#it can be hard to accept yourself and your identity and at least in these pieces i want kaveh to be proof of queer joy

[mintjeru]

companionship and understanding happy pride from my beloveds!!

open for better quality | no reposts

[omgthatdress]

Sooooo ummmmmmm this is something that's probably going to piss a lot of people off, but I feel like I really need to say it.

If you get a message from an account claiming to be a Palestinian fundraiser, it is a bot. It is a scam. You need to report & delete the message and encourage others to do the same.

I know because I get messages on this account DAILY. I have a very high follower count and I'm pretty active and I interact with my followers a lot, and apparently that all adds up to one big bot magnet.

Bots following and messaging this account was a MASSIVE problem before Tumblr fixed its new account policies. I used to spend literally hours blocking and reporting the hundreds of bots that I would get following me each day.

I learned a lot about bots and how to identify them. The easiest way is with no avatar, "untitled" in the blog description (BTW if your avatar is still set to default PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD change it because you run a substantial risk of being accidentally blocked & reported as a bot).

One of the dead give aways of a bot was what I call "word salad" names. Three seemingly random words strung together making no sense, always adjective, adjective or noun, noun. If you reported a lot of these bots, you'd notice the same words kept showing up.

Nowadays, I am bombarded with fundraiser requests and sometimes, they don't even bother to hide the fact that they're a bot. The avatar is default, the blog title is "untitled," and the blog name is a classic randomly-generated word salad.

However MOST of the requests I get come from at least semi-legit looking accounts. There are pictures, a name, a story. Never mind that I've gotten that message three times from different accounts.

Sometimes, they claim to be vetted, but the whole vetting system essentially adds up to "trust me bro." There is no way of guaranteeing that this account isn't just lying about being vetted, claiming to be vetted by a false person, or are using the identity of a real Palestinian to scam people.

Previously, I've seen a lot of people getting attacked for raising questions about these fundraisers and getting attacked for being racist or for harming Palestinian families in danger, like Tumblr isn't a website famous for its scams and the words "The Arkh Project" "All or Nothing" or "Miss Officer and Mr. Truffles" mean nothing to you.

I personally have been scammed by people claiming to be charities on Tumblr before, specifically, The Leelah Project which used the name of a trans teenager who died by suicide to swindle people out of their money.

Luckily, there are actual, respected charities out there you can give money to if you want to help the cause:

Palestinian Children's Relief Fund

Palestine Red Crescent Society

United Nations Relief Works Agency

Islamic Relief

World Central Kitchen

Médecins Sans Frontièrs

One of the hardest things to accept about the situation in Palestine is that realistically, there is very little that your average outsider can do to change it. However, these large, well-respected and trustworthy charities are out there doing the hard work to keep people alive, and should be where the donation money is going

These scam bots feed on people's naïvety and need to believe that they are making a difference, and even worse, feed on the fear that by ignoring them, it somehow makes you a racist doing direct harm to a refugee family, when in fact they are using the suffering of Palestinians to take away money from those in need.

As far as fundraisers that don't send out random asks for donations, I honestly don't know. You'll have to do the work yourself and approach with much caution.

Be careful out there.

[steveyockey]

To be aware you might be trans but unwilling to do anything about it is to create endlessly bigger boxes within which to contain yourself. When you are a child, that box might encompass only yourself and your parents. By the time you are a gainfully employed adult, that box will contain multitudes, and the thought of disrupting it will grow ever more unthinkable. So you cease to think of yourself as a person on some level; you think not of what you want but what everybody expects from you. You do your best not to make waves, and you apologize, if only implicitly, for existing. You stop being real and start being a construct, and eventually, you decide the construct is just who you are, and you swaddle yourself up in it, and maybe you die there. There is still time until there isn’t.

This reading of TV Glow’s deliberately anticlimactic, noncathartic ending cuts against the transition narrative you typically see in movies and TV, in which a trans person self-accepts, transitions, and lives a happier life. Owen gets trapped in a space where he knows what he must do to live an authentic life but simply refuses to take those steps because, well, burying yourself alive is a terrifying thing to do. The transition narrative posits a trans existence as, effectively, a binary switch between “man” and “woman” that gets flipped one way or another, but to make our lives so binary is to miss how trans existences possess an inherent liminality.

Humans’ lives unfold in a constant state of becoming until death, but trans people are uniquely keyed in to what this means thanks to the simple fact of our identities. You can get lost in that liminality, too, forever trapped in a midnight realm of your own making, stuck between what you believe is true (I am a nice man with a good family and a good job, and I love my life) and what you know, deep in your most terrified heart of hearts, is real (I am a girl suffocating in a box).

And yet if you want to read the film as being about the dangerous allure of nostalgia, you’re not wrong. I Saw the TV Glow totally supports that interpretation, too! But in tempting you with that reading, the film creates a trap for cis viewers that will be all too familiar to trans viewers. Somewhere in the middle of Maddy’s story about The Pink Opaque being real, you will make a choice between “This kid has lost it!” and “No. Go with her, Owen,” and in asking you to make that choice, TV Glow is simulating the act of self-accepting a trans identity.

See, the grimmer read of the film’s ending truly is a nihilistic one. It leaves no hope, no potential for growth, no exit. Yet you must actively choose to read that ending as nihilistic. If you are cis and the end of I Saw the TV Glow left you with a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a weird but hard-to-pin-down feeling that something had broken, and a melancholy bordering on horror — congratulations, this movie gave you contact-high gender dysphoria.

In an infinite number of possible universes, there is at least one where I am still living “as a man,” embracing my fictionality, avoiding looking at how much more raw and real I feel when I “pretend” to be a woman. I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he’s okay.

Consider, then, my cis reader, that TV Glow is for both you and me, but it is maybe most of all for him. I hope he sees it. I hope he breaks down crying in the bathroom afterward. I hope he, after so many years locked inside himself, hears the promise of more life through the hiss of TV static.

Emily St. James, “I Saw the TV Glow’s Ending Is Full of Hope, If You Want It to Be,” Vulture. June 4, 2024.

[gojorgeous]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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[cloudcountry]

Hello! If it's not too much trouble, can I ask for some headcanons for Deuce, Jack, Jamil, and Azul overhearing the reader gushing about them to a friend? It's not like they meant to eavesdrop, they just happened to be passing and they heard a snippet of all the nice things the reader said about them

SUMMARY: they eavesdrop on you while you gush about them!

COMMENTS: writing for jamil is so hard...........

Deuce left to go get some snacks for you and Ace, since he was used to carrying all of the bags anyways. He didn’t expect to come back to hearing you gush about him to a disgruntled Ace, going on and on about how amazing you thought he was.

“Prefect pleaseee, spare me. I know you’re down bad.” Ace groans, and Deuce stands outside the door just a little bit longer even though he knows it's bad to eavesdrop.

“What do you mean!? Have you seen him!? I am the perfect, acceptable amount of interested, thank you very much!” you proclaim dramatically, “He’s just so hard working, and so kind, and even though he’s so tough he’s also really gentle...have you seen him make eggs? I wish I was those eggs!”

Deuce’s face feels like it’s burning. He steps into the room, unable to listen to your rambling anymore. You and Ace stop talking and turn to look at him, only for Ace to burst with laughter at his flaming red face.

Jack would love to say that he’s unfazed. He’d also love to grab his tail and stop it from wagging so damn much, but unfortunately that is not how his tail works. It's a bit odd that you decided to tell this to Ruggie of all people, and honestly Jack thinks you should have gone to literally anyone else.

He respects his upperclassmen of course, but he knows Ruggie is going to tease both of you relentlessly. He can already hear it now, the high pitched, iconic Ruggie laugh ringing in his ears 

Regardless...his face is far warmer than it usually is. Maybe he likes being praised...just a little bit...

If Azul is being honest, he was just eavesdropping to gain insight into your struggles. Now he’s stuck sitting a table away from you, hiding his face with a textbook because he definitely looks at least a little bit panicked and he has a reputation to uphold.

You're babbling on and on to your Heartslabyul friends about how lovely you think Azul is, despite their interjections of “Prefect that is literally the guy who screwed us over” and “Prefect...you could do so much better for yourself, you know that?”

He covers his surprised snort with a soft cough when you shoot back with a “Well you two were the ones silly enough to sign his deal. His business is still running for a reason.”

Really, you’re something else.

Jamil isn’t used to praise that it’s for his food and isn’t from Kalim. Unfortunately enough, it’s him who you’re talking to when he walks into Scarabia’s lounge.

He freezes in place when he hears his name, about to open his mouth and chastise you two for talking about someone when they’re not there, but he hears just what you have to say and he’s so glad he didn’t get the chance to say anything.

Staring at you and Kalim’s backs, he has to admit he’s more than a little flustered and more than a little annoyed that he can’t see your face or the smile you’re so obviously wearing when you talk about how beautiful and clever Jamil is.

A foreign emotion rears its head inside him and a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—he’ll just get you to spill your guts later.

-> deuce's darlings . . . @vivigoesinsane @deucespadez @identity-theft-101 @dove-da-birb

-> azul's business partners . . . @cookiesandbiscuits @vivigoesinsane @identity-theft-101 @dove-da-birb

[etz-ashashiyot]

I'm sorry, but actually I'm not over that comment whining about how several of the JVP ritual, uh, practices and bastardization of Judaism are being excluded and how we can't police people's identities.

Actually yes we absolutely can.

[Rant incoming]

Listen, I hate exclusion, alright? Inclusion is always the answer when it comes to people knowing who they are. Every obnoxious identity policing thing in the queer community that has divided us and ripped apart communities has been cruel, counterproductive, given platform to bigots, a distraction from the real issues bearing down on us, and honestly just dumb as a box of rocks. Okay? Okay.

But Jewish identity works differently, because it isn't about YOU. Becoming Jewish is about taking on Jewish culture and religion, a closed ethnoreligious culture, through the narrow path consented to by the collective Jewish people. There IS a path, but it is a highly supervised one. Otherwise it's just appropriation and cultural theft; something Jews have been subjected to for millennia. And if you do legitimately convert you do so because you love the Jewish people - the whole Jewish people - and want passionately to be a Jew for its own sake. You want to join our nation-tribe. You want to join our family.

And the crazy thing to me, the thing that still blows my mind, is that this is allowed! Even after millennia of appropriation, oppression, violence, expulsions, and genocides, Am Yisrael still accepts genuine gerim. It would be so understandable if they had closed the path entirely and tried to shut out outsiders who might bring in danger on their heels even if they themselves were not dangerous.

But they didn't. We didn't. To me this is a miracle, a blessing, and sign of true faith and hope. It is a privilege to be here.

Yet in the same turn, you gotta respect the process! You can't just declare yourself a Jew simply because you feel like it — it doesn't work like that. You can't just declare yourself an Argentinian one morning either without becoming a citizen first, even if you have Argentinian ancestry. And sure, if you do have some of that ancestry, you are connected to the nation, but that's different from being given a vote y'know?

Using a totally unsupervised, totally unsanctioned, brand-new neo-pagan ritual to unilaterally declare your membership in a tribe does not make you one of us. If anything, it proves why you never will be.

Now! Let's assume for a moment that we are referring only to the provably halachic Jews whose connection and backgrounds are beyond reasonable questioning.

You can never really leave the tribe, but you absolutely can apostasize. Plenty of Jews do it. There are plenty of Jews who find that Judaism is not spiritually fulfilling for them but something else is, and they convert out. There are halachic Jews who have walked away from Judaism in order to practice any other number of religions: Christianity, Islam, Neo-paganism, Hinduism, etc.

That is their prerogative, but by doing so they turn away from their people in a serious way and cannot be said to be practicing Judaism. There is of course room for many different types of Jewish practice, but conversely, there are practices that are too far removed from Judaism to meaningfully be considered as such. Otherwise, it's no longer a coherent group identity. And because Judaism is a collective identity, that actually matters.

The Jews as a people have decided that worshipping gods that are not Hashem is not within the realm of Judaism, which is why messianic "Jews" are not practicing a valid form of Judaism even if they are halachicly Jewish and/or have Jewish ancestry. Worshipping Jesus makes you a Christian or at least adjacent. That is a hard boundary.

And yeah — if you change the basic meaning of holidays, if you bring in lots of practices that are brand new and have no halachic or even historical basis, are often highly individualistic, and would not be accepted as Judaism by the vast majority of Jews, then it absolutely falls outside it. If I started practicing a religion that made little icons of Muhammad to pray to once a day and celebrated my ingenuity with pork roast and a nice glass of wine, I don't get to say that I'm practicing Islam.

These people are doing the Jewish equivalent. It is something else entirely. Especially because so many of these practices spit in the face of major tenets of Judaism and go against Jewish values.

To treat it otherwise is to treat it as an absolutely meaningless aesthetic rather than a living breathing ethnoreligious tribe of people who get to decide our own community's boundaries and practices collectively.

