#tw backscratching

[jammysworks]

smut below the cut

18+ MDNI

warning: p in v, ass grabbing, manhandling, oral mentioning (fem! receiving), jealous nick leister, dacryphilia, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it ladies and gentlemen), language

∞︎︎

“you’re so fucking needy, amor.” nick belted out through a groan. “grabbing onto him like that,” he continued as your figure began to squirm and moan underneath of him “you just can’t help yourself, huh? you got so wet at just the thought of me finding you begging to get your pussy ate by some imbécil.” he was so mad but all you wanted was his attention. he was just too busy with getting ready to race that he forgot about his girls needs. “mierda, stop squirming and take it.” he said as he gripped onto your left ass cheek toying with the flesh while his cock pounded into your sopping wet pussy. mewls and whines erupted from you; your back arching into a perfect u shape, your chest laying flat against his. grabbing onto his back seeming to be the only thing keeping you from slipping from reality. little did you know your nails were digging into the skin beneath, causing tiny droplets of blood to drip down. this infliction only seeming to stir him on more as he began going faster with his movements.

i got really lazy with this one, but improved work is on it’s way!! <3

[chaoticace2005]

Reasons the Mothman should die, collectively written by the residents of the Hazbin Hotel:

Coding for Characters: Vaggie, Charlie, Pentious, Alastor, Niffty, Husk, pretty much everyone

TW: References to abuse

He’s holding back Angel’s progress. (Vaggie, is killing really necessary?) (I am concerned about going after a Vee)

I’m hungry (ALASTOR!)

Ms. Angel gets nervous when on the phone with him.

His coat is tacky.

He’s a bug! And bugs must be DESTROYED!

So Angel stops feeling like he has to be so damn fake. This is getting on my fucking nerves.

HE LICKED CHARLIE!!! (Vaggie, wait it’s okay.)

Color scheme sucks. Purple AND red?!

He makes Angel sad, NOBODY should make Angel sad.

Those obnoxious glasses just make him look stupid.

He’s a manipulative, abusive prick.

ANGEL DIDN'T KNOW BOUNDARIES WERE A THING?!?!?!?!?!? (Honestly that explains a lot.)

NOBODY deserves to be in an abusive relationship.

Too many arms. Nobody needs that many. (...Angel has that many?) (Well maybe he shouldn't.)

Ms. Angel keeps coming home all messy!!

He’s ruining hearts for everyone. Me and Angel already have enough. At least those are on our bodies, what’s his excuse?

Hearts should not even be ASSOCIATED with Valentino, THIS IS NOT LOVE.

I can do without all the sexual depravity. While I am in Hell this is NOT one of the reasons.

If I have to hear that ringtone one more damn time-

The Eggies found some of his films. They should never be exposed to such horrors. Now I have to explain what “a sex” is.

Makes picture shows that are a disgrace to the idea of “entertainment.”

He’s making a bad name for Uncle Ozzie. This is NOT “lust.”

So we don’t have to listen to another one of Angel’s pornos. (Agreed, it’s quite horrifying!!)

So Ms. Angel isn’t tired when she gets home and can save the kinky stuff for then :) (Niff, really?)

So the kid stops coming home with bruises and cuts that I fix up at 3 am. (Husk, what the fuck?)

Because what the FUCK Valentino?

He keeps forcing Angel to do drugs. (HE WHAT?! Like crack??) (That but also I’m pretty sure whatever comes out of him is an aphrodisiac.)

I want to use his antenna as a backscratcher

Has that whole red color thing going on. Only I am allowed to wear red :) (Al, your text isn’t even red.) (My what?)

What is up with his red spit and smoke? Seriously disgusting.

The red stuff from him may be what allows Velvette to create her “Love Potions” which funds Vax’s stupid endeavors (Do you mean Vox?) (Who?)

FOR MY COLLECTION :D (…yeah okay.)

Really is making a bad name for Overlords. And not in the fun way.

Angel’s shown trauma signs of abuse in our meetings. Im pretty sure it’s Valentino.

