognized most of them from previous cases, though it was hard to remember while he was trying not to look at all the soft dark skin the young woman had on display. He thought that the guy with the mutton chops might have been haunted by a devil dog or something twenty years ago.

“Not tonight,” Edwin said shortly, nodding to them all.

“Yeah, just here for a bit of fun,” Charles said, winking at the older woman, even though it was the young couple who laughed.

“If you want to avoid Crowley, stick to the first floor,” the older woman said to Edwin with a knowing smile. “He thinks he’s holding court up there, but really he’s just making it easy for rest of us to avoid him.”

Edwin perked up a bit at that, some of the tension leeching out of his shoulders. “Thank you for the tip. I will do that.”

And then they were being buffeted through the crowd, bouncing from one group of ghosts to another. It was almost like a who’s who of spirits that the dead boys had helped or talked to or bargained with in the past thirty years. Everyone seemed happily surprised to see them and everyone was eager to talk. It was times like this that Charles was reminded of how deeply they had ingrained themselves into the supernatural tapestry of London.

Charles felt a little bit like he understood why girls fantasized about being the prettiest girl at the ball, because that night Charles certainly felt like one.

At some point, someone pressed a red solo cup into each of their hands. With a laugh, the ghost had explained, “It’s enchanted!” which made Edwin frown and Charles smile.

Edwin opened his mouth, probably to ask for the exact specifics of what kind of enchantment was on the cup, but Charles was already knocking it back.

It bubbled across his tongue in a familiar tang of sour and hops that Charles recognized from the bottles of bitter he and his friends used to sneak behind the school gymnasium after games. The taste of nostalgia was so strong it almost brought tears to his eyes. He had almost forgotten what it had tasted like, but that was it exactly.

“Charles,” Edwin sighed in exasperation. “Really. You should not drink things handed to you by a stranger.”

“I’m not a stranger,” the stranger said. “You boys saved my pet goldfish from a hungry selkie three years ago. I owe you one.”

“See?” Charles said, elbowing Edwin gently with what he knew as a cheeky smile. “He’s an past client. We can trust him. Try it!”

Edwin looked doubtfully at the liquid in the cup. It looked like nothing more spectacular than tap water, but Charles knew that it wouldn’t taste like it.

After taking a bracing breath, Edwin tipped the cup up and took a sizable swallow. When he brought the cup back down, his eyebrows were raised in surprise.

“Oh,” he said faintly. “That tastes just like the wine tonic my mother used to make me take as a child.” He turned to Charles in surprise.

“To me, it tastes like the beer me and my pals used to sneak after school,” Charles said.

“And to me, it tastes like Jack Daniels and tears,” the strange man said mournfully. “Cheers, boys. Enjoy the party,” he said and then wandered off, sipping from his own red solo cup.

The party got noticeably more blurry after that.

Charles and Edwin kept their cups in hand and kept drinking from them. No matter how much they drank, the cups never seemed to empty, so they never had to wonder where they could get more and didn’t keep much track of how much they had drank. At least, Charles certainly didn’t. He couldn’t speak for Edwin, but it felt like he was keeping pace with Charles.

Edwin had stuck close to Charles since they entered the party, but the drunker they got, the closer they became. First, they started leaning on each other, then Edwin looped Charles’ hand around his elbow when he started stumbling, until eventually they were mutually clinging to each others’ arms to stay upright.

The happiness that Charles had felt when they first entered the party just kept building. He felt warm and comfortable, even more so when his own enjoyment was mirrored in Edwin’s face. Everyone was so happy to see them, they laughed when the boys stumbled and helped right them again, pretty men and women kept touching Charles’ sleeve hair and older women carefully fixed Edwin’s hair or righted his bow tie.

Charles felt like he was on top of the world. So, when he heard one of his favorite songs come on over the speakers set throughout the house, he didn’t hesitate.

“Come dance with me!” Charles insisted, already dragging Edwin into the middle of a nearby classroom that had been repurposed into a dance floor. The desks had all been pushed into the wall, a small knot of people already swaying in the center.

Edwin stumbled, his hair falling over his forehead for the thousandth time that night.

“Charles,” he mumbled, “I can’t dance.”

“It’s okay. It’s not that kind of song,” Charles assured him, pulling him into the knot of other dancers.

