#please do not send the terfs to me

[radicalromanov]

this scary trans woman wants you to fall down a flight of stairs. You are the scum of the earth :)

Okay male

[hanmegumi]

it must be hard being so stupid and being such a misogynist. get well soon

if this is about the anti jk rowling post or the fact that im transmasc i think you should be the one focusing on your recovery💀

[spectral-apparitions]

Send me a Neopet species and two pet paintbrushes - I'll make that pet with a fusion of the two brushes!

[random-horse-heritage-posts]

Random Horse Heritage Post

The spirit of Diogenes is alive and well

[bread-making-vikings]

This site has been going around Twitter trans accounts quite a bit lately, so just pointing out here too that it'll do fuck all, they're exploiting trans people at a time when hrt is particularly hard to access and please don't give them your money

EDIT:

yes I know it was a scam to get information off people, I know it was run by a neo-nazi, I know it's been shut down. There is a lot of information in the reblogs which I recommend you check out rather than sharing this base post from weeks ago before any of this was known, or sending me pissy asks and reblogs with this.

DIY hrt is not inherently dangerous, any transmeds/TERFs/anti-DIY replies will get blocked. The reblogs also have information on safer DIY hrt for people without other options. My personal recommendation is diyhrt . wiki.

Edit2: reblogs turned off 01/07 bc everything's been said that needs to be said and the site has been thoroughly dealt with

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

[witchescollection]

witchcraft ask game

except it's actually real fucking specific and possibly shadow work in disguise idk

What are your opinions on AI in Witchcraft?

How do you feel about pop culture deities?

Opinions on fantasy depictions of witchcraft/paganism?

Thoughts on Astral pregnancy?

Do you think witchcraft is a religion or a practice? Why/why not?

What do you think of Aleister Crowley?

Opinions on Wicca?

What do you think of the divine feminine/masculine archetypes?

Do you think they're should be a set period before someone becomes a full-fledged witch?

What do you think of Gerald Gardner?

What are your thoughts on odinism?

Do you think witchcraft is inherently political?

Do you think you can hex/curse/jinx a deity? Do you think you should?

How different do you think your gods are from other religion's gods? What work have you done to deconstruct that?

Do you believe in spiritual psychosis?

How do you feel about TERF witches?

What is your moral code? How do you justify that?

Do you wish paganism were more organised?

Do you think it's okay to have a sexual relationship with a deity? What about romantic (i.e. godspousing)?

Do you research ex-pagans viewpoints with an open mind?

Have you ever been in argument/sent hate to another witchcraft blog? What was the story? Do you still think you were right?

Do you believe in closed practices?

Do you believe in cultural appropriation?

Outside of the online space, where do you get your resources from?

What makes someone a real witch?

Are you a real witch?

Are you confident in your beliefs?

What do you think happens when we die?

Why are you a witch? What need does it serve?

What do you think is a scam in witchcraft?

What post have you seen recently that makes you wanna scream?

What's your hottest take in the witchcraft space?

Do you move out of fear or love?

---

Please feel free to reblog, and send me an ask <3

[bigsadbison]

hey there! my name's mac, i'm a gnc trans woman (she/her) living in the southern us

you will be blocked if:

you don't have your age in your bio/somewhere easily accessed on your blog

you are under 18

you are a terf/radfem/"gender critical"

you are a white nationalist/zionist/nazi

your blog is centered around any of the following kinks: detrans/misgendering, feeder/feedee, ddlg, cnc/rape, misogyny/patriarchy, incest, sissies/sissification, race play, age play

your blog glamorizes/aestheticizes eating disorders

you are a cis man

if i feel like it!

FAQ

Can I message you?

of course, my dm's are open to everyone. if you're wanting to talk one on one, i would recommend dm's over asks, as this is a sideblog and i can't reply privately

Can I send you submissions/nudes?

again, of course. if you want to just share photos with me, please send me a dm, and ask before doing so. if you'd like to send photos to be published on my blog, you can send a submission to my inbox. please make sure to use the appropriate tags so that i know you're 18 or older, and whether or not you want your submission posted anonymously

at the end of the day, please remember i am a real human with a life and other obligations, and i will not always be available

i am deeply appreciate of this community and this environment

somos mas fuertes juntos and سلام علیکم

please like if you've read this

[lavendervirgos]

Introductory post / please read before interacting

Hello, you lovely people, and welcome to my blog. Please read before interacting with me and my blog:

This is an 18+ only blog that contains nsfw content. It's not suitable for users under the age of 18 and minors, so please have an age somewhere in your bio or pinned post before following or interacting. I will block minors and ageless blogs.

I'm Pan, so this blog is lgbtqia+ safe 🌈

My other blog is @undercover-sub, feel free to follow if you want to.

Please be aware that this blog mainly runs on queue. As such, posts on this blog don't mean I'm actually online. Because mostly I'm not.

I do have an official blocklist here. You can find all versions (3 parts so far) under the #blocklist. Be warned that you might end up on it if you feel like sending me any unsolicited sexual messages, rape threats or dick pics. Yes, this is a kink blog. But it doesn't mean I want to see your dick or read how you'd assault me without explicit consent. I will call you out.

I am open to chatting and talking to mutuals and followers on a personal level as well as talking about nsft content and kinks. Please do not send unsolicited nsfw messages or content to me. I'm generally not interested in meaningless sexting or any of your unsolicited dick pics, so if that's your endgame, please go away.

I answer most of my respectful asks and messages eventually. If it takes me a while to reply to you, please don't be rude as I have a life outside of Tumblr. Please also note that I don't owe you an answer.

Emojis for anons that have been claimed (if you want to join, just let me know. It's not required, but it helps me to identify anons if they send more than one ask):

♠️ | 🐄 | 😌💫🌸 | 🦝 |

I try to treat everyone I meet with kindness and respect. If you decide to contact me, I ask you to please do the same. Be kind or leave.

Do not interact if you are a minor, a terf, swerf, homophobic, transphobic, racist, sexist, or otherwise a shitty person. The same goes for eating disorders and self-harm blogs or blogs that support Incest or non consensual activities.

All original and reblogged content is assumed to be consensual activities amongst adults.

Consent is absolutely mandatory! If you don't think it is, please leave me and this blog alone.

Any post containing important resources or sex ed is tagged accordingly with #important or #resources

If I reblog something of yours that you want deleted, please message me to let me know.

[novastarrart]

Important Info:

Art will be simplistic! If you want specific details, then message me for inquiries. I also don't do backgrounds normally, but if you want a solid color I can do that.

I am a slow artist, but I will get your artwork done! I am doing this between med school and work, so patience is appreciated.

Donations must be from Nov. 1st or later.

I will not start on the commission until I have seen the receipt for your donation! You can send this to me on my tumblr DMs or at my email: Rosielittlesister@gmail.com (Your information will not be shared with anyone.) I also have discord if you're more comfortable with that.

If you want to discuss the commission before making the donation that is perfectly fine! Please feel free to DM me here or my main blog (@galactic-mermaid)

You can do a single donation to one, or multiple donations to any as long as you share screenshots of your receipt[s].

Link to pinned post here (Main blog)

More info below readmore!

NOTE:

Some of the prices are not in USD, here are the conversion rates below:

£5 (GBP) ~ $6.50 (USD) £10 (GBP) ~ $13 (USD) £15 (GBP) ~ $19.40 (USD) £20+ (GBP) ~ $25.90 (USD)

$5 (CAD) ~ $3.60 (USD) $10 (CAD) ~ $7.15 (USD) $15 (CAD) ~ $10.75 (USD) $20 (CAD) ~ $14.35 (USD)

Disclaimers:

**All sales are FINAL. It's a donation, I cannot refund that. If you want me to fix something on the final draft of your commission that is fine, but there will be NO REFUNDS.

**I have the right to refuse to draw anything I am not comfortable with! I also have the right to refuse drawing for certain “demographics” (Pedo/maps, Zoos (not furries), Terf/Swerfs, Zionists, Racists etc.) This is also my first time taking commissions so please be patient with me!

