#I want at least some validation from someone in my life that things are worth doing

[medicinemane]

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[why-animals-do-the-thing]

average United States contains 1000s of pet tigers in backyards" factoid actualy [sic] just statistical error. average person has 0 tigers on property. Activist Georg, who lives the U.S. Capitol & makes up over 10,000 each day, has purposefully been spreading disinformation adn [sic] should not have been counted

I have a big mad today, folks. It's a really frustrating one, because years worth of work has been validated... but the reason for that fucking sucks.

For almost a decade, I've been trying to fact-check the claim that there "are 10,000 to 20,000 pet tigers/big cats in backyards in the United States." I talked to zoo, sanctuary, and private cat people; I looked at legislation, regulation, attack/death/escape incident rates; I read everything I could get my hands on. None of it made sense. None of it lined up. I couldn't find data supporting anything like the population of pet cats being alleged to exist. Some of you might remember the series I published on those findings from 2018 or so under the hashtag #CrouchingTigerHiddenData. I've continued to work on it in the six years since, including publishing a peer reviewed study that counted all the non-pet big cats in the US (because even though they're regulated, apparently nobody bothered to keep track of those either).

I spent years of my life obsessing over that statistic because it was being used to push for new federal legislation that, while well intentioned, contained language that would, and has, created real problems for ethical facilities that have big cats. I wrote a comprehensive - 35 page! - analysis of the issues with the then-current version of the Big Cat Public Safety Act in 2020. When the bill was first introduced to Congress in 2013, a lot of groups promoted it by fear mongering: there's so many pet tigers! they could be hidden around every corner! they could escape and attack you! they could come out of nowhere and eat your children!! Tiger King exposed the masses to the idea of "thousands of abused backyard big cats": as a result the messaging around the bill shifted to being welfare-focused, and the law passed in 2022.

The Big Cat Public Safety Act created a registry, and anyone who owned a private cat and wanted to keep it had to join. If they did, they could keep the animal until it passed, as long as they followed certain strictures (no getting more, no public contact, etc). Don’t register and get caught? Cat is seized and major punishment for you. Registering is therefore highly incentivized. That registry closed in June of 2023, and you can now get that registration data via a Freedom of Information Act request.

Guess how many pet big cats were registered in the whole country?

97.

Not tens of thousands. Not thousands. Not even triple digits. 97.

And that isn't even the right number! Ten USDA licensed facilities registered erroneously. That accounts for 55 of 97 animals. Which leaves us with 42 pet big cats, of all species, in the entire country.

Now, I know that not everyone may have registered. There's probably someone living deep in the woods somewhere with their illegal pet cougar, and there's been at least one random person in Texas arrested for trying to sell a cub since the law passed. But - and here's the big thing - even if there are ten times as many hidden cats than people who registered them - that's nowhere near ten thousand animals. Obviously, I had some questions.

Guess what? Turns out, this is because it was never real. That huge number never had data behind it, wasn't likely to be accurate, and the advocacy groups using that statistic to fearmonger and drive their agenda knew it... and didn't see a problem with that.

Allow me to introduce you to an article published last week.

This article is good. (Full disclose, I'm quoted in it). It's comprehensive and fairly written, and they did their due diligence reporting and fact-checking the piece. They talked to a lot of people on all sides of the story.

But thing that really gets me?

Multiple representatives from major advocacy organizations who worked on the Big Cat Publix Safety Act told the reporter that they knew the statistics they were quoting weren't real. And that they don't care. The end justifies the means, the good guys won over the bad guys, that's just how lobbying works after all. They're so blase about it, it makes my stomach hurt. Let me pull some excerpts from the quotes.

"Whatever the true number, nearly everyone in the debate acknowledges a disparity between the actual census and the figures cited by lawmakers. “The 20,000 number is not real,” said Bill Nimmo, founder of Tigers in America. (...) For his part, Nimmo at Tigers in America sees the exaggerated figure as part of the political process. Prior to the passage of the bill, he said, businesses that exhibited and bred big cats juiced the numbers, too. (...) “I’m not justifying the hyperbolic 20,000,” Nimmo said. “In the world of comparing hyperbole, the good guys won this one.”

"Michelle Sinnott, director and counsel for captive animal law enforcement at the PETA Foundation, emphasized that the law accomplished what it was set out to do. (...) Specific numbers are not what really matter, she said: “Whether there’s one big cat in a private home or whether there’s 10,000 big cats in a private home, the underlying problem of industry is still there.”"

I have no problem with a law ending the private ownership of big cats, and with ending cub petting practices. What I do have a problem with is that these organizations purposefully spread disinformation for years in order to push for it. By their own admission, they repeatedly and intentionally promoted false statistics within Congress. For a decade.

No wonder it never made sense. No wonder no matter where I looked, I couldn't figure out how any of these groups got those numbers, why there was never any data to back any of the claims up, why everything I learned seemed to actively contradict it. It was never real. These people decided the truth didn't matter. They knew they had no proof, couldn't verify their shocking numbers... and they decided that was fine, if it achieved the end they wanted.

So members of the public - probably like you, reading this - and legislators who care about big cats and want to see legislation exist to protect them? They got played, got fed false information through a TV show designed to tug at heartstrings, and it got a law through Congress that's causing real problems for ethical captive big cat management. The 20,000 pet cat number was too sexy - too much of a crisis - for anyone to want to look past it and check that the language of the law wouldn't mess things up up for good zoos and sanctuaries. Whoops! At least the "bad guys" lost, right? (The problems are covered somewhat in the article linked, and I'll go into more details in a future post. You can also read my analysis from 2020, linked up top.)

Now, I know. Something something something facts don't matter this much in our post-truth era, stop caring so much, that's just how politics work, etc. I’m sorry, but no. Absolutely not.

Laws that will impact the welfare of living animals must be crafted carefully, thoughtfully, and precisely in order to ensure they achieve their goals without accidental negative impacts. We have a duty of care to ensure that. And in this case, the law also impacts reservoir populations for critically endangered species! We can't get those back if we mess them up. So maybe, just maybe, if legislators hadn't been so focused on all those alleged pet cats, the bill could have been written narrowly and precisely.

But the minutiae of regulatory impacts aren't sexy, and tiger abuse and TV shows about terrible people are. We all got misled, and now we're here, and the animals in good facilities are already paying for it.

I don't have a conclusion. I'm just mad. The public deserves to know the truth about animal legislation they're voting for, and I hope we all call on our legislators in the future to be far more critical of the data they get fed.

[helen-with-an-a]

reader and player are in an relationship (either leah williamson, lucy bronze, jill roord, ona batlle, mapi leon) and are out in public and get hate crimed and sends reader into anxiety or panic attack and doubt about relationship please tysm x

Hiiiii. Thank you for this request. So I went with Mapí León for this one. And i think it's kinda cute. It's fluffy, it's angsty. It's incredibly long but I didn't want to split it up either and ruin the flow. I also received a request for some more mental health/anxiety ideas so I hope this fits into what you wanted. For anyone struggling with their sexuality or homophobia, just know that you are valid, you are loved and you are worth every single bit of happiness in this world. I love you lots and lots and I my corner of the internet helps someone. I hope you enjoy <3<3<3

Attacked

Mapí León x Reader

Description: R gets attacked by a 'fan'

TW: Homophobia; assault; homophobic assault; panic attacks; needles/hospitals

Word count: 8.6k (she a long one, I'm sorry)

It took a stupid amount of time for you to realise you were gay. Or at least that’s what you thought. You hadn’t realised you were anything other than straight until you arrived in Barcelona. You weren’t even sure what led to the epiphany. Yes, there were pretty girls in the Spanish city. But there were pretty girls in London too. It wasn’t like you had been sheltered from homosexuality either; you were a female footballer, for crying out loud. You couldn’t even go one season without teammates shacking up with each other (and that was just in the youth age groups).

Looking back, it wasn’t obvious either. You had heard from some of your friends at Arsenal that it was as clear as day they were gay, or at least not straight, by their clothing and mannerisms, especially when they were still figuring out their sexuality. You had none of that. You lived in your joggers and jeans more often than not, but you were no stranger to a pretty skirt or flowy dress. You never had a boyfriend. But you never expressed an interest in girls, either. Your parents called you a late bloomer. But there was never any form of romantic interest. When your friends asked about your crushes during a game of truth or dare, you lied and picked the first boy that came to mind.