Make a doll out of his fur so I have a main villain for roach puppet shows!!!

His only purpose is to keep Veks occupied but considering Vixen’s inane attempts to catch my attention it isn’t working.

So Angel can have his soul and he and Husk can run off into the sunset together like in a fanfiction!!! (Ah, yes that would be nice.) (WE WHAT?!) (Oh Husker, denial doesn’t suit you.)

So Angel can get a good boyfriend THAT’S NOT ME to stop these bullshit allegations.

So Angel can admit his feelings to Husker because our cat surely isn’t going to be the first to do it. (ALASTOR I SWEAR TO GOD!)

Who knows how many other people he’s abusing.

Seems to give Vicks confidence. He has enough of that as is. It much more fun to destroy him.

He makes Angel sad which makes Cherri sad!

HE HIT ANGEL!!!

Called my dear Rosie an "old hag" NOBODY CALLS ROSIE AN OLD HAG.

Angel is a good friend and deserves so much better.

I’ve forgotten what moths taste like.

He keeps trying to get Angel to move out :(

Told the kid he had to lose weight. What the actual FUCK. (Ill kill him.)

He’s annoying and looks quite stupid. How has this not been added yet?!

He’s making a bad name for Spanish speakers everywhere. (Yeah it’s embarrassing.) (Wait… what?)

He’s making a bad name for pansexuals everywhere.

He’s making a bad name for wing-holders everywhere. (HE HAS FUCKING WINGS?!) (Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you?)

Too tall. This is ridiculous.

Won’t admit he’s blind so he’s become even more of a public safety hazard.

If I get one more transmission of him and Box commiting lascivious acts someone will be eaten. I don’t care who. What the purpose of these are I don’t know. Advertisement? (I think it’s to make you jealous boss.) (Ha! Jealous of what? Mediocre sex with a pathetic excuse for a businessman with a TV as a head?)

Because Angel deserves fucking better.

[aliveanddying]

TW: childhood sexual abuse detail, domestic abuse, religious trauma

I've been thinking about how much of my life has revolved around abuse, and how I've never known anything outside of it. My dad never touched a hair on my head, thankfully, but I have a memory of him from when I was around five years old where he beat my brother with a belt because he said something about religion, though I'm not sure what it was. My mum ironically locked us in the room we used to learn Quran in together, I think to protect us from my dad. My abuse by my brother was already in full swing at this point (he was only nine, and I don't even remember when the abuse started happening), but he only sat in a corner, red eyes bleeding with tears that streamed down his face. To this day dad never hurt any of us again after that, and I know it's bad, but I'm thankful to him for doing it because it's the only repercussions my brother ever sowed for the abuse my sister and I endured by his hands.

My mum hit us for silly things as kids, usually on our hands or arms with her hand or sometimes a sandal, backscratcher or flyswatter. She told us that one time she smacked my brother on his back when he was around four, and the wind got knocked out of him. She said she would never hit us on our backs or faces again after that, and interestingly, by the time my youngest sister was around five or six years old, she completely stopped hitting us. She was usually way too busy to hit us anyway, always working, cleaning and cooking us the best food she could while both her and my dad were earning minimum wage. Some nights we would eat white bread with butter, dipped in warm milk just so our stomachs would be full before bed, and sometimes in the day we'd have a tin of sardines mixed up with green chili, red onion and salt over white rice. To this day I still cherish these meals the same, because mum always made them as delicious and nutritious as she could. I didn't even know that these were the meals we would eat when we were struggling until I became an adult and looked back on how fiscally we actually lived.