[duothelingo]

Welcome to the shitshow.

Hi I’m Duo, if you’re reading this you have found yourself in my basement.

Welcome home, mouse.

You can run but I will find you, good luck kleine Maus.

Legally I have to say this is a parody blog please don’t sue me I’m just a silly little guy :)

I started this blog when I was drunk and for some reason I’m at like 12k? Weird.

DNI

Transphobes

Terfs

Racists

Xenophobics

Dickheads

People that believe in France

I’m an awkward 26 yo trans guy from Scotland who is scared of women. My main is @blanketgoblins - MDNI on that tho pls. I’m 26, not old.

If you send me asks, please don’t tag your corpo, business, parody of whatever blog - it makes me feel like you’re just using me to advertise and don’t actually wanna be friends etc. (unless you're @operagxreal ily pookie)

Please do not tag me in posts, I have over 12k followers and the notifications are frustrating.

FAQ

Why do you teach French if France isn’t real?

We also teach Klingon

Are you British?

Scottish

Do you support AI?

Hell nah.

Duolingo lore:

[dunmeshistash]

Hello!

I'm Cyan (or anything you wanna call me) this blog started as just a stash for Dungeon Meshi extras and worldbuilding details but expanded as people asked questions and I did my best to answer! Hope you find it as useful as I do. I try my best to categorize my posts so they're easy to find but sometimes I forget.

If you'd like to share something you compiled yourself feel free to send it to me and I'll reblog it! You can also send a submission if you'd prefer. The main goal is to share Dungeon Meshi information :3

Consider checking the FAQ before sending an ask!

FAQ

Spoilers are tagged as "Dungeon Meshi Spoilers"

Please support the author by purchasing the manga if available in your region.

TERFs and other bigots aren't welcome

Icon and Banner

Ryoko Kui's Blog

Tag list under the cut

Types of post

For referencing - Canon things and other information you might want to go back to. Now I'm also using art reference when relevant

Compilation - Posts where I compile lots of canon art/sketches about a specific subject.

Dunmeshi thoughts - My own non canon thoughts. I also use the tag speculation when relevant

Dunmeshi complaint - Tag for more negative subjects/discourse in case you wanna block that. I usually go back and delete the ones that don't seem productive

Asks - Since I post quite a lot of asks I decided to divide them into some tags so they're easier to filter: Lore ask | Character ask | Meta ask | About Cyan

Parties

Laio's Party: Laios Touden | Marcille Donato | Chilchuck Tims | Senshi of Izganda | Izutsumi | Falin Touden

Kabru's Party: Kabru of Utaya, Diamond of Sadena, Mickbell Tomas, Kuro, Rinsha Fana, Holm Kranom

Tansu's Party: Tansu Floke, Yarn Floke, Kiki Floke, Kaka Floke, Namari of Kahka Brud

Shuro's Party: Shuro (Toshiro Nakamoto), Hien, Benichidori, Maizuro, Inutade

Canaries: Mithrun, Pattadol, Lycion, Fleki, Otta, Cithis

Races:

Tallman

Dwarf

Elf

Gnome

Half-Foot

Ogre

Demi humans

Orc

Kobold

Sources (<- check this if you're confused where the extras come from):

Adventurers Bible

Daydream Hour

Monster Tidbits

Bluray

Other tags:

Worldbuilding

Maps

Magic System

Post Canon (Extras about the story after the story)

Clothing (Details about character's clothes and in world fashion)

Dunmeshi Extra (extra comics that aren't in the main story)

Rooms

Modern Clothing

Dunmeshi anime vs manga (comparisons or panels missing from the anime)

Monsters:

Red Dragon

Chimera Falin

Mermaid

I'll be updating as I add posts/figure out how to tag stuff

About me: Cyan - Adult - She/He - Brazilian

[vaspider]

Intro Post, updated August 25, 2024

Due to the unfortunate level of scam requests I have received, I no longer reblog donation or fundraiser requests from blogs I do not recognize. Don't follow me just to submit a signal boost request. I notice, & I will just delete your ask and block you.

No, that doesn't mean I think you, personally, are a scammer. I just don't have the hours in my day to sift through the number of asks I get and verify them, so if I don't recognize someone from prior interaction, I just won't do it. Yes, I agree. It does suck that shitty people have made this necessary.

I post all other asks as they were submitted, with the exception of fundraisers from blogs I don't recognize. I answer at my whim and not upon demand. I will never honor requests to answer asks privately or anonymously. Anon is never turned on. These are hard self-care boundaries. Please block the tag "harassment tag" if you don't want to see to some of the horrible shit I get sent sometimes.

I will only reblog/repost/boost a given fundraiser once every 7 days. Period. Sending me more asks will not change that. If you only interact with me to ask for signal boosts, I'll just block you with no response. That is the only exception to my "post all asks" policy. I am a person, not a public resource. Don't make me feel used. It's exhausting.

If you like what I do, please consider hiring me, buying something from my company, NerdyKeppie, buying me a coffee, becoming a Patron or tossing some money in my PayPal tip jar. I am a disabled, queer, Jewish, non-binary butch, and those sources plus freelance writing are my entire income.

I will not debate my identity with anyone. I am a transmasculine non-binary butch lesbian, a cripple, a dyke, and lots of other things, too. You don't get a vote in that, and if any of those words are words you object to someone using in reference to himself, block me. I won't censor my identity for your comfort; it took a lot of hard work over decades to become proud of who I am.

ACAB includes gender/sexuality cops. You aren't the mayor of Dyketown, fuck off.

Mom is a job title to me. I'm okay with being called Mama Spider, but no other feminine terms.

No, I am not an anti or an anti-anti. Leave me alone.

No, I won't DM you.

No, I won't answer your question about Israel.

No, I won't talk to you about I/P.

Nothing above the above two things means anything other than that I don't talk about those things online.

Don't project your shit onto me. I do not consent to being your straw man.

I will not perform Good Jew or Good Queer on demand, whatever that means to you in this instant. Fuck off.

Yes, I've been out for a very long time. No, I'm not interested in being lectured by people half my age over shit that happened when you weren't alive yet.

"Man bad/woman good" is regressive TERF/right-wing shit, it doesn't matter how you dress it up. Knock it off.

Curate your own experiences. If you don't like seeing what I write, then add 'vaspider' to your "filtered content" list and don't bother me about it. Tumblr is a 17+ environment and I am not responsible for you seeing things you don't like. My daughter is now an adult. I raised my kid. I'm not raising you or any other kids.

Anyone who tries to turn you on your fellow trans people or fellow Jews is a fucking Fed. Act accordingly.

My icon has lore, apparently.

I never answer asks privately and anon is never turned on.

[venus-haze]

Power in the Blood (Father Paul Hill x Nun!Reader)

Summary: There’s power in the blood. Father Paul knows this. Soon, you will, too.

Note: Female reader who's only referred to as "Sister," but no other descriptors are used. Also, the newspaper clipping isn't on the wall in this, for obvious reasons. I’ve been working on this fic in one way or another for about a year, but watching The Devils (1971) and Immaculate (2024) earlier this year as well as encouragement from my amazing friend @zaras-really-dreamless finally gave me the push I needed to finish it. Major visual inspiration from this scene in particular. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 5.7k

Warnings: Major canon divergence. Angst, yearning, and unrequited feelings. Elements of Catholic mysticism. Sexually explicit content which involves dubious consent by way of religious manipulation, members of the clergy engaging in sexual acts, oral sex (f. receiving, but it's related to the stigmata and vampirism), blood play.

