#Sins Invalid

[thenervebible]

excerpt from KINDLING: Writings on the Body by Aurora Levins Morales

as seen in SKIN, TOOTH & BONE: the basis of movement is our people (a disability justice primer) by Sins Invalid

[pdf below]

[bookquotesfrombooks]

“It shouldn’t be such a far-out concept that all humans are valuable and that the world should be organized around our collective and individual value.”

Patty Berne

Forward to Crip Kinship

[makingcontact]

Caring Relationships: Negotiating Meaning and Maintaining Dignity (Encore)

Photo of Alice Wong, Stephanie Guyer-Stevens Credit: Alice Wong, Stephanie Guyer-Stevens The vast majority of care recipients are exclusively receiving unpaid care from a family member, friend, or neighbor. The rest receive a combination of family care and paid assistance, or exclusively paid formal care. Whether you’re a paid home care provider, or rely on personal assistance to meet your daily…

[mpaizsounds]

Sins Invalid - Crip Wisdom

script supervision, recording, editing, mixing, and mastering < LEARN MORE HERE >

[boba-t-butch]

[alt text:

10 PRINCIPLES OF DISABILITY JUSTICE

1. INTERSECTIONALITY

"We do not live single issue lives" - - Audre Lorde

Ableism, coupled with white supremacy, supported by capitalism, underscored by heteropatriarchy, has rendered the vast majority of the world "invalid".

2. LEADERSHIP OF THOSE MOST IMPACTED

"We are led by those who most know these systems." - Aurora Levins Morales

3. ANTI-CAPITALIST POLITIC

In an economy that sees land and humans as components of profit, we are anti-capitalist by the nature of having non-conforming body/minds.

4. COMMITMENT TO CROSS-MOVEMENT ORGANIZING

Shifting how social justice movements understand disability and contextualize ableism, disability justice lends itself to politics of alliance.

5. RECOGNIZING WHOLENESS

People have inherent worth outside of commodity relations and capitalist notions of productivity. Each person is full of history and life experience.

6. SUSTAINABILITY

We pace ourselves, individually and collectively, to be sustained long term. Our embodied experiences guide us toward ongoing justice and liberation.

7. COMMITMENT TO CROSS-DISABILITY SOLIDARITY

We honor the insights and participation of all of our community members, knowing that isolation undermines collective liberation.

8. INTERDEPENDENCE

We meet each others' needs as we build toward liberation, knowing that state solutions inevitably extend into further control over our lives.

9. COLLECTIVE ACCESS

As brown, black and queer-bodied disabled people we bring flexibility and creative nuance that go beyond able-bodied/minded normativity, to be in community with each other.

10. COLLECTIVE LIBERATION

No body or mind can be left behind

-- only moving together can we accomplish the revolution we require.

SINS INVALID 2015 www.sinsinvalid.org

]

Sins Invalid - 10 Principles of Disability Justice

[xeemaee]

Back on my Kabru-was-raised-catholic bs because his whole “am I secretly a monster thing” just screams of catholic guilt to me and I’m gonna project onto him

[luthienne]

also wanted to tell you that your post about chronic illness resonated deeply with me, as someone who tried (and gave up) navigating the performing arts as a chronically ill teenager and 20-something. i want to tell you that i see your struggle and admire your tenacity to find a way to keep singing despite the breakneck pace and little room for illness of the performing arts. it’s so hard. it’s so hard and it feels like hardly nobody in the arts wants to own up to that. thank you for talking about it.

i also want to echo the other people who sent you asks in saying that disabled and chronically ill care and innovation has world-changing and world-making potential, especially in the arts. and when it is given the recognition it deserves, it’s beautiful. disabled performing arts collectives like sins invalid are both home to incredible art, but also behind so many radical ways of theorizing disability and illness. leah lakshmi piepzna-samarasinha writes about this and i’ve found her writing to be a balm when i need it. on an even more personal note, i wanted to tell you about my mother, a disabled & chronically ill stage manager who has been working in the industry for 40+ years. she’s my proof that sick and disabled folks like us do belong and thrive in the industry. and that careers don’t always end when we ask for what we want and need.

lots of love to you.

thank you for sharing this with me <333 i really do think we survive this world by witness of each other, and it means so so much to hear stories of resilience and advocacy like these. i've talked a lot about this with my best friend recently but i find it continually disappointing how much classical music as an industry intentionally sets itself as “above” activism and politics. for so many of us, our bodies (and existence) are inherently political. beyond that, we all exist in the same world. our struggles are intertwined. there is no art without humanity. it can feel so defeating to try to carve out space in a system that is structured to exclude us—your mother sounds like an incredible person and i know that this industry is so much the better for having her in it. you also sound like such a beautiful person and i’m so glad that our paths crossed here <3 so much love back to you <3

[nessieac]

you don't become nothing through sin. you become something you despise through sin

what do you want from me so much? i don't understand

i think you want me to invalidate sin, am i right? you don't even sleep anymore because of this

you must have noticed that i've already invalidated it for you but i can never do it for myself. could you maybe show some mercy for once?