It wasn’t that you were actively hiding something from yourself; it was more like the thought had simply never occurred to you. You were focused on football, your studies, and just living your life. There was never a pressing need to figure out who you were outside of that. The idea of dating, of romance, seemed secondary – something you’d get to when you were ready. If you were ever ready.

There was no sudden awaking in Barcelona either. You had just been going about your life. Football, friends and family. That was all you really wanted. It took you a while, but you found yourself noticing things you hadn’t before. The way your gaze lingered on the girl with the bright smile serving you coffee. The blush that bloomed across your cheeks when an opposition player swapped shirts with you. The way you had to force your eyes elsewhere as she stripped off her top. These weren’t feelings you could dismiss as admiration or friendship anymore.

Still, it wasn’t a sudden realisation. It crept up on you, a slow dawning that left you questioning everything. You started paying more attention to how you felt around certain people, how your body reacted, the warmth in your chest that spread whenever a particular girl laughed at your jokes. It was confusing and exhilarating all at once. You found yourself replaying moments in your head, trying to decipher them like they were clues to some hidden mystery. The more you thought about it, the more everything started to make sense. The way you’d always felt a little out of place when your friends talked about boys, how you’d never really understood the obsession with crushes and dating. It was like looking at your life through a new lens, one that brought everything into sharper focus.

And then she appeared. Well, she had been at Barcelona for longer than you had. Her bleach blonde hair and inky tattoos littering her skin. You didn’t really notice her at first, not in any way other than a friend. A friend with chocolate-coloured eyes and soft skin that made your heart flutter and your skin tingle.

You’d been introduced to her during a training session, just another teammate to get to know in this whirlwind of new faces and routines. At first, it was easy to categorise her in the same way you did the others: as someone to pass the ball to, to run drills with, to exchange banter and maybe grab a drink with after practice. She was easy-going, with a quick wit and a laugh that made you feel at ease. But that was all, or at least that’s what you told yourself.

“Hola,” she smiled at you, relishing in the soft pink that settled on your cheeks.

“H-hola.” Your Spanish was really not very good. You had a rudimentary understanding from school, but the rapid torrent of rolling rs and expressive hand gestures that accompanied the language often left you scrambling to keep up. Still, you tried your best, determined not to look completely clueless. She seemed to find your attempts endearing, her smile widening as she tilted her head slightly, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Soy María.” The teasing lilt was evident, even in the simple sentence. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Soy Y/N,” you whispered back, face burning in embarrassment.  

The shift happened gradually, so subtly that you didn’t even realise it at first. You started looking forward to seeing her, noticing the little things she did—the way she always seemed to find you after a tough drill to share a grin or offer an encouraging word, the way she’d nudge your shoulder when you made a joke, the way her eyes sparkled when she was teasing you. It was like she had this effortless way of making everything seem lighter, more fun.

You told yourself it was just friendship, a camaraderie that came from being on the same team, from sharing the highs and lows of training and matches. But deep down, there was a gnawing feeling, a quiet whisper that this was something more. The way your pulse quickened when she was near, the way your stomach fluttered when she touched you, even if it was just a casual brush of her hand. You tried to ignore it, to push it down, to convince yourself it was nothing. After all, you’d never felt this way about anyone before. It didn’t fit with the version of yourself you thought you knew. But the more you tried to deny it, the stronger it became until it was impossible to ignore.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You and a few teammates had gone out to celebrate a win, the energy still buzzing in your veins as you moved through the crowded bar. Mapí was there, of course, her presence as intoxicating as the drinks in your hand. You found yourself gravitating towards her, just like you always did. But this time, something felt different, charged.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the adrenaline from the match, or maybe it was just the way she looked at you – like you were the only person in the room. Whatever it was, you felt bold in a way you hadn’t before, leaning in closer, laughing a little louder, your touches lingering a little longer. And she responded in kind, her eyes never leaving yours, her smile turning softer, more intimate.

At some point, the two of you found yourselves outside, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat inside. The city lights twinkled above, and for a moment, everything felt surreal, like you were in a dream. She turned to you, her expression unreadable, and before you could even think, she was leaning in, her lips brushing yours.

It was soft, tentative, and it sent a shockwave through your entire body. For a split second, time seemed to stop, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. And then, just as suddenly, she pulled back, her eyes searching yours as if she was waiting for something – for you to react, to say something, to do anything.

“Lo siento mucho. I … I thought I read that right, I thought … never mind. Dios, soy tan estúpida. Qué idiota, María. I’m so sorry, please forget about it. I-” She ran a hand through her hair, her body shifting from side-to-side as if she was at war with herself on whether she should stay or lip.

“No,” you shouted, cutting her off. “I ... I’m the stupid one. I’ve never … I’m … god, this is embarrassing. I’ve never … that was my … um … my first kiss.” you finally blurted out, your voice trembling with a mixture of nerves and vulnerability. The confession hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. You immediately felt the urge to shrink back, to take back the words, to pretend they had never left your lips. But it was too late; the truth was out.

Mapí’s eyes widened in surprise, her expression softening as she absorbed your words. The tension in her body seemed to melt away, replaced by something gentler, something understanding. She took a small step closer, her gaze never leaving yours.

“Tu primer beso?” she echoed, her voice tender, almost disbelieving. There was no judgment in her tone, only a quiet curiosity, as if she was trying to piece together the puzzle of who you were. You nodded, swallowing hard as you fought the urge to look away.

 “Yeah,” you whispered, feeling exposed in a way you never had before. “I didn’t … I mean, I never really thought about it, not until recently. And then you … and I just …” The words tumbled out in a jumble; your thoughts too tangled to make sense of.

Mapí’s expression softened even further, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the air for a moment before she gently placed it on your arm. The touch was light, reassuring, and it sent a warmth through you that chased away some of the fear.

“It’s okay,” she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “You don’t have to apologise. I didn’t know. I just … I thought maybe you felt the same way I did.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotion. You looked into her eyes, searching for the truth in them, and what you found there took your breath away. There was no mockery, no pity, just a quiet understanding and something else – something that made your heart beat a little faster.

“I think I do,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The confession felt like a leap into the unknown, terrifying but also liberating. “I’m just … figuring it out.”

Mapí’s smile widened, and she let out a soft, relieved laugh. “We can figure it out together,” she said, her hand giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “If that’s what you want.”

You nodded, the fear slowly giving way to a tentative excitement. “I’d like that,” you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Mapí had been true to her word in every sense. She held your hand, standing silently next to you but never guiding or pushing. It was strange at first. A good kind of strange. The type that made your stomach flop and your heart do back flips. She was patient, always attuned to your pace, never rushing you or making you feel like you had to be something you weren’t ready for. She seemed to understand, instinctively, that you were still figuring things out, still finding your footing in this new terrain of emotions and desires. And she was there for you, steadfast and unwavering, offering support without overwhelming you.

It was in the little things that you noticed her care the most. The way she would brush a stray hair from your face, her touch feather-light and full of affection. How she’d send you a small, reassuring smile across the pitch during training, a silent message that said she was there if you needed her. And when you were together, just the two of you, she’d hold your hand or wrap an arm around your shoulders, her presence warm and comforting, like a blanket shielding you from the uncertainties of the world. The team had caught on to something between you – it was clear the two of you were hopeless of each other. Alexia had been so excited that one of her best friends had finally found love. She was ready to scream it from the rooftops to anyone who would listen.  But Mapí, ever the private person, had gently asked Alexia to keep things quiet for a while. It wasn’t that she was ashamed, far from it – she was simply respecting your need for time, for the space to navigate this new part of your life without the added pressure of everyone else’s expectations. Alexia, despite her bubbling excitement, had understood, offering a knowing smile and a promise to let you both reveal things in your own time.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the team started piecing things together. The stolen glances, the subtle touches, the way you seemed to gravitate toward each other whenever you were in the same room – it was all too obvious to those who knew you well. There was a teasing comment here, a raised eyebrow there, but overall, the team was respectful, allowing you and Mapí to define your relationship on your own terms.