England Belongs to Me by Cock Sparrer was blaring over the speakers and people were jumping and banging their heads, but Charles wasn’t paying attention to anyone but Edwin. Edwin looked uncertain and ungainly, his long legs becoming so much less certain as they both became more and more drunk. But, his eyes were stuck on Charles, watching him, waiting for him, and it made Charles feel like he was at the center of the universe.

“It’s easy!” Charles shouted over the music. “Just bounce up and down!” Charles said, grabbing both of Edwin’s hands in his and popping up and down on the balls of his feet to the rhythm of the music.

Edwin tried to follow his instructions, but he looked self conscious. He squeezed Charles’ hands in his and looked down at their shoes which was just not the thing, was it? Charles let go of Edwin’s hands after the second verse and instead wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close.

“Just move with me,” Charles said with a grin and a squeeze. Edwin still looked completely lost, but now he also looked a little flustered which was perfect in Charles’ opinion. Charles kept bouncing, but now he also swayed side to side. After only briefly hesitating, Edwin put his arms around Charles shoulders and let him move him.

And then the song changes and Pure by The Lightning Seeds came on. The crowd around them was laughing and dissolving and then coming back together as new people took to the floor. Charles and Edwin stayed where they were, swaying, pressed together.

Charles looked into Edwin’s eyes and they were so intense and pretty in that moment. Edwin was a pretty boy, Charles thought, in a different way that people sometimes called Charles a pretty boy. People called Charles pretty because he had an earring and he styled his hair. Charles thought Edwin would look pretty no matter what he wore or what he did with his hair.

They swayed together, looking into each other’s eyes for longer than either of them would have been capable of doing sober. Charles remembered the song that was playing, the way he used to listen to it on loop the month before he died. The guy who was on the cover of the cassette, Ian Broudie, was cute in a way that Charles hadn’t let himself think about back then. But, when he would lay on his bed and close his eyes he would imagine that the singer was there in his room with him, singing him a love song with soft lips and softer looking hair and big glasses that made him look sweet and inviting.

Before Charles noticed it, Edwin’s lips were on his, soft as the Charles back then had imagined the boy in the song’s might be, sweeter than any kiss he’d had before then.

Charles barely got a chance to kiss back, before Edwin was pulling away. His brow was crumpled and his eyes were afraid. Charles tought that Edwin shouldn’t look so afraid, especially not right after kissing him.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t,” Edwin swallowed and his throat clicked, his adam’s apple bobbed against his collar. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I liked it,” Charles said. He heard the slur on his voice, so he repeated himself just in case. “I liked it,” he grinned and leaned in. “Do it again?”

Edwin met him halfway and they were kissing and swaying and music was playing. Someone whistled and clapped and Charles had enough thought to take a hand off of Edwin’s shoulder and point his middle finger in the general direction of the whistler to the raucous laughter of the crowd.

They kissed and danced and the music kept changing. It felt a bit like the room was spinning, but Edwin felt solid and perfect, so Charles just held onto him and kept kissing him until long after a living boy’s lips would have gone numb.

---

At some point, Charles and Edwin ended up on a couch.

“This does not seem historically accurate,” Edwin had muttered into the couch cushion, but by that point Charles was too invested in kissing every square centimeter of Edwin’s long beautiful throat to bother engaging in talk about Edwardian furniture.

“Perhaps you boys should get a room,” a feminine voice laughed from somewhere nearby. Long acrylic nails glided through Charles’ hair, scratching his scalp. “I think you’re scandalizing some of the geezers.”

“Don’t care. Fuck off,” Charles grumbled, waving a hand to banish the heavenly nails. Whoever she was, she laughed and removed her hand. Charles fumbled around until he found Edwin’s hand on his waist and slapped it onto his head instead. Edwin seemed to get the message and started scratching his short nails through Charles’ hair.

Edwin was laid out on a hideous plaid couch, his long limbs splayed out, his bow tie long gone, his shirt unbuttoned. His hair was a mess and his lips were wet with Charles’ spit. Charles had no idea how they had gotten to the couch or even a vague idea of where they were in the building, but he was glad to whatever drunken stumble or nice friend had gotten them there. They must have been at the edge of the party. There were a few people talking or necking in the room with them, but it was a lot wherever they were than it had been earlier.