The abuse from my brother started when I was young enough to not even remember it, and ended when I got too old and he set his sights on my little sister. By this time he was in his mid-to-late teens. I'll never forgive myself for ignoring all the signs that he was doing the same to her, and not understanding that not everyone goes through this stuff until I was way older. She told me what he did to her when I was around thirteen, and I had no idea what to do, so I just told her to come to me whenever he tried something. I should have just told my parents there and then, but whenever I thought about doing so, a fear so large that it would set every nerve ending in my body on white hot fire, consumed me. I'm not even sure what I was afraid of, but I never told anyone, including my sister, about him abusing me too. My mum died without knowing, my sister talks to me about it all because she has no one else who would be able to understand her. I'm afraid of telling her the truth because if she blames me or gets angry at me for lying to her, I think I might actually die of heartbreak. I want her to know she can always talk to me and that she can trust me, so the thought of her knowing just makes me think I'll lose her trust. Sometimes when I think about all this, I wish I could disappear in the blink of an eye. I just don't want to talk about him at all, and I wish he didn't exist, but honestly I started this blog because I need an outlet to talk about this, because I can't talk to anyone.

I think I remember the abuse by my brother, and the abuse by the mesab overlapping at some point. I remember it getting so bad that one day my brother ran my foot over with the computer chair at my auntie's house in Cardiff (the one I mentioned in my previous post), and I started crying, hard. It wouldn't usually have hurt this badly, but that day my older cousin, F, gave me a hug to stop me from crying and I just remember weeping for so long in her arms, telling her that he hurt me, over and over again. The next and only time I really let myself wail like that was when my mum died. F was the first person I told about the mesab years later, when I was eighteen, and she helped me get therapy about it, but I never told her about my brother.

I remember that when my brother eventually stopped abusing me, I was so ashamed of the mesab's abuse that I stopped thinking of my brother's abuse completely. I would write in a diary, which I still have but can't read without feeling sick, about how he was "flirting with me", not knowing how else to put it into words using my primary school vocabulary. Between chronicles of broken friendships and stories I would make up about fairies that lived in the willow tree in the school field, I documented the thoughts I had about the mesab. Things like finding out he had a wife and a daughter my age, and wondering if he tells them or his friends about me. Picturing what his daughter looked like and wondering if he did the same to her.

At some point I realised that if things carried on like this, I would completely lose my mind. It was all I thought about, and in some ways I felt like I needed it to stay alive. I started to push his hand away when he touched me, and he would usually just start again after a few minutes. I was scarily dependent on this man, so I would let him the second time, and now that I think about it, it felt like I was abandoned by my brother, who now only gave me morsels of attention when he needed something from me, so the mesab's abuse was like the distorted connection between my brother and I that I had lost. From the day of my epiphany, I started to avoid his classes more and more, going to the bathroom for half an hour to read the back of a box of powdered detergent, bottles of shampoo or bleach. One day, I remember my mum popped out to the shops to grab something quickly during our lesson, and he sent my brother to go and get him some tea and toast from the kitchen. He asked me if he would "fit" inside me, like the lecherous old bastard he was. I had no idea what he meant, so child me just nodded along like I usually did when he spoke to me. He glanced at the couch and then back at me, as if he was thinking. It only occurred to me years later, when these memories flooded back to torment me at seventeen, that he intended to rape me. He just said "no, I think you're too small", and my brother came back to the room with his toast and tea.

It finally ended, I think when I was around eleven years old, about to go into secondary school. I remember thinking that in secondary school I would be different, and I needed to put this "relationship" or whatever it was, behind me so that I could have real boyfriends and live the life I saw in the 2000s teen movies I loved. I pushed his hand away every time now, with the resolve of a preteen longing for a story like Hillary Duff's in A Cinderella Story, and that couldn't happen without a heartthrob like Chad Michael Murray, not a 40-something year old geezer who would fall asleep in his chair when it was too quiet in the room for five minutes. He would retaliate by hitting me for reading something wrong or creating competitions between my brother and I that I would obviously lose, or getting us to draw or write things and say my brother's was better every time, knowing that I was an overachiever at school and a talented artist. My brother and I often got into fights, and he would always yield because he needed me to be on his side and not tell on him for what he did to me. On the last day I ever saw the mesab, I punched his hand away from me. I must have had fury in my eyes because when I looked up at him, he looked almost afraid, as well as angry. He ended the lesson early and ran away with his scaly, slimy old tail between his legs and never came back. My mum was confused about why he stopped coming, and he just told her that he moved house and he was too far away from us to teach us anymore.