And for the naysayers who still disrespect Judaism and Jewish identity and peoplehood so much that they think that they get to define Judaism more than actual rabbis? Look, we can't physically stop you from calling yourself Jewish, but by the same turn, YOU can't force US to recognize you as one of us. You can be mad, but that's the thing about group cultural identities — that cultural group gets to decide whether they claim you or not.

[To be clear: this is not about politics — there are plenty of Jewish non-Zionists and anti-Zionists who are 100% Jewish. This is about this one specific shitty organization and this particular type of behavior.]

[lucabyte]

obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

[sheepnebula]

I think Solas fundamentally doesn’t believe people should change their nature. This makes sense from a spirit’s perspective where any deviation from your core identity makes you a demon, but it makes him kind of bad at empathizing with people. It’s also why he hates all the change that has happened in the world in the 1,000 years he’s been asleep. To Solas the entire world is essentially a spirit he turned into a demon, so changing it back is worth killing a ton of people. It’s also why he doesn’t really respect the dwarves as they exist today. It’s hard for him to accept that Varric isn’t and doesn’t want to be a “child of the stone”, to Solas that is Varric’s purpose so it doesn’t make sense for him to show 0 interest in it. His beef with the Dalish is whole other can of worms but at least one part of it is him resenting their culture for changing so much. For Solas valaslin should be a fixed symbol with a fixed(pro slavery) purpose, so he doesn’t really respect the 1,000 years of history that have radically altered the meaning of that symbol. I love how complex his character gets because this attitude toward change is sometimes in conflict with his love of freedom. He believes everyone should be free to pursue their own fixed purpose, but trying to change yourself or find a new different purpose is fundamentally unwise.

[creatingblackcharacters]

hi ice! im sorry that you're dealing with other stresses, please don't feel any pressure to answer this quickly or anything.

im wondering if you have any advice for a Black person overcoming a lot of internalized anti-Blackness? especially pertaining to feeling like a disappointment specifically for being Black (i struggle with feeling like i will ever be attractive to a partner because of it, even if theyre also Black), and presenting in a way that makes me happy (i want to grow out an afro but i get afraid of looking "too Black", same with wearing my durag and similar things). also are there any books that you would recommend for working through that, or even just learning about Black history (reading often helps me to logic myself out of negative thought patterns and feel inspired)?

thank you! sorry if this ask is too complicated/encompasses too much

Hi! Well first, I am sorry that you've lived a life and in a world that reinforces you to hate yourself. You do not deserve that, and I'm proud of you for asking for more, and I hope you one day live a life where you love yourself and recognize how much you deserve.

If it's okay, in addition to some resources, I could give you some pointers that I gained from my own life experience unlearning internalized antiblackness. It's not an easy or short process, and there's plenty of hard truths and happy truths. I am not the sweetest advice giver either, but I promise I mean well:

1. Release the Shackles of Respectability Politics!

I was already starting to really grow into my Black identity by undergrad (my family had at least tried to help me get there through my childhood) but what really cinched it for me was the state murder of Sandra Bland. Sandra Bland was everything "right"- multiple degrees, pretty, educated, in a historically Black sorority, a college educator, a woman who spoke up for justice. Respected in her community! She was everything I thought I was supposed to be!

And the police still captured her, beat her, and murdered her in her jail cell (and lied about it, and potentially posted a picture of her dead body as her mugshot) for the audacity to question them. She's still dead! She still wasn't "good" enough to live!

No amount of being a "good, well-behaved" Black will save you in a society where being Black itself is deemed a sin. So every time you get a thought where "this isn't what society wants" or "I'm embarrassed" or "if I do this, I'll look like a bad-" cut it off! Fuck em! IT'S NOT TRUE! Recognize that you could be the finest, richest person on the street and you'd still be just a n***a in many people's eyes. 🤷🏾‍♀️ Point blank. They don't like you for your racial identity. They can be racist to Barack Obama and Beyonce, and they sure can be racist to you lmao.

It's not about you, you are not the problem! James Baldwin himself once said that racism is the white man's problem. It's not your responsibility to make them "like" you and "not be disappointed", it's their responsibility to respect you as a human being regardless!

2. Take Back Your Autonomy

This ties into the first one. Let's all thank Lil Nas X for this one, bc he did for my bisexuality what I had to do on my own for my Blackness. 🙏🏾

If they hate you anyway, you might as well be your most authentic self 🤷🏾‍♀️

Don't die disappointed because you wanted to reach white acceptance. Don't do it. If they're gonna hate you suppressed, they might as well hate you out loud 🤷🏾‍♀️ it's your life! It's why I don't shut up about racism lmao. You already hated me, now we'll both be uncomfortable and imma speak 🤷🏾‍♀️

So when you wear that durag, or wear your afro, recognize that 1) there are people just like you who love how you look because you look like them, 2) you should love how you look period because you're who matters, and 3) the day I receive a check with an undisclosed amount of reparations on it is the day I'll sit and discuss allowing whiteness to designate how the fuck I'm suppose to wear my hair lmao (and the answer will still be no). 😤

3. Accept that you're worth it

It's going to be hard. Even by wearing your afro, your own natural hair, you are making a statement of pride in your Blackness, and everyone won't understand or respect that. That was one of my first steps in high school, was cutting off all my permed hair and loving my afro. I had to write affirmations that I read daily to love myself, I was so scared. But it was worth it. My hair is healthy and happy. I had to learn brown skin was beautiful. But once I did, I couldn't stop fawning over it, on myself and others.

There are people who live their lives told by society they are perfect. Why do they get to think they're beautiful, and you don't? They're not better than you, yet they can tell you that you should hate yourself. What gives them the right? Who do they think they are? Fight back! Accept that the fight is hard, but you're worth it! Your Blackness is beautiful, and it fought hard as fuck to make it this far- honor that by honoring yourself!

4. Find some community; dive deep into Blackness

This one is self explanatory. You're gonna have to be around Black people that love themselves. Surround yourself with it. Find things they do that you like. Learn to find love in it. It could be creative, political, hell even finding a hairstyles group that shows cute ways to wear your hair. That can be a way to grow more confident and try new things. (All skinfolk ain't kinfolk though, so be aware.) But being around Black people, who care about the same things you care about, and make you feel heard, will help break that... Mind space where you feel alone and wrong. Trust, if I didn't have other Black people on this site, I would go mad from people gaslighting me that the racism I was seeing wasn't real. You need some more of us around you that reinforce your love for us, and yourself.

Here is a long paper discussing internalized antiblackness; you said you like to read lol. It admittedly focuses on Black women, BUT it might also help to use the sources that they cite to go on your own journey regardless! You could also just surround yourself with bloggers and beautiful poems and Black creations. There's beauty in all of it, you gotta let yourself find it.

I hope this helps 🙏🏾

[mariii1]

🧚🏾‍♀️Messages From Your Queer Ancestors✨

I'm backkkkk, check Patreon for my extended general version of this reading!

AHHHH I'm so excited to launch my Patreon, you guys don't even know about all the ideas I have lined up and I'm sure there's more to come as this month goes on! Anyway these photos are all from pinterest buttt see if you can guess who's a very important figure and whyy 😽

1. So a few of you in this pile are trying to force yourself to forgive qhen you don't actually want to (or need to) and for the rest you're almost bulldozing over your identity and how it's affected you. I have a feeling you hang around people who don't know about your identities and would outright make fun of you or disrespect you in some way because of it. Your ancestors are way more sad than angry; if anything they're sad that these people are around you and they're sad that you don't honor or place importance on those aspects of your identity enough to walk away from them. Some of you might believe you'll never find people who truly accept and understand all these aspects of you so you've completely given up on it. Your environment might now is definitely very homophobic/transphobic or just xenophobic in general. While you might've been born in these environment or have had to stay in it, your queer ancestors want you to believe in yourself and in your queer identities; those aspects matter just as much as other parts of yourself. They want you to focus on creating an exit/escape plan out of this situation and to find the strength and hope in you to believe you will be able to find the right people one day instead of just completely shutting this idea out.

2. Things are going to change for you very, very soon. Some of you may be doubting a partner or a close friend in terms of loyalty or how much they love/respect you, but you'll soon realize these are just fears with no real basis. You will hit the jackpot somehow or you'll realize you have already in some area of your life. If you're financially broke right now, there's an idea or action you take that'll be the jackpot literally in terms of money and its something you didn't expect to happen, or at least to such a large degree. Keep doing what you're doing and the truth will be revealed to you soon.

3. I feel like me and your queer ancestors would've been good buddies and they've been so nice to me since the beginning of this reading. You're blessed spirituality in terms of family even if your immediate family right now is dog shit. You all however are really tired. I'm getting for most of you this isn't necessarily physically but more tired of people trying to fuck you over or fuck with you in general. You might've had to cut a lot of people out and seek justice or revenge in some way; ways that might be very tedious or draining like filing paperwork, legal battles, etc. I'm sincerely sorry if you have experienced some form of assault especially sexual assault please rest assured you will get justice whether through the system or not. You feel really tired pile 3 and this might sound infantilizing but I mean it in the sweetest way, you need a hug. You need someone to be understanding of you and you might wish you had someone physical to rant to. This might not bring you much comfort but your ancestors are watching your struggles and they wish they could coddle and baby you. A few of them see you as a baby and it breaks their heart that their baby is so stressed out 🥹 they are still proud of you and are rooting for you ad wish to send you lots of money so you can focus on self-care. Don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it pile 3!

4. Some of you feel very stagnant or just stuck in a situation especially financially. You might've realized something was a scam or actually wasn't going to lead to anything more; this could be about staying at a toxic workplace in hopes of getting a promotion or being transferred to a better team. I'm also having a hard time focusing on your reading so you might just be feeling overwhelmed or scattered. You realized a situation would never get better but now you don't know what to do or you've convinced yourself you have no other options left that are any better. However, I'm getting this really isn't true and it might take a drastic change in your mindset in order to see the potential of other possibilities. This could be realizing going back to school or learning a trade might not be so bad or that maybe relying on online income (influencing, youtube, etc.) Could actually be a real plan. These are just examples but your queer ancestors are really begging you to try and think outside of the box and realize "standard" job opportunities might not be as reliable as they seem and that options that seem very flaky, can be very stable if you put in the work.

[milfism-blog]

Bar of Destiny

Melissa Schemmenti x Fem Reader

Summary: You are going through a confusing path of self identity. Will your views on life change when you meet an Italian redhead in the old sports bar? 

Warnings: Inner homophobia, comphet, alcohol consumption, mentions of hetero relationship, little angst, fluff, Smut.

Word count: 6.3k

Author`s note: I hope you'll like it, trust the process. My requests are open for your suggestions\ideas. Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy the story!

On a boring Friday evening, you found yourself in a cheap old bar where men were watching tv and talking shit about their wives. How did you end up there? Well, let's start from the beginning then… 

You heard a lot about the self identity crisis but as far as you knew it was mainly common for men in their late 40s. But you certainly were not a man and not that old. To reconsider your life choices and the most calming and thinking spot you could master became this decrepit bar. Growing up in a conservative household with a single mom and being an older sister certainly gave you a hard time. So you mustered a plan to leave this lifestyle and never get back. But some principles, morals and negative attitudes towards the lgbtq+ community stayed. But again you also knew the saying “The gayest people are the homophobes”. And to be completely honest just one little thought about being or trying something with a woman was scaring you to death. And you came here to show yourself that you are a straight woman who can be in a relationship with a man.

You accepted this challenge from yourself, but if you at least like men a little bit you probably would not call it a challenge. To ease your anxiety, you are sipping your beer carefully while sitting alone close to the bar counter. The bar is supposed to close in 3 hours and you still haven't found a good looking man. To put it mildly, all of them looked strange or not to your taste. So far no more than sharing a gaze with a bartender. He was the most normal? Out of all…?

After a while, you sensed an intense stare. And surely it was not from the bartender he had enough work to keep him busy. You looked around yourself to catch the observer but nothing. But the uneasy feeling of being watched is still present in your mind. Your lateral vision caught some movement on the other side of the bar. You tried your best not to interact or make any eye contact. Again you came there to find a guy or try to. However, even a single conversation or hint is uncomfortable, to put it mildly, now back to the incognito viewer. He revealed himself by sitting beside you. The first thing that got your attention about the mysterious man was his perfume which hit your tender senses. You never were a fan of the men's cologne… It was so strong yet you could detect notes of floral-musky fragrance. That could be sweet notes from the female perfume. The idea provided you with little comfort.