[fictionadventurer]

I am pleased to find that all the people who said that Book 2 of The Wingfeather Saga was much better than Book 1 were very right.

[anarcho-catboyism]

Idk what trans man needs to hear this but you're NOT evil or disgusting for being a man. You do NOT have to suffer for the sins of the patriarchy committed by cis dudes. Being a man doesn't invalidate the misogyny you experienced growing up or experience now. Being a man doesn't mean you deserve to be isolated. Being a man doesn't mean you're inherently predatory or scary. You didn't "choose" this, and finding your true self is NOT "betraying the community" because you happen to be a man and/or masculine rather than a woman and/or feminine. You ARE allowed to be upset when people "affirm" your gender by malgendering you.

You DO deserve a community that uplifts you. You DO deserve to experience trans joy. You DO deserve to have your voices heard and your struggles recognized. Wanting the bare minimum of solidarity is NOT "making everything about trans men".

[mpaizsounds]

Loving With Three Hearts (Sins Invalid Performance, Spanish Dubbing) Audio engineer, script supervisor, editor, mixing, and mastering < LEARN MORE HERE >

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly (Part 3/Ending)

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: SMUT, vaguely dom Ghost, unrealistic recovery time from near death experience/hypothermia, cuddling for medical reasons, implied medically-related stripping, implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

The next day, Ghost had you write a list of things you needed from home. He assured you Johnny wouldn’t be stepping foot in your place, but that did leave you on your own with the Scotsman while the giant lumbered through the snow to pack an overnight bag on your behalf.

Your extremities still had fits of unpleasant tingles, but when Ghost examined your hands and feet, he assured you there shouldn’t be permanent damage. First degree frost bite at worst. He praised your choice in winter boots, thick socks, and heavy mittens.

You’d asked how he knew.

“Had some experience. Nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

Instantly flustered, you’d looked down at the huge socks over your hands, fighting away the question of which man they belonged to, and assured him you did. Stupid, since you barely knew him, but you did, and much more than you should.

It didn’t matter if the man was handsome under that mask or ugly as sin. His voice did things to you. It made you want to sin so much he looked like an angel. And the way he handled you in bed, if only platonically, woke your libido from hibernation. Which was un-fucking-fortunate, all things considered. You’d be a horrible lay at the moment with your chapped skin and lingering exhaustion.

Besides, your neighbors were definitely in a relationship.

As you dozed after a cup of sugary tea, Ghost stepped away to speak with Johnny. You could see through the open door when the big man seized his partner by the back of the neck, leaning forehead-to-forehead as he rumbled something in that intoxicating voice. The mask didn’t come off, but you’d definitely spied a tongue stretching the knit to stab into Johnny’s mouth. Hands went to waists, drifted to asses, displayed affection they probably didn’t realize was so public.

You tried very hard to actually go to sleep after that. It wasn’t like you’d meant to creep on them. And they were the ones who chose to make out in front the invalid’s open damn door.

But it put your thoughts in a tailspin, and everything overwhelmed you. A near death experience preceded by robbery and car problems made for a long day. Waking up in your neighbor’s boyfriend’s arms and realizing they’d seen you naked took the knot of emotions and twisted. Then there was the fact that Ghost was likely elbow deep in your underwear drawer – again for platonic reasons – and it wound you up in the worst way. You were a fucking mess. A wad of feelings without an outlet.

You needed to get off and have a good cry. Either or both. And you weren’t in a position to have either.

When you’d suggested going home, Ghost shut you down before you even finished the thought.

“We’ll take care of you. Owe you, yeah? Besides, you’re still recovering.”

So, you wrote the damn list, asking for your comfy clothes, your toothbrush, phone charger, and other necessities. You resisted asking for your favorite throw blanket or the heavy, knitted monstrosity you tried knitting a few years back that was almost a sweater. Nothing you loved was safe around Johnny, and you didn’t want to be a burden, anyway.

Fuck.

Right.