The third person that abused me, just makes me sad to think about. I have an auntie (my dad's older sister) who lives quite close to us, so we always see her. For some reason, her family has always rubbed me the wrong way. I grew up playing with her granddaughter who is two years younger than me, but we've never really actually been close. The whole family would always come over to our house, where we would usually play games together on the Playstation or with my stuffed animals and dolls while the adults chatted in the living room and kitchen for hours. When I say the whole family, I mean my auntie's two sons and two daughters, one of each who had entire families and children who came too. My mum would make a huge pan of fulao (or pulao) and about four tandoori chickens, as well as regular white and brown rice and an assortment of fish, meat and vegetable dishes to choose from; my dad would chop big bowls of salad and buy ice cream and Coke for us all to share. My auntie would usually bring big dishes of her own to ease my mum's pain, and we'd always end up with a week's worth of food left in the fridge even when my mum gave containers of each dish to everyone who came.

This auntie has a daughter with down syndrome, who would always be with us while we played. She took the role of taking care of us, always making sure we didn't get hurt or picking up after us when we made a mess. I loved her, because she was always fun to be around and I would cuddle her or read to her for hours when the other kids got too loud. I can't remember if this was the only time this happened, but at one of these big get-togethers, when I was really young (around five?), she put me face down on her lap and started kissing my back. All the other kids kept playing like usual, and I don't think she really understood what she was doing herself. My soul started slipping away like it usually did and I found myself staring at the little TV we had in my room that I shared with my brother until the lights went blurry and clouded my head with RGB-coloured smoke. My mum walked in and screamed "Yallah gou!" (oh my God!) and shame painted my face instantly. She told me to get up and politely asked my cousin to come with her to have some tea with the adults. I don't know how she dealt with the situation, but my cousin never touched me that way again. I remember that night I couldn't sleep and went to the living room to sit with my mum while she watched TV and chatted to my dad until 3am like usual, and they started to talk about what happened. I remember telling my mum not to tell my dad, and she told me not to worry because I wasn't in trouble. My dad seemed to have a nonchalant attitude about it, saying something like "what could we even do?", and my mum angrily saying something about his family. That was the end of that, and my mum just watched over my cousin carefully whenever she came over. Years later, when I was a teenager, she started to behave erratically towards my little sister too, saying sexual things to her and calling her her girlfriend. I would try to get her to stop by spending time with her instead of letting her near my sisters, and eventually she stopped. Even now, my aunt brings her to my house, and I just spend time with her to keep her away from my sisters and keep everyone happy.

I can't help but think it's learned behaviour from somewhere, especially because her family has always rubbed me the wrong way. Coming from a family that has secrets, I know when another family has secrets too, and I really feel that way with them. I'm not sure what made my cousin that way, but outside of all of it, she's very sweet and tends to just mimic what other people say a lot of the time. This is why this just makes me sad, because it feels like she never meant to hurt me or anyone, she just didn't know how to separate platonic, familial and sexual love. Their family is also much more religiously conservative than the way I was raised, and we were never really taught about sex or love or even to be weary about potential child abusers. So I always think, that I can't imagine how hard it must have been for her to grasp these concepts that are just so rarely talked about, and at the time being a 20something year old, I'm sure there were a lot of feelings she didn't know where to place. I don't know how much of this is me just justifying what happened.

This has been another long one, and I still have so much to say, so maybe I'll do a part two tomorrow or later tonight.

[fuck-customers]

Tw: unsanitary? My coworker scratched her back with scissors. Scissors that we use to cut open bags and boxes of food for the roller grill and other things. And she did it Right There at the register. I was disgusted enough I went and bought a backscratcher and a new pair of scissors. Handed her the backscratcher and she's been nicer to me. She has no clue it was an expression of disgust. Lol

[yourguruisproblematic]

Sogyal Rinpoche

TW: Accounts of sexual abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, gaslighting.