Compared to the others at this establishment, he didn't seem as scary. His hazel eyes were on you, seemingly surveying your evening attire. You did the same scanning his choice of clothes for the lonely Philly bar. Taking a close look at his face, brows turned upwards, eyes bloodshot leaving the expression of sadness perhaps sorrow. Dirty uniform and strong smell of mixed vodka with beer. Which is known for being a hell of a hangover. The red handprint on his right cheek. All this has been telling you that this man has been dumped by a woman, the strong one apparently who does not hold back. 

The man got the courage to start a conversation with you. His words were slurred a bit mixed with a rough Philadelphian accent. His voice is smoked with raspiness. You usually loved raspy voices but if they belonged to women, not to men. Once more your mind still wanders to women. Anyway, returning to the subject in question, the forced conversation, you couldn't call it a conversation, it was more of a monologue, you were answering from politeness. 

“What's a girl like you doin here? Aren't ya scared ya gonna receive unwanted attention with this dress of yours?” He questioned with little teasing in the last sentence while wiggling his eyebrows.

“Already got that.” Rolling your eyes you mumbled so he would not hear the words leveling your lips.

“Don't ya be scared I am a good guy, I`m Gar by the way.” He smiled, giving you his hand for a shake. You were thinking about turning him down but you had a task to accomplish, make sure that you would find a man.

“Nice to meet you.” You forced out.

“It's not that I'm prying but why are you here?'' You made an attempt to shift the topic from you to him. You would rather listen than talk about your business and share it with a random man. 

By asking this question you opened the whole pandora box of problems. The guy has been sharing with you like you were his therapist. However, to be fair, he started talking about his job. Most of the time people don't remember his name, only the fact that he is some “vending machine guy”. Women don't like him. You almost chuckled at that. “Gosh men are so dramatic” - you thought to yourself.  

“Ya are a woman, why don't they like me? I have the body of a young man, I work out regularly, I buy them gifts and all I'm left with is a broken heart.” He complained. Signing sadly.

“If I am a woman that doesn't mean I can answer this question. There might be a lot of factors, maybe you are just not their type. Things happen.” You don't even know why you were answering his rhetorical question. 

“Yeah but, I thought that I had found my woman, for real now, I thought that she was the one. Everything was fine, amazing even. I planned a dream proposal for her. I knew that she was a huge Eagles fan and I was going my way to make a deal with Jalen Hurts himself to play our song. He read my words that I had put on the paper for her. And you know what she did? –” 

There was a long pause. He took a big gulp of vodka. Hissing as the burning liquid traveled down his throat. 

“She said: "No "! Can you imagine, I made all this for nothing, she burned down three years of my life! She is the wrong one. I was perfect. I bought her gifts, her favorite snack from the vending machine, and asked her out to the cafes. One time I even saved MY money up so I could pay for our special cruise. And all this for nothing, for the rejection, best years spent on this bitch!” 

He was whining and complaining like a fifth year old boy who did not get his way on the toy that he wanted to buy. “Gosh respect, come on!” - You thought. You tried so hard not to laugh at his face. He is so miserable as a person by himself. A man in his late 50s calling a bitch a woman who turned him down. “Just learn to accept rejection, hadn't he had half of his life to learn it?”. When your mind was lost in thought your ears peaked at the description of his ex.

“But her beauty, ohhh, her body to die for. The tight fitting outfits were showing off all of her gorgeous body. Her eyes are emerald green, red looks of voluminous hair, make-up was done flawlessly, always put together…” He sighed in the memory of his past lover.

Yes, you kind of liked his description but the sad part was that he cared the most was her looks. He said nothing about her qualities as a human. Is she kind? Outgoing? Extrovert or introvert? Does she like to hang out in bars or is she more like a stay at home person? You were having all these questions even though you never saw her. She might be cool if she pissed him off this hard.

__________________________________________Life works as the most humorous TV show that you can only imagine. Garry the man you met at a bar a couple of months ago. Now you were dating? Or so you called it.  More like friends with benefits or relationships without any responsibilities. Well to briefly describe your dynamics as a couple. He was working, you were working, nothing cool was happening. To be fair he tried to organize some dates but they were horrible. You two would always end up at the oldest, rastest bar in the whole town. Just so he can “legally” watch football during your date. If you are completely honest you did not mind, every time he was occupied it felt like a breath of fresh air. Some free time? You were not only “dating” but also sharing a flat. First it was chipper for you to save some money and secondly he was never there. 

Why were you with him in the first place? Experiment..? Or this one of many excuses. Nonetheless, you set boundaries with him. He was too lazy to work on gaining your trust or any sort of effort in these so-called relationships. But the lack of effort simply led him to spend time with his dudes watching football and all that boring men stuff. It didn't matter if he was occupied with work or if he was having fun with women, you simply couldn't care less. 

The main point was that you chose him, and you were living with him so that equals you are attracted to him. If you are finding him attractive that matters that you are attracted to men…? Right?

Despite this miserably boring lifestyle you got yourself into. You went to the bar again. If he can “cheat” or have fun with other women. Maybe you could try to find someone better than him? It was like your tradition at this point to get to that bar to drink beer or something stronger and that usually helped you to forget about your non boyfriend? Or what should you call him? But instead of seeing men there you saw her…

The beautiful stranger was sitting near you at the poorly lit bar. You were curious how she ended up here? Was she sinking her sorrows into the poisoned liquid or was it just a hard week? Did she break up with her boyfriend? Who in their right mind would not treat her right? This time you enjoyed the company of a captivating stranger. Maybe she did not know you liked her calming aura. But she doesn't need this information or she would think you are a creep. She probably has a lot of men beneath her feet. Ready to do anything for her. 

Using your side vision desperately trying not to stare you noticed her brightly red locks. Her hair was like a halo reflecting the red in her hair. Her green eyes were shining with sadness. You started to wonder who had hurt such a beautiful flower. Her delicate fingers firmly held onto the glass with cognac the courage liquid. Index finger playing with the rim of the glass. Debating whether or not she should talk with you.

“Are ya alone here hun?” - Thick Philly accent had brushed over your sensitive ears.

Your gaze was so fixated on her beauty that you missed what she said or asked, you were not sure. It felt like a dream. Like she was not real. You thought you had too many beers to process the situation you are in. Woman simply cannot be this magnifying and most importantly real… In flesh and blood sitting near you.

“You were talking to me?” You answered nervously. Playing with the rings on your fingers. Why were you nervous?

“Yes, we’re the only one’s here.” She gestured around the bar counter. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But you did not care if there were people or not, she was the one that took your interest.

Yes, yes you're right sorry.” You suddenly felt so embarrassed in front of this attractive woman. 

“You don't have to be sorry about anything hun. I was wondering why ya would be in a place like this? Why would such a fragile young pretty girl be here?” She asked with curiosity and concern evident in her voice. 

Your mind stopped in its tracks when she called you “fragile”. For some reason you liked it. You were a fight girl. You did not need anyone’s protection. But the word “fragile” tenderly slipped from her lips with care made you want something more. Oh here goes this feeling again — 

“You want an honest answer?” You asked with a chuckle.

“If you’d share” She simply answered, shrugging her shoulders.

“I was gonna look for a man but so far they all are disgusting…” you shared your truth.

This answer made a redhead laugh out loud. The good, sincere happy laugh. When she was giggling her face was hit by the sunlight. Highlighting all of her smile lines and freckles. Her eyes finally lit up with joy. You felt a pleasant warm feeling in your chest. You liked that you could add more smiles to her peach colored lips. 

“I was expecting’ anything but that answer–” her laugh betrayed her.

“Ya are funny, ya know that?” Her eyes sparkled with contentment. And for some reason you wanted to make her smile and giggle more… gosh her laugh sounded like the most melodic sound you ever heard in your life. 

“Well thank you, I guess.'' You were unsure of what to say. It's more like being stuck in wonder. Her beauty was so captivating it was challenging you to stay focused on her words rather than on her looks. 

“I’m gonna buy yа a drink, we need to chat and that’s on me.” She leaned closer to you. Trying to appear dangerous so there will be no room for argument. But it had a completely opposite effect on you could smell her sweet perfume, it was making you more drunk than you actually were. Of course, you said “Yes” to this offer!

That night gave you a new friend and companion during lonely nights. You could always call her and share whatever is bothering your soul. She has a guy for every single problem. The closer you got with Melissa the more tension you got in your household with Gerry. He did not like the idea that you were spending a lot of time with another person. Woman to be specific. He did not know her name or her appearance. But when you brought up all the women he has been with while you were at home he would get defensive trying to find insults. Which you found funny, a grown man doesn't know how to talk with you. He never understands you in the first place.

It didn't matter how open you were with Melissa or how close your friendship was getting. You try to hide that private part of your life. It does not feel right. For some strange reason it felt like betrayal. Initially because she shared with you intimate details of her failed marriage and engagement. You were there with every step of her healing journey. When she was angry, sad, lost, depressed. You started to wonder if all men were like this. Clumsy and ignorant to understand what their woman really wants. Maybe dating a woman is better? 

You felt obligated to share with her but the guilt was too much to be fully sincere. Especially with every passing month, it was enough time for you to gain her trust but you were terrified to admit it out loud that you were taken and saying this to her.. would be the point of no return. So your answer to her curiosity was that your life is boring and you simply don't have a partner. Even if she questioned your honesty with her, it was none of her business. First and foremost she was a friend and not a police officer to question you.

But this particular evening in the Italian's house you felt at peace. You loved to be with her. You felt so content. You have everything you'll need, even wine. She was so sweet to share some clothes with you. To be honest you didn’t bring some of Melissa`s items right back to her until her perfume would vanish away. That’s how much you loved her scent? Her—?

If you believed in God you would have thought that the guy was tempting you today. Melissa wore a short pink pj… That was a strong start to the evening. You could not focus on a single thing. Your mind and body were on fire. Your brain was working one hundred miles per hour. It was too much. But she was acting as if nothing was going on. Of course, all this was in your head. She simply was clueless about the effect this item of clothes was having on you. If you were more engaged in gay culture you would know that what you had at that specific moment called “A gay panic…”.

Your eyes started shamelessly to roam her body in the tight pink pajamas. You could not control it. She looked so delicious. The garment showed more creamy skin than you are used to. Of a year of your friendship you TAUGHT YOURSELF NOT TO REACT at all. Be cool about her tight, sometimes revealing outfits. But this – this was way out of line of your control. Your mind was just screaming how incredibly hot she was. If you didn't know better you would assume that she was seducing you. But gosh those hips and tights. Looked so soft it seemed to you that they were begging for your attention. To touch to explore the new flesh that was open for your eyes to see. And your fatal mistake was to move your gaze up to her chest. Now you were trapped, her breasts were one of the most attractive things. First you thought you were just jealous of her size and how confidently open she was with them. But now, it all felt in place, you got it. How full, squishy and tender they really are. To add to this almost see-through top of her pjs. That was a killer. You honestly don't know how men could be so stupid to miss on this real life goddess. The soft skin and nipples peeking out. You thought you were hallucinating, the buds were calling your name “Touch me” the words were echoing in your overstimulated brain. 

Next final thing was her bare face, it was a privilege to see her without a brave mask which included her makeup. She was a little bit insecure about how she looked without it. But all you could think of was kissing her face every part of it, her nose, eyes, temple. To show your adoration not only with words but with actions. Her skin looked absolutely flawless for you. Hell her body was absolutely fire. The other day she was complaining to you that she ate too much pasta and now she has added weight. But goodness gracious all you could see was the healthy curved body of your favorite woman. You loved her butt the second thing after her breasts and face of course. Even though you were absolutely drooling over her body and sexyness. You were better than a man. At least you respected her more and loved listening to her stories. Back to the subject, her kooley as people in Philly say is a work of art. All natural and seizable. You could only dream of putting your hands there and outrageously roam, pinch, caress all sorts of things. To feel it closer to you to get a better feeling. 

Her hair was put down, all that was left of her styling was a slight wave at the ends of auburn hair. She might not like how she looked like this but god you loved to see her like this. Bare face, less clothes (obviously), and natural hair structure. It was giving you an allusion to the ability to fantasize and experience domestic life with her. Where she is just your Mel and not that tough woman you know. She might appear as a lion but in reality under all these layers of makeup, clothes and hair she is just an orange silly little cat. Who is touchy and clingy to attention and hugs. 

“Hun are ya with me??” Her raspy voice was ticketing your ears pleasantly.  

“Huh? Yes yes.” You tried to sound convincing. Miserably failing with nervousness in your voice. You were caught red handed. She knew that you saw.. more like stared at her body. 

You never could fool her. She saw right through you. The sly smirk on her lips was the evidence that you were completely awful at lying. At least to her. 

“I asked if ya are okay?? You’ve been silent for this whole time.” She said either teasing or worrying, probably both. Slightly nudging your shoulder.

“Ohhh , right I was just thinking about my home stuff you know? Domestic life.” You cringed at your bad choice of words. Stupid lie that you made up on the spot. Without even thinking about it though. You rolled your eyes at the last sentence, which was nonsense. 