You were a burden.

When you felt a bit better, you’d handle the empty mugs on the nightstand. What else could you clean? Efficient as Ghost was, he was babysitting for two adults. There must be a mess to clean, laundry to fold, something.

You’d make it right. When you’d put some distance between your waking thoughts and death’s shadow.

Trying to think your way out of the lingering pain with your thighs clenched and your glare drilling into the far wall, you almost managed to dissociate for a beat.

Until he knocked.

“Hey.”

Fucking Johnny.

You rolled over, glowering with the blankets up to your nose. Ghost should hurry and come back.

“’M so sorry, hen.” Failing to take the hint, Johnny inched into the room. His folded arms and heavy frown left him looking severe. The boyish illusion was missing. He was all bulging muscles, faint scars, and dog tags.

You’d wondered more than once if he was military. If he was, you’d bet anything Ghost was, too.

“I almost died,” you mumbled, speaking through the blankets. “I would’ve helped with whatever you needed if you’d fucking asked.”

His eyes snapped shut. His head dropped. Deep breaths lifted his shoulders, and he looked like he was in genuine pain.

Good. That made two of you.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Aye.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Aye.”

“You almost got me killed.”

“Aye.” Eyes wide, hands pressed to the foot of the bed, he towered over you, bubbling over. “I’ll make it up to you. Whatever it takes.”

He was practically panting, trying to escape his guilt. Just one more thing he wanted from you: absolution. A knight seeking a quest of atonement.

If he could take away the memories of betrayal and isolation as you felt your mind break and your body fail, that would work. You almost found enough spite in your heart to say it.

“I thought we were friends.” Half confession, half accusation.

“We are, bonnie, I swear –”

“No, we’re not.”

He clenched the blankets, white-knuckled with wet eyes that promised rain.

“Bonnie –”

“Stand down, Soap.”

You both turned to find Ghost peering in from the hall. He held a duffel bag, lightly dusted in snow that hadn’t quite stopped falling. Doordash had arrived with your order.

He set the bag on the end of the bed, nudging Johnny aside and nodding towards the open door. Johnny got the message, slinking out with his tail between his legs.

“Brought your things. Feel up to a shower? It would probably help at this stage. I’ll set out some towels for you.”

“Thanks.” You ignored Johnny, grateful for the escape Ghost offered from both the conversation and the room. “That sounds great.”

“I’ll get things sorted, then.”

He left you to choose your things from the bag, disappearing into the ensuite you had yet to explore. You got what you needed. Toiletries. Robe. Toothbrush. Just the basics. You’d address your hair later. And… everything else, really. You weren’t ready to see your clothes sitting folded in a tidy pile on your neighbors’ bathroom counter, even less so on their bed.

Ghost reappeared, and he pointed out the towels he’d prepared. “Assume your shower’s like ours.”

“Probably. Thanks.” Again. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time.”

A nice sentiment, but you really couldn’t. You practically jumped out of your borrowed clothes as the water heated, and you got in when it was just north of tepid. You would not use all their hot water. By now, they had to be running on generator power. The power always went out for a day or two when the big one hit. All it took was one tree.

Still, once the sweat and stress-stink washed off, your hand lingered over your chest, an echo of your host’s. He hadn’t gotten frisky. He’d been entirely respectful. But if his hand had strayed even a little…

Or a lot.

Shit. Fuck. No.

You could not get off in your neighbors’ shower. That was out of the question. Even if they didn’t hear you, it was… rude.

Your core ached, stirred from passive aggression to full on fit by the water and your overactive imagination.

Enough. You were clean. You needed to stop.

So you finished your shower (and nothing else) in record time. You wrapped yourself in your robe, wondering if Ghost had packed any sports bras comfortable enough to sleep in.

Both men were waiting for you when you emerged.

“Uh…” Were you supposed to get dressed in the bathroom? Shit. You should’ve…

“Thought it was about time you got that apology,” Ghost said. He stepped closer. His fingertips brushed over the back of your hand, conjuring goosebumps like magic. “You’re cold again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, aye.” Johnny winked. Caught himself. Cleared his throat. “Really am sorry. Wanna prove it. First step towards reparations, aye?”

He inched closer as he spoke, and Ghost stepped back to give him space. You held your ground, but only out of confusion. You technically had more skin covered than you had since they rescued you, but you were hyper aware of the loose knot holding the robe closed.

“What did you have in mind?”

Tea? A year’s subscription to a meal delivery service? A note?

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Thought I could warm you up.”