Author of the bestselling The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, which has sold over 3 million copies and has been praised by John Cleese, Thom Yorke, and Michelle Yeoh. No mention of the below allegations, or his current work in the wake of his resignation from Rigpa, the organization he cofounded and led until 2017, appear on his website.

Accused by 8 of his former senior students of decades of physical, psychological and sexual abuse (Sydney Morning Herald) with supporting evidence that resulted in an independent investigation report. The report concluded, “Sogyal Lakar should not take part in any future event organised by Rigpa or otherwise have contact with its students.”

Physical Abuse

Allegations of punching and kicking students, “pulled hair, torn ears, as well as [hitting the 8 students] and others with various objects such as [his] back-scratcher, wooden hangers, phones, cups, and any other objects that happened to be close at hand. (Open letter dated July 14, 2017)

Gut-punched a Danish nun in front of an assembly of more than 1,000 students at Lerab Ling in France because his footstool wasn’t in the right position. Then refused to continue with the retreat as students questioned this action, speaking through an employee: “Sogyal, he said, was upset that people should be questioning his methods. If people didn’t understand what had actually happened, then they probably weren’t ready for the promised higher-level teachings, and Sogyal would not teach again during the retreat.” (SCMP)

In 2001, took on a woman named Drolma as his assistant. "The first time Sogyal hit her hard on the head with the back­scratcher that he carries everywhere, Drolma says, she accepted it as part of his ‘wrathful’ training. ‘I thought, “Wow, he really trusts me.”’ It was the beginning of years of physical abuse and verbal humiliation. ‘If he became anxious about his mother, or over a relationship with a girlfriend or some financial thing, he would slap me across the face, or hit me over the head with his backscratcher.’” (ibid)

Abuse that “left monks, nuns, and lay students of yours with bloody injuries and permanent scars” (ibid)

Drolma in an interview with Good Weekend: “If anything went wrong and his anxiety got the better of him, he would take it out on me. One of those times he grabbed me by the ear and it was torn all the way along the back. There was blood pouring down my neck.” (Sydney Morning Herald)

Verbal and Emotional Abuse

“In December 2005, in a live streamed teachings from the unfinished temple, Sogyal Lakar said that Ian Maxwell, one of his oldest students, was “an asshole”, as Ian lay dying in the hospital in Paris. After Ian’s death Sogyal Lakar said that Ian, ‘died spitting up blood' because he had defied him in the past. Sogyal Lakar regularly used this incident, saying, ‘Do you want to end up dying spitting up blood like Ian for defying me?' as an example to other students when he threatened them with dire consequences if they did not obey his commands“ (Open letter dated July 14, 2017)

Sogyal Lakar told Graham Price that his beloved partner, Elena, got sick (and died a year later) because Graham had shouted at him. “In reality Graham didn’t even raise his voice.” (ibid)

Publicly humiliated a male attendant during a teaching session who had erred on travel plans. "Sogyal got him to kneel at the foot of the podium and then run backwards and forwards across the tent. I felt terribly uncomfortable but I also thought he was very fortu­nate to have such close attention from the teacher.” (SCMP)

Sexual Abuse

Within a year of the publication of The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, groomed and sexually abused a woman named Dierdre Smith who attended one of his retreats after the death of her father. “For several months Dierdre put her everyday life on hold and travelled with Sogyal as his servant, sex partner and arm candy. She recounts how the smile on Sogyal’s face and the unctuous charm of his of his public presentation vanished the moment they were hidden from view: ‘There must have been about 10 women in his inner circle,’ she says, and it was our job to attend to his every need. We bathed him, dressed him, cooked for him, carried his suitcases, ironed his clothes and were available for sex. He was a tyrant. Nothing we did was ever good enough. He went into screaming rages and beat us. If I tried to question the way he treated us, he became angry. The only way to avoid this was to stay silent and submissive.’” (Behind the Thangkas)

In 1994, a $10 million civil lawsuit was filed against Sogyal Rinpoche and Rigpa by an anonymous plaintiff, who was given the name “Janice Doe” to protect her identity. The complaint alleged infliction of emotional distress, breach of fiduciary duty, and assault and battery. (The Telegraph)