When she finally got your attention for the hundredth time. You two began watching the movie which was the main plan for the sleepover. Since you were much younger you would show her some new movies or TV shows that you loved. The biggest secret that you didn't know was that all the shows that you showed to her. Became her comfort movies and series. Calming her down after a stressful day at Abbott. Even though you weren't there with her but when she opened the streaming service to dive into the made up universe and characters it felt like you were right there with her, the whole time. It appeared as if the sun was shining on her during a rainy day. You were her sun.

The movie that she picked today was no help. It was a romantic line between characters who were friends but denied feelings for each other. Kind of reminded you of your situation with Melissa. But even if you would be brave enough to admit it to yourself. You couldn't even imagine what she was thinking about you. Were you her friend? Best friend? A distraction or a good company?

Melissa patted her lap as a sign for you to get comfortable between her plushingly seducing thighs to lay of course nothing more .“What a loss” You considered, but once again you were getting closer and closer with every passing hour. When you back touched her front it was challenging for Melissa to hold down a whimper that was willing to escape her mouth. The warmth of her body was too much, sending all kinds of sensations down to your core. Suddenly you are a hot, nervous mess but in the second she looks at you and pecks your temple you are a putty puddle in her hands. You don't care at this point. You wanted her to decide what will come next. You were just too insecure to make a move on a smoking hot redhead. Sure, she was intimidating but also she had her boundaries that you were too scared to overstep. Because you knew that one little childish mistake will lead you to lose the only person you care about in this town. 

The movie was progressing and a lot of things were happening but you were not focused at all. You tried to steal some glances at relaxed cute and real Melissa Schemmenti. It was such a rare sight for your eyes, but again boundaries. You were unaware how much she thought it was adorable. Oh, how you tried to respect her but also like a cutely clumsy school girl looking at her crush. You were admiring her beauty. Memorizing every small detail of her beautiful features. 

For some reason you skipped the moment in the annotation to the film which was describing the possible sex scenes. And that is certainly something that you would not like to watch together. Firstly it is hella awkward. Secondly you would be left with an uncomfortably wet spot in your panties specilly with Melissa by your side. But here you were with the main characters finally confessing their feelings and passionately kissing. “What dumbasses” you thought. To have all these feelings and not share them with the person you find attractive. (That was currently your situation that you were so stubbornly ignoring).

One blink of your eye and the older woman is pressing you down on her coach. Mumbling something under her breath. Her hands were passionately roaming your already overstimulated body. Her long sharp freshly manicured nails draw shapes over the fabric above your hips. These actions elicit a moan from your rosey lips. She fakely paunted at your moan playing innocence herself. Her sly smile and shiny with lust eyes were telling you another story. There was fire behind the emerald forest of greens in her eyes. She was more than ready to overstep, even ruin those stupid boundaries. Redhead was so tired of looking at the lips she could not kiss. It was a pure torture to the unpatient woman. But you were more worked up than she was. Which led you to yank her fiery locks of hair to make her meet your lips finally. You were so tired of this game for being a year long. Your lips were desperate to taste hers. Sloppy movements of tender flesh against each other. Smearing her cherry red lipstick all over your faces. Slightly biting on her sensitive bottom lip pulling it. The curiosity and excitement is rising in your body, making you buzz. 

But Melissa wasn't planning on holding back. She liked the way you tried to take the lead, but she will teach you manners later by edging you. While she was in thoughts the animalistic instincts took over you and the fact that she was sitting on top of you was just adding fuel to the flame. Her breasts are free from her usually tight bra, all free for you to see. Your hands were faster than you thoughts, you ripped the poor flap of her night t-shirt. And her breasts fall right to your face. Too blissed out to care, your palms squashed the desired flesh of her silky breasts. Nails teasing the very sensitive areolas making her chocolaty nipples stand in anticipation. Silently begging for any sort of attention.  

“Yesss… ah– like dis.” she whimpered out. Her eyes are rolling in pleasure.

Her accent is getting thicker with a mix of arousal and desire. Her raspy voice is like a natural aphrodisiac for you, making you more eager to please. Pushing stubborn redhead on shoulder blades, taking her by surprise, making Mel open her mouth and sneaking your tongue into her warm welcoming lips. She tasted so sweet her perfume was intoxicating your senses, making you addicted to a mix of musky and flowery scent. Her whines were getting louder with passing kisses. Suking on her tongue, your strong hands traveling over her tiny waist. Willing to see all of her you asked permission to tore down the seducingly tight pajama shorts she gave you an assuring nod. 

“No, no, I need your words.” Shaking your head in disapproval. Eyes shining with want.

You whispered in her ear, slightly biting the earlobe. Sending shivers all over her neck and making small hairs on her nape to stand up. You absolutely enjoyed the effect your actions and words were having on her body and state in general. Where is the lion everyone was so afraid of? Right now she appears incredibly lustful. Completely lost in the fog of want, desire, sexual longing. 

“Yes, yes please huunnn” She cried out. Bucking her exquisite hips to ease the job for you.

Ripping down the last garment of clothes seemed like a gift. She was your present to unpack and find the most sensitive buttons to tease and push. Carefully rather agonizingly slowly taking off the light pink, cotton shorts slowly revealing the glistening pussy. It was a view to see. Sexually frustrated Schimmenti trying so hard to suppress her frantic cries. But the ruined garment was the shameful evidence of her desire. You were admiring her long legs and lustrous hips. Now on full display only for your eyes to see. Her thighs seemed immensely empty, lacking any potential markings. Getting under your desire you felt like a predator eating its prey. You carefully started to explore the exposed flesh to your eyes, so hungry for more. Leaving slight love marks here and there initially provoking a sweet melody from the object of your admiration. Finally squeeze her deliciously seducing butt. Electrifying a nasty groan. 

Mel had a naughty idea to catch you off guard. Abruptly grabbing your hands makes your gaze meet. Her pupils were delayed, absolutely fogged out. You looked at her questingly, but she had her own plan, the lion was back and now you were the cat. Pressing tightly her body against your sweat mixing. She boldly licked your earlobe, slightly pulling on it. 

“Look who`s gon` all shy right now, let me be the boss.” She made accent on the last word clearly showing you your place. 

Just the slight dominance from her was sending you to another orbit of fantasy and possible pleasure. Her boobs were again in your face but instead of focusing on pleasuring the Italian beauty you felt how she was tearing your clothes off. Slowly, teasingly to make you taste the same treatment you made for her. She could smell your fluids in the air as she got closer. Sultry sweet, sweat, skin, wine. All in one, that's how she likes you and to add the cherry on top, you were completely at her mercy. Looking at your chest rising up and down, your heart is jumping straight out of your rib cage. To ease the beating she left the hickey right above your heart, leaving a purple and pink mark from the smeared lipstick. Your breasts were tantalizing her. Aroused nipples screaming for any sort of relief from the teasing partner. She took the hint and licked the stripe over the right nipple, her hand playing slowly with the left one. You are crying out at the wet sensation. Melissa`s hands continue shamelessly to crumpling your sensitive tits. Licking, sucking, blowing at the wet aroused skin. Making you surrender completely.

The redhead smiles at your relaxed face but now it is time to give you two a sweet well deserved release. She's been fantasizing about it, how you will come, how she will pleasure you, what faces you would make and how you would sound. Would she use her mouth on you or her sharp fingernails? Or maybe you would enjoy a bit of pain and pleasure together?  Would you scream, cry, fight? She often was getting off on these fantasies. Now she was getting desperate and her inner monologue was turning her on even more. (If it was even physically possible).

But the idea of cumming together and feeling each other's bodies was the one for tonight. So full of delight Melissa has stopped her assault on your reddened breasts. She had a look of concern and excitement written on her face.

“Baby are ya willin` to try somethin`out with me? Do you trust me enough?”

She asked in a gentle voice. Mel broke her dominant attire for this minute, she needed you to understand her intentions were nothing but good. 

“Yes fully. I am all yours.” You whined out in a weakened voice.

Your mind was clouded with all sorts of feelings. Love, arousal, overstimulation? Everything at once. But the concern in her voice and love in her gaze was warming your heart. Even if she wanted to destroy you, you would say “yes” in a heartbeat. 

She carefully parted your legs with warm hands of hers sending shivers to your sentave thighs. The sight of your glossy cunt was making her mouth salivating, just one thought about the exquisite taste was making her hips buck unconsciously. The action made you slip a tiny moan. Melissa put her legs over your hips making your cunts millimeters apart. Heavy breathings, chest rising in anticipation of the pleasure you two gonna share together. You broke the teasing it was too much at this point it felt like hours of torture. (You liked little bit of torture, but now its not about it, now is about connection). 

You palmed her hips, focusing the main attention on her kooley. Slightly pressing your pussies together, clits throbbing against each other. You both moaned at the pleasant contact. The wetness pressed to wetness. You could sense the surprised look from Melissa, she never thought she'd be this wet, and certainly that she could make you this wet. As Schemmenti is, she took the lead. Plush hips riding yours, sending electricity through both of you. Soaked clits touching, making you whine both shuddering at the aching feeling.

“Agh– like this please Mel.” You begged. 

If only you knew the effect begging had on Melissa. She liked every single sounds you made together whether it's a moan or watery sounds from your cunts. You cupped her rosy cheeks, making Italiano look you right in the eyes. The light banging of hips and the wet sounds filled the room. It felt like it was only you two in that room. Just you, just your feelings, pleasure. The heated kisses shared in the tender moment. Tugging at fiery red hair just added to the general bliss. Her soft skin, full puffy lips from all shared kisses between the steamy sessions, dark green eyes completely blown by lust. Melissa swirled her hips again making your clits in contact bringing the sweet pleasure from wonderful frequstion. It almost made you see stars. You were close and so was she. Breasts closely pressed together, nipples brushing, cunts closer than ever.   

“Mel baby I`m closeee.” You cried out, with tears in your eyes.

“Don't come yet, hun I want us to do it together.” Melissa breathed out with drops of sweat running down her face. 

You eagerly nodded, you didn't want to disappoint your lover. Bodies knit together, sweat, skin, smell of sex, and perfume overflowing the room. Melissa`s movements became increasingly stiff and steady making it her mission to make you cum. Putting all her body weight on your pelvis, humping her hips on your clit providing each step closer to the finish. She had her concentrated face which looked hot as hell. At this point anything could make you blow up with pleasure, but as a good girl you waited for your lover. Fiery Italian was getting closer and closer. Her first instinct was to press your head tightly to her deliciously full breasts.

“Yeah I'm almost there, suck on my nipple, hun please! I'm almost there!” She cried out while moving her thighs faster.

Melisa`s fist was in your soft locks pushing you impossibly close to her sensitive breasts. Sucking, nibbling, licking it later to smooth the reddened flesh. To provide the redhead release faster you bucked in the unison. Clits caressing against each other, hips riding the last straw to send you both into pure bliss. On the pick of your best orgasm you said:

“I LOVEE YOUU MEL aghhh!!” 

“LOVE YOUU HUN ughh!!” 

No awkwardness, just all the feelings that were bubbled inside were finally sent free by the sex, no it was lovemaking. Two souls tied together by love. Finally the ability to share and be honest with yourself ended up in a warm embrace with Melissa. She looked incredibly charming, her face a little red, sweat on her forehead but the smile and eye she was giving you. That was worth all the self doubt, battle and toxic thoughts of fixing yourself. You knew for sure you would never find another person who would fit your soul like Melissa Ann Caterina Schemmeni can. 

__________________________________________

And what about Garry? You got the message from him during the night you were too busy to respond. Simply he wanted to know where you were “Where the fuck are you?” But why would it matter if you are laying in the arms of the most beautiful woman you ever saw. You were done with him. He was fucking around and still expected of you to be faithful? Delusional. 

Thanks to Melissa and a lot of self analysis you get to the conclusion that men are probably not for you. No, they were surely not for you. You were lying to yourself for so long and now you were free. You just needed to find the right person and Melissa certainly was the one for you and you were the one for her. She just happened to be a woman and there is nothing wrong with it. There are more benefits than disadvantages.

Happy end! 

The moral of the story is gays, love women and only women. Girls don’t want men, they want Melissa Schemmenti.

tags: @janeyseymour @springwitch26 @pinkthrone445 @melagnes @iamnotoriginalphil @spoilmesweetieforficssake @realwitchieshit @fadingdaggerr @schemmentisbranzino @milfandh0ney @aspirationalpeony @agnessharknes @mandy-asimp @milfjuulpod @cosmichahn @schemmentigfs @daddy-heather-dunbar @spooky-holtz @the-bad-batch @beshbarmak1

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods & Clergy: Bhaal #2

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | Bhaal #1 | Bhaal #2 | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

Because I found some extra stuff on Bhaalists.