In retrospect, Crockett Island was the only place it could have happened. Desolation hung over the remote fishing village like fog in the early mornings, when you’d take your walks before the Monsignor awoke, and you heard the woes of the fishermen as they prepared to sail out for the day—oil spills, restrictive fishing laws, better paying jobs on the mainland but leaving everything they knew behind in exchange. Despite coming from the mainland yourself and otherwise alien to the ways of the dying village, your being a woman of the cloth on the largely Catholic (though predominantly non-practicing) island made the islanders trust you, consider you one of their own a bit more than they otherwise would have as you took on the burden of buoying their spirituality as the Monsignor’s health continued failing, and he could no longer fulfill the task himself.

You’d begged the diocese for help, hardly considered yourself equipped to care for the ailing priest and run a parish, however small, essentially on your own. But for a parish as small as St. Patrick’s, you were all the help the diocese would care to send. The letter you received in response to your detailing all of the things Crockett Island’s parishioners desperately needed boiled down to “wait until the old man kicks it.” 

You supposed it was a miracle the diocese even sent you there in the first place. Though most of the islanders took the arrival of a young nun like yourself as a breath of fresh air, Beverly Keane didn’t seem all too pleased to have her self-appointed position as number two at St. Patrick’s knocked down to number three. She seemed to settle down when it became clear you had no interest in engaging in petty politics in a church that barely counted three dozen people for regular Sunday mass attendance. 

The island’s social life, small as it was, interested you more. People were more open to receiving you as a friend than as a representative of the church, undoubtedly put off by Beverly Keane’s self-righteous fanaticism that veered into cruelty. You got to know the regular parishioners, like Erin Greene, who’d grown up on the island, left for some time, and returned pregnant yet eager to become a mother to her unborn baby. She taught at the island’s small school with Beverly, who encouraged you to take up teaching there, obviously hoping to bring a religious curriculum to the tax-payer funded public school. You declined. 

Besides Erin, and to your chagrin Beverly, who was convinced the two of you were compatriots of some kind despite how often you clashed, you found yourself spending increasing amounts of time with Sheriff Hassan. Despite dutifully filling an essential role in the community, he hardly seemed any closer to gaining acceptance despite a year on Crockett Island. 

The day he and Ali moved onto the island, you had a cold, and thus weren’t part of the unofficial welcoming committee. Your head pounded from the sinus pressure when Beverly brought the Monsignor back to the rectory afterward, and you barely heard what she said. You met Sheriff Hassan a few days later, when you were feeling well enough to shop for yourself and the Monsignor for the week. Among your expectations about Hassan Shabazz, his being handsome enough to make your breath hitch for just a moment before introducing yourself wasn’t on the list. But he was understandably weary of you, expecting the same horrendous treatment he undoubtedly received from Beverly. 

Over time, he found you were only interested in buying groceries and not in underhandedly converting him or Ali. You were both lonely outsiders to the island and found some solace in regular conversations about the mainland, or observations about the islanders, occasionally broaching the topic of religion, which had a comfortable place in the space you two shared in the general store, sometimes over a cup of coffee he’d brew for you. 

You admired him. His dedication to his son, the efficacy with which he performed his thankless job, and the unwavering faith he had in his religion, while yours had long lost its luster since you’d become Monsignor Pruitt’s live-in nurse in all but name. 

But the days became your own when the Monsignor made his trip to the Holy Land, ill-advised considering his health. When you voiced your concerns to the parish, your outsider status was paraded through the discussion by Beverly, who insisted you had no way to understand how much the trip meant to the Monsignor, and by extension, every good, practicing Catholic on the island. At the time, to your frustration, she had won. 

Besides, even if he were there, you weren’t sure a man on death’s door himself would have been able to give Mildred Gunning Last Rites. Torrential rain pounded against the rectory when you could barely hear the phone ring. 

You had picked up with a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Sister, it’s—it’s my mom. I think she’s—”

“Sarah, do you want me to come over and see her?”

“Yeah, she’d want that. Just be careful with the rain.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Grabbing a flashlight, you had only half pulled on your raincoat when you hurried outside, in a near sprint to the Gunning house. You almost slipped and fell on the way there, and then you wouldn’t have been any good to anybody, and the last thing Dr. Sarah Gunning needed was to tend to a broken leg while her mother was on her deathbed.

The door was unlocked when you arrived, the house quiet and dark save for a few lamps left on.

“Sarah?” you called out.

She emerged from her mother’s room, eyes red. “I thought I was ready for this a long time ago, but being face-to-face with it…”

“Are you sure this is it?”

“As sure as I can be. She hasn’t been eating. There’s only so much I can do,” Sarah said, her voice breaking in despair. “Sister, I—she’d want you to be here. Even though she didn’t know you very much, I could tell she liked you.”

“Of course,” you whispered, giving her a hug before approaching Mildred’s bedside. 

Despite her labored breathing, she managed a kind smile when you took her weathered hand in yours and prayed the Our Father with as steady of a voice as you could manage. Then, you knelt, pulled the rosary from your raincoat pocket, and prayed until your knees ached and you nearly passed out from exhaustion at staying up so late. You almost thought you had dreamed it, the way she went, as peacefully as drifting off to sleep. It was only the cry of her daughter that pierced through your haze, and you struggled to your feet as you allowed Sarah privacy and called Sheriff Hassan over to certify the death, as was necessary for the burial Mildred would have undoubtedly wanted as a Catholic.

When the Sheriff arrived, about fifteen minutes after you called, you’d become acutely aware your nightgown had soaked through in the rain, and pulled your raincoat more closely over your body, ashamed you’d even forgotten such a detail in your haste.

“I should head back now,” you said. “I’m so sorry again, Sarah. You’ll be in my prayers. I’ll contact the diocese first thing in the morning."

She nodded. "Thank you, Sister."

“Do you need a ride back to the church?” Hassan asked. “This shouldn’t take long.”

You smiled, tempted by his offer, the prospect of spending more time alone with him. Instead, you shook your head. “Thank you, Sheriff. I think I can manage.”

Crockett Island was quiet the following day, when Annie’s son Riley arrived home for the first time in over a decade, following his four year prison sentence. You could tell through his polite greeting he had no interest in speaking with you further than his mother’s introductions. Fair enough.

Monsignor Pruitt was supposed to return that evening, but you had been calling the diocese to try to get confirmation that they could send a priest over to perform the funeral mass if needed. As usual, you got answering machines or the run around of being told to call different offices, none of which could apparently help you. 

When you returned to the rectory after visiting with Sarah Gunning, you noticed the light on in the distance. Beverly had planned to meet the Monsignor at the ferry and bring him home. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe he survived the trip, both there and back.

“Monsignor, it’s me!” you called out. “How was your trip? I’d love to hear about—” You froze when you came face to face with a priest. A priest who wasn’t the Monsignor. Younger, handsome, absolutely unexpected. “Hello. I–I’m sorry, who are you? Father—”

“I’m Father Paul, Paul Hill,” he said kindly. “The diocese sent me.”

“That was quick. I thought they’d been ignoring my messages.”

“Yes, I’m afraid the Monsignor became ill on his trip, and I’m here until he recovers. I hope you don’t mind, I went ahead and brought my things into what I assumed was his room.”

“Please, make yourself at home.” You hastily made a sign of the cross. “But the Monsignor…I don’t think the islanders could take another loss. I’m so sorry, you come here and your first mass is a funeral.”

“Funeral? For who?”

“Mildred Gunning, an elderly parishioner who had been ill with dementia for a few years, I believe. She passed away two nights ago,” you said. “That’s why I’ve been calling the diocese all day. We need someone to perform the funeral mass.”

His deep, brown eyes widened with all the terror of a deer being chased through the woods. “Are–are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I was there when she passed.”

“Did she suffer?”

“No, it was like she had fallen asleep,” you said softly, watching in wonder as tears fell from his eyes. “Father?”

“I’m sorry, Sister. These things affect me deeply.”

You put your hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Can I make you coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please,” he said, his voice empty, an almost far away sound to it.

“While that’s brewing, I’ll call Dr. Gunning, Mildred’s daughter, and let her know you’re here. I don’t think she’d want any deviation from the typical funeral rites. Her mother was quite devout.”

“Yes, I know.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What was that?”