Your brain sputtered. It even made a sound like your engine had when it ran out of gas.

“I don’t think I understand.”

“I think you do.”

He wasn’t touching you. Yet. But his breath fanned over your lips. His body heat reached through your robe.

His partner was in the fucking room. “You’re in a relationship.”

“Already discussed it.”

You turned to Ghost, shocked, but he was relaxed. Almost casual about his boyfriend seducing the neighbor in his bedroom.

“We both like ya, bonnie,” Johnny whispered in your ear.

You shivered.

It sounded like such a bad idea.

But you wanted it. You wanted a real apology, and a reason to forget it all ever happened.

“How about it?” Johnny was hovering. Waiting for the green light. “Let us make you feel good?”

One more time, you looked to Ghost. You had to be sure. You wanted his permission. His confirmation. He nodded. So did you.

With one hand on your cheek, drawing your attention back to him, and one on the back of your neck, your neighbor pressed you into a kiss. There was no demure pecking. No sweet warm-up. Lips, tongue, and teeth leapt into the fray at the first trumpet blast.

A gasp gave him a window of opportunity, and soon you were eagerly kissing him back, yanking on his stupid mohawk for vengeance and a pitiful attempt at control.

Johnny licked a moan out of your mouth. He scoured your whimpers clean, gulping them down with a happy rumble.

“The best apologies are given on your knees, don’t you think Johnny?”

A silent exchange passed between the men, and Johnny was all smiles.

“Couldn’t agree more. Here, sit down, pretty girl.” He arranged you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees to keep the kisses coming. He plucked the robe’s knot free and tugged it open. His lips stayed on yours as fabric fell away from your shoulders, legs, and chest, pooling around your wrists. There was no time for the usual, momentary panic of finding yourself naked for the first time with a new romantic partner.

One more peck, and a whispered, “Lie back, bonnie.” And he was working down your sternum, pushing your knees apart. “Gonnae give you an apology you never forget.”

The apology came letter by letter, spelled through your folds. The S snaked around your entrance, looping over your clit. The O stayed there, spinning around your bud. The Rs wandered, following the O’s path before tracing each side of your entrance. The Y started at your base and swept up, teasing either side of your clit in turns.

He said it over and over again. The clever rhythm had him smiling against you as you tugged at his mohawk, trying to chase each sensation. But his hands were strong, and he kept you spread and stationary. At the mercy of his repentance.

The Os never circled long enough, and his tongue dipped inside just enough to remind you how much you ached for more on every Y.

It was driving you crazy, and tears of frustration gathered, blurring his self-satisfied gaze. You’d had it with him. Even when he went down on you, he took his own pleasure first, playing games you had no spoons left to enjoy. You wanted him to take care of you like he’d promised. You wanted to lose yourself. Wanted to feel desired. Wanted to feel good.

Your whining plea didn’t sound at all sexy to your own ears, but the way the tongue shook with suppressed laughter between your legs proved someone was having a good time.

Solid heat you’d learned to recognize in your sleep slipped up behind you. Long, thick fingers petted back your sweaty hair, and a hand pulled you back, urging you to relax into a solid chest. Ghost, once again coming your rescue.

“Be good, Johnny,” he rumbled. “Stop teasing.”

Eyes glinting, your tormentor’s face appeared. He licked his lips with a wolf’s fervor, eyes flashing from yours to Ghost’s.

“Yes, sir.” His voice had gone rough. Deep. You shuddered, and he squeezed your thighs. “Mind givin’ me a hand, LT?”

Ghost huffed, almost a dry laugh, and his hands left you. You had a mind to complain again, but then his grip appeared under your knees, lifting and spreading even farther than Johnny wheedled earlier. You were obscene. You were desperate.

“You doing alright? Let us make you feel better. Give Johnny the chance to start paying you back for all the trouble he’s caused, yeah?”

One hand clamped onto his arm, unsure whether you planned to push it away or simply cling on. As you vacillated, Johnny craned forward, blew on you, and you spasmed. Your free hand jumped back to Ghost’s balaclava, and you knew what you wanted.

“Yeah. I’m alright. Please.”

“You heard the woman.”

“Happy to serve.” Johnny grinned, nearly feral, and lunged forward with fresh determination.

Now free, his fingers pulled you open, giving him better access to the mess he’d made with all his teasing. His tongue pressed hard, spearing deep as it could reach. It worked relentlessly, trying to scoop out every last drop, but the slick only grew, and he returned to your clit.