In 1995, an anonymous female student told The Telegraph Magazine: "It's a relationship that you haven't chosen, agreed to or discussed. Because he was my spiritual teacher, I trusted that whatever he asked was in my best interests. You're chosen which makes you feel special. You want to help the teachings, you want to progress on the spiritual path. By sleeping with the teacher you get a closeness to him which everyone is hankering after. You want to be a 'good student.' It's a sort of submission. I saw it as part of the teachings about the illusory nature of experience and emotions. But in fact it caused me a lot of pain that I wasn't able to dissolve." (The Daily Telegraph Magazine)

Another female student spoke for the same article: “When, at length, Rinpoche made a sexual advance to her, she says that she felt 'confused'… Her understandings of the teachings, she says, did not help her resolve her confusion. But while her doubts grew, she did not feel 'justified' in expressing them to Sogyal.…'All of the older students, the people I went to for advice, told me repeatedly that I must "abandon my discriminating mind and use my wisdom mind" in dealing with Rinpoche,' she says. 'Every time I tried to do that I ended up doing what he wanted and feeling bad about it later." (ibid)

“The distress felt by students who have had sexual relations with spiritual teachers can be analogous to incest.“ (ibid)

In 2000, Janine, the daughter of a follower of Sogyal Lakar started attending his teachings to spend time with her father who had begun to neglect her. After engaging with Sogyal in a few public settings, she was “ordered to wear a best dress and turn up at Sogyal’s house for dinner. At this moment she realised the whole set up was somewhat bizarre: ‘There was Sogyal surrounded by five or six young pretty girls and there were no other men. Iit was quite fun actually, we had nice drinks and we danced for him. Then at a certain point he asked me to go upstairs with him and massage his head. I made some sort of smart reply and he became angry. He said I was too proud and he would have to break my pride.’” Janine became inducted as an unwilling member of Sogyal Lakar’s harem and forced into orgies. “‘They were terrified of being beaten…During the time I was with him continuously, one of us would be beaten every day – because you forgot something or did something wrong. For one girl it was because the way she walked was too proud. I got a little less than the others — some would get a serious, really bad beating. He got irritated with me because when I did something wrong I would hand him something to hit me with and that would spoil the fun.’” (Behind the Thangkas)

“Indoctrination into the inner circle is designed as a life sentence. A young, vulnerable woman is programmed to accept Sogyal’s god-like status and to be compliant with his wishes and whims, slave-like in her willingness to accept a punishing workload and available for sex on demand. She is separated from her family and friends, discouraged from contact with the outside world and persuaded to see Rigpa as her family, with Sogyal (confusingly as father-lover) in absolute power and control. In the majority of cases, it works. By the time these women realise they are being abused and exploited and are deeply embedded in a coercive cult, it is too late for them to extricate themselves. Their investment is total and their chances of making lives for themselves beyond Rigpa have dwindled into non-existence.“ (ibid)

Allegedly instructed students to strip, show their genitals (male and female), provide oral sex, provide photos of their genitals, to be sexual partners and to describe other sexual relations with other partners. (Open letter dated July 14, 2017)

Allegedly ordered students “to photograph [his] attendants and girlfriends naked, and then forced other students to make photographic collages for [him], which [were then] shown to others.” (ibid)

Allegedly “offered one of [his] female attendants to another lama (who is well known in Rigpa) for sex.” (ibid)

Met Victoria Barlow in 1976 for a private teaching, “He roughly put his hand up my long dress, groped my privates, unzipped himself and lay on top of me, literally grunting for the minute or two until he released. Immediately, he got up, said he had things to do, that he was getting ready to travel across America.” (Sydney Morning Herald)

Gaslighting

Food was not hot enough

Awakened from nap a half hour late

Phone list was missing a name or the font was the wrong size

The internet connection was slow

The television movie guide was confusing

Technology failed to work

Students failed to “tune into [his] mind” and predict what he wanted

Upset with one of his girlfriends. (ibid)

Sogyal Rinpoche denies all allegations.