“Yes, I–I figured.”

He retreated into the Monsignor’s room. When you brought the coffee to him, he requested you leave it outside the door, which you found odd. Even more strange was having to tell Beverly that she missed the Monsignor’s arrival because he wasn’t arriving in the first place, and the diocese forgot to tell you that he’d become ill on his trip and Father Paul was serving as his replacement until he recovered. You privately figured the assignment would be more permanent, as yours had unexpectedly become.

Mildred Gunning’s funeral was held in St. Patrick’s Church less than a day later. A simple, solemn affair that saw the church nearly packed for the first time outside of Christmas or Easter. Mildred had lived and died on Crockett Island, everyone knew her in one way or another. Father Paul conducted the funeral mass as if mourning the Pope himself, and you were particularly struck by his grief, the way he nearly fell apart while giving the homily.

He fared no better at the wake that followed the funeral mass, held in the community center. Father Paul was utterly disinterested in speaking with any of the parishioners who tried to introduce themselves to him or sought solace and spiritual guidance in his presence. Thus, the burden once again fell on your shoulders, and you almost thought the diocese would have been better off ignoring your calls after all.

You sighed. You couldn’t let your cynicism get the best of you. It’d be entirely inappropriate for Father Paul to treat Mildred’s wake as a social hour. Besides, people with such deep empathy for others, especially someone they’d never met, were rare, as reminded to you by Beverly, who made her way over to you with a plate of cheese and crackers and a slight sneer on her face.

“I suppose it’s nice and all, but it’s not like he knew the woman,” Beverly muttered.

“He needs time to adjust,” you said. “This isn’t the best way to start out his tenure here.”

“Yes, well, let’s just hope he gets his act together soon.”

You could swear the diocese had you on some kind of blacklist, the way your calls to them went unanswered, letters returned with vague instructions and empty assurances. Father Paul had no idea how long they intended for him to stay on Crockett Island or the condition of Monsignor Pruitt. 

Your living in the rectory made sense when you were caring for the Monsignor, but with Father Paul fully capable of taking care of himself, you wanted to know if you’d be staying on the island, and if so, if separate arrangements would be made for your own housing. The island was too small, too chatty, for you and Father Paul to be living alone for too long before it was turned into something it wasn’t.

The bitter taste of married life settled on your tongue as you took up most of the responsibilities around the rectory while Father Paul moped . The old man could hardly help with cleaning, and you didn’t want him anywhere near the kitchen, but your new roommate was an able-bodied man who could spare to pick up some slack, couldn’t he?

“I made dinner, if you’re hungry,” you said, emerging from the kitchen and into the living room where he sat on the couch. “Just spaghetti and meatballs. The jar sauce from the store isn’t too bad. I usually add—”

“Red wine and oregano to it. I know.”

“Oh,” you said, taken aback by his statement. “I guess Bev told you. Not much of a secret recipe.”

“You’re pretty young for a nun,” he said, turning to you. “What made you want to give up a normal life for this?”

“It’s my vocation. For as long as I can remember, I knew this was what God called me to do. I never wanted another life.” You sat down next to him, sparing a glance around the room. “This is it for me.”

“Crockett Island?”

You conceded a small smile. “I was hoping for somewhere a little more exciting, but I think there’s a chance for something amazing to happen here.”

He shook his head. “That time’s long passed. Look around you, Sister. People are leaving in droves, and the ones who’ve stayed…it’s just too late.”

“Please, Father, I know this island may seem like it’s dying, and presiding over a funeral as your first mass here doesn’t help that, but the people still need guidance,” you pleaded, taking his hands in yours. You couldn’t contend with the diocese sending you to rot with the rest of the island. It couldn’t be for nothing. “The Monsignor is no longer well enough to fill that need, and I couldn’t do it on my own, but together, I think we can do something great if we try. This might be the island’s last chance to have life breathed into it again.”

“Sister—”

“I agree that Crockett Island is hardly a place anymore, but it’s somewhere to start, isn’t it? We couldn’t have been sent here without a reason.”

He swallowed roughly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You’re right, Sister. I—Thank you.”

You smiled, relief washing over you at his words, at his assurance you wouldn't have to bring revival to Crockett Island on your own. 

Following your conversation with Father Paul, his attitude completely shifted. He was friendlier with the parishioners, taking extra time to spend with Leeza, offering to hold Riley’s AA meetings in the community center to save him a trip to the mainland, and, inexplicably, he liked Beverly, who’d changed her mind about Father Paul since the wake and warmed up to him. The only time he wavered was when he visited with Sarah Gunning, still grieving the loss of her mother and considering moving her practice off of the island.

He’d return to the rectory on those evenings quiet, morose, seeking the comfort you selflessly offered him. A warm embrace in which he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. A hand to hold and squeeze in his own, intertwining his fingers with yours. Teetering on the brink of an intimacy you’d made vows against, you weren’t quite sure how to bring it up to him, not when he needed you, and you, him, to fill the hunger in your heart for a man you knew you could never have. 

You allowed the beast to live in you. Fed it. Nurtured it. Cared for it. Guarded it with a shameful protectiveness, shielding it from your regular confessions with Father Paul, in which uttering its name would make it real, and thus ripped away from you and destroyed. 

Ash Wednesday and the first week of Lent were resigned to a haze in your memory, hardly able to think of the beginning of the holiest time of the liturgical year without feeling sick. Not after the potluck. You were sure it had been Beverly, Sheriff Hassan was, too. You knew she was cruel, but to harm an animal, something so innocent…You couldn’t stand to be in her presence for long after that, and silently resented Father Paul for keeping her so close. But you supposed everyone had their vices. 

Yours came to a head in a dream, one that felt all too real, that you could hardly remember when you awoke apart from burning hands on your skin, lips pressed to yours, you and Sheriff Hassan in throes of passion. You laid in bed with a lump in your throat and aching between your legs. You hadn’t experienced a dream like that in…you couldn’t even remember.

The entire time you sat through mass, you thought you were going to be sick. You couldn’t concentrate on the readings or the homily. Taking the Eucharist felt wrong, and your hand shook when you brought the communion wafer to your lips when Father Paul handed it to you. Finally, when mass ended, and you were sure the church was empty, you approached him with trepidation.

“Father, I have something I need to confess.”

“Would you like to go to the confessional?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to hide behind it. I need to be transparent and held accountable.”

He nodded. The two of you sat in a pew, facing each other as you crossed yourselves. 

“How long has it been since your last confession?”

“Three days,” you answered.

“What is it, Sister?”

“I’ve been having lustful thoughts, Father, about someone incredibly close to me, who I care deeply for. Instead of asking the Lord to take these feelings from me, I’ve been indulging in them, and last night I—I had a dream about him. A sexual one that I experienced physical pleasure from.” You were in tears, guilt wracking your body as you spoke. “I’m so ashamed. I should have been stronger. I’ve been sinning against God, exploiting this man in my heart when he’s done nothing to deserve such disrespect. Sheriff Hassan is—”

“Sheriff Hassan?” Father Paul’s gaze darkened ever so slightly, and you leapt to the sheriff’s defense in his absence.

“He didn’t do anything, Father. Nothing more than friendly smiles and kind words, never anything inappropriate. It was me, letting my lustful thoughts ferment instead of nipping them in the bud right away. He committed no sin. It was me.” Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

“Why him?”

You were silent for a moment. “He’s a good man.” Better than most you’d come across. Kind, selfless, just—the virtues that were few and far between among the men of the cloth you had met. Above all else, even when it was difficult, Hassan Shabazz was good. “I love him.”

“You don’t love him, Sister. Lust after him, yes, but you don’t know him, not enough to love him the way you think you do.”

With a shaky, reluctant sigh, you nodded. “Will you help me, Father?”

He took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course, it’s the least I can do after you helped me through the trial God set out for me when I first arrived here.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll get through this together, Sister. Let us pray.”