Ghost held you at an angle that defied your attempts to ride Johnny’s face, and you turned into a twitching, writhing mass in his lap. When his partner started suckling your bud, you shrieked, and Ghost crooned. His thumbs worked circles in your flesh, soothing the edge of delirium rising with your pleasure.

“Good girl. There you go. Finally letting us take care of you.”

A finger pressed inside, petting and curling as it hunted for the right spot. Every muscle rolled, trying to participate, to join the dance, and then Johnny found what he was looking for, and you screamed.

He’d tormented you so long. You didn’t have a chance to give a warning or brace for the snap. Your orgasm practically exploded, and for a minute you couldn’t even breathe. Everything froze, trying to catch and keep the high as your vision went white and your ears rang. Your thoughts ran slow and thick, like honey in winter, just soft enough for Ghost’s words to penetrate.

“How you feelin’? Rung out or ready for more?”

What a stupid question. Appreciated, but stupid. You’d ask for more until your voice gave out.

You consciously, carefully unclenched your fingers from his mask, from his sleeve. He still held you open, shivering and bare apart from Johnny’s face, still pressing slow kisses with tongue and teeth anywhere he was tempted to taste. Glimmers of firelight caught in the arousal smeared over his cheeks.

“More.”

Johnny muttered something very Scottish you couldn’t quite make out through the fading white noise in your head. But your eyes worked perfectly well, and he put on a show, yanking off his shirt, showing off like he used to when he shoveled the drive.

“Tell her, Johnny,” Ghost prompted. “Give her everything you’ve been thinking since you moved in here.”

“Fuck.” The Scotsman worked his belt free as talked, staring at you. His eyes roved, chasing the paths his tongue had traveled, rising to your heaving chest, to your face, so close to his LT’s commanding gaze. “Heard the neighbor was a hermit. Expected – doesnae matter. Prettiest hermit I’d ever fuckin’ seen. Showin’ up with biscuits and makin’ friendly.” The belt swished free from its loops and clattered to the ground. “Had me graspin’ after my manners with one look. An' after I tried catchin’ your eye in the snow, you took care of me an all.” He popped his button free. The zipper went down. “Wanted to bring ya inside and make things cozy. Had to wait for Ghost. Had to let ‘im see ya. Let him understand.” His hand slipped under his clothes, bringing a swollen red tip peeking over the elastic of his underwear.

“Should’a heard him on the phone,” Ghost murmured in your ear as Johnny pushed down his remaining clothes, already hard and weeping for you. “Thought he was gonna come to just the thought of you some nights. Started giving me ideas before I even had a chance to thank you for minding him.”

Naked, practically glowing in the fire, Johnny swooped down for a kiss. He squeezed a breast, thumbing the nipple relentlessly until you broke for air. Everything about him hummed with energy. A livewire sparking over the street. “Wanna fuck you. Please? Please let me fuck you, bonnie. Sweetest little cunt I’ve ever had. Please?”

Standing where he was, and held as you were, his dick rubbed against you as he spoke.

You were going to combust, and you’d enjoy every fucking second of it. All thoughts of snow and ice had melted. Everything had turned to steam.

“Yes.” He’d dived to work a hickey into your neck during your brief hesitation, and you fought to even whisper your answer. “Please.”

He lined up, rocking shallowly once, twice, and pushing home in a long, burning stroke. You yelped, and he moaned, both going still until the sting had passed. By the time you nodded your permission, he had his hands on your hips, trembling with need.

He fucked you like he was dying. Like you were his last meal and the only lifeline thrown in a storm. It was months of yearning, months of confusion and false starts and greedy hunger that spilled over and burned you like hot wax. There was no shelter – not that you wanted any – and you once again seized Ghost’s arms because they were the only fucking thing he’d let you reach. They would take care of you. You weren’t allowed to do any of the work. Not in that bed. Not that night.

Johnny keened, huffing and growling and whimpering as he went faster and faster. He brought you so far. So close. Just a little more.

But not enough.

His hips stuttered, his head bowed, and his warm release splashed out.

“Fuck.” Blushing from exertion – and probably something else – he looked up from where he was still balls-deep to sheepishly meet your eyes. “I swear, never finished so fast in my life. Didn’t get you there in time, did I?”

He pulled out, and you dropped your head back on Ghost’s shoulder with a wail of frustration. You were too close to stop now. You reached down to touch yourself, but before you could rub one out, Ghost shifted. He moved closer to the edge of the bed, dropping one of your legs to swat your hand away from your clit.

When you didn’t fight him, he reached behind you, and you both heard and felt him work his cock free.