Charles was cradled in the basket of Edwin’s legs, his strong thighs squeezing Charles’ hips every time he did something especially clever with his mouth. Somewhere in the back of Charles addled brain he knew he was hard and that Edwin was hard and that he had been rocking himself into Edwin for however long it had been that they’d been making out.

A small voice was starting to panic somewhere in the soupy mess of his brain. Edwin loved him. Charles had told Edwin that he didn’t love him like that. And now Charles was grinding Edwin into a dusty couch in the back of a house party while they were both drunk off their asses. That was not a respectful way to treat a friend.

Charles reached over the edge of the couch and grabbed his solo cup, tipping a huge swallow down his throat. His thoughts became pleasantly unfocused again.

Pushing himself up Edwin’s body in an indecent drag, Charles mouthed at Edwin’s ear. “You feel so good,” he groaned, thrusting down hard. Edwin gasped and moaned, thrusting up to meet Charles, the hand not buried in Charles’ hair reaching down to grab Charles’ ass and pull him against him harder.

“Oh-kay. Everyone out,” the woman’s voice from before called out through the room.

There was grumbling and laughing as ghosts and creatures started to slowly trickle out of the little back room.

“Who gave them solo cups?” someone asked in exasperation as they walked by. “They’re practically babies.”

“Jerry,” someone said with a snort.

“Jerry!” a number of people chorused their discontent with poor Jerry, but Charles didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to think about the cup, he just needed every thought that wasn’t about Edwin and how to make him make that sound again to go away.

Charles reached over and fumbled for his cup again, almost knocking it over. He tipped it back, his throat working to swallow and swallow and swallow until his stomach rebelled at the thought of swallowing more. Then, he passed the cup to Edwin, who wobbled his way up onto his elbows so that he could do the same.

Whatever happened after that was indistinct. Charles remembered more moaning, from both of them but especially from Edwin. He remembered the taste of Edwin’s skin and the feel of his soft hair between his fingers. He remembered pleasure singing up and down his spine and burning low in his gut.

He remembered that they clung to each other afterward and whispered sweet words against each other’s lips and nuzzled together so tenderly. No one had ever touched Charles as gently as Edwin did, but Charles would never be able to remember the words they whispered to each other as they did so.

And, even though ghosts don’t sleep, something like it must have stolen over them eventually, because Charles couldn’t remember anything after that.

---

If Charles had felt like a princess during the party, he felt like the scum of the earth the next morning.

It didn’t seem fair for ghosts to be able to get hang overs, but Charles couldn’t come up with any other explanation for why his head was pounding like it was. Even when he was alive, he had never gotten a hangover before, but he supposed enchanted endless solo cups were probably stronger than the cheap beer that his mates would steal from their parents.

Charles pried his eyes open to blink at the sunlight bright room and saw Edwin blinking tiredly at him from about two inches away. Charles screeched, lurched backward, and fell painfully onto the dirty floor beside the couch.

“Charles?” Edwin asked sleepily, leaning over the side of the couch and looking at Charles with concern.

But, Charles couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at his pale throat still plainly visible against his open collar, or his mussed hair that had felt so soft between Charles’ fingers, or his frowning mouth that had gasped and moaned just the night before.

“I know what he sounds like when he cums,” Charles thought wildly, before shooting to his feet in a burst of adrenaline as that thought seared itself into the inside of his skull, something he could never unthink or undo or bury.

“Are you alright?” Edwin asked, looking distinctly more concerned.

“Yeah! Brills! Perfect!” Charles shouted, his voice strangled and awful even to his own ears. Edwin’s face was folding into a more severe frown. Charles had to do something to salvage the situation. “My head is killing me, though. Can’t remember a thing about last night,” Charles laughed, wincing and pressing a hand to his forehead. Luckily, his head was actually killing him, so he didn’t even have to pretend to wince.

Edwin’s face went startlingly blank, the frown and the furrowed brow dropping off like they’d never been there. Charles held his breath and felt like the world did too.

After what felt like an eternity, Edwin faintly said. “Yes. Me too.” He looked away and swallowed and very briefly a pained look flitted across his face that cut Charles to the quick.

“No no no,” Charles thought. “That was wrong. That was the wrong answer! Fuck!”

Edwin sighed and began doing up the buttons of his shirt in sharp yanks and twists of his elegant fingers. “You really should listen to me, Charles. I told you it was foolish to accept mysterious drinks from strangers. Now we might as well have not come to the party at all.”