The following Sunday, you tried to match the enthusiasm he had for ten o’clock mass that morning. You had gotten used to it by then, the way he always seemed to know something you didn’t or was aware of details about the islanders you weren’t keen to even after living there for two years. He was easy to trust, you supposed. 

Sitting in the wooden pew, you focused on following along with mass until the homily following the reading from the Gospel. Father Paul’s homilies were always a bit odd, cryptic, even. You assumed his faith was influenced by mysticism, and sought out books by the likes of St. John of the Cross and St. Francis in an attempt to better understand him. The way he spoke that day unsettled you, a fantastical fanaticism that felt out of place on Crockett Island.

Then, when it was time to receive the Eucharist, there was a solid minute where you were sure you had never hated anyone more in your entire life than you hated him. Telling Leeza Scaroborough to walk, goading the poor girl to step out of her wheelchair in an act of cruelty you couldn’t abide by. You got up from the pew, en route to smack him across the face when she did it. Leeza stood up from her wheelchair, and with tentative steps forward and tears of disbelief and hope in her eyes, she walked up to Father Paul and received the Eucharist.

Everything that followed was a blur, but you knew you were one of the few in attendance who hadn’t broken out into frenzied celebration. Something just wasn’t right. You found yourself hesitant to make eye contact with him when you took communion, and remained quiet even as mass ended, the cacophony of elated voices almost background noise to you.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but I need to speak to our dear Sister in confidence. I’m sure you all understand,” he said, murmurs of affirmation from the congregants who had crowded around him, except for Bev, who had a puss on her face at being excluded.

Father Paul ushered you into the sacristy, closing the door behind you.

“Is something wrong, Sister?” he asked.

“How can anything be wrong? Leeza Scarborough can walk again.”

“Yes, a miracle occurred in this very parish, right before our eyes, yet you seem…hesitant.”

You chewed on your lip before murmuring, “Seeing isn’t always believing.”

“You were the one who told me this island needed life brought back to it, who said we could achieve great things together. Now I’ve done that, by the grace of God Himself, and you have cold feet?”

“It’s not that.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“You know I do,” you said, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. “Maybe my faith is still weak—I’m still weak. I’m sorry, Father.”

“You’re not weak, Sister.”

“I think I’m going to get some air,” you said.

He nodded, distressed by your continued lack of enthusiasm. “Alright.”

Leaving St. Patrick’s through the side door in the sacristy, you tried to muster up the joy and faith you were supposed to feel, but found yourself coming up disappointingly empty. You had seen it with your very own eyes, and had been standing right there when Leeza walked for the first time in years. It couldn’t have been a trick, not orchestrated or premeditated, not by her. But Father Paul seemed so certain. Was his faith that much stronger than yours? Strong enough that he could be a true miracle worker, a vessel of God Himself on Crockett Island of all places?

Even the more skeptical congregants present, like Erin and Riley, had bared witness to it. Could attest to what had happened just as everyone else had, as you could. As a nun, you were undoubtedly expected to believe, be among the most fervent of Father Paul’s advocates. Beverly wasted no time in declaring the act a miracle worthy of the Vatican’s attention. Your faith still wavered despite what should have been undeniable proof. 

You’d lost track of how long you’d been walking around the island, but the sun was beginning to set and you realized you were tired and hungry. The general store wasn’t much farther of a walk from where you ended up while mindlessly wandering, and so you made the trek into town, telling yourself you were getting a few groceries for yourself and Father Paul. Really, the only person you knew you could speak to without judgment would be in there.

When you entered, Hassan greeted you with an emotional distance you expected. He probably figured you’d be among the dozens of people eager to relay Leeza’s miracle to him, underhandedly attempting to invalidate his own faith. 

Grabbing a jar of sauce and a box of pasta, you brought them up to the counter. Your mouth was dry while he rang up the groceries, but you couldn’t help asking, “Have–um–have you seen Leeza recently?” 

He nodded, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Walked right in here and bought a Twinkie earlier.”

“Amazing, how it happened.”

“I know about what happened to Leeza. I don’t believe what happened to Leeza.”

“Neither do I.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t?”

“It doesn’t sit right with me,” you said. “It felt more like a show was being put on than a miracle. I don’t think she had anything to do with what happened, but he had to have done something. He was so sure she would walk, and I just felt angry, betrayed that he’d make a spectacle in mass. In all honesty, Sheriff, my faith has been wavering for a while, but this didn’t make it any stronger.”

“It makes me feel a little more sane to hear you say that.”

“Well, if anyone can get to the bottom of this, I’m sure it’s you.” You smiled, taking the bags of groceries from the counter. “Have a good night, Sheriff.”

“You too, Sister.”

Walking back to the rectory, you wondered if anything would be able to make you change your mind about actually bearing witness to a miracle.

Father Paul hugged you as soon as you walked through the door. “I was about to send out a search party for you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Father. I just needed time to think.”

He looked at the grocery bag in your hand. “And to see the Sheriff.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sister, something incredible is happening here. I need to know you’re on my side,” he said, his urgency striking you like lightning. 

“I am. I want to be. Please just be patient with me. This is—it’s a lot to process.”

“I can’t do this without you,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “I need you.” His gaze fell to your lips.

“I should start on dinner,” you whispered, pulling away from him.

“Let me, you cook enough for me already,” he said, taking the bag from you. He pulled out the jar of sauce. “Red wine and oregano, right?”

You nodded. “That’s right.”

“Make yourself comfortable out here. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

The following half hour or so was unbearably tense, and you could hardly focus on the book sitting in your lap, The Dialogue of Divine Providence, while he cooked. The two of you ate in near silence, and you retired to your room early, falling asleep almost as soon as you changed into your nightgown and crawled into bed.

Burning pain seared your limbs when you awoke in the middle of the night, the pungent scent of iron assaulting your nose, and for a moment, you thought you were dying. You reached over to the lamp on your nightstand, your arm heavy as you moved it. With trepidation, you pulled the cord, a phantom sensation in your hand as you did so. 

Soft, white light from the bulb illuminated your beside. Lifting your hands to your face, you let out a panicked whimper at the gaping wounds in your palms, gently bleeding crimson and flowing down your arms to your nightgown. The fabric around your torso was blotched with blood, each tinge of pink becoming red with every ragged breath you took. You tried kicking at the covers, but found it excruciatingly difficult, and to your horror, discovered identical wounds to the ones in your hands through both of your feet.

Your hands shook as you screwed your eyes shut, telling yourself it was a dream, and that when you opened your eyes, the blood would be gone, the wounds healed. Except the pain was all too real, pulsing in your wounds, tears stinging your eyes as you choked out a sob. Your simple bedroom, with little more than a bookshelf, desk, chair, and crucifix on the wall, threatened to suffocate you as your panic set in.

A groan pulled from your lips as you pushed yourself out of bed, your legs nearly giving out beneath you. The strange sensation of your bare feet on the wooden floorboards made you feel dizzy, or maybe it was blood loss. Each step forward was more agonizing than the last, but you needed help. You needed someone else to see you, a witness to what was happening. 

“Father Paul!” you cried out from the doorway, your voice hoarse and low, barely carrying across the hallway. “Father, wake up!” Mustering what strength you could, you threw yourself against his bedroom door, your closed, bleeding fist erratically banging against it. “Father, please!”

“Sister, what’s going—” 

As soon as he opened the door, you collapsed into his arms, sending him stumbling backward with the sudden burden of your body on his. He looked at you, gaping at the blood that covered you—and him. 

“Father?” 

“I should call Dr. Gunning.”

You shook your head frantically. “Don’t! Not yet.” 

“What happened?”

“I woke up, and I was like this.” Your bleeding hands clenched around the hem of your nightgown, keeping it at your thighs. “I’m too afraid to look.”

“May I?” he asked, his own hands shaking as his fingers brushed the blood-drenched fabric.

Staring at him for a moment, reckoning with the further vulnerability you were about to display to him, you breathed a soft, “Yes.”

He pulled your nightgown up, the fabric sticking to your skin from the congealed blood. You stared at the ceiling as he lifted the garment over your head, too embarrassed and mortified to acknowledge your body bare before him. His fingertips brushed your torso, and you moaned. In your horror, you looked down to see deep, fresh wounds on your sides.

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know what this is, Sister?”

Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “It can’t be stigmata. I’m not pure enough, not devout enough. He’d never—”

“Of course He would. He saw you needed faith, a reminder of His love for you, and look at you now,” Father Paul said with hushed fervor as he took in the state of you. “You’re beautiful.” He kissed your forehead, then pressed his lips to each of your weeping palms, and then your feet. 

Desire twisted in your gut at the sight of him beneath you. He kissed your feet again, a terrifying hunger in his gaze as he brought his lips higher up your legs, his hands brushing your skin with a reverence you felt unworthy of receiving. 

You watched as he dipped his fingers into one of your side wounds and then brought the digits to his mouth, tasting your blood from them. With a ragged breath, he brought his face to your torso. His tongue plunged in the valley of your wound, lapping up the blood that gently flowed from it. A moan tore from your throat, pleasure rolling across your skin as if you truly were a vessel for the divine. Surely it was the same sensation that inspired St. Teresa of Avila’s eroticism, a mystical ecstasy that saw her driven out of villages and cloister herself in search of the purest, incorporeal love.

Except before you knelt a man of God whom you could reach out and touch, eagerly devouring your flesh as if able to find salvation in your blood. His teeth grazed your skin, eliciting a shudder that echoed through you like a worn-out hymn. Words failed you, the pleasure you received from his ravenous consumption of you overtaking the pain from your wounds. 

Holding his head against your side wound, you wanted more, the feeling of him indulging in you. Taste and eat. Everything you felt and saw was in shades of violently blossoming red, deeper and deeper with each curl of his tongue and brush of his fingertips, his unadulterated worship, his veneration for you, serving as the flowing cup of God’s grace and mercy.

Rapturous bliss hummed through you like an ecstatic prayer, pulsing in your wounds on your hands, feet, and sides. You felt like he was part of you, a mystical union between yourself and him.

But just as high as he’d taken you, you quickly came down. The gravity of the situation, of what he’d done, what you’d let him do, weighed on your conscience more heavily than any illicit feeling you’d ever harbored toward Sheriff Hassan.

Father Paul took your face in his hands, eyes glistening with a joyous faith you no longer envied. “Your own miracle, Sister. Do you see it now?”

“You did this to me?” you asked in distressed horror. “You—Who are you?”

“Not me, Sister,” he said. “Here, let me show you. You’ll understand everything. I think you’re ready.”

He held out his hand, and despite everything in you screaming otherwise, you took it.

[screamingintothev0idsposts]

What happened with tf2heritageposts/blucheavy? This will be a post explaining the experiences that multiple people have had with the user behind the Tumblr blog tf2heritageposts. Please be aware that this post is being made in defense of ourselves and to explain our side of the situation.

We ask that you DO NOT send hate to any of the people involved. It should also be noted that the user behind this blog is a DID system, we will be referring to them collectively as “Cheavy” for better understanding, but other alters of theirs may also be mentioned such as:

Monty

Medic/Robin

Gecko

This is NOT a reflection of how DID systems work, they are a troubled individual who hasn’t previously gotten proper help either due to their own actions or circumstances. They are NOT a reflection of the DID community. If this is your first time hearing about this, I strongly encourage you to listen to the voices of other systems and not form your opinions based on this alone.

We also ask that you DO NOT make claims that cheavy is faking or exaggerating his DID, he’s made a lot of bad decisions, but he does not deserve an accusation like this. We DO NOT support those claims.

It should also be noted that as of writing this Cheavy has made a statement to his blog saying he will be getting therapy to get some help for himself, like I had mentioned this post is intended only to defend ourselves in response to the uninformed statements and harassments we’ve been faced with due to cheavy’s posting of this personal situations for months in both his public servers and his public blog. This post will discuss topics of suicide, self-harm, eating disorders, mental health, animal neglect, abuse, sexual assault, rape, and blackmail. Please be mindful and form your own opinions.

(Dell): I had first met cheavy when he had joined the TF2CC server. I was made aware that he was a well-known blog and nothing else. Due to them being active and friendly we ended up getting close. I had learned shortly after that they were from an abusive home that they were trying to escape from, I had a lot of sympathy for them and wanted to help any way that I could.

At the same time however, they had also begun to get very abrasive in conversations. They were extremely opinionated and had started interrupting conversations to interject their opinion onto it, they were also frequently trauma dumping despite server rules saying that in detail venting was not allowed. They were not the only one doing this just one of the more frequent, so I went ahead and made a connected venting server for people to use.

The interjecting started to get worse from there along with some other behavior, starting at first with personal attacks and breaking boundaries before developing into complete misinterpretation of messages and blackmail. He didn’t know how to leave the conversation along either, no matter how much we begged him to, keeping me up until 4 or 5 am in my time zone and my partner up until 2 or 3 am in their time zone. Some of the names he called us include terf, ableist, sexist, racist, asshole, and more.

It was near impossible to reason with him either as when we would try and type out our explanations for our opinions, he would accuse us of treating him like a child or hyper focus on only a few words of the paragraph instead of it as a whole. When we didn’t change our opinions and expressed our anger with being called names and being talked down to, he would flip his attitude to begging for forgiveness before going back to insulting us again.

As time went on these would also progress to suicide and self-harm threats or blackmail when we would block him. I’ll admit that most of these situations were not handled as well as they could’ve been, but we are not trained professionals, and these draining events were happening every couple of days. Plus, he had expressly asked us not to coddle him or treat him like a child when we spoke to him about our differing opinions.

As an example of one of these opinions, I am a victim of sexual assault and like talking about its portrayal of victims in media, when I did though he would very strongly invalidate me for what I spoke about. I will not be sharing what the media I was talking about is, since while I do not support it, I know I’ll be accused of supporting it which will then be taken as reason to ignore this entire post. The issue when I did speak to him like an adult, he would still accuse me of treating him like a child. It felt like I was walking on eggshells all the time, to the point we needed to make a hidden server channel so we didn’t need to run the risk of saying something that might start another one of these situations.

We had wanted to kick him from both servers much earlier because of these incidents but because I had sympathy for him and later with the risk of blackmail, we decided not to do it. At the same time as all of these we were also helping him move out to an apartment away from his abusive home, including buying his plane tickets using a credit card that I had spent about half a year paying $300 off, but because of my sympathy I dropped it all to get him somewhere safe. I was not the only one either, with my partner spending just about $400 to help and our entire TF2CC community server crowdfunding the rest of the money in just a few hours.

When he was in his new apartment my partner and I then sent him money for food or Ubers and even care packages. With mine including a $70 plushie that I was willing to give to him since he had left his own at home. He later received his original plushie back and due to the previously mentioned incidents I was too nervous to ask for mine back without him offering.

These incidents continued to get worse and worse, driving himself and my girlfriend to mental breaking points over mundane topics, only to be forgiven repeatedly because I wanted so badly for him to change and get some help, which he was constantly promising he would get to. It all started to end when another one of these incidents occurred.

I had been the bargainer and peacemaker between him and my partner for months, but during this incident I was on “vacation” with my family, being taken away from my comforts and escapes to be stuck in a car and then a small house with my abusive sibling and toxic parents. I was also sick with covid at the time and as such did not have the patience or energy to fix another one of these arguments, it was not a life-threatening issue, so I had asked them both to stop so we didn’t have another incident.

My partner agreed but cheavy did not, continuing to talk over me and my request, so I muted him. He then proceeded to spam me and my partner for between 24 and 30 hours, cycling between threats and demands of suicide, personal attacks, and begging for forgiveness. He tried to talk to us in dms, he was then blocked, he tried to talk to us in our main server, and was muted, he tried to talk to us through friends, tried to text my partner, message them on Tumblr, talk to them through paypal, and tried to talk to us through multiple alt accounts We only unblocked him once he started to make threats of blackmail to my partner.

I had only spoken to him for a little while, his attitude still flipping between the threats and begging. This was not the first time he had done these text spams and had in fact been directing them to my partner for almost every other incident that had occurred over the 6 months. I was just unaware of it, since I was always the one who gave cheavy patience, no matter what he did, and had been continually convincing my partner to give him another chance since he said he was going to try and change.

However, after seeing it for myself and the attempted blackmail, I couldn’t take any more of it and me and my partner had decided to ban him from both servers and block him permanently. Telling him directly, he had begun begging again and I genuinely didn’t want to remove him from my life.

I have been in situations before where I was the new person and ending up making a bunch of mistakes that I didn’t realize I was making, resulting in everyone hating me no matter what I tried, it was people who were willing to give me another chance that allowed me to find friendship again. I was even willing to go behind my partner’s back to give him that chance again, but after he began insulting me again, it cemented my decision, and he was fully removed.

Following this he had begun stalking my partner’s account, and I assume he would’ve stalked me too if I had a Tumblr at the time. He was also frequently name dropping us to both his public server and account, allowing hate to come to my partner while spreading hate himself. We had wanted to make a callout post then, but with another pressure of blackmail we decided not to.

We left him alone, only occasionally having updates as they had stayed in contact with a mutual friend of ours, none of which I really wanted to hear about, just had to in case he would say something that would direct hate to us again. It had continued slowing, moving on, he had his friends and his life, we had our friends and our life, until one of his friends reached out to us, describing the exact same experiences we had with him months prior.

To end this off I would like to say something I’ve been saying to cheavy and my online social circle for a while, Cheavy didn’t deserve the hand life dealt him. He didn’t deserve the bad things that have happened to him, but that is no excuse for how we’ve been treated. I am happy to see that he has taken a huge step towards his mental health and hope that he will continue to take steps towards to. All I ask is that you leave us alone after this, and to anyone reading, no there is not a villain here, don’t try to find one. I just hope this can better explain what’s been said about us for the past 6 months.

(Sol, Dells partner): I first met Cheavy when he joined our TF2 cosplay group server back in February of 2024. He was a vocal person, often active and talkative. He was also my first real experience with a DID system. He asked us to set up PluralKit, which I was fine with. He also asked us to implement a rule against mentioning or discussing Overwatch, which was a bit odd to me, but I found the reason to be valid and the server was small enough to regulate.

But then things got worse for cheavy.

In April 2024, after spending a few weeks preparing to escape his family and move into an apartment in a state far away from there, Cheavy told us that his family was planning on filing a conservatorship to control him. In response, the TF2 Cosplay Community helped raise over $400 to fly him out of his current state and into his new state in just a few hours. But then something went wrong, and my boyfriend Dell had to spend $300 of his own money helping pay for a flight.

But hey, Cheavy escaped his abusive family and was moved into a new apartment in a safer state. Awesome! That's awesome! Great!

But then the behavior he’d been showing for a while before was starting to present much more.

This was when the cycle of his behavior began to really take hold of us. Cheavy's cycle of behavior looks like this:

Calm →Build-Up → Inflammatory Comment → Fight → Begging for Forgiveness → Repeat

The Calm stage is when everything looks fine, especially after a major argument or fight. It seems like he's making improvements, working towards recovery, the end of the arguments. But it never really was a solid improvement or change.

The Build-Up stage is when he starts to say inflammatory things or talk about disruptive things. He will be generally inconsiderate of others, often talking over them or saying upsetting things.

The Fight stage is when he says something so inflammatory that his victim must respond to it. Then he will fight them, insult them, threaten them, and continue to drag out the argument as long as he can. This is when we would usually block him or put him on mute.

The Begging for Forgiveness stage is usually directly following us putting our boundaries up by blocking him or muting him. He would avoid accountability through his mental illnesses or give a quick apology. I am also mentally ill but have been taught that I need to be held accountable regardless, others don’t deserve to get hurt even if it wasn’t intentional. As well while he would make an apology, he would also ask us for ours multiple times and even weeks later in unrelated situations, I apologized just about every time as well despite my objections. If we didn't immediately show him sympathy or unblock him, he would threaten suicide or drive himself and me to a mental breakdown. Eventually, we would relent and unblock him, allowing the cycle to continue.

This is what I, and many others, have faced for months. I spent six months in this cycle, with almost daily arguments and fights. We have been threatened with blackmail, suicide, self-harm, and so much more. We have been publicly outed and had our personal information blasted to his 7,000 followers on Tumblr. We have been harassed and threatened by his followers.

We are exhausted, and we want nothing more than for cheavy to get help with these issues so this doesn’t end up happening again. My own personal experience with Cheavy is well documented and I've spoken about it before. But to summarize my key experiences, I will be listing them out as bullet points. If you want to know further details about these events, or if you wish to see the screenshots of them, please contact me directly.

Over the course of the past year, I have been subjected to:

Blackmail, including but not limited to sending former friends screenshots of my criticisms about them, ruining my reputation with call outs, threatening to kill himself and say that I was the reason.

Harassment, including ranting at me, keeping me up all night with texts, alters berating me for not doing what he wanted.

Lies being spread about me

Being doxxed, from something simple as a name-drop in a call to action on his blog to an anonymous ask being sent that supposedly contained my full legal name, address, work, college, personal contact information, and my partner’s information.

Block evasion; Making alt accounts to contact me, using mutual friends as middlemen, finding me and contacting me through other platforms. Even when I've told him repeatedly to leave me alone.

I've cleared up the lies Cheavy has spread about me previously, so if you wish to read through those clarifications, you can read them on my Tumblr. You can also ask me about it if something he says seems inflammatory.

As of writing this, Cheavy has said he will be getting into therapy. I am unbelievably relieved to hear that news, and I sincerely hope that it's true. I hope that he can heal, recover, and move forward with life.

Cheavy, if you're reading this, I want you to know that I'm proud of you for making the decision to get help. That's all I've ever wanted for you. You have so many resources, so much support, and so many opportunities. You just needed to see them. I really hope this stay will make a difference and help you see them. Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. I'm glad you're taking that first step.

The screenshots for these two user’s is linked here:

(The following user asked to remain anonymous):

[Monday, December 9th edit]:

I have made mistakes and yes I am responsible for the irresponsible behavior I have made in regards to the evidence I acquired while trying to not have an episode; cheavy had lied about not knowing a personal trauma of mine when he had used a bad phrase to describe one of my alters being nice to him, and when I got extremely upset he once again threatened suicide at me laying boundaries. I had found out when I was gathering screenshots for evidence and I just wanted to get what I needed to support my claims and not look at it anymore.

I know I should have asked for permission, and my reasoning does not matter much as to why and I know this. The only names I did not censor were in the public server. I was desperate for him to stop coming at me in dms and I have to deal with all of this on top of an abusive home, I have made him very, very aware of this, and I know others have their own lives to handle on top of this as well.

He continues to misconstrue things I and others have said, he continues to broadcast everything to his audience of thousands. All we wanted, all I want is for my story to be heard, because I don't want somebody else to have to be degraded and pushed to their limit for months on end. He has exhibited abusive behavior, conscious or not, and with him going into therapy I hope it goes alright.

I really want to hope he means he'll get help this time. having mentally ill responses to his behavior does not make us the evil, vindictive people he tries to make us out to be. No, that does not mean we are absolved of any responsibility, but we are just as human as he is. We all make mistakes; it is how we react to the consequences of our actions that matter. I hope he can realize that and not blame everything else this time.

[original segment]:

I would like to preface this by saying I don’t want any harm to come towards cheavy. I had met him around the end of June, beginning of July if I remember correctly. I was coming out of a bad breakup with an fp. I have bpd, which means i get very attached to some people in an unhealthy way sometimes. My mood fluctuates extremely daily, hourly most times. i am not medicated for any mental illness. I also have OSDD1B, among other mental disorders.

Cheavy had gotten into an argument in a big server about the mischaracterization over classic heavy, and I tried to calmly tell him to leave. He did not listen, which resulted in him being banned or leaving. I had considered him a friend because we bonded over being systems, and after he left the server, he invited me to his own.

He would dm me a lot just with little things to get my attention, i never really knew how to respond to his specific bodily harm jokes aside from being polite and dismissive. Later on, he had kicked out his abusive girlfriend, and confessed he had a crush on me the day he did it to my knowledge. I suggested we start a qpr (Queer platonic relationship) instead of a romantic relationship because I felt that if I refused, he would hurt himself.

The short time we had before it all went to shit was okay. I would lean on him occasionally during episodes, to make him feel better about not doing much for me. during the end of September is where it all took a nosedive, I think. My memory is blurry because when I split (bpd) my emotions cloud my thinking. At this point I had developed cheavy as an fp. Fritz, an alter of mine, was talking to a friend in a group chat we three shared about how I struggle to feel romantic attraction, because I am on the aroace spectrum.

Cheavy had sent sad emojis despite me asking what was wrong three times. I do not remember much about this initial argument, but fritz had gotten angry over cheavys behavior. heavy refused to listen when I tried to explain how I am on the aroace spectrum, but that I did love him. smaller problems bubbled up and when we expressed discomfort, it would set cheavy off. He would threaten suicide when we stood our ground and did not agree with him.

Once, in the shared group chat, I was expressing love for my culture (as I am Chicano), and cheavy tried to overtake the conversation multiple times. This set off another argument because he is white and trying to talk over a minority sharing their culture. We repeatedly asked him to stop, to leave us alone, to no avail. It quickly delved into daily meltdowns where we had to basically threaten him out of suicide by saying we would call the police. Nothing would work to make him stop. He has admitted to breaking my boundaries and I have proof of it.

I know he throws fits in order to get my attention, that he says awful things in order to make me react, but the things he would say would make me split. When I would not react, he would immediately jump to suicide baiting me. No matter how angry he has made me and continues to make me, I do not and never have wanted him to die. I want to hold onto the hope that he can be better. but he refuses help at every turn in order to play victim to get more pity.

I and others have given him countless options, abundant advice. He has openly refused. He has told me multiple times I am more mentally stable despite being in an abusive household, and he knows this. I would get angry and lash out repeatedly at him. He deletes what he says so we can’t get evidence of him saying things, but I have truly countless screenshots.

He has never truly apologized for anything he has done to me, not once. I had not either until recently, because I am so done with having to deal with this. I am so tired of the continuous splitting and memory fog he makes me go through. I am so tired of being abused by someone I thought I could trust. When I brought up his abusive behavior during an episode of mine, he flipped out. He made drastic claims about what I said, none of which was true, but ran off with cropped screenshots of the things I said to a mutual friend of ours.

He has twisted the truth, or just wouldn’t tell it at all in order to make himself look better. He continues to lie about me and others in his server for over 100 people to see. He has namedropped me in front of his audience of over 7,000. Recently, I would try and defend myself in his server, and he would not stop lying or twisting my words. This has caused me to keep splitting. I have asked him to stop repeatedly. I am upset he still does this, to the day I’m writing this (Sunday, December 1st).

I had blocked him after I believed he got one of my friends doxxed out of rage, about a week ago. I isolate myself from others so I do not lash out and say nasty things, so I blocked cheavy so I wouldn’t do this. He kept begging other people to make me unblock him, dragging others into this bullshit. I foolishly unblocked him. A few days ago, a day or two before Thanksgiving, I told him not to talk to me because I would be busy. He of course did not listen and continued to randomly vent as he usually would.

I blocked him the other day so he would stop asking me when we could talk again because I got very, very angry and I did not want to lash out for the millionth time. I had told this to the people he begged, and the only reason I continue to unblock him is because he threatens suicide at any slight inconvenience.

Any boundary we even think of setting down is met with a suicide threat. Last night, I had asked him to not call me a name I used to use, and he called me it anyway. This sent me into an episode where I almost hurt myself because of the distress it caused me. I know if I told him this, he would tell me he didn’t know, but I should not have to provide a reason for every single boundary I want to set. As of right now, I am dreading having to unblock him again. I just want him to stop hurting people because he refuses to change.

(The screenshots for this user are linked here. The only messages left uncensored are those who are directly involved in this situation. Majority of screenshots have also been removed for these safety purposes):

Couple notes:

In the process of making this several users asked to remove their statements, I will not be sharing the reasons as to why for their safety.

We have previously made a warning post on this a few days ago, but decided to take it down as it had the display names of people from a server who were not involved in this situation in some of the screenshots. It was irresponsible and an error we should not have overlooked.

For those users I would like to offer some assurance, the post is removed before it was able to get further than 30 accounts, display names still do make it hard to find exact accounts as display names very often do not match up with usernames, and the server that these screenshots were taken from is already public, being pinned from cheavys profile, so nothing much should come of this.

As well if it is any consolation, cheavy has dropped our full usernames to both his 100+ server as well as his 7000+ follower account so we are in the same unfortunate boat.

As well as writing this (12/09/2024) We have reason to believe Cheavy has been posing a friend of himself named Dylan and has been sending blackmail as well as doxing threats to Sol in response to the now deleted warning post and word of this post being made.

We believe it is him since:

Their typing style is extremely similar (lack of capitalization and run on sentences)

The information (while largely incorrect) is not something anyone else but cheavy would know (unless he was openly sharing personal information in public), for instance, claiming that I, Dell, do work as an ABA was something that was mentioned to him more than 6 months ago which is something that me nor my partner openly posted about online. I had also quit this job no more than a few weeks after I had started working it.

The style of threat this person makes is the exact same to previous threats made by Monty and cheavy mixed with Monty (giving a timeframe for the threat, counting that time down, praising cheavy, and a lot of personal attacks).

There was a photo sent by Dylan that says “I’m not cheavy” on a notepad and after looking over it we believe the hand holding the paper is cheavys based on the similarities to another picture of cheavy’s hand he publicly posted (short bitten nails, wide squared nails, short wider fingers, light skin)

Attached below is the evidence of these claims with only the involved people uncensored:

Examples of the similar blackmail style are also available here:

The goal of this is not to ruin the life of Cheavy, we are only here to defend ourselves and explain our experiences. Cheavy has been publicly posting about this for months with his view on the situation, while also publicly talking about us as villians resulting in hateful messages being sent to us. We ask that anyone reading this please hear us out on our experiences and form your own informed opinion.

All we want is to be left alone, no more stalking, being talked about as villains in public places, or threats of doxing and blackmail. And for cheavy to continue making the steps he needs for his mental health, to focus on his college and his livelihood so a situation like this won’t happen again in the future. He’s developed a strong support network through his school, and it would be great to see this result in good changes for himself.

If you’re going to do anything to cheavy we strongly encourage that you just unfollow and block him. Don’t bother him. Don’t message him. Don’t send mean asks or anonymous hate, that is not what we want. Just block him and move on.

If you have any questions about the segments listed above, please feel free to contact either the blog rottingdotcom or this blog. Just be aware if you are messaging this blog, I am new to Tumblr and may struggle a little with replies, but I will do my best and answer as much as I can.

Thank you for reading about our experiences.

[dailygenos]

hi!!! this is a daily geno blog B) i will be attempting to draw him every day.

you may send me requests, or speak directly to geno, i don't mind. this doesn't guarantee i'll answer, but i will do my best.

my main is @vanglaggle !!

proship, terf, radqueer, dni please and thank you

do not tag any of my ship art as sanscest. i'd prefer you use mirrorshipping (like i will) if you need to block the tag.

#dailygeno - daily art !

#omg...geno!! - other's art

#genotext - talking .... about him

#notgeno - if it's ever like . not geno (rare)

geno themed dividers , heart monitor divider