Briefly featuring; secret identities, how to consecrate an altar, acceptable targets for sacrifice, red rooms, mummification, do not steal a Bhaalist's knife, and maybe some other stuff.

-

"Murder is natural. Slaying is what all creatures in Faerûn do, daily if they can. At least daily, slay something living—and the Lord of Murder is most pleased if the victim is one of your own kind and as formidable as, or more powerful than, you. Kill with swift skill, not by torture, forced suicide, falls, or collisions. Do it personally, with ever-greater deftness and elegance, and teach others the skills and the delights of slaying. "Deathbringers are to slay with enough skill that witnesses are impressed. They are always to challenge those more powerful than themselves, the clergy of other deities being prize targets. Slay with pleasure, but never with anger. Be in exquisite control of yourself. Utter the name of Bhaal so the victim can hear it. Ideally, it should be the last word a victim hears." - more Bhaalist dogma

Deathbringer appears to be a generic term for a Bhaalist who is part of the church. Or it's an alternative term for Deathstalker, it's hard to tell. Going on context, I assume it means the former.

In the time between his death and his resurrection, Bhaal no longer spoke directly to his followers even though he seemed to be answering prayers. He contacted them only rarely, and only in the form of nightmares.

Worshipping Bhaal is legal and persecuting his followers is considered... risky. Nobody wants to offend the gods. Murder, on the other hand, is very much illegal. Due to the fact that Bhaal is worshipped by committing very illegal murders, this gets complicated.

As with all evil and disruptive faiths, Bhaalists are permitted to worship so long as they don't disrupt functioning society and follow various stipulations: keeping their religious practices out of public view; not getting caught red handed doing murder; not rocking the boat and causing the public to panic; and performing agreed upon services for the government for example. If they keep their end of the agreement, the law politely turns to look away.

Bhaalists protect their ability to worship the Lord of Murder by courting the halls of power, making themselves indispensable to the local government and nobility, and infiltrating law enforcement to cover their tracks. Many of them cut out the middleman and take positions of power themselves.

To make life easier for themselves, most Bhaalists have a "daytime identity" as a regular citizen, and keep their personal shrines out of sight (part of the restriction violent and evil faiths must follow in order to be permitted to operate in the Realms). The public should not be able to identify random Bhaalists walking amongst them.

Incidentally, Bhaalist shrines are kept holy by being anointed with the followers' own blood.

Bhaalists use their daily life to observe the city and consider their target. Preferred targets include:

Adventurers and travellers nobody knows. -

Criminals and troublemakers people will be glad to be rid of. -

People who are rising in power who might cause trouble for Bhaalists with that power -

The clergy of Bhaal's enemies: (Chauntea, goddess of agriculture; Helm, god of guards and law; Lathander, god of birth and renewal; Torm, protector of the common folk; Ilmater, god of martyrs; and Lliira, goddess of joy)

Favourite hunting grounds for Bhaalists tend to be either the main streets and markets (if they're looking to draw attention to the sacrifice, perhaps to make a statement) or the slums and poorer areas.

A daily murder is preferred by Bhaal, but only once a tenday is the murder of a person mandated. When the time comes, the Bhaalist will don their religious clothing and head out on their hunt.

Once the target is dead, they will take some trophy from them (and likely strip them of their wealth and possibly ransack their house, if possible). This trophy could be a personal possession, or a body part (for example; a finger, or their heart). The "trophy" is offered up to Bhaal on the altar, with a prayer, and Bhaal permits his followers to keep whatever wealth they acquire to fund their daily life and "continue their holy work." Many Bhaalists aim for a wealthy life, both for the comfort and for the fact that power and money are great ways to avoid anybody arresting you if you fuck up.

If in a city with a larger temple, then the worshipper is to tithe 50% of all coins taken this way to the temple.

If there is no temple in the area, then every member will be assigned a higher ranking priest as a handler of sorts, and they will give that 50% to them instead.

The church couldn't care less about non-monetary gains and land deeds, you can keep those.

Temples are not open to the public and may not be placed in view of the public, hence why they are built beneath the streets. There are also remote monasteries and monastic orders beyond the reach of the cities, which presumably hunt travellers on the roads at night and put the fear of their god into the hearts of nearby villages and farmers.

Bhaalists recruit by essentially running red rooms and snuff shows in secret locations at night; often cellars, basements and also private rooms in the upper floors of more well-to-do buildings. Guests wear masks to protect their privacy (the Bhaalists will presumably be wearing their full religious veils instead of masks).

The targets chosen for the spectacle will typically be those public opinion deems deserving of death. Violent criminals, for example. These slayings will not be considered a crime by viewers, and with a reputation for vigilantism, the cult may even come to be viewed favourably by some. Joining the cult means you get to "volunteer" the next guest star.

-

While I don't know how widely practiced this is, Bhaalists do mummify their dead. Invading a Bhaalist tomb may backfire when the long-dead priests take issue with their visitors.

Bhaalists blades may be cursed, in case they're stolen (particularly those they bury with their dead). Once unsheathed, the blades can't be returned to their scabbard until they've been used to take a life. Attempts to remove the curse with counter-magic will cause them to explode violently in a burst of metal shrapnel and fatal poison (which will be absorbed into the body on skin contact).

[adventuringblind]

Cheering From Heaven

Charles Leclerc x Senna!Driver!Reader

Genre: sad but also fluffy

Request: yep! I hope you like it! I actually cried a little writing it. My requests are still open for like... half the grid at this point. So please send me your ideas, I am begging, don't be shy. :)

Summary: reader never got to meet her father, but thanks him everyday for the racing in her DNA. When she overhears a conversation about her over dramatic celebrations, she becomes more reserved. Charles immediately takes notice and is determined to restore the energy she once had.

Warnings: Talks of death and crashes, not proofread (if I ever proofread call the police because it’s not me someone stole my identity).

Notes: written in second person. For the purpose of this fic, the Ferrari strategists know how to do their job.

Y’all have been giving my fics so much love. Thank you all so much 🥺❤️

Masterlist

You were the first female driver on the grid. You worked your way up the ranks just like everyone else. Your mother doing her best to support you despite it being just you and her.

She always said you have racing in your blood. Your father died before you could meet him. The fatal accident of Aryton Senna rocked everyone.

Especially your mother, who had just found out she was pregnant with you.

You were determined to continue his legacy. Knowing he was cheering you on from the afterlife.

When you started competing more often and moving up through the stages. You decided to go by your mother's last name. Not wanting your fathers name to have anything to do with how people saw you as a driver.

You wanted to race for him, not because of him. Nepotism in this sport can make or break someone's career.

When you got up to Formula 1, you cried tears of joy. Knowing that your father was looking out for you.

You were relatively accepted among everyone. You and your teammate Charles got along better than anyone could imagine.

Competing and pushing each other, but still remaining close at the end of the day.

What you didn't know was that some on the grid found you annoying.

You had found fast success and with it came rituals. You wanted to cheer loud enough for your father to hear you. Celebrating enough for the both of you.

It hurt having not known him, but you felt like you did at times. Hearing his name still being praised. You’d watched his races on YouTube repeatedly. You knew he would be ecstatic to see you here.

Everywhere else you were very down to earth and chill. On the podium, however, was a different story. There you let everything go, enjoying yourself for those who couldn’t be there with you. It was your ritual and you loved it. Charles found it entertaining despite not understanding it. You worked hard for your success, why shouldn’t you enjoy it?

You were going to run up and join a group of the guys walking and talking after a race one evening. Charles being one of them. You’d grown feelings for him and even if he didn’t return them, having him as a friend was still great.

They didn’t hear you approach, continuing there conversation without remorse.

“I don’t know man, I find her annoying.”

Charles was immediately confused at this. “Annoying? How so? I find her the least annoying out of everyone else.” He chuckled at his own funny remark.

“I agree. She seems very cocky when she wins. Rubbing it in everyone’s faces.”

A course of similar comments and agreements strung from their mouths. You didn’t stay to hear everything, quickly finding your way back to your hotel room.

Charles had left the conversation not long after. Leaving them the group with one last statement before walking off. “Who cares how she celebrates? Anyone that wins wants to enjoy it, so let her have this.”

While you became quieter and more reserved, Charles became more concerned. You weren’t the sunshine everyone enjoyed having around. You weren’t offering soothing words when someone had an off day. It was strange and he didn’t like it. He became determined to help you through it.

Everyone started talking after your next win. You smiled but said nothing. You looked unfazed by the champaign chaos. You were hardly celebrating.

Everyone else assumed your were sick, but Charles had the feeling there was something else at play.

He’d immediately given into his crush on you. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to escape it since you spent tons of time together. If only he could help you through whatever fought patch you were in. Maybe he could get the confidence to ask you out.

It was now time for the Brazilian Grand-Prix. Imola. The track Ayrton Senna lost his life.

You were hoping to win today for him, and you had a good shot at doing so after an amazing qualifying.

In the evening you decided to visit your father’s memorial. The track was clear like the sky. Pink and orange hues shining down in rays. You dropped to your knees, placing the flower you brought in front of the memorial.

“I hope you can forgive me for not cheering loud anymore.” You cried. Failing to notice the footsteps behind you. “Mom says you’d be proud of me. That you would’ve come to every race. I wish I could’ve known you.”

Charles crouch’s next to you. His hand rubbing circles on your back in a soothing manner. He didn’t say anything, just let you talk. He knows how it feels to miss someone.

“I cheer loudly so that he can hear me. I just know he’d be celebrating with me, so I do enough for the both of us.” You confessed, leaning into Charles’ touch.

“I understand.” He guides your face to look at him, gently wiping your tears with his thumb. “Your dad would be proud of you. I am also proud of you.”

No other words needed to be said. You leaned in, your foreheads now touching. Somehow, that did all the talking for you.

The next day brought excitement and anxiety. You and Charles fighting hard to be at the top. You nearly cried when you won. Charles right behind you in second.

When the cars were parked, you jumped into his arms. Adrenaline flooding through your veins. She the interviewer came to ask you about the race, you looked at Charles. Him nodding at you and giving you a thumbs up for reassurance.

“I just want to say that I’m dedicating this win to my father, Ayrton Senna. I hope to continue his legacy.”

Everyone stared at you before the chanting of your name started. The name everyone knew you by now changed.

You were hesitant to celebrate on the podium. Until Charles took your hand in his and yelled at the top of his lungs. Bathing you in the alcohol. So you finally let loose again, the fans screaming with you.

And when you two were alone again, you realized your father had been watching you. He sent you Charles. A soft ‘thank you’ falls from your lips before kissing Charles Champagne covered lips.

[defectivevillain]

born into blood

pairing: Ghostface/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: Christina Carpenter wasn’t the only woman to have an affair with Billy Loomis… Your mother did too. You’re Billy’s child, just like Sam Carpenter. But you saw what happened to Sam—so you keep silent. Your father’s real identity is a secret you will take to your grave. At least, that’s what you think. Then, one day, Ghostface comes calling…

word count: 2.2k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, character death; attempted murder, strangulation, blood, hallucinations; scream (2022) spoilers.

notes: I wrote Ghostface with he/him pronouns, but he remains nameless—so feel free to imagine whichever killer you want.

thank you @palefaceswhore for the beta! 🖤 any remaining mistakes are mine.

You don’t usually answer phone calls from unidentified numbers. But you had a job interview a few days ago, and you still haven’t gotten a response from the company, so you accept the call and bring your phone up to your ear with hope brewing in your chest. You thought you did a decent job in the interview, and you hope the recruiters thought the same. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of breath on the other line. Dread begins to prickle across your skin. Your tongue feels stuck to the roof of your mouth. Just as you summon the courage to speak, the other person speaks.  “What’s your favorite scary movie?”  

A shiver runs down your spine at the familiar voice. You immediately hang up and slam your phone face-down on the table. With quick breaths, you pick up your phone and shakily open your phone app again, blocking the contact. It’s not the first time you’ve gotten a prank call mimicking Ghostface, unfortunately—since the Stab movies first came out, unruly teenagers have started doing it rather frequently. But your particular situation is a bit different than that of the average person. After all, Billy Loomis is your father. 

For the longest time, you had no idea. But once you turned sixteen, your mother sat you down and told you the truth: she had an affair during her marriage, and that affair resulted in your birth. Safe to say, you were sick to your stomach. That revelation only proved to be much worse, however, when she revealed exactly who she slept with: Billy Loomis, one of the original Ghostface killers. A murderer. 

It took you a long time for you to begin trusting your mother again. And a small part of you knows that you’ll never look at her the same again—both because of what she did and because of the years she spent keeping it a secret from you. When you finally moved out from her house, you were mostly relieved. Leaving that house meant leaving it all behind. You didn’t have to meet your mother’s eyes and see a killer’s malice reflected in them any longer. 