“Ah, well. I mean. It wasn’t that bad,” Charles stumbled. His heart was pounding in his chest and Edwin wasn’t looking at him. “It was a lot of fun before we started drinking, yeah?”

Edwin ignored him, running a hand through his hair to try and neaten it, though the effort was wasted. His hair was too mussed to be fixed by a little bit of finger combing.

Climbing to his feet, Edwin began to pull his clothing straight. But, it still looked rumpled, even to Charles’ untrained eye. He wondered why Edwin didn’t just imagine his clothing neatened like he usually did. He wondered if Edwin was as flustered as he was.

“We ought to be getting back to the office. The girls are likely wondering where we are,” Edwin said stiffly, opening the old wooden door out to the corridor and striding out. The school looked different in the daylight. The glass was old and dirty in the unfinished part of the museum, making the early autumn light look strange and anemic on the peeling paint and scuffed wood.

“Wait, Edwin,” Charles hurried after him, but Edwin didn’t slow down. His long legs ate up the distance down the corridor toward the general direction of the front hall. “I said wait!” Charles grabbed Edwin’s wrist.

Edwin stopped suddenly, twisting his head to the side to pin Charles with a venomous look.

“Do you have something you want to talk about, Charles?” he snapped.

Charles felt pinned to the spot, like Edwin had pinned him to a piece of corkboard like a bug. “Well,” Charles mumbled. He hesitated. He knew what he should say. He knew he should come clean and admit that he did remember what had happened, but there was a rock in his stomach and his tongue felt too numb to get the words out. “Well, no, I guess-”

“If you have nothing to say to me, then let’s get on with business as usual. Shall we?” Edwin asked.

He looked brittle in that moment, like he had spun himself up a facade made of glass and if Charles so much as touched him the wrong way he would shatter. Charles had done that to him, to his best friend in the world.

Charles let go of Edwin’s wrist. He felt small and pathetic and that he likely deserved much worse than Edwin snapping at him.

“Yeah. Okay,” Charles croaked.

Edwin looked at him for a long time, but eventually he nodded and turned back around. He started walking again, this time at a more reasonable pace. Charles walked just a step behind him and tried to force down all the feelings swelling up in his chest with nowhere to go.

He would follow Edwin and protect him and be his best friend as well as he could, Charles decided. That was all he could do.

[web-novel-polls]

Best Hater Lower Bracket

Please vote for whoever’s best at being a hater, not who you like the most. If unfamiliar with a character, check out the propaganda below the cut! 

Jiang Cheng from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (MDZS)

Submission 1: Hates Wangxian's relationship. 

Submission 2: Dude devoted more than a decade of his life to hating on his dead kind-of-brother (it's complicated) how has he not been submitted already? bonus points for his actor's many faces of utter disgust in The Untamed 

Mod Propaganda: Haterism so bad you can start fandom discourse just by name-dropping him. 

Wiki Link

Mu Qing from Heaven Official’s Blessing (TGCF)

Submission: https://www.tumblr.com/bonesblubs/708661194148511744/inspiration 

Mod Propaganda: Mu Qing can split a tower bell in two yet can’t admit he wanted to be friends with someone he’s known for 800+ years without trying to immediately kill himself. Randomly started reciting a poem about his least favorite coworker’s dick just to fuck with him (Feng Xin). Said he’d kill a bride like Xie Lian if she was sent to him. 

Wiki Link

Qi Rong from Heaven Official’s Blessing 

“Obviously, those things weren't within the realm of consideration for Qi Rong. He swore like there wasn't a single person in the Three Realms he didn't want cursed to death. He called Pei Ming a rotten manwhore, Little Pei a kiss-ass, Jun Wu a faker, Ling Wen a damned bitch, Lang Qianqiu a moron, Quan Yizhen dog shit, the Water Master blackhearted, the Wind Master a tramp–he probably didn't know Shi Qingxuan was actually a man.” - Heaven Official’s Blessing (Tumblr)

Wiki Link

[cripplecharacters]

something i see a lot in certain fandoms is when people writing about characters with prosthetic limbs (usually arms) describe the character’s non-prosthetic limb as “real.” is this ableist? it strikes me as kind of bad, but i’m not physically disabled so i wanted to ask.