“May I?”

Too horny and too frustrated, you nodded wildly. “I said I trusted you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

He didn’t pick up where Johnny left off. Thick fingers that had really only held you up to this point reached down, groping over breast and belly to reach your center. Long strokes kept the spark in your belly alive as he ran his hand over you, lubing his fingers in the mixed spend.

One dipped in. He paused, considering. Then a second joined.

“Minute I saw you at the door, knew you were a carer,” he said. “Knew it’d been so long since someone took care of you that you’d forgotten how a good neighbor should act.” The fingers curled, scissored, working you with clear and vulgar intent. “Wanted to be more than neighbors. Had to close that door quick. Every filthy thing Johnny said hit me, and I wasn’t fit company.” The full implications of that didn’t quite hit you in the moment, but a hazy vision of him watching you through the windows, palming an erection sent your cunt fluttering.

A third finger. All together, they were wider than Johnny’s cock. A deep breath helped. The thumb flicking over your clit like a moth drawn to a porchlight did more. “Had to figure out how to fix all the fuck ups then. So many delays. Took too damn long.” He pulled his hand free, denying you release.

“You said you’d take care of me.”

“We will, sweatheeart. Easy now.” His hand hovered in front of you, fingers spread so he could watch his good work cling and drip like a liquid spiderweb between his digits. “Fuck. You’re perfect.”

He spread his knees, pushing yours wider, and he lifted you up until his dick rubbed over your entrance. Even without looking, you could tell he was massive. You’d need to relax. You’d need to trust him.

Unlike Johnny, he took things slow. He read every flutter and clench, every gasp and hiss like he was fluent in your personal language of carnality. The stretch constantly rode the edge of too much, but it touched places no one else had reached, stuffed your senses full of bliss. And he was so careful. Tactical.

When he’d sheathed himself, his hands slid to your thighs, positioning you in a similar way as before.

“Think you’ve got more apologizing to do, Johnny.”

“Yes, sir.”

You’d closed your eyes at some point, overwhelmed by everything Ghost had to give, but you snapped to attention when a tongue ran over your clit. Johnny smiled up at you, pleased as punch. Devious fucker.

Ghost thrust, and the sound he pushed out of your mouth was pure filth. Helpless, you made it again with the second push. It happened again and again until it became an unbroken string of praise and pleas. Johnny made a game of keeping his tongue on you, pulling back, going still so Ghost would bounce you along it as he drove into you.

A hand pressed over your lower belly, and you moaned in tandem with Johnny.

“Fuck, Simon. Can feel you moving in her.”

After Johnny’s performance, Ghost clearly had something to prove. The first time you came, you clenched so hard on his dick it actually slowed him down. You thought that would be it, that he’d ride high to the end having achieved his goal. Instead, he kept going, fucking you brainless as Johnny actually giggled below. A second climax left you boneless, and by the third you’d entered a fugue state. Ghost slowed down until you could respond (I’m okay.) and then he drove you over the edge until you forgot how to count. Johnny offered kitten licks and praise throughout. When Ghost finally finished - pulling you flush to his chest and panting in your ear (Good fucking woman.) it was Johnny’s attention to your clit that broke you. He sucked and worked his tongue under your clitoral hood like he was sucking nectar from a honeysuckle blossom.

But you were tapped.

“Can’t. Too much.”

Johnny disengaged immediately, and two pairs of hands lifted you from where you sat impaled. Soft words and warm washcloths bathed you in the afterglow. Gentle suggestions guided you under the covers, and a familiar touch turned you to rest with your back to a heated chest. Warmth crowded in from the front, too, murmured joy and praise leaking through the haze to find you.

You didn’t even realize as you slept that you’d found something far better than a good neighbor. But that understanding would come with the dawn, a cup of tea, and a suggestion to go thrifting when the weather broke so you could find a matching set of truly hideous mugs.

[vomitichi1]

No intento molestarte, mucho menos atacarte. Solo quiero que entiendas que tengo derecho a decirte que me has lastimado, sin que eso signifique que invalide cómo me siento. No quiero discutir, no quiero justificarme, no quiero escuchar que "no era tu intención". Solo quiero que lo sepas. Que mi dolor no necesita tu permiso para existir.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

hi nicholas! i hope your having a nice day. i have to sound very stupid for a minute, but i could not find a clear answer and im hoping you can help me out. other than being attracted to trans people, what exactly is it that designates someone to be a "chaser" ? i know there ARE distinctions, im just in the dark about the issue and i'd rather not be. it seems like indifference to trans experiences might be part of it, judging by your recent tags? thank you for the help if you answer this 🙏

For me, a "chaser" is someone who is attracted to transness in ways that objectify the trans person, seek to control how they present, and even invalidate their identity.