Time passed and you slowly moved on. Ultimately, you decided that it would be ridiculously dangerous for you to tell anyone. You’ve kept that promise to yourself since your mother first confessed the identity of your father to you. You can only hope the secret dies a swift death, never seeing the light of day. After all, Billy Loomis is dead. You can take comfort in that… right? 

Then you hear about Sam Carpenter, and everything comes rushing back. The world had slowly moved on from Billy Loomis, as the Ghostface mask was passed from killer to killer. But once Sam Carpenter was unwittingly thrust into the public eye, you saw your quiet life slowly crumbling before you. You didn’t need to know Sam personally to know how she must’ve been treated for her parentage. The public villainized her—even with incontrovertible proof that she wasn’t the killer. Ghostface is everywhere now. You can’t avoid him, no matter how hard you try. All you can do… is hope that no one else discovers the identity of your father—otherwise you’ll be pursued with vengeance, just as Sam and her friends were. 

A ringing sound draws you from your thoughts. You frown and walk through your living room, attempting to discern the source of the noise. Once you walk into the kitchen, you realize that it’s your landline—the one that was supposedly disconnected. You’ve never given out that number to anyone. Hell, the phone hasn’t been used in years. It rings again and you flinch, before shaking your head in disbelief.  You should just ignore the call, obviously. But that’s against the rules, a voice in your head whispers. In the movies, if you don’t answer, he’ll just come out and stab you in the back. At least this way, maybe he’ll give you a chance at life. You know this isn’t a Stab movie… but your hand moves of its own accord, grabbing the phone and bringing it to your ear. 

“That wasn’t very nice.” That warped, deepened voice sends chills down your spine.  “Don’t try that again.” 

You’re starting to think that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t a prank call. And on the small chance that this is really happening—that Ghostface himself is calling you—hanging up would be a death sentence. You swallow hard and remain on the line, despite everything in your head screaming at you to hang up and run away as fast as you can. You try to take slow, measured breaths as you look around the room for signs of his presence. You don’t see anything. 

“Good,” Ghostface says patronizingly. You try to take a deep breath. It isn’t your father. But that doesn’t quite matter—that deepened, warped voice still reminds you of him. “Now, let’s try that again. What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You rack your brain and try to think of something to say. “… Saw .” You eventually respond. Admittedly, it’s hard to focus on the conversation. All you can think about is the high probability that Ghostface is outside of your home—or, hell, even in it—already. 

“Really?” Ghostface hums interestedly. “Not Stab ?”

“No,” you respond, your heart jumping in your throat. The mere mention of the movie franchise is enough to make you nervous, as you remember your father. Something stews in your chest and your fingers tighten around the phone as you hold it to your ear. 

“Why not?” Ghostface asks innocently. His voice is mocking. “It’s about your father, after all.”

You’re silent, entirely frozen as a victorious cackle sounds through your phone. 

“Oh, you thought no one knew?” He continues. “Billy Loomis was a player, and that’s no secret.” 

“What do you want from me?” You choke out. You’ve spent more than twenty years outrunning your father’s reputation—doing everything in your power to ensure that no one ever knew your connection to him. And now it’s all slipping away from you. All your hard work is slipping down the drain, falling through your fingers like granules of sand. 

As if sensing your unease and distress, Ghostface’s voice has a triumphant lilt to it. “What I want…” He breaks off, “is for you to give in. ” You stare ahead in shocked silence. The taste of bile settles on your tongue. “It’s time for you to carry on your father’s legacy.” 

The call abruptly ends. Immediately, you whip around and brace yourself against the kitchen counter, dread churning in your chest. You’ve seen the Stab movies—once Ghostface hangs up, he reveals himself to his victim. You grit your teeth and frantically search your drawers for a knife. When your hand closes around the knife, you turn around to find Ghostface standing right in front of you. The knife in his hand glitters at you mockingly. 

“Come on,” he says, his voice still distorted and deep. You squint at him, surprised that you don’t see him holding a voice changer in his hand. There must be something fixed to the inside of his mask. Unfortunately, you’re not given the luxury to muse on that thought, as he steps even closer and forces you to back up against the counter, before standing still. You can sense his eyes boring into you through the mask. “I’ll give you a free shot. It’s your birthright.” Ghostface reaches out with his free hand, taking your hand in his and tilting your knife up until it points at his shoulder. 

You swallow hard, your heart thundering in your chest as you try to grasp the reality of the situation you find yourself in. You’re standing before a killer and he’s willingly giving you a chance to weaken him. Despite knowing that you should take the shot he’s giving you, all it takes is a flicker of your father’s visage in your mind’s eye for you to shake your head stubbornly. Making the first move is far more difficult in reality than you expect it to be. Besides, while he’s certainly antagonized you, Ghostface hasn’t actually harmed you yet. Stabbing him without being provoked isn’t something you can get yourself to do, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that you need this advantage he’s giving you. 

Silence stretches on, settling in the air between you. Ghostface is standing far too close for you to be comfortable, and his grip on your arm is extremely tight. Eventually, he exhales. “I gave you a chance,” the killer shrugs. Despite that statement, he’s still grasping your hand. “Now, I’m afraid your cameo has come to an end… The killer’s child becomes the victim. It’s poetic justice!” 

You don’t get a chance to pick apart that statement before Ghostface is lodging his knife into your left side and pulling it back out forcefully. You scream, quickly pressing a hand to the wound in a rather futile attempt to stop the bleeding. As you fall to your knees, you return the blow and sink your knife into his thigh. He hisses and falls to the side, giving you time to sweep his feet out from under him and clumsily get to your feet. Through your pain-hazed vision, you manage to navigate through your kitchen and into the living room. Remembering your phone in your pocket, you take it out and attempt to call emergency services, only for Ghostface to slam into you and tackle you to the floor. You try to throw him off, but he looms over you and tries to stab you again. You manage to roll to the side, letting out an uncomfortable hiss as the movement sends pain flaring up your side. His knife lodges into the floor beneath you with a solid thunk. 

“That’s it,” he spits, grabbing your shirt collar. “Bastard.” The insult is punctuated by a harsh thud, which you realize moments later to be the sound of your head hitting the ground. Your vision is spiraling and blurring as his hands move to your throat. You immediately try to push him off.

Suddenly a bright light flashes before your eyes, and your father is staring down at you with an unreadable expression. His eyes fall to something near your side and you follow his gaze, remembering the knife that is still lodged into the ground. In his enraged fervor, the killer hasn’t seemed to notice it. It’s nearly right in front of him—you’ll have to be very quick to grab it. Your vision is practically pulsing at this point, but even through the blurriness, you can see Billy Loomis’ twisted grin.

Ghostface brutally tightens his grip on your throat and rips the air from your lungs. You’re writhing and thrashing against him, but his hold is strong and unflinching. You don’t have much time, so you make a grab for the knife and manage to free it from the floorboards. It clatters to the ground and suddenly, both you and Ghostface are reaching for the weapon. With a stretch that sends bolts of pain down your forearm, you manage to clasp the knife first—and you don’t hesitate to bury it into Ghostface’s neck. His hands fall from your neck and you frantically inhale, coughing and choking as you push yourself to your knees. Saliva falls from your lips and you wipe at it with your free hand, before focusing your attention on Ghostface once more. He’s sprawled on the ground before you, clasping at his neck in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. But blood is positively oozing out of him, and his form promptly slackens. 

You’re still not convinced. Doesn’t the killer always miraculously lurch forward at the last moment, when the victim thinks they’re dead? You decide you’d rather not test that theory, and settle for yanking the knife back out of his neck. The blood loss will kill him, if he isn’t already dead. 

After a few more moments staring down at Ghostface and contemplating your next move, you grab at his wrist and feel for a pulse. There’s nothing—a notion further punctuated by the way his arm promptly crashes to the floor when you release it. Your attacker is dead. 

The adrenaline that kept you alive begins to fade, leaving you with a bone-deep ache and a stinging sensation in your side. The knife slips from your grasp and falls to the floor with a deafening clatter. Ghostface’s blood is pooling beneath him, and your hands are painted crimson with it. You’re shaking extremely hard, your chest burning from your near suffocation only moments prior. Your equilibrium is all off, and you’re forced to watch from an outsider’s perspective as the world sways and tilts to the side as you fall back down to the ground. Shadows are crawling across the room; when you blink, you see black boots on the ground next to you. Your father crouches down and stares at you, his expression unreadable through your foggy vision. He almost looks to be resisting the urge to reach out to you. A tear crawls down your cheek as you hear sirens in the distance. 

“Well done.” Billy Loomis says, his voice reverberating through your ears. He crouches down even more, until he’s sitting next to you. With ghosts for company and pain stitching your body together, your vision quickly fades to black. 

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[goblinsofdiscord]

The Enneagram Explained ⚔️ Defence Mechanisms & Self-Sabotaging Behaviors 💣🔪

By Larissa

(This is an excerpt from a workshop I taught in 2023) If you want the accompanying "Unf*ck Yourself" mini workshop + pdf workbook join the membership and get it instantly. I apologize for how dry and cringe the names/descriptions are.

To watch/listen instead:

One of the main ways you can stop operating out of autopilot, quit the shit patterns and actually get what you want is by:

Being with the discomfort of not operating out of your personality trap + shadow (being conscious, making different choices, regulating your nervous system in the moment with breath, tapping, affirmations).

Integrating the opposite of your personality's "belief" (the shadow).

This sounds simple but it actually requires a considerable amount of bravery and determination. Which is why most people who learn the Enneagram don’t actually use it for self-growth. Because it’s more fun to chit chat about and study than to actually apply to our own lives.

The personality’s belief structure creates behaviors and defense mechanisms. These beliefs and behaviors create the shadow. 

The defense mechanisms come from Freud's psychoanalytic theories and have been correlated to Enneagram theory by multiple sources and evolved over time with other people's ideas (Fritz Perls, Oscar Ichazo, Helen Palmer, Naranjo, etc). I won’t be getting into any of that, I’m just going to apply them in how I see them as useful. I’ve also added behaviors that I notice in each of the types.

I’m not sharing these to shame anyone or be judgmental, because we’re ALL doing at least one, if not three or more of these patterns. I’m using the Enneagram as a framework to show you how to spot patterns, unuseful beliefs and shadow at a much quicker pace than if you’re just doing it from just generic journaling prompts or waiting for something to “happen” before you address it. This way you have a pathway to start looking at the problems before your life goes to total shit. 

Each type’s flawed belief (“If I am not ___ I don’t exist /I am not me/I am not safe”) manifests itself through behaviors and actions. 

This process is unconscious. Even if you were aware that you were doing some of this stuff, it’s not your fault. It’s what we were programmed to do. But by integrating our shadow and coming into acceptance and wholeness we get to make better choices, think supportive thoughts, feel better, more useful and aligned feelings. And you can also catch yourself in the act and check yourself before you wreck yourself.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 1 - “DADDY”

1’s prefer to see themselves as being conscientious and above the degenerate riff raff. They’re proper, correct and in integrity, therefore they cannot see themselves as lazy, foolish, wrong, messy or "bad.” Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

1’s avoid outwardly expressing anger to remain “objective” and in control. Because expressing “anger” is “bad.” To be imperfect, incompetent, wrong or out-of-control is death to the 1. This mechanism reinforces the 1's ego because it assures them that they are right, proper, perfect, and correct. Therefore, their survival and identity continues. However, because the 1 is an anger/gut type, they’re constantly churning irritation factories.

If the 1 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 1 utilizes “anger” they are unlikely to allow themselves to see themselves as incorrect, in the wrong, imperfect. 

How this manifests:

Reaction Formation: 1’s can express the opposite of their actual feelings and desires. They do this to reinforce their ego as “not being angry” (being perfect, right, correct, proper, good). Expressing anger is “bad” or what people who have no self-control do. 

Channeling unexpressed anger into physical activities - going hog wild on cleaning, obsessively exercising, restricting food/hedonistic delights, perfectionism fixations, taking a red pen to their life.

Criticality + judgmental concerns projected onto people around them, for their “own good.” To the 1 they’re being responsible, doing the right thing. 

Splitting: Seeing things in black and white under stress (this is good, this is evil). In super low health this can lead to extreme behaviors, like witch-hunting, finger-pointing, being the ‘voice of God’ / judge, jury and executioner.

Rationalization: 1's can rationalize to justify their self-righteousness. “This is the most correct, right, or efficient way to do the thing, therefore I am right and you are wrong.” If you don’t do what I say, it will be to your own detriment.

Hypocrisy: Projecting their own denied desires, feelings and even private behaviors by condemning the same desires, feelings and behaviors in others. They know the right way to be, and you are not being it. They can become preachy about whatever they take issue with, in order to unconsciously overcompensate for their secret bad behavior or naughty thoughts. This ties directly to Shadow Work, because 1's and 1-fixers can have a pungent Shadow full of all kinds of misdeeds and “dark” desires, but be totally blind to them while criticizing others for the same things.