Hello,

So, I'm not an amputee, but I think it would depend on why. On one hand, someone's prosthetic arm is very much "real." It's a thing that exists. Two things on the other hand- if they're referring to it being real as is "it functions like a flesh arm but metal," that's bad because it's disability erasure and we've covered why extensively. Or are they saying it's real as though "Yeah, this character is actually an amputee and genuinely has, uses, and needs a prosthetic arm and they aren't being a con artist." And that's bad because it implies that people with prosthetics who don't genuinely need them are the default, as though most people using prosthetics have their arm hidden down the side of their shirt which is not good because it leads to the real-life "faker" debate that disabled people have to deal with. People who are using prosthetic limbs to fake being disabled are very, very, very far from the majority. It's entirely possible that it doesn't happen at all because prosthetics can cost tens of thousands of dollars and that can be after insurance.

Although they could also mean "I based this character's prosthetic off of real-life prosthetic limbs," which is a step in the right direction, two steps if they're replacing a character's canon bionic arm with the kind of prosthetic real people use. It depends on the context.

Mod Aaron

Hi, not entirely sure? I have seen some amputees call their prosthetic leg their "fake leg" in the sense to mean "artificial limb", but "real" for the non-prosthetic one is kinda weird? Like they're both real. You'd probably be better off just differentiating the arm (non-amputated) and the prosthetic (amputated) rather than designating one to be the "real" one.

mod Sasza

[sophieinwonderland]

Now, why would you dare me to embarrass you and your pals like that?

I appreciate how you wanted my attention so bad you posted me to not one, but two subreddits.

Makes a girl feel special! 🤣

I have actually never seen Wikipedia cited as a source about endogenic plurality. Though I do see anti-endos all the time, when asked for sources, telling people to just Google things.

Anyway, here's @guardianssystem's document filled with academic papers about endogenic plurality:

I've compiled my own, but honestly, theirs is better organized than mine.

And in the interest of fairness, here are all the anti-endo papers debunking endogenic plurality:

Sorry, I forgot. Those don't exist. Oops. 🤷‍♀️

Echo chamber? LOL!

Weren't you the one spouting a bunch of lies on Tumblr, got totally debunked, posted the people who debunked you to r/systemscringe to have a hugbox where fakeclaimers could assure you how the people who contradicted you are all fakers, and then blocked everyone who disagreed with you?

Weren't you also the one who, when shown a quote from an expert in dissociative disorders who worked on the DSM-5 saying that a disorder isn't a disorder if it doesn't cause distress, argued that the people who defined what disorder are must be wrong about that definition?

You're a misinformation machine who can only find support when huddled in cringe subreddits. Don't try to talk about people in echo chambers.

Also, you know most of psychology is just... listening to people? That's how it's been as long as the field existed. DID (or MPD at the time) was a recognized disorder since long before the first brain scans were conducted on DID patients. It's saying something though when basically every single scientist who has ever researched endogenic plurality has said they believe it's a real thing, or that it could be. While absolutely zero academic papers have expressed that it's fake.

There is also an fMRI study into tulpa systems that's been in the works, but results have yet to be published.

Sure, if that's what you'd like me to call you, Crazy. 😊

Anyway, Crazy, you should know that just because you personally find something scary doesn't mean everyone will or that the thing is bad. Personal preferences are a thing.

In a study of tulpamancers though, most generally reported their lives becoming better after the practice.

78% reported improvements in their mental health, and 91% on overall life.

There are many out there who would jump at the chance to have someone there with them that knows them intimately, and to never have to be alone again.

If it's not for you, then so be it.

But it's certainly not something to be afraid of.

And maybe, for those who are willing to commit to the practice while America struggles with an epidemic of loneliness, it's something worth being open to.

This is actually pretty fair.

But that's now, and I'm looking at course of history and trends of plural acceptance.

300 years ago, any plural would be viewed as demon possessed and end up tortured or killed for their plurality.

70 years ago, all plurality was seen as a mental illness, and it was common to force plurals, as well as anyone else associated with mental illnesses, into asylums.

30 years ago, the first real plural communities were able to connect on the internet and form in small numbers.

8 years ago, the first studies into endogenic plurality started being conducted. 4 years ago, the ICD-11 acknowledged that you could have multiple distinct personality states without a disorder. 2023 marked the first, but certainly not the last, time a system used their system name as an author of an academic paper.