You found yourself relaxing into it, this new rhythm of your life that included Mapí in ways you hadn’t even imagined before. The two of you would grab coffee after practice, sometimes lingering for hours as you talked about everything and nothing. On days off, you’d explore the city together, finding hidden gems in Barcelona that you’d never noticed on your own. And always, there was that gentle, steady presence of hers, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

The first time you kissed her again, it was different. You were so nervous, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure she could hear it. But Mapí was patient, waiting for you to make the first move, her eyes gentle and encouraging. When your lips met, it was slow, tentative – a kiss filled with promise and the quiet understanding that this was something you both wanted to explore together. There was no rush, no pressure, just the two of you sharing a moment that felt like the beginning of something real.

As the weeks went by, you found yourself growing more comfortable in her presence, more confident in your feelings. You started to let go of the fear that had held you back, the fear of not knowing, of not being enough. Mapí never made you feel like you had to have all the answers. She was content to let things unfold naturally, to let you take the lead whenever you were ready.

It had been almost a year at this point. The words had been dancing through your mind for a month or so now, the phrase resting on the tip of your tongue as she made you your morning tea and helped brush through your hair before bed. You felt every ounce of her love for you throughout the day. From the way she guided you through the doors at the training facility to the proud look she gave you when you finished your plate at lunch time.

You could see it in her eyes, the way they softened whenever she looked at you, and in her touch, gentle and reassuring, like she was always trying to convey what words couldn’t fully capture. It was in the way she would leave little notes for you to find—scribbled reminders that she was thinking of you even when you weren’t together. It was in the way she knew just how you liked your tea, the perfect amount of sweetness, the right temperature. And it was in the way she was always there, not just as a lover, but as a partner, a friend, someone who understood you in ways you didn’t think were possible.

The three words had been lingering in your mind, growing stronger with each passing day. You felt them pressing against your chest, warm and insistent, waiting for the right moment to be set free. But every time you tried to say them, they stuck in your throat, the fear of what they might mean, of how they might change things, holding you back.

It wasn’t that you doubted how you felt - you were sure of it in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. It was the weight of those words, the finality of them, that made you hesitate. Because once they were out there, you couldn’t take them back. And what if they changed everything? What if they made things too real, too fast?

But then there were moments when you looked at her - really looked at her—and you wondered how you could ever keep something so true to yourself. She deserved to know, to hear it from your lips, to feel the depth of your affection. And you wanted to say it, wanted her to know just how much she meant to you.

One evening, as you both sat on the couch in your shoebox flat, her head resting on your shoulder while a movie played in the background, you felt the words bubbling up again. She was tracing absent patterns on the back of your hand, her breathing soft and steady, completely at ease in the quiet intimacy of the moment. You glanced down at her, taking in the relaxed lines of her face, the way her eyes fluttered closed as she nestled closer to you.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words finally spilling out before you could overthink them. Your heart raced as soon as they left your mouth, the silence that followed feeling both heavy and light all at once.

Mapí’s eyes opened slowly, her gaze searching yours. There was a flicker of surprise, but then her lips curved into a soft, radiant smile. She shifted, turning to face you fully, her hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“I love you too,” she said, her voice steady, filled with a quiet certainty that made your heart swell. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I didn’t want to rush you.”

A wave of relief and joy washed over you, so powerful it brought tears to your eyes. You leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth of her palm against your skin, and suddenly, everything felt right. The fear, the hesitation – it all melted away, leaving only the truth of how you felt, and how she felt too.

She pulled you closer, her forehead resting against yours as she breathed out a soft, contented sigh. “I’m so glad you said it,” she murmured, her thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “Because I’ve been waiting for the right time, and this feels perfect.”

You smiled, feeling the tears spill over, but they were happy tears, tears of relief and love. “It does,” you agreed, your voice thick with emotion. “It really does.”

You leant down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. She paused, kissing back but letting you take the lead, just like she always did. “María,” you sighed when you parted. Her name felt like a prayer on your lips, a whispered declaration of everything you felt but hadn’t yet put into words. She looked at you with those deep, coffee-coloured eyes, so full of love and understanding, and you felt the last remnants of your doubt dissolve. There was nothing but the two of you in that moment, everything else fading into the background.

“Te amo,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly, but your heart steady. You had practiced those words in your head a thousand times, but saying them aloud felt different, more powerful, more real. “I love you so much.”

A slow, radiant smile spread across her face, lighting up her features in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Yo también te amo,” she whispered back, her voice filled with the same emotion that had been building in your chest. “More than you know.”

She kissed you again, her hands threading through your loose strands as she shifted to straddle you. You had done this before, tongues clashing and teeth nipping as you left yourself melt into her. Every time you had done this before. You had felt your heart raise, and not in the good way. Your hands became clammy and your chest tight. It would be lying to say you were waiting for those feelings to arrive, but you were expecting them to appear at some point. You let out a soft hum as Mapí moved to kiss the space just below your ear.

“Está bien esto?” She asked gently, pulling back to look into your eyes. You nodded.

“More than.” She smiled that dazzling smile as you drew her back to you.

“María,” you gasped as she left a gentle hicky on your collarbone. “María,” you said again.

“Qué? I’m sorry. I went to far. Mierda, joder, estúpida María.” The softness in her voice juxtaposed the harshness of her words. You quickly shook your head, reaching up to cup her face with both hands, your thumbs gently brushing against her cheeks. “No, no, you didn’t,” you reassured her, your voice breathless but earnest. “It’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never felt like this before.”

She paused, searching your eyes for any sign of discomfort, her own expression softening as she took in your words. “Like what?” she asked, her tone filled with genuine curiosity, but also a hint of concern.

“Like I’m completely here,” you tried to explain, though the words felt inadequate. “I’m not overthinking; I’m not scared. I’m just … with you. And it feels right. Really right.”

A relieved smile spread across her face, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she whispered against your skin, her breath warm and soothing. “Because I want this to be perfect for you. I want us to be perfect.”

“We already are,” you murmured, pulling her closer, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against your own. “As long as it’s you, it’s perfect.”

She gazed at you for a long moment, her eyes filled with so much love that it made your heart ache in the best way possible. “Te adoro,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always take care of you, you know that, right?”

“I know,” you whispered back, the words resonating deep within you. “And I’ll always take care of you too.”

With that, she kissed you again, slower this time, her lips moving against yours in a way that felt both tender and passionate, as if she were pouring every ounce of her love into that kiss. And you kissed her back with everything you had, letting yourself get lost in her, in the way she made you feel – whole, cherished, and completely loved.

It was something that had never really crossed your mind. Barça were incredibly open in their support of their LGBTQ+ players; most of the girls on the team were either openly gay or at least had never confirmed their sexuality. The culture within the club was inclusive and accepting, a reflection of the progressive values that extended beyond the pitch. The team dynamic was built on mutual respect, and the acceptance of each player’s identity was woven into the fabric of everyday life.

It never occurred to you that you would be the subject of hate. You knew that your relationship with Mapí would help others at some point in their lives. You had never officially announced your relationship, but everyone knew you were together. You never hid your interactions or love for one another, both on and off the pitch. Women’s football as a whole was generally so supportive and inclusive that you never thought much about it.

When you had finally introduced Mapí to your parents, they hadn’t even blinked. They welcomed her in with open arms, asking all about what her life was like in Spain. Your friends hadn’t questioned it either. The people that knew you from football had smiled and continued about their days – they came to you privately later, congratulating you and asking how you dealt with someone as talkative at Mapí León on a daily basis. Your friends from school hadn’t thought much about it either. They had squealed a little more than your teammates, but they overall sentiment remained. They accepted you without question.

But then came the messages.

It was during a routine check of your social media accounts. You had always tried to keep up with your fans and interact with those who supported you, but recently, the influx of messages had become overwhelming. You had been working through them when you stumbled upon a comment that made your heart sink. It was a harsh, venomous remark directed at you and Mapí, questioning the validity of your relationship and expressing disgust over it.

You stared at the screen, trying to process the words. It wasn’t the first time you had encountered negativity, but something about this message hit differently. It was as if the inclusive bubble you had lived in was suddenly punctured, and the harsh reality of prejudice had made its way inside. Your hands shook as you showed the comment to Mapí, her face falling as she read it.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The warmth and acceptance you had grown accustomed to seemed a world away. The message was an unwelcome reminder that not everyone shared the same values of respect and love that you were fortunate enough to experience in your immediate circle. It felt like a betrayal of the very community that had been your support system.

“Oh, mi amor.” Mapi cooed gently. She was no stranger to this kind of thing. She had been one of the first openly gay, popular Spanish footballers with a large platform – she never let the hate get to her too much. She knew who she was. She knew who she loved. And the people that she cared for supported her in that. And that was all she needed.

“Am I really that disgusting?” You voice cracked as you whispered the question. The pain seeping into every word.  Mapí's heart ached at the sight of the anguish in your eyes. She pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you with a comforting warmth.

"No, amor, you are not disgusting. Not in any way. The people who write things like that don’t know us. They don’t understand our love, and their hate has nothing to do with who we are or what we have together.” You buried your face in her shoulder, tears slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts to hold them back.

“Do you think I’m disgusting? Or Alexia? Or Lucy?” She asked, sensing that you didn’t believe her.

“No, no. Not at all. You are perfect.” You were quick to get out.

Mapí's embrace tightened, her fingers gently stroking your hair as she listened to your hurried reassurances. "I’m glad you think so, de lo contrario esto sería un poco incómodo.” she teased softly, her voice quiet and steady despite the rage bubbling beneath the surface.

How could someone think that you were anything less than perfect? You with you gentle smile and happy outlook on life. You with your quick wit and sarcastic humour. You pulled yourself out of your hiding place in her neck, meeting her warm gaze.

Mapí nodded, her expression serious yet empathetic. She brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a gentle touch. You managed a faint smile at her attempt to lighten the mood, though the weight of the hateful comment still pressed heavily on your heart. “It just hurts, y’know? How could a someone think something like that about a total stranger, just because of who they love? It’s so unfair and hurts so much.” Mapí nodded, her expression serious but filled with empathy. She pushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it neatly behind your ear.

“Lo sé, mi amor. It’s very unfair. The hurt is real, and it’s okay to feel it. Just don’t let it consume you. Staying strong isn’t about never feeling hurt. It’s about knowing that the love and support surrounding us are stronger than any hate. I remind myself of who I am and who I love, and I focus on the people who truly matter.”

You looked down at her, seeing the determination in her eyes. " Is it always like this?" you asked sadly.

“No, mi amor. No siempre es así. As sad as it is, we always get those idiotas homofóbicos. We have so many people who stand by us, who see us for who we truly are and love us for it. Those who matter, love us completely.”

“Te amo, María,” you said firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“I love you, Y/N,” she responded with equal conviction.

You had thought that the hate would be contained to the online world, a digital shadow that wouldn’t reach beyond the screen. And for the most part, it stayed there. The overwhelming love and support from strangers and fans often drowned out the negativity. The happiness you felt when reading the heartwarming comments on your birthday photo dump was a vivid reminder of the kindness and acceptance that surrounded you.

But as the days went by, you began to notice a subtle shift. The occasional unkind glance or whispered comment during public appearances started to seep through. At first, it was easy to dismiss—isolated incidents, nothing more than fleeting moments of discomfort. But as time passed, these instances grew more frequent and harder to ignore. It was as though the hate that had been confined to the online realm had begun to manifest in the real world, reaching into places you thought were safe.

It was a fan, if you could call him that. You had seen him a few times at the stadium. He had given you the creeps, even with the mass of security guards surrounding you and your personal guard dog in the form of an injured Mapí León. Since her own injury, she was hyper-aware of everything you did – from the tackles you took on the pitch to the way you cut the food up for your evening meal.

He had started to show up more frequently, always lurking just beyond the edges of the crowd, his gaze unsettlingly fixated on you. Initially, you had brushed it off as paranoia. After all, the stadium was a place filled with people, and not everyone would fit neatly into the friendly supporter category. But there was something distinctly off about him that made your skin crawl.

You were walking down the street to your flat, the sun starting to set, and the city bathed in a soft, golden light. After a long day of training, you had treated yourself to a well-deserved coffee. The warmth of the cup in your hand was a small comfort, a reminder of the hard work you had put in. You should have been more aware of your surroundings. You should have looked around as you crossed the street, your building only a few metres away.

Lost in the mundane thoughts of your day, you barely noticed the figure trailing behind you. The footsteps grew louder, and a voice called out your name. You turned around to see the fan you had seen at the stadium before. His face was contorted with a mix of anger and something darker—something that made your heart race.

“Hey! Y/N!” he shouted, his tone harsh and accusatory.

You forced a polite smile, though unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Yes? Can I help you?”

His eyes flashed with something unsettling. “You think you’re so special, don’t you? You and your girlfriend, flaunting your relationship like it’s some kind of victory.”

A chill ran down your spine. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I …” you thought better of telling him where you were headed. The thought of Mapí waiting for you at home, the excitement at the sweet treats made you change rethink what you were going to say.

Before you could react, he lunged at you with surprising speed. His hands were rough as he grabbed your shoulders, shoving you backward. You stumbled, trying to regain your balance, but his grip tightened, and he shoved you again, sending you crashing into a nearby wall. Pain exploded in your head as you hit the hard surface. The hot coffee scalding your hand and arm.

Your vision blurred as he raged on, his fists flying. One punch landed squarely on your face, and a sharp, searing pain erupted. You cried out, raising your arms defensively as he struck you again. The force of his blows was overwhelming, and you could feel the blood trickling from your split lip and the swelling around your eye.

“Stop! Please!” you begged, your voice hoarse and panicked.

His words were fuelled with the fire of hatred. “You think you can just walk around like that? It’s an abomination! You’re a disgrace!”

The world felt like it was closing in on you, a cruelly distorted blur of faces and harsh sounds. With each punch, you struggled to keep your composure, your vision dimming at the edges. Adrenaline surged through you, but it was not enough to counteract the force of his rage. The pain was almost unbearable, and the cold pavement beneath you seemed to be pulling you into its embrace. How nice would it be to just close your eyes?

Waking up in the hospital was not as pleasant as some TV shows make it out to be. On TV, the protagonist blinks awake, announces that she/he/it is perfectly fine, leaps out of bed, and continues on with their day like nothing ever happened. In reality, the moment you opened your eyes, you were greeted with a throbbing headache and the disorienting beeping of medical machines.

The room was sterile and bright, the kind of light that seemed to invade every corner of your vision. An IV drip hung beside the bed, and your body felt heavy and sluggish, weighed down by both the physical and emotional toll of the previous night. Your face was wrapped in gauze, and each movement of your head sent a ripple of pain through your temples.

You tried to sit up, but a dull ache in your ribs reminded you of the bruising from the assault. Your movements were slow and cautious as you looked around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were a bland, comforting white, and a faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air.

You swallowed, the memories coming back harsh and fast. An abomination. A disgrace. The words echoed in your mind, blending with the beeping of the heart monitor. Your breaths came faster, and you could feel your chest tightening. The realisation of what had happened hit you with a new intensity. The panic began as a creeping unease, but it quickly escalated into something much more ferocious. Your chest tightened, a band of pressure wrapping around it, making it difficult to draw a full breath. Each inhale felt shallow, as though you were only pulling in small, insufficient sips of air.

The beeping of the heart monitor grew louder and more insistent in your ears. It was as if the rhythm was syncing with the frantic pounding of your heart, which seemed to be racing uncontrollably. Your vision blurred around the edges, the sterile white walls of the hospital room warping and closing in, as though the space itself was shrinking.

A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, trickling down your temples and mingling with the tears that you hadn’t realised were streaming down your face. The room felt both too hot and too cold. Your hands began to tremble uncontrollably, and your fingers gripped the sheets tightly, as if they were the only thing anchoring you to reality.

You tried to steady your breathing, but it only seemed to make things worse. Every exhale was ragged and uneven, leaving you gasping for air. Your breaths were coming in rapid, shallow bursts, causing your chest to tighten further. You felt lightheaded, and your body began to tremble, caught in the vice grip of fear and physical exertion.

The panic was overwhelming, a sensation of losing control that seemed to engulf you entirely. It was like being trapped in a claustrophobic space, with your mind screaming for escape but finding no way out. Your body felt alien and unresponsive.

“Mi amor?” María. María, who loved you so much. María, who you loved with all your heart. María, whose love was the reason that man attacked you. María, who looked at you with red-rimmed eyes and dark circles. You gasped, your breath hitching in your throat as she moved from the doorway – a paper cup of coffee in her hand.

You tried to sit up, but the pain was too intense. Instead, you pushed yourself away from her with a frantic, jerky motion, your eyes wide with fear. “No, no, María, don’t come near me,” you croaked, your voice rough with terror. “Please, just … stay back.”

Her eyes widened, confusion and hurt flashing across her face. “Qué? Mi amor, qué pasa?” She moved further into the room. Her approach only heightened your sense of panic. The very thought of her being near you, of her love being a potential catalyst for more danger, made your heart race faster. You could feel the tightness in your chest growing, the room seeming to close in around you. “No, you don’t understand,” you said, your voice rising in desperation. “I can’t … please, I need you to stay away.”

María’s expression shifted to one of deep concern. She hesitated, her hand outstretched but unmoving. “No entiendo. Por favor, mi amor.” The panic inside you was a swirling storm, irrational but consuming. The sight of her, with her tear-streaked face and pleading eyes, felt like it was amplifying your fear, as if her presence was a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. The beeping of the heart monitor seemed to grow louder, more insistent, matching the frantic rhythm of your heart.

The struggle to breathe became more pronounced, each inhale shallow and shaky. You tried to focus on the calming instructions the medical staff had given you earlier, but the sight of María only made it harder to regain control. The feeling of losing control was terrifying, and the idea of her being in close proximity only intensified it.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, your voice choked with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I just can’t handle this right now.” Tears streamed down your face. Your heart breaking at the fear you felt. You wanted nothing more than to be at home, safe, with Mapí lying on your chest, her fingers drawing shapes against your skin. But that thought terrified you. That man … the hatred that he screamed at you.

Tears sprang to Mapí’s eyes too, her face crumpling with a mixture of sadness and frustration. She slowly took a step back, her hand falling to her side, her expression one of heartbreak.

“Amor, por favor. What happened? Please, please.” Her English was rough and harsh – her Spanish accent even thicker through the emotion.

“I can’t, María, I can’t.” The heartrate monitor beeped incessantly. Each beep felt like an assault on your fragile mental state, a mechanical metronome of your fear. The beeping grew louder, more insistent, as if the machine was reflecting the internal storm tearing through you.

María’s eyes were filled with tears, her own panic mingling with yours. She was torn between wanting to comfort you and respecting your need for space. Her hands, now clutched to her chest, shook slightly. “I don’t understand. Please, tell me what I can do. Quiero ayudar, pero no sé cómo.” Her words, though intended to soothe, only heightened your panic. The thought of her being close, her love being a potential source of more distress, felt unbearable. You wanted to reach out to her, to pull her close and find solace in her embrace, but the fear that she might be in danger because of you was overwhelming.

“Please,” you gasped, “just … stay back.” You had never sobbed so hard in your life. Not when your beloved childhood cat died, or when you broke your arm at 17 and had to miss your first youth World Cup.

María’s face fell, her shoulders sagging as she took another hesitant step back. Her sadness was palpable, a heavy, suffocating presence that filled the room. She looked around, her gaze searching for some way to bridge the gap between your fear and her helplessness. “Lo siento, mi amor,” she said softly, her voice breaking. “I’ll stay out here. But please … please try to breathe. Te amo mucho, y … I’m here if you want me.”

María, despite her tears and frustration, slowly backed away as you’d requested, her face etched with worry and heartbreak. The room felt more desolate with her retreat, her absence amplifying the crushing weight of your fear. The medical staff, alerted by the rising noise of the heart monitor and the commotion, entered the room with calm efficiency.

A nurse, her face set in a mask of practiced concern, immediately assessed the situation. She exchanged a quick glance with a doctor who followed her into the room, their expressions serious but composed.

“Y/N, we need to help you calm down,” the nurse said in a soothing tone, though her voice was firm. She spoke English, her accent similar to Mapí, although the softness and love could never be replicated. “You’re having a panic attack, and we need to address it to ensure you don’t hurt yourself further.”

You could barely focus on her words through the haze of your panic. Your vision was blurred, the edges of the room warping. The beeping seemed to grow louder, more insistent, making your head throb with each beat.

The doctor moved with practiced precision, his calm demeanour doing little to ease the tightness. “We’re going to give you something to help you relax,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “It’s a sedative that will help calm your nervous system and ease the panic.”

The nurse prepared the injection with deliberate care, her movements smooth and measured as she drew the medication into a syringe. You could feel the tremors in your hands subsiding slightly as you saw the needle, but the thought of the medication brought a flicker of hesitant hope. The nurse approached your bedside, her eyes soft but serious. “This is just to help you get through this moment,” she explained. “It’ll help slow your heart rate and ease the tightness in your chest. It’s important that you try to stay still and calm.”

You nodded weakly, the effort of maintaining any semblance of control draining you further. As the nurse gently inserted the needle into your arm, the sensation of the injection was barely noticeable compared to the wave of relief you hoped would follow.

The panic attack did not vanish immediately, but the edge of your fear began to dull. Your breaths slowly started to even out, and the room’s oppressive atmosphere seemed to lift slightly. The nurse remained by your side, her hand gently resting on your arm as you began to calm. “You’re doing well,” she said softly, her voice a steady anchor in the midst of your turmoil. “Just focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”

As the sedative began to take effect, you felt a heavy, soothing drowsiness settling over you. The intense tightness in your chest started to loosen, and the room’s edges began to blur again, though this time not with fear but with the onset of a numbing calm. Your muscles relaxed, and the frantic rhythm of your heart began to slow.

The doctor and nurse continued to monitor you closely, their presence a steady reassurance as you drifted towards sleep. As the sedative took full effect, you felt yourself sinking into the mattress, your breaths becoming more even and your thoughts gradually quieting. The panic that had overwhelmed you was receding, replaced by a heavy, drugged tranquillity. The sense of control you had been grasping for was slipping away, but in its place, a fragile peace began to settle.

The last thing you remember before succumbing to the effects of the sedative was the reassuring presence of María, her eyes reflecting a deep, painful empathy as she remained by your side, waiting for you to find some semblance of peace.

Waking up again was not like the movies. Nor like the first time either. The sedative had done its job, easing the panic and helping you relax a little, but the clarity that followed was tinged with a profound exhaustion. The room was dimly lit now, the harsh, clinical light replaced by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. The beeping of the heart monitor had returned to a steady, rhythmic pace, a soothing backdrop to the quiet of the room.

You opened your eyes slowly, your body feeling heavy and drained from the sedative. The pain was still there, but it was more manageable now, softened by the medication. As your vision cleared, you saw Mapí sitting beside your bed, her head resting on her folded arms, her eyes closed in a moment of rest. Her tear-streaked face was illuminated by the gentle light, and seeing her there, so close, stirred a deep ache in your chest.

You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and she stirred, her eyes fluttering open. When she saw you awake, her face lit up with a mixture of relief and lingering sadness. She quickly wiped at her eyes, but the trace of tears remained.

“Y/N,” she whispered, her voice trembling but filled with warmth. “Estas despierta.”

You attempted a weak smile, but the effort was heavy. “Yeah,” you rasped, your voice rough from the earlier panic. “I’m awake.” You lifted your hand slightly, ignoring the way the IV tugged on your skin.

You sighed softly as you found what you were searching for. Mapí’s hand was soft and rough – callouses littered her skin in the familiar pattern. You clutched it tightly, holding her like she was a lifeline. You were fairly sure she was. She squeezed back just as hard, her thumb moving rhythmically against the side of your hand.

“I’m so sorry, María.” You whispered into the silence. “I … I don’t even know what that was.”

“You had a panic attack.” She informed you. “Por mi culpa”. You shook your head gently, though the movement caused a dull throb in your temples.

“No, María, not because of you. Because of him.” She blinked, confused at what you were talking about. Had no one filled her in on why you were here? “Some guy … I was walking back home from the coffee shop. He attacked me.”

Mapí’s eyes widened with a mix of horror and confusion as she absorbed your words. The room seemed to still around you, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor the only sound that punctuated the heavy silence. Her grip on your hand tightened, her thumb moving with renewed urgency as she processed the gravity of what you were saying.

“What do you mean, someone attacked you?” she asked, her voice a blend of anguish and disbelief. Her eyes searched yours for any sign of reassurance that this wasn’t as bad as it sounded. You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

“He was a fan. I’d seen him at the stadium before. He’d always given me a bad vibe, but I didn’t think much of it. He started shouting at me, saying horrible things … and then he just came at me. I couldn’t … I couldn’t defend myself properly.”

Mapí’s face turned ashen, her eyes glistening with tears. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’ve been sitting here, just knowing you were hurt, but not knowing why or how. I should have been here for you, but I didn’t even understand – ”

“No, it’s not your fault,” you interrupted softly, trying to comfort her despite your own fragile state. “I pushed you away. I was scared and confused. I didn’t know how to handle it, and I thought –” She shook her head, her eyes now full of unshed tears and raw emotion. “No, I should have known something was wrong. I should have been more aware. I should have done more.” You could see the self-blame etched into her features, and it hurt to see her like this. You reached out, your fingers brushing against her cheek with as much gentleness as you could manage.

“María Pilar, you listen to me. No es tu culpa. None of this is. I’m sorry for pushing you away. I just … you should’ve had to see me like that. I was so scared that he would come back. And if he saw us, then he might hurt you too.”

Her tears finally spilled over, cascading down her cheeks as she struggled to contain her emotions. “Te amo mucho, Y/N. I’ve been so worried, I’m so, so sorry. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. No se hacen preguntas. I’ll get it for you. Just tell me what you need. Please, just tell me.”

Your heart ached at the sight of her, so vulnerable and heartbroken. It was clear how much she cared, and it made the weight of your situation feel even heavier. You tried to find the right words to express the gratitude and love you felt for her, but they seemed to escape you. Instead, you pulled her hand closer, resting it against your chest as if it could somehow anchor both of you to a place of calm.

“I don’t even know what I need right now,” you admitted, your voice cracking with the rawness of your emotions. “I feel so lost. But having you here … it’s more than I could ask for. Just knowing that you’re by my side means everything.”

Mapí’s tears continued to fall, but she nodded, her expression softening with a resolve that was both comforting and inspiring. “I’ll be here, Y/N. Every step of the way. We’ll face this together, no matter how hard it gets. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in her voice, combined with the tenderness of her touch, began to ease some of the tightness in your chest. You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “I just … I need to find a way to be okay again. I need to believe that things will get better.”

“And they will. Not right away. But they will. Te lo prometo, lo haré mejor.” You closed your eyes, allowing her words to wash over you. The steady beeping of the heart monitor and the warmth of Mapí’s hand in your helped you believe her promise. It was a small comfort, but it was enough to help you find a glimmer of hope.

As you lay there, the exhaustion from the sedative mingling with the emotional drain, you felt a renewed sense of determination. The road to recovery would be long and uncertain, but with Mapí by your side, you felt a flicker of strength that you hadn’t thought possible just moments before.

“I love you, María Pilar León Cebrián.”

“Y yo te amo,Y/F/N Y/S/N.”

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

[asundine]

X

[star-anise]

Everyone's got a take, and I've got a take too, about the current Internet Villain: James Somerton, a gay Youtuber who just got exposed (in the back half of a 4-hour video) as massively plagiarizing the work of LGBTQ+ media critics, historians, and memoirists, and then exposed in another 2-hour video as just making up the wildest nonsense about the topics he demonstrably had access to accurate information on.

He achieved a six-figure income on his work by squeezing money out of his audience with claims...

That only he was creating content that preserved queer history and elevated the voices and experiences of the LGBTQ+ community (a lie)

He was in serious financial distress and would have to go out of business if people didn't give him tons of money (a lie)

That he was going to use some of that cash to make definitely good and not-at-all-plagiarized independent movies, a thing he was definitely skilled and experienced enough to do (a lie), and

That those plagiarism allegations were incorrect,, and frankly,,,, hurtful and homophobic. (a GIANT lie)

Like, here's a visualization of the script of one of his videos, "Society and Queer Horror". The highlighted bits were lifted nearly verbatim from the works of others—the 18 authors identified at the time the exposé was posted—and presented as Somerton's own work.

So here's what drives me absolutely up the wall about this:

If he had just ADMITTED that it was the work of other people, THAT WOULD STILL BE COOL. If he had just said, up front, "We are going on a survey of thoughts and insights people have had about this topic", that would still be a good video with a real audience!

Like yes, he studied business in university, he might not have gotten the kinds of research skills and knowledge someone like Kaz Rowe uses to not just report on the history and analysis of others, but evaluate their relative validity and trustworthiness.

But honestly, since watching my niblings (oldest is 13) watch Youtube, I think you honestly can't underestimate the number of viewers who are really hungry for someone saying, "I don't understand this topic! Let's explore it together!"

But NOOOOOOO, Somerton didn't want to be just some schmuck waxing enthusiastic about homoeroticism on film and acknowledging the smartness of other people. He wanted to be HIM, MR. SMARTYBOY, very sophisticated and alluring and thoughtful and deep. Definitely an intellectual heavyweight who just happened to spout off his own personal ideas and analysis that put him at the forefront of all the scholarship on the topic he's come across.

I hate being wrong. Hate being wrong. But blogging for most of my life has forced me to confront constant textual evidence that two or ten or twenty years ago, I said some dumb-ass shit. Honestly, it'd probably keep me up at night sometimes even if I didn't have a written record. I absolutely understand the desire to scan the field, find the coolest people around, and quickly clothe yourself in as perfect an imitation of them as you can manage.

But if you want to be an artist or a scholar who produces something lasting, you can't prioritize coolness over truth all the time. To develop your true, independent voice, you need to find a time and place where it is just you and just the work you're doing, and you have pick up your tools and say, I don't know if I'm doing this right, but this is what feels right to me.

There are a lot of things in life to which we can only truly contribute our presence and our perspectives. Things we can only witness or hold space for. We cannot go back and bleed the pain out of history, or erase the complexity of another person's life. Not honestly, at least.

But those are the times that need our presence, our perspectives, our witness, and our space. When we gather round and tell sad tales about the death of kings, honesty can be the only thing you give that's worth a damn in the large scale of things.

If this dude had owned up to the truth and honestly showed the work of trying to piece together a queer understanding of the world, trying to draw the threads of culture together until he found a place he fit inside them, it would have been so much more valuable to our culture as a whole.

He probably made more money this way, though. While it lasted.

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

Why is death feederism ok? It is objectively self harm, as one is doing something that will result in them hurting themselves and eventually dying (as fetishized). I just can’t understand it… I am someone in this space that likes being stuffed and full, and doesn’t mind a little biy of wg… but I just don’t understand why gaining until death is encouraged so much when it’s so extreme and life ruining.

Like if there was a feeder and feedee couple that were into it… what would happen if the feeder had issues and couldn’t help the feedee that is reliant on their feeder? What happens if they break up and the feedee is dependent enough where they need family or something to help?? I mean it’s just… they could literally die if they were so dependent and forced to live on their own.. encouraging people to ruin their lives because it makes their private part excited is encouraging self harm.

This is my opinion and I seriously want to know what you have to say… I brought this up to someone else and their response was to block me and say “I think death feeding women think more critically about the fetish🤔” without response. And just so you know this isn’t fatphobic, i never once said I find fat people gross or anything, I just find the idea of fetishizing self harm gross. It’s fetishizing being disabled and or dead.

TW for death feedism, kink talk, self harm/suicide

so general disclaimer - I am not a death feedist and so I don’t know that I’m a good representative to speak on this topic but I’ll share some brief thoughts.

I think it’s okay to look at extreme fetishes and feel uncomfortable with them, so I’m not going to try and tell you that you can’t feel the way you do. I was very critical of people who practiced this fetish in ways I personally didn’t like and this community helped me realize it’s not my business to do that. There is no moral superiority in kink.

The thing is though - in order to be sex positive and an ally to our fellow feedists (yes, even the ones we disagree with or don’t like how they practice the fetish) we have to respect their bodily autonomy and allow them to make whatever decisions they think is best for them. It’s not our job nor our place to tell folks what they can and can’t do.

I would maybe agree that it’s a slippery slope and in a very extreme case, you could argue that this line of thinking would allow us to excuse a suicide fetish, for example (unsure if that’s a real thing). But there ARE disability fetishes and a fetish isn’t inherently bad as long as there are informed consenting parties and you are practicing RACK.

I don’t know if that line of thinking is even worth arguing because it could only serve to slip the other way up the slope back to overt purity culture. I want to validate your thoughts and questions because its important to critically analyze things and i want to believe you are coming from a place of good faith (and I have it in me to try and discuss this).

Regarding the statement of “death feedists think more critically about the fetish” could be true, as realizing you’re a death feedist DOES require reflection and understanding of yourself and of fatphobia in general. I haven’t had at length discussions with folks about this but the death feedists on my dash that post about fat lib seem to know their shit.

At the end of the day, why death feedists enjoy that aspect of the fetish is not for me to debate with or without them present. It’s not for me to tell them what they can and can’t do with their bodies. That aspect of the fetish isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to tell others what they should get off to. I also think death feedists are a smaller portion of the community and it’s easy to block the tags they use if you don’t want to see their content. I know a few death feedists and I like them (at least their online persona) and they are probably more equipped to discuss this if they want to. So please feel free to add some comments if you’d like, death feedist friends.

My advice is practice radical acceptance. It feels uncomfortable but I think ultimately it makes you a better person when dealing with things you think are weird or gross or bad.

[sh0tanzz]

HOW RIIZE HANDLES BREAK UPS ~ based on astrology

reminder this is based off of MY opinions of their birth chart placements + aspects and is not exact fact unless I knew them myself !!!

Shotaro

He definitely wouldn’t go around telling everyone would happen and would prefer to process and think about it privately on his own; if the members knew about the s/o they’d maybe have to find out about the breakup on their own honestly..he’d try to be mature and even seem very distanced after it’s over, he’d possibly become a workaholic but still have times where he’d have to think about what happened. If the relationship really meant something to him he might become a little restless or even attempt to bring the relationship back to together or have some form of proximity. OR he straight up goes no contact completely like. GONE 😀

Eunseok

Similar to my second chance romance post from a while back he’d essentially force himself to move on especially if there’s no prospects of you two coming together again. Like Shotaro he’ll deal with his feelings on his own and would rather find solutions than to ruminate and sulk or even feel the full grasps of his emotions. He’d have his moment and then move on he might even have a somewhat nonchalant “shit happens” attitude towards it; even if it had hurt he wouldn’t allow himself to crumble especially in front of others. I feel like he’d try to date around to get him out of a funk however he might accidentally move on too fast causing room for error.

Sungchan

Oh man who cued the water works. I feel like he’d have to emotionally self soothe, he might seek comfort or advice from his mom or close friends and to see if what happened was “valid”. He’d take a bit longer to move on, even if the feelings weren’t as potent he might lowkey get stuck on the situation itself. Definitely a crier if he genuinely valued the relationship. He might give himself a little glow up or work on himself physically because the break up would essentially affect his ego especially if it’s in bad terms or if the event makes him feel insecure and doubt his self worth. Most DEF has a bounce back tho or tries to at least, like I said before he wants his new partner to look better than the last.

Wonbin

Um. It could turn out in a multitude of ways. If he really liked you he would attempt to spin back or would want you to come back if he simply can’t move on to someone else and is deluded by you OR he’d have himself move on knowing how available other people are to him. He might become a victim in certain situations or may struggle to see where the relationship had went “wrong” due to him not acknowledging the short comings. Honestly Wonbin takes a bit longer to get over breakups but most likely when he finds a new object of affection or is preoccupied with something else he enjoys he’ll ultimately be fine.

Seunghan

He’s one that would go out sad but then try to bounce back. He’d have to emotionally retreat into himself for a bit and even take time away so he could fully process and think through the break up before tapping into his more optimistic stance. Similar to Sungchan he definitely asks/talks to friends on if the relationship was fair, what terms him and the ex s/o are on, if he should spin back, if he should move on; he’d rely heavily on what other people in his circle think. After grieving he’d want to enjoy himself, to party, explore, try new things honestly bring new joys to avoid thinking about what he’s lost.

Sohee

Mr.optimist and get over it honestly. If he executes the break up he’d want it to be blunt and simple but if he got broken up with he’d be slightly taken aback but would accept your stance and try to move on. Honestly he’s what Eunseok aims to achieve after a breakup. He would try not to sulk and would definitely attempt to move on and date others or even attend events where he could get lucky with meeting someone. He’d want to not let it hinder other aspects of his life and may even have a lack of acknowledgement on the fact the relationship even happened. If it’s on bad terms or he felt/was done wrong he’s definitely talking at least a little bit shit I’m sorry 😭.

Anton

Retail therapy, comfort food, ranting about it and gyming it out, a more simple man to a degree in the getting over it process. How he’d treat the person depends, if the break up was on pretty bad terms and you guys can’t even remain on being friends/acquaintances he’d probably essentially avoid you 😭 he might even become a bit gossipy if he felt as though you were in the wrong or shady. However if the terms were good and he really loved the person he might attempt to be platonic or at the very least an acquaintance.

[noihavenosanitythanksforasking]

ableism in mha

okay so i was scrolling and i came across this post and it helped me reorganize a lot of thoughts ive been thinking sense i first started mha. ive always been not a fan of izuku getting ofa in the first place as it felt to me as it almost completely erased any meaning of his backstory. it felt like such a plot armor/mary sue moment but in the end i got over it, assuming that most likely he would loose it at one point (i was right but we'll get to that later).

after he enters UA its almost as if his entire past is just like- not important?? i have plenty of hcs about his suppressed trauma and if you read into a lot of the situations he goes thru in the manga i can see it but is not blatantly said/expressed that he struggles with a complex from how he was treated as a child.

in the end mha becomes a manga mostly focused on some sort of version of not judging a person by their cover. The fact that a technically "villainous" quirk does not make someone a bad person.

now ofc this is totally true. no one should be overlooked or declined rights or decency because of the quirk they have. this lesson is a valid one.

the analogy i have made up in my head is this.

people who are born with "hero-like" or "useful" quirks, for example: bakugou, todoroki, hawks etc are beautiful people

(for the context of this metaphor ignore the fact that beauty is complex and is in the eye of the beholder just roll with me)

and then you have the people with "useless" or average quirks that are just average people

and then you have people like toga or shinsou with quirks that are seen as inherently dangerous. quirks that are unable to be used for good. those are the ugly people.

now obviously we shouldnt discriminate people just because society says they are ugly. there is no doubt in that and it is a tragedy that it happened and still happens.

however

20% of the population cannot even fall onto this scale. the quirkless. aka the disabled. they are not even seen as being worth a label on the scale because they are so disgusting and strange that no one wants to remember yhey exist.

i wouldnt be as upset by the lack of talk about quirkless people if izuku wasnt quirkless, if the first arc of mha wasnt izuku struggling with the fact that no one in the world cares about him but his mom and that not even her believes he can achieve anything because of his disability.

the whole set up was izuku wanted to be a hero DESPITE his disability. even though truly he thought it was impossible. he didnt work out, he didnt try and do anything to become a hero because he believed everyone was right. that what society had been telling him his whole life was true and he couldnt be a hero. but he wanted to despite that. that was the hook of mha. at least for me.

a bullied lonely boy with a disability achieves his dream despite society. despite being told at every turn that he couldnt do it. he said he can and he does.

but thats not what happened at all.

instead some pillar of all that is heroic drops down from the sky and magically cures his disability. and suddenly hes just a normal kid.

and suddenly we forget all about midoriya izuku and how hard it is to be quirkless. how much quirkless people struggle. how many of them must commit suicide because of yhe seeming completely normalized harassment of them in everyday life.

and i dont want to blame izuku for this because in the end hes a kid with trauma who just wants to fit in. its frankly quite obvious that he whole heartedly agrees with bakugou and everyone else from his past that yeah quirkless people are useless.

the way he treated Melissa in the movie broke my heart. he belittled her like it was second nature and while he obviously had no malicious feelings toward her because of her quirklessness he sees her as a second class citizen. hes surprised that she is able to achieve things despite her disability. that she manages to be happy in a world where she isnt "normal".

and again in the long run i dont truly blame izuku for feeling this way. like everyone he is a product of his environment.

again, however:

i do blame horikoshi

do we need to be nicer to people with villainous quirks: yes ofc

but your manga isnt about that. your manga is about someone whose seen as even less than that. you can address both issues.

having bakugou break down about izuku becoming quirkless was good but that was pretty much all we got.

and what happenes when izuku looses ofa?? he gives up on being a hero.

how the hell does that make sense

everyone in japan knows this boys name. he is considered a top hero. and he just drops off the face the hero scene?

hatsume exists??? izukus face has been in her boobs TWICE for gods sake. yaoyorozu can make things out of thin and are they had to wait 8 years.

izuku is too smart to not think of that.

it would take hatsume 3 days max.

and ignoring that whole point again hori is pushing the idea that bakugou and everyone from aldera were CORRECT. that yeah u were right to think the quirkless of useless cause like they cant do anything :3c

izuku has had NO growth this whole manga. all hes learned is how to hit things how to kick things and awww kacchan sad :(((.

nothing about believing in himself. nothing about how he can be a hero despite the odds. nothing even about the power of friendship helping him to overcome.

im just like wtf hori.

[vampirememory]

PAC | Love Predictions Based on Random Pokemon

Hello! This is just a fun pick-a-card! Choose a pile and get a random love prediction based on random Pokemon generated from randompokemon.com <;3

If this gets positive feedback, I may possibly do a game doing cartomancy but with Pokemon cards (I have plenty from my childhood haha) or through the same website, or possibly continue doing pick a cards like this- we'll see!

♢ There are six piles to choose from. Pile one is the letters, pile two is the paper heart, pile three is the ticket to happiness, pile four is the painting, pile five is the telephone, and pile six is the bandaid. Feel free to pick one or several piles. ♢

Pile One ♢ Letters

Who's That Pokemon?

It's Porygon2!

Right now, your love life may be pretty monotonous and boring, constantly going through the same cycles. You may be trying to find a partner through the internet, and it's really not working.

Put in some energy to make connections with people in the real world, especially doing hobbies and things you love, and you may find your love life will become much spicier (not in a 18+ sense, but rather just more flavorful and fun!)

Pile Two ♢ Heart

Who's That Pokemon?

It's Pincurchin!

You might meet someone who naturally has a guarded appearance, but in reality, they are a true softy. They might initially harm you with their words or actions, but they mean no harm, they're just not used to the affection. They'll warm up to you eventually, as will you! You'll find that they're actually quite pleasant to be around, just initially hard to get to know (you know how some people don't date well but are good in relationships? Like that!)

Random note, but they might be very physically affectionate, they love cuddling and hugs <3

Pile Three ♢ Ticket

Who's that Pokemon?

It's Excadrill!

Right now, you may be going in ready to fight, like you're holding a battering ram ready to knock the door down. Right now, you are taking NO prisoners and you mean it! Someone might have hurt someone you love, and you are not standing for that. You may feel so strongly due to previous wounds, you don't want anyone else to feel the same way you did (the red markings remind me of scars). Either way, you're locked and loaded, ready to fight. You might have also recently gotten out of a relationship or don't want a relationship so you're fighting off people you really don't want the attention of. I admire your strength pile three!

Pile Four ♢ Painting

Who's that pokemon?

It's Tinkaton!

You may have quite an adorable demeanor, yes, but people tend to overlook the edginess of your personality. Like pile three, you tend to take no prisoners and would probably gladly go on a riot. Your personality keeps you out of the mold, a rebel almost with a fighting spirit. This may have kept possible partners away from you but someone is going to love your duality!

This pile reminds me of how some women struggle because they haven't received romantic validation from their peers (ditto) and I want to tell you that if you feel the same way, I want you to know that there IS someone out there for you, they just need to match you energetically. If they don't match your boss bitch energy, or at least respect it (or are working towards it), then they aren't worth your time, period.

Pile Five ♢ Telephone

Who's that pokemon?

It's Swadloon!

Ah, my introvert pile. I had the urge to say my "ace pile" so if you are ace you might resonate with that. You're huddling in from the cold, enjoying yourself inside. Do you want a partner? Maybe... Do you feel like looking for them? Not really. You're in some deep, reflective hermit energy right now, gathering up your energy and just enjoying yourself and your own presence. You might have recently broken up with someone.

Basically, enjoy yourself while you are at it. Enjoy your own presence and your own emotions and feelings by yourself or with non-romantic relationships (friends, family, etc). If you're looking for love, there is someone on the horizon, but just chill out for now, you'll go back at it when you're ready and recharged.

Pile Six ♢ Bandaid

Who's that pokemon?

It's Wailmer!

Beach bodyy! I wasn't sure initially how I was going to do a reading based off of Wailmer (he's just a round whale for goodness sake) but then my brain just started yelling beach body and then it clicked.

You might be insecure about your body, especially with the upcoming summer, which may have caused a blockage in your love life, but somehow, you are glowing up! I don't even mean in a physical way, but rather in a mental way. You're going to start seeing yourself better and become more confident in yourself and you're gonna love it.

You might have a summer lover in this incoming season, although I see you are pretty unaware of them. They might randomly come up to you and start making you feel pretty and that's not normal for you. You might push them away at first but they seem pretty consistent; good for you :).

Also, you or they might have a winning/million-dollar smile, "Say cheese!"

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to check out my masterpost with more readings, or you can support me by purchasing a reading by clicking here. Thanks for the support, let me know which pile you picked and if it resonated or not :)!

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam, how did you come to the conclusion you should be tested for neurodivergence? I've been reading a lot of Temple Grandin (Visual Thinking is fantastic) and see so much of myself in her books. But, I, too, am, let's just say well into adulthood, and I don't know if my life would change that much with a diagnosis. The only thing I can think of doing with a diagnosis is telling my siblings and childhood bullies that they picked on someone who had a reason for being "weird." But it doesn't change anything. Beyond the medication, did you find any solace? Thank you for sharing your journey.

I was just thinking I should do a post about this....

I don't recall the specifics and have never been able to find the post again, but sometime prior to 2019 I made a joke about having a short attention span, and someone said something like "Oh, did you finally get a diagnosis?" and I said haha no, I don't have ADHD, and a bunch of readers went, "Uh, you very clearly do." Some of them added that they thought I knew and was just being discreet about it. (As if I have ever been discreet about anything in my life.)

So I figured, okay, probably there's some level of neurodivergence there, given that my mother and siblings all have various diagnoses, and my father was clearly autistic. (Knowing what we know now about how ADHD can mask as other mental illnesses, there's a strong chance this comes from my maternal grandmother, who was the person in the family I was most like when she was alive.) I tried a couple of times to get evaluated and always had either slow or nonexistent responses from the clinics I reached out to, so I stopped trying. I had a ton of coping mechanisms in place and was in a good spot in my life, so I thought honestly, what would it change?

But by the end of 2021, while I was still in a pretty good financial place, and my career was doing well, I could tell that if things kept up as they were I was going to tank my job purely through being unable to get through a day doing productive work the way I used to.

I thought, well, if this is ADHD and it's getting worse because the whole fucking world is on fire, I have two options: I can assume I have it and just do the reading and figure shit out on my own, or I can get evaluated, get professional advice, and possibly get medicated. That seemed like the best return on investment, so that's what I worked on. My goal was primarily medication, because I didn't see myself being able to change much else about my situation on my own. And, truthfully, medication has been the biggest change -- I actually have an essay about that queued for the anniversary of my starting Adderall. But while it hasn't been a massive life-altering world-shattering change, all of this was worth it purely for the medication.

Uh, momentary sidebar in my memoir: there are downsides to having a diagnosed disability -- discrimination, legal barriers to certain things like holding government jobs or adopting, etc. Those have to be weighed when you're considering evaluation. If you think you may have autism, there's not necessarily an advantage to having a formal diagnosis unless you need accommodations; if you think you may have ADHD, the huge advantage is access to medication, which doesn't exist for autism as far as I'm aware. So your particular flavor of neurodivergence might dictate whether you get a diagnosis, or whether you just start operating on the assumption you have it. Both are valid, I think, it really depends on what's going on in your life and what you want to change.

Anyway, I have