Example: The anti-gay politician who is having an affair with a man, or the barbiturate-poppin' mom who wages a neighborhood campaign against drugs. 

OCD: Obsessively creating more order and rightness in their physical environment, relationships, or self. They can go into “perfecting” mode in order to feel in control of something they cannot control, where they exert order onto their surroundings and right wrongs (like becoming obsessed with cleanliness in their home or laying out ‘rules’ that others must follow). 

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 2 - “MOMMY”

2’s prefer to see themselves as being loving, nurturing, selfless, self-sacrificing, caring towards others, concerned and kind-hearted. Therefore they cannot see themselves as selfish, self-centered, giving to get, cold, heartless or "bad”. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

2’s avoid feeling selfish or needy, by refusing to directly ask to get their needs met or receive what they truly wish from others. 2's unconsciously repress these needs and desires to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are self-sacrificing, needed, good and loving. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 2 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 2 utilizes “pride” they are unlikely to allow themselves to wallow or even acknowledge any wrongdoing or selfishness on their part. It’s the other person’s fault, the 2 is blameless.

How this manifests:

Repression: 2’s hide their needs and "selfish" desires from themselves in order to maintain their caring and indispensable self-image. They use Repression to AVOID feeling needy, unnecessary or rejected. Because of their type structure, they can't see how they are in need of anyone else's help or how they are anything other than self-sacrificing. They cover up these feelings with flattery, offers of help, being intrusive and overly nice. 

2’s prioritize others’ needs in the hopes someone will prioritize theirs. But then when that happens, the 2 goes into rejection mode and wants to get back into position as ‘the helper’ as that’s where their identity is invested.

The 2 projects their needs onto those around them by being overly helpful or intrusive. If they feel like they're not being appreciated or getting their needs met, they can move into covertly "punishing" behaviors to the person they keep giving to or subconsciously create situations in which the person might be forced to give back to them.

Example: The 2 wants help cleaning from their spouse, so over-cleans to the point where they become ill so that their partner is forced to pick up the slack or show them care for all of their self-sacrificing. This can also manifest in ways like them offering to do something and then making the other person wait to receive if they are feeling secretly resentful or not shown adequate appreciation or having their self-image adequately validated.

In low health, 2’s can use “Identification” to take on the needs and worries of those around them as if it’s theirs. They become fretful over other people’s problems. Anything that hurts their loved one hurts them. And it becomes covertly narcissistic, wherein they can make someone else’s suffering about themselves, but also their wins. “If it wasn’t for my help, they wouldn’t have accomplished that.” They can secretly (or not secretly) want undue credit for “help” they’ve provided (whether solicited or not).

2’s use “Reframing” in collaboration with “Repression.” They can reframe their intentions (to maintain a pride in their pure and loving intentions) and reframe others intentions too, lest it burst the sugar-coated bubble they’re desiring to live in or reflect back to them that they’re unwanted.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 3 - “SHAPESHIFTER”

3’s like to see themselves as impressive, competent, successful and admired or valued for what they do or are. Therefore they cannot see themselves as losers, failures, or less than others. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

3’s avoid feeling like a failure or worthless by adapting to external ideals, competing, and striving. 3's unconsciously use “Identification” to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are valuable, worthy, admired and successful. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 3 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 3 utilizes “deceit” they are unlikely to allow themselves to own their failings or true feelings if it interferes with the image they’re projecting.

How this manifests:

3's use "Identification" as a defense mechanism, by unconsciously assimilating with the "other." They use this to avoid feeling like a failure. How this shows up is that they take on the traits, characteristics, attributes, aesthetics, preferences, values and mannerisms of important people in their life, groups, people they see as valuable and those they admire or envy. They do this to create an image of success (to themselves and/or others).

Denial/Projection: 3’s can blame others for their failures or what isn’t working for them, offloading image fails onto others to distance themselves from shame. Just like they can take on others traits/behaviors/stories, they can offload those same things onto others as well. 

Deception: This collection of traits is their "self image" and where their ego and self-worth resides, and because their external sources and what is valued may change, it can give 3's a shapeshifter quality depending on who or what they're surrounded by, what they value, what they do. Underneath this layer of shiny baubles is still a 'shame type' and so without this sometimes fragile self-image being upheld they are but a raw, shameful nerve. Because of this, they can lose contact with their own internal compass, needs, desires and their authentic self. They prioritize what gets them those positive hits and bolsters their ego/self-image. They can be totally asleep to this inner incongruence, and be deceiving themselves, especially in lower levels of health.

Numbing/Workaholism: 3’s can use numbing so they don’t get stuck in the emotional swamp and become unproductive. They can power down the “I’m a failure, I’m upset, I’m emotional” aspect and power up the drive to override emotional slop that might get in their way. They might override this with going hard into working around the clock, substances, shopping/spending a lot or doing something flashy to bolster their self-image. 

Competition: 3’s can get caught up in competition, using others as a stepping stone or a way to boost their own image by comparison (“see how much better of a job I’m doing than Ted.”) They might do this to the point where they end up chasing someone else’s dreams and totally shooting themselves in the foot.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 4 - “DISDAINFUL DEPRESSIVE”

4’s like to see themselves as separate, uniquely flawed, deep, and the special exception. Therefore they cannot see themselves as mundane, relatable, ordinary, adaptable, or even for many 4’s functional. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

4’s avoid feeling mundane, ordinary, relatable, shallow, functional or happy. 4's unconsciously self-sabotage and focus on the negative and what’s frustrating, to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are deep, different, uniquely flawed and unlike anyone else. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 4 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 4 utilizes envy (what is missing) they are unlikely to allow themselves to see where they are functional, relatable, understandable or even happy. They subconsciously craft a self-image that rejects any "positive" information about themselves that comes into conflict with this existing "negative" image.

How this manifests:

Introjection: Introjection is presented as absorbing another person's identity or feelings (like a parent) and transferring it to themselves. However, it's more nuanced and specific than that for 4’s. 4's aren't just taking in any old information, they're unconsciously taking in evidence that they are broken, estranged, alien, fucked up and damaged - and this is great news to them. While the external world may be giving the 4 fuel, their experience has almost nothing to do with the outside world. The outside world is just serving to fuel the 4's internal narrative. The 4 weaves these evidentiary mementos into a story. They identify with specific negative traits that reinforce that they are separate, rare, deeply flawed so as to never quite be understood or capable of being happy and functional.

They do this unconsciously as a way to cope with the pain of feeling broken, unwanted, dysfunctional and different. They weave the negative narratives into their identity and shape it into a way that makes them feel in control of it, to project depth and meaning onto it vs someone or something outside of themselves creating their story and making it shallow. The more they associate into this negative state, the more dysfunctional they can become and the more it supports their type's ego structure. Without these narratives they feel naked and non-existant. Because their self-image is inherently negative, they are “positively” associated with being in a negative, frustrated, unsatisfied state.

Idealization: Idealizing people or situations as a way to generate feelings to pull the 4 away from the mundane reality/experience. This idealization is a frustration pattern designed to keep them in a loop of disappointment and longing because nothing will ever live up to what they hope, something will always be missing and the 4 can never truly actualize or be happy as a result. And if it is everything they’ve ever wanted, the 4 is likely to find something wrong anyway or create a problem where there is none.

As a result, the 4 might self-sabotage opportunities that would actually aid them in being functional, capable, happy, or get them what they claim they want. They may discard things, people, ideas, pursuits if they feel too easy, cheap, relatable, mundane. Or keep churning up issues and provocations that will lead to them being able to say, “see, I never get to have what I want.” Or “I knew no one would understand.”

Splitting: 4’s reject what’s “not me” and often find what’s not to their tastes or “not me” disgusting. Everything that’s not in the frustrated realm that the 4 approves of is superficial, shallow, ugly, vapid, horrible, etc. For the faceless masses, not the 4. Being at odds with reality helps reinforce their self-identity. I’m not like that, therefore I’m deep.

Because 4’s are usually creative or self-identify with the idea of being an artist/writer/creative, their tragically romantic, broken and disdainful views can be expressed through their art. They may overdo it in making it unpalatable or abstract. Or if they become popular they may self-sabotage their own success or self-image by being provocative, turning on their fans/the public, becoming moody, self-destructive or unpredictable. They’ll likely move away from what is expected or desired by their fanbase, even if they secretly desire an audience. Or maybe they’ll over-specify how they present themselves and shroud themselves in mystery in a way that others cannot easily relate to, they can only *bear witness.*

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 5 - “BRUNDLEFLY”

5’s like to see themselves as insightful, competent, self-sufficient, independent and objective. Therefore they cannot see themselves as emotional, human, helpless or dependent on others. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

5’s avoid feeling dependent on others, helpless, depleted, or engulfed in the messy world. 5's unconsciously retreat inwards and withhold energy and information, detach, and compartmentalize to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are competent, objective, smarter than everyone else and above the mortal coil. 

Because the 5 utilizes avarice (hoarding inner resources) they are unlikely to allow themselves to allow themselves to be put in a position where they are “needed” for anything outside of the scope of their specific interest/competency focus, or entangle themselves with hot messes (people or situations). Of all the types, this is maybe the one that is least likely to give a shit if they have a shadow, tbh.

How this manifests:

Isolation: 5’s retreat and protect their inner sanctum from being invaded or picked clean by the outside world. They use isolation to avoid dependence on others or having to be interlaced with their chaotic whims and needs which may disrupt what the 5 would rather be doing with their time (some kind of mind pursuit). They may design their entire lives to protect themselves against intrusion.

Detachment: 5’s use detachment as a means to cope when they feel overwhelmed. They disconnect from and retreat from their own and others’ unstable feelings. In order to feel competent and safe and conserve their mental resources, they can cut all contact or need for the outside world.

They use ‘rejection’ methods of cutting off and compartmentalizing to ensure they’re not swallowed up in the messy ass human bullshit of this humdrum existence. This may show up as minimizing their needs (physical, relational, financial, emotional). They’re the most likely to live in some secret, off-grid tiny home. Not the one with all the gardens and crops and goats, but the one that has the bare minimum to survive where they can focus on their studies or whatever their mental obsession is, far away from other people. 

They can have totally hidden worlds within worlds that others know nothing about. Each world dangerously close to being lopped off at a moment’s notice if the 5 sees no use for it anymore. They dump all of their energy into their main pursuit because it’s where they feel “safe” and valuable, and so the outside world interfering with that feels like an attack on their very existence. By overdoing this one area of “competency” they can actually make themselves unable to actually be independent or functional. So to them they may seem overly competent, but to the outside world they may seem bizarre and dysfunctional.

5’s use compartmentalization of emotions, energy, and relationships. Separating their thoughts from feelings, and putting people into boxes to be dealt with or utilized instead of truly connected to. This can have a dehumanizing effect on the people around them who don’t want to only interact with the 5 when they have the inner resources or only interact with them on narrow and specific terms. By doing this, the 5 effectively shuts out having to deal with whatever they don’t want to but also hacks off pieces of their own heart, spirit, and humanity which is the only true place to create and mine for the insights and independence they seek.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 6 - “CITIZEN EMO”

6’s like to see themselves as loyal, hardworking, just a regular person, authentic, responsible, fair and connected to the family/community/tribe, etc. Therefore they cannot see themselves as bad, traitorous, pompous or “too good.” Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

6’s avoid feeling unsafe, uncertain or abandoned in their attachments and support systems (physical, group, partner). 6's unconsciously seek security/safety (and dangers), truth (and lies) and support systems they can trust and rely on to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are accepted, part of the tribe, safe, secure, supported and prepared. Therefore their survival continues.

If the 6 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 6 utilizes “fear” (and anxiety) they are unlikely to allow themselves to relax, ease up, stop hunting for discrepancies or what could go wrong.

How this manifests:

Projection: 6’s project their worst fears and worst case intentions onto other people. They’re always sniffing out danger in the world and in their connections. Who’s being disloyal? Who’s up to no good? They can engage in investigative, gossipy behaviors, seeking out clues of their worst fears. Sometimes they project their own behaviors, feelings and thoughts onto others and then fear being blamed or accused (which leads to projecting).  

On the flipside, they can project idolization fantasies onto “experts”, simping people who they can put all their trust and outsource their thinking to. They do this to create certainty within themselves. 

Worst Case Scenario: Projections can also show up as “predictions” where the 6 may anticipate the worst and then by overfocusing on this negative outcome, they manifest it into reality. Their worst case scenario becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. (“See! I knew the basement was going to flood!” Or “See! I knew you’d cheat on me!”) This churning distrust has them always on the hunt, and never feeling safe. 