Recently, new plural resources have been designed and put into use. More servers than ever are using Pluralkit. And Simply Plural went from 100k users at the end of 2021 to 210k at the end of 2022.

Progress is happening far more rapidly than you realize. And you had best be ready for it.

BOO! 👻

Oh, hey, I just realized... this is literal pluralphobia!

Liberté!

Egalité!

Fraternité!

And yes, The Future is Plural! 😜

[txttletale]

Not to give Riot credit for anything ever because they have the same problems as Blizzard in terms of game balance for the most part, but in the past they did this idea of some characters being good at low tier and some at high tier pretty well in the past. The character that comes to mind the most is a character called Amumu. Amumu is a tank with powerful %health damage (for a tank), a skillshot that pulls him to people and stuns who he hit with it, a strong basic attack damage block that scales with armor and doubles as an aoe damage tool, and a super-ult that very easily stuns entire teams and makes them take more damage from your team. Amumu has consistantly been a good pick for less skilled players because he is very easy to play and understand while providing a large amount of utility for his team. The kicker is that all of his abilities are very telegraphed, if you know what Amumu does, mitigating his power is as easy as spreading out and having your tank stand in front to make Amumu getting in the middle of your team much harder. This makes him a dead pick in pro-play, and only really used by high level one-tricks. This is a good thing. Amumu teaches less skilled players fundementals of tanking in a very easy to use and understand package that provides strong utility, while not being so strong as to become a cheese pick in high tier, even though he is still perfectly usable in high tier play if you're committed to the character. Some characters are going to be weaker than others! I believe so long as characters aren't completely unusable in high tier play (Pro-play exempted as pro players only use the best of the best characters) than the concept you laid out in your overwatch posting is extremely healthy for competitive games.

as someone who spent a lot of time playing both overwatch and league i actually have to disagree with you that riot have the same problems as blizzard when it comes to game balance. i found the league devs were a league (hah) above the overwatch devs when it came to understanding their own game and why it worked, listening to high-level players and their feedback, and letting things have their niche. they even, like, color-code buffs and nerfs in their patch notes to show what level of play they think they'll impact, and give written explanations of why they made those choices. sure, sometimes those choices are still dumb as fuck, but they make it possible for even a casual player to follow their logic in a way that overwatch never did.

i really think the overwatch devs are uniquely bad among competitive online multiplayer games i've played in terms of making data-driven decisions without understanding their own data, having incoherent and fundamentally misguided balance philosophies, and fundamentally misunderstanding the relationship between pro and casual play.

that said i 100% agree with you and think that amumu is a great example of a character who's perfect where he is. i also think league has a lot of great examples of the inverse, like azir and twisted fate, where their unique abilities make them incredible in pro play and so fucking hype to watch someone like Faker play, while at the same time necessitating their numbers be nerfed into soloq-uselessness so that they can have the thing that makes them unique without breaking pro play in half.

[randomthefox]

Sonic called Shadow faker ONCE and people act like it's something they're constantly saying to eachother. Out of all the fandom's absurd fixations this is one I'll never understand.

In my experience people act like "faker" is something Shadow always calls Sonic, which somehow makes even less sense because Shadow has literally never called Sonic that in any piece of Sonic media ever not even the Archie comics.

People just associate being derisively called "faker" with Shadow, they know that Shadow is an edgy dickbag, and so they just mandella effect themselves into thinking that Shadow calls Sonic faker because it feels like it makes sense to them.

As someone who has actually replays the games on the regular it doesn't make sense to me either. But we have to remember that most people calling themselves Sonic fans haven't played any of the games even once, let alone routinely refresh themselves on them with replays.

And also in my experience, Sonic calling Shadow "faker" as a pseudo affectionate nickname is just an Ian Flynn thing. Because that's what he did in Archie,

and Flynn's a hack jackass who keeps trying to shove as much Archieisms into the series as he can possibly get away with.

[orange-orchard-system]

Continuing this little vent-fest of mine, I really hate how people will just... absorb whatever misinformation they hear about DID. Like, sure, I get it, you want to believe the person who has the stigmatized disorder when they talk about it. But sometimes people with the disorder are just fucking wrong, too. Sometimes we also need to unlearn our biases, incorrect assumptions, and ideas that sound right but actually aren't. We're not a perfectly unbiased group. We're not granted omnipresence about every presentation and facet of our disorder.

And it frustrates me so much because it's always framed as though the people correcting the misinformation are evil, ableist bigots. As if we're the problem and not trying to handle a situation before it gets out of hand and people get hurt. They'll always absorb the misinformation because the person spreading it has DID but anyone fucking correcting it is "clocked" as a faker lying for unspecified malicious reasons. Omfg. Grow the fuck up and admit that you just uncritically absorbed the first thing you heard about whatever aspect of the disorder we're talking about this time. Grow the fuck up and accept that DID is complex and involves a lot of phenomena that might sound far-fetched at first. Especially when it comes to the complex ways we might be traumatized and show the effects of our trauma, are you kidding me. You are not immune to misinformation. You are not immune to exclusionism. You are not immune to hurting people in the name of protecting them.

I did eventually end up reaching out to the person who reblogged that post calling a specific subset of systems, as well as a specific form of abuse, a conspiracy theory. No word back as of yet. But I'm going to try to let it go and focus on my own projects for right now, because that is a ball of yarn I am not going to untangle overnight, but I can at least start sharpening the scissors for someone else to cut through it one day. Confrontation is not my strong suit, and I'm tired of being treated like shit for trying to correct misinformation about the disorder I work to destigmatize. Best to focus my efforts elsewhere.

If you've dealt with this kind of thing, seen this kind of post where people will spread the most obviously incorrect shit because they don't want to accept all the complexities and unusualities of DID, my heart goes out to you. It sucks. But I refuse to believe that it's going to be this way forever. No matter how fruitless it may seem, we are making headway in awareness, understanding, and acceptance. Some asshats who want to stick their head in the sand and only accept the most simplified, sanitized version of this messy and varied disorder are not going to stop us from making a place in the world for ourselves.

Keep your head high and your mind open. We're gonna make it through this shit.

[syscultureis]

This might me a weird confession or not something you guys wanna talk abt but I need someone to hear this so here we go anyway.

I used to be a system, kinda, I used to think I was a system and was openly a system in online sys communities with system friends; one day I just kinda disappeared because I was(and still kinda am I think?) convinced I was actually a faker and didn’t have OSDD. Ever since then I’ve been living as a singlet, or at least under the assumption I’m a singlet, and have been kind of ignoring every symptom I have; but recently I’ve been getting more system community post on basically every social media and it’s making me rethink everything. Even when I was a sys faker or whatever it is I was I would go through phases of doubt and blamed all my symptoms on other issues, I’d straight up blame all the different voices in my head on psychosis and shit. I don’t know how to move on from here, I feel like I’m realizing I could potentially have not been a faker like I thought and just went back into a state of unawareness because it stressed me out so much to think abt and now I’m becoming aware again. If anyone has any advice for me I’d really appreciate it.

Sorry for the big submission/ramble.

We do this a lot actually, this blog is our own way of trying to remind ourselves the proof we have that we aren't faking

For us it's always just been "even when I'm trying my hardest, my symptoms never stop"

I can ignore them all I want, but it doesn't change that I get stuck dissociating for hours. Or that I lose so much time. Or that I act so differently constantly that people call me on it. Or that I hear others thinking in my head (even if I try to write it off as my own thoughts)

I get stuck with intense "this is not me" when I look in the mirror

When I try to ignore my symptoms I feel like I have no identity and that I'm playing pretend. When I stop ignoring it slowly I'm reminded it's because all those versions of me aren't really me, they're other alters who exist to help even when it doesn't feel like it

I might not be explaining this well, I'm really blurry and think we may have switched half way through and I don't really remember where we were going with this lol

But if you're questioning, research is your best friend. Outside of social media specifically. And also it's okay to be wrong! You're not gonna get everything right every single time, we have been so wrong about our own system so many times it could be a post on its own lmao

[there-will-be-a-way]

Today's therapy session (I'm finally doing therapy for my DID with someone *so* competent)

We started talking about the surgery and then spent most of the session talking about my DID, the shame that I feel regarding it and my doubts.

Bullet list of things I want to remember

My T said that Amely (part who's loyal to our family and misses them greatly) probably needs some of my parts to feel like the parents she longs for in order to not miss my real parents anymore (hearing this felt so 🥺, like my T truly gets us)

It would be helpful to have a part who can mediate between parts so that we function better (I suggested that Dirk could do it because I remembered a message he once left us, how he wants us to cooperate again but later when I looked it up, I found out that it was actually Kiran who left that message) (I just remembered that my therapist said Kiran is a cool name and that he wants to look up where it comes from because he's never heard of it before. Before I found a message from Kiran I hadn't heard of it either. I actually had to google if it was a real name but yeah, it is. And this is not the first part with a name I never heard before (see Anatolia).

My therapist said that it is rare for complete final fusion to happen but that we can learn to work together as a team

He calls my parts "Personen" ("persons") which feels a lot more compassionate than what former therapists called my parts ("Zustände" ("states") or "Figuren" ("figures))

He also said there's no need for shame, that everybody has parts but that mine are just more seperate which can be exhausting to deal with

He says that I could also view my DID as something that helped me to survive and I said that yeah, if I hadn't been able to split off these experiences I wouldn't be able to function to which he replied, "If you hadn't been able to do this, you would be dead." Which man. This man is speaking the truuuuth

Overall he just has such a kind and compassionate way to talk about my DID, it makes me feel so accepted and seen

My highlight of the session:

Me: "But what if I'm just imagining having these parts, what if it's all just in my head?"

My therapist:

(Yes, he quoted Dumbledore, not without a remark about how we're going to ignore the critique regarding J.K. Roling for a moment)

Yeah, I voiced that I'm scared that my first DID therapist might have pressured me to think I have DID (which in hindsight, no, this didn't happen). And my T said that it's there now. These parts inside me and the group chat we use to leave each other notes. So we can work with it. Do I still feel like a faker? Yeah, but I feel less "insane" now

I can't believe I'm really doing therapy for my DID. I'm actually so touched by how compassionate my therapist is that I had to thank him today, for taking away my shame. I truly trust him and I really don't trust easily. Part of me can't wait to finally tackle the DID and learn how to live together, as a team. Or a family? 🥺😭

[spot-the-antisemitism]

This one is...weird. It's coming across as someone who "wants" to be Jewish, but doesn't actually want to go through with it. Their main profile has reblogged some Jewish stuff, but between the reblogging of antisemites, historical revisionism, and no mention of their journey towards Judaism...I'm getting sus vibes. I don't want to be suspicious of self proclaimed converts, but the fact that there's no mention of the conversion process on any of their blogs, then suddenly this... https://www.tumblr.com/faygele/759523045363859456/heyo-my-name-is-ludo-and-im-a-recent-convert-to?source=share Breaking it down; they claim they converted to Humanistic Judaism, but I highly doubt it.

Humanistic Judaism does not use the term conversion. In fact, they don't have any process for recognized conversion in the first place. They call it "affirmation", meaning the person just "affirms" that they are a Humanistic Jew. The use of the term conversion and not "affirmation", "adoption", or "affiliation" (which are the terms used in HJ) seems to indicate that the individual only did some cursory "research" into their preferred type of Judaism, and that's it. Also, this process of affirmation is not recognized by the rest of us. There's no actual "conversion" process. No beit din, no talking to a rabbi, nothing. It's about reading resources online and then paying for a certificate (in some cases). Even secular Jews (myself included) draw the line at this. Being able to declare yourself part of an ethnoreligious group without the actual ethnic or religious aspects is just appropriation.

Considering there is no HJ congregation in their area as well...again, things are just sus.

I mean, for fucks sake they reblogged that bullshit necronomeconomicism post.

https://www.tumblr.com/faygele/759526162874679296?source=share

They also reblog from avowed Zionists who are posting pro-Zionist stuff on here while claiming to be anti-Zionist.

But then there's their actual about on their main and everything is answered. https://www.tumblr.com/tqila-sunset/752457363844415488/content-warnings-dni?source=share

They're an anarchist Tankie.

Yeah this is them trying to be their own token Jew. "learning Yiddish" is code for "I think Hebrew is an evil colonial language and Yiddish a good victim language"

womp womp neither of you are Jewish historians, you race-fakering liars

Free blocklist of tankie jew-faking blogs.

Ah the aussie white guilt is second only to Polish guilt in its antisemitic projection

"I am of Jewish settler heritage" is something I had the misfortune to read and implies Jews also colonized Australia

So if you're ethnically Jewish why are you converting and if you're converting why do claim the Jewish label and not saying you're a convert in progress? Did your local JVP baptise you with tea from their teacup mikveh already?