In my own experience with my BFF-turned-abuser, he framed me as a "safe" (ie, no balls touching) way to engage with his bisexuality. Whenever he called me "best of both worlds", I felt reduced to my vagina. He was obsessed with me staying twinky and non-threatening to his own masculinity, to the point of him discouraging me from starting T. My transness was a dirty little secret to him and he was ashamed whenever I tried to stop being stealth, even among friends. He wanted to control my presentation so that I could satisfy his fetishes. I never felt like a man around him. All this and we never even fucked. (I was not interested in him sexually, thank god.)

Compare to my spouse, who engages with me sexually with an understanding and respect of my boundaries, and who has never sought to control how I present myself to the world. I feel validated and safe, and being told my dick is hot feels like it being attached to *me* only magnifies any of its inherent eroticism.

We all have our preferences and, yeah, trans bodies are hot in some cool and unique ways that can make people go feral. That's cool and can actually be affirming and sexy. But it becomes a problem when you only treat people as their parts, and especially when you treat them as sinful secrets, despite your own enjoyment.

Trans women tend to be far more eloquent on the subject, and I encourage you to find and listen to what they say here, am happy to amplify any comments on the matter.

[dreamingofthewild]

I might get hate for this hot take, but I will say it anyway because there have been a lot of Mystra defence posts lately. Content warning for religion critical ramblings (I feel like I need to preface this with a disclaimer that I am not an atheist).

Tl;dr - I think people struggle to see how Mystra abused Gale because worship is romanticised to a certain extent in fantasy, especially when it comes to the 'good' aligned gods. Yet his story, like Shadowheart's, is a criticism of transactional faith - specifically where the line lies between devotion and exploitation.

Please note that these are just my opinions from what I have observed from the game, and interesting meta posts from other users on this subject. I don't claim to be an expert on religious practices - or an expert on Gale. I am open to discussion, and my intent is not to invalidate other people's opinions or headcanons.

I just always feel the need to defend Gale when people defend Mystra - as he seems to be the only person in the game that people think is exempt from the 'cycle of abuse' theme.

In my opinion defending Mystra by claiming she "has her reasons" for how she treats Gale is essentially the same as the "God has a plan for everyone" response people use when something bad happens. Similarly, justifying Mystra's demand for Gale to use the Orb as her way of "protecting her domain" closely resembles telling someone they've sinned and the only way to redeem themselves is through sacrifice or death. This reasoning follows the same troubling logic: "God is good, God is great, and whatever God asks is justified because we depend on them."

According to this logic, obedience is mandatory, without question or challenge. That logic places worshippers in a one-down position where obedience trumps consent, curiosity, or self-preservation.

Mystra's relationship with Gale was undeniably exploitative, and we should question rather than blindly accept her motivations. She withheld crucial information about the Orb until he became an actual liability, and even then, only to protect herself. She had alternatives - she could have asked him to retrieve the Crown, and he would have - but instead, she told him to die. If you want proof that she is only caring about herself - and not the fate of Faerun - watch what happens when you allow Gale to use the orb in Act 2. I think giving Mystra the crown at the end of the game proves that Gale was never a threat to her.

Gale’s status as her Chosen was contingent upon his obedience and usefulness, making him little more than a tool for her ambitions. Being a Chosen is nothing more than, ''I will give you these powers in exchange for your service to me''. As a deity, Mystra had no genuine need for mortal companionship or intimacy beyond creating emotional dependency and isolation. Encouraging such profound reliance on her praise that Gale would willingly contemplate suicide is morally reprehensible. Gale's acquisition of the orb was rooted in a desperate attempt to impress Mystra (he mentions that he felt like her attentions were slipping from him i.e. he thought the was doing something wrong) - a pursuit she surely recognised and could have prevented if she had just communicated with him. Yet that would require caring about him, and not just what he can do for her.

She calls his actions selfish, when she never told him the true nature of the orb until it was relevant to her, and didn't acknowledge that he was doing so as an act of devotion. He also spends the whole game actively trying to feed the orb so it doesn't detonate and harm others, which is far from being selfish. Yet many people in the fandom call him manipulative for doing so.

Is Gale really selfish for wanting to impress his Goddess, and then for wanting to live?

Gale wasn’t a real threat; he was an example. A warning. Her message was simple: defy me, and I will turn you into a weapon against yourself. His devotion, cultivated since childhood through Elminster’s influence, was used against him. He was isolated, praised, elevated and made dependent on her approval. His powers came at the cost of servitude.

Defences of Mystra’s behaviour can be unsettling. Gale certainly isn't flawless - he is ambitious, sometimes reckless, and lacks wisdom. But perhaps he was too young and vulnerable to shoulder the responsibilities of being a Chosen. Had he not been isolated through his relationship with Mystra, he might have had peers or mentors capable of offering guidance and restraint. If Elminster hadn't entered his life when Gale was merely eight years old, perhaps Gale wouldn't have developed such intense ambitions in the first place. Gale’s character and choices were deeply influenced by an environment that prizes ambition - an attitude common among wizards in the Dungeons & Dragons universe.

If Gale was born during the spell plague then this makes Gale, who admits that he was summoning rabbits as a babe, even more special and worthy of the attention of Mystra.

Mystra's abuse of Gale does meet grooming patterns where - a powerful adult ''builds trust, meets needs, then slowly sexualises the bond before discarding the victim once usefulness wanes''. She was his mentor before his lover and in a line that was removed from the game he says that when she revealed herself to him 'he couldn't say no'. Once again, we have to question why Elminster sought Gale out and he role - intentional or not - that he had to play in putting Gale on this path. Especially since in the lore he was helping Mystra find new Chosen when she returned - and why would he not recommend Gale. Once again, Gale felt that her attentions were slipping, which is why he wanted to impress her, and he was discarded until he was useful to her again (to get the crown).

This dynamic mirrors real-world religious abuse - particularly when leaders tie love, worth, or salvation to sacrifice, silence, and obedience. People in such systems are often taught that suffering is noble, doubt is betrayal, and punishment is deserved. You can see this is Gale's personality - eager to please, terrified of abandonment, and reluctance to set boundaries.

Gale’s arc in BG3 is partly about breaking free of this cycle. He’s forced to confront the reality that Mystra’s love was never truly unconditional or healthy, and he has to define his own self-worth outside of that toxic relationship. That’s a painfully familiar journey for a lot of people who leave (or are cast out of) controlling religious environments- they have to unlearn self-loathing, reclaim their autonomy, and build meaning from within, not from the approval of a distant authority.

Many players miss this interpretation because Mystra is presented as a good-aligned deity, and Gale is imperfect. I feel like religion and worship is romanticised to an extent, and so the good gods are considered to be good in a way that reflects real world zealotry, and so they assume that Gale must’ve done something to deserve her rejection. Rather than reflecting on the ways that the gods exploit mortals and punish any flaws, or human traits such as curiosity.

Her being on the neutral alignment, and Gale having very human imperfections, doesn’t excuse her actions or make the relationship healthy. It just shows how deeply this kind of manipulation can hide in plain sight when cloaked in authority and framed as divine purpose.

Yet, I don't think that people are ready for this conversation yet. Not only does it criticise real world religion, it criticises how religion is often romanticised in video games. The gods are often humanised, and so we attribute human characteristics to them. It's then so easy to justify their actions, or to even side with them.

This is what I mean when I say that Gale's storyline can't be easily translated to the real world. Gale, unlike Shadowheart and Lae'zel, has a direct relationship with his goddess. Lae'zel and Shadowheart were raised in cults, whereas Gale was not.

Unlike them, we don't see the institution that cultivates the environment he grew up in. Which is wizarding institutions and the very nature of chosen's.

As this is popular in DnD, I think it gets romanticised, and so people can't see the problematic aspects of this system. Thus, they feel the need to defend Mystra.

Translating that to the real world is harder because you would have to make Mystra a mortal, where the story then loses the religious aspect. However, their relationship is still a toxic one, defined by uneven power dynamics and the exploitation of those with talent. By recognising that their relationship is toxic, you are then forced to recognise how abusive their relationship is as a God and a mortal.

I firmly believe that fantasy shows us that if the gods were undeniably real and came in many formats, more people would be religious. I know that what you like in fiction doesn't always equal real-world behaviours. However, sometimes you have to ask yourself why you are quick to defend Mystra if you criticise religion in real life.

I am not saying that you should hate Mystra. After all, it's nice to have a morally dubious female character fulfilling a certain role that's usually dominated by men. But I am saying that you should be critical of her and recognise that she was abusive towards Gale.

Just so you know where the 'Mystra haters' are coming from.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.