Splitting: Like other types they can see things in “black and white”, good or bad, you’re with me or against me. 6’s can be tribal and overly-identified to their “side” - whether that’s ideologically, politically, religiously or just in their general friend groups.

Outsourcing anxiety: They can overdose on anxiety in order to reach equilibrium. They project their internal anxieties into the outside world in the hopes that someone else will solve the problem for them. Like constantly bringing people’s attention to the negative or what could go wrong. They cannot rest until someone else validates and matches their concern. They want help to deal with the problem (real or imagined) and for someone else to assuage their fears. 

Redirect overwhelming fears from one source onto another source that they feel is easier to manage (like a loved one, peer, boss).

Rebellion: 6’s can get anti-authoritarian when their trust is broken, they’re disappointed, or they engage in “splitting.” They can be mega social justice warriors and fight for what is “right”, but in doing so they can totally lose perspective and go so hard in fighting for justice that they actually become the bad guy.

6’s can also be hypochondriacs with their anxiety. Excessive worrying, creating symptoms and scenarios out of the ether. They can circle the drain, fixating on problem after potential problem. They can literally bring forth a potential health catastrophe into reality with constant focus on it. This paranoia can manifest in many ways, but sometimes they’re right!

Self-deprecation: They also may use self-deprecation or humor, or presenting as an “underdog” as a way to deflect being targeted or being seen as too big for their britches. They can project this onto other with a ‘tall poppies’ or ‘crabs in the bucket’ mentality.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 7 - “MAD HATTER HEDONIST”

7’s like to see themselves as interesting, exciting, innovative, individualistic, creative and fun. Therefore they cannot see themselves as boring, normal, part of the grind or a downer. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

7’s avoid feeling trapped, limited, stifled, cut off and bored. 7's unconsciously seek new, interesting people/things/situations/interests to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are fascinating, buoyant, original and compelling creatures. Therefore their survival continues.

Because the 7 utilizes “gluttony” they are unlikely to allow themselves to stagnate for too long, moving onto the next thing and the next thing and the next thing.

How this manifests:

Rationalization: Which means the 7 can subconsciously (or consciously) rationalize away shitty behaviors and dodge responsibility. They are usually averse to their specific flavours of what is “painful” and will reframe reframe reframe themselves up up up and away from whatever that source of “pain” is. Whether it’s the guilt of doing something awful, or the fall-out of saying something flippantly, or the consequences of a thoughtless action. They’re especially prone to rationalizing if making the pain conscious means they’re not able to do, be or have something they desire. 

Distraction: They go into distraction seeking mode via hedonism, intellectual stimulation, adventures, extreme sports, partying, being totally manic and creating for 3 days straight, shopping, etc when they want to avoid discomfort, pain, boredom.

Repression: They use repression to bury negative emotions (in whatever flavour they despise) and push away anything that makes them feel like they’ve been victimized. 7’s can be emotional and melodramatic but it’s in the flavour they find the most interesting. They’re not here to be a boring victim or cry themselves to sleep every night over a loser.

Anticipation/Planning: They can over idealize an outcome to the point where they are more about getting the dopamine hits off anticipation than actually doing the thing or seeing whatever their harebrained scheme is through to completion.

Entitlement: 7’s can be massive brats about getting what they want. As frustration types they’re often focused on what they don’t have and what they want, but because they’re assertive they’re more likely to chase after it, expect it to be given to them, or push people out of the way to get it.

Pleasure-seeking/Hedonism: 7’s reject that which is not pleasurable because there’s nothing in it for them. When 7’s get into this “thank you, next” pattern it can become impossible for them to actualize or stick to something long enough for them to enjoy the fruits of all their initial excitement. The sparkle fades and there’s nothing tasty for the 7 to stick around and lick, so they’re likely to start looking for something else.

Rebellion: Like 6’s, 7’s can also be rebellious, but their reasons for rebelling are likely centered around freedom (literally or freedom of expression), anti-censorship, pro-individuality/individual choice. They can also just rebel for the hell of it if they’re bored, or if there are hot people associated with a cause.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 8 - “FINAL BOSS”

8’s like to see themselves as powerful, invulnerable, independent, intimidating IDGAF leaders. Therefore they cannot see themselves as weak, under someone else’s heel, being controlled, powerless or soft. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

8’s avoid feeling weak, vulnerable, powerless, small or allowing anything to threaten them. 8's unconsciously deny vulnerabilities and weaknesses to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are indeed powerful and no one can or will fuck with them. Therefore their survival continues.

Because the 8 utilizes “lust” they are unlikely to allow themselves to put themselves in a position where they could be steamrolled, deprived, slowed down or made small or powerless.

How this manifests:

Denial: 8’s use “Denial” by rejecting their own vulnerabilities or weaknesses. This can show up as denying emotions, fears, thoughts that don’t serve the 8’s ego identification of being powerful. They can also completely deny the existence of any perceived weak points that an “enemy” could use against them. If possible, they will lop off anyone or anything that causes them agitation (people, situations) or seems like a threat to their inner or outer sanctuary that they’ve created.

Rejection/Coldness: They can view softness and receptivity as death. If they weaken for a moment, they’ll get screwed over or tricked.

Reaction Formation: 8’s can express the opposite of how they feel. So they can feel really hurt but act like they’re emotionally impervious. You have no effect on the 8. You don’t matter. If you’ve wounded their steel heart, you’ll pay the price. Like the 7 they can deny victimhood, but they might personally feel quite slighted and seek revenge to get the ball back in their court, the power back in their hands, for how the person made them feel.

Aggression/assertiveness: 8’s can take up space and project an air of confidence in order to pre-defend against would-be attacks. Showing up with big bear or chaos demon energy ensures no one will fuck with them and that they’ll get what they want. Therefore they can be domineering, bossy, straight-shooters. My way or the highway.

Control/conquering: 8’s can be hyper controlling and even paranoid, depending on their position and the situation. They can take on the role of puppetmaster or dictator, to ensure things happen according to their plan and they’re not at the whims of someone else or underneath someone else’s thumb.

Justification: 8’s can be impulsive with their anger and feeling absolutely justified. The desired effect can be to crush whatever is pissing them off with their brutality and force.

ENNEAGRAM TYPE 9 - “SOOTHING SQUISH”

9’s like to see themselves as chill, empathetic, caring, supportive and deep. Therefore they cannot see themselves as provocative, disruptive, thoughtless, aggressive or selfish. Of course, when going too hard into the personality type’s false belief, it creates a big ol’ shadow. 

9’s avoid feeling in conflict and stressed out. 9's unconsciously seek to be in harmony and flow with those around them and their environment to reinforce their type's ego because it assures them that they are chill, harmonious and connected.

If the 9 catches themselves in the act, or someone else does (gasp), it may increase the dissonance between the Shadow and Unintegrated Self if they don’t understand that it’s just their personality bs. Because the 9 utilizes “sloth” they are unlikely to allow themselves to just get after it, make demands, make bold moves.

How this manifests:

Narcotization/Dissociation: 9’s use narcotization which means to numb, to ease discomfort. This can manifest in multiple ways, falling asleep at the wheel of life - outsourcing decisions, independence, physical needs, to others. It can also show up as losing yourself in mindless side-tasks instead of just dealing with problems. They can dissociate from problems by numbing their heart and mind to what’s in front of them, or to just hope it resolves itself without any involvement or disruption to the 9’s existence.

9’s repress their anger in favor of keeping peace. They can be really annoyed and not able to verbalize it until it reaches a crisis point for the 9. The other person may be totally shocked when it happens, especially if the 9 kept telling them that everything was fine.

Passive Aggression: 9’s express how they feel indirectly and hoping the person picks up on their subtle cues without them having to generate conflict. This can also just slip out subconsciously through offhand comments, looks, tone or behaviors. And when confronted with it, they’ll likely recede into a mist and say nothing’s wrong.

9’s can also use “positive reframing”, not unlike 7, but theirs is more used as a numbing agent, smoothing out a dire situation or other people’s malintent, rudeness, or shitty behavior so it doesn’t result in conflict or upset.

Outsourcing: 9’s often give their power away, instead of asking for what they want or expressing themselves without being prompted. They can become disappointed when others fail to mind-read or intuit their needs without them having to assert themselves or vocalize it.

Self-Forgetting: Because 9’s can dance around their location in order to keep the peace and not lose connection, they can forget what they want or how they really feel about something.

Merging: Like 3’s, 9’s merge with the people around them, often taking on their interests, aesthetics, values and even mannerisms. However the 9 isn’t doing it to become an ideal and compete for validation, they do it because they over-identify with the idealized other to create harmony and melt into them.

7’s and 9’s can both procrastinate and get lost in multiple fantasies of possibilities, but the difference is that the 7 is likely taking an active, assertive approach and throwing spaghetti at the wall, whereas the 9’s dreams can fade away if they don’t have another person holding them accountable or a job to show up for or something external. 

Ghosting: Instead of just saying “no,” often 9’s will be vague or give a “maybe” or “sure” if they don’t know their location in the moment or don’t want to rock the boat. And then they’ll disappear when followed up with.  

SELF-REFLECTION PROMPTS (FOR JOURNALING)

Did you cringe at any of the behaviors listed? did you recognize any of these in yourself?

write out which ones you recognized. no judgment. it's not "you", it's just behaviors Created out of your personality's false belief. Unpack them. go back to the situation. what were you feeling at the time? what was running through your mind?

What did you need to know in that moment to feel totally safe and make a different choice?

What different choice can you make next time?

What would be the worst thing someone could say about you or make you feel? 

Is there anything in your life that you can see as you trying to avoid this being said about you, control people's perceptions, or avoiding feeling?

Can you accept this behavior in yourself right now, forgive yourself, and choose to be more consciously aware?

If you want the accompanying "Unf*ck Yourself" mini workshop + pdf workbook join the membership and get it instantly. I apologize for how dry this is. Want to get typed or coached by me? Book here.

[rottenteeth]

Science time with Rottenteeth!

To preface, DID is a trauma disorder just as PTSD is a trauma disorder, there is just heavier compartmentalization. Also there is nothing wrong morally with not wanting to, not having the resources to, or not being stable enough to recover. That isn't what this is about, its about the harm some people are causing to themselves unknowingly. My goal is education and harm reduction.

(Long post but many resources at the bottom)

Every system is different because everyone's trauma is different. This however, does not and will never apply to the treatment of dissociative identity disorder. There are 2 options if you want to recover and process trauma to the fullest extent. Being a functional integrated system and final fusion. These require the same treatment; stabilization, processing trauma, and the breaking down of dissociative barriers.

This means alter separation and the encouragement of treating them like genuine people, is counterintuitive to said path. Using people based language is not wrong, but genuinely believing you are multiple people will make your life much less functional. If you treat alters like separate people even with this knowledge, that is your decision and may be the safest option for your current situation. But it can and will make the future much harder.

Telling people with DID- a disorder that makes you disconnected from reality and fantasy prone- that a fully functional life and stable mental state is possible while "being multiple people" is not okay. Me and these other misinfo blogs aim to show people the true reality of this disorder and its treatment.

You wouldn't tell someone with PTSD that if processing trauma makes them feel bad then they don't have to process it to have a healthy life. You wouldn't tell someone with schizophrenia that they should embrace their hallucinations and treat them like they're real just because they feel real. Nor would you tell someone with depression that doing nothing and withdrawing from social interaction is helpful and a healthy path just because it feels the least taxing.

So why is it okay to endorse alter separation when we know that more alter separation=more dissociative barriers=less trauma processing? Why do we want people to not properly process their trauma?

Just because someone is more comfortable with the idea of being separate people (which occurs so that one can disown their trauma and emotions) does not mean it is a healthy recovery path. This disorder makes it so that "being multiple" is the most comfortable because that's what made life somewhat livable. That doesn't mean it's good, recovery will never be a happy comfortable process, it is a challenging and grueling process, it always has been.

It is okay to not be ready to accept alters as part of a whole, it is okay to feel scared when acknowledging that those things happened to all of you. Sometimes treating parts like people is a stage in the stabilization and trauma processing parts of treatment.

What isn't okay is making people think that treating yourself like you are multiple people in one body is a healthy thing long term. You are allowed to do so and my aim is to only educate these people about the long term harm they are doing so that they are informed in their decisions.

I think the confusion comes in because when we say alters are not separate people, it gets taken as us saying they shouldn't be treated with kindness and respect like a human. This is not and never has been what any of these accounts mean. Alters have individuality and may feel like different people and it is okay to acknowledge that, and they still deserve respect and compassion. But this does not mean they are people. No matter how severe your barriers are.

This disorder is not alter disorder but they are a manifestation of trauma and unmet needs. This doesn't diminish the fact that accepting this idea of being a fractured whole is incredibly hard and should be done with the help of a therapist during stabilization.

Here are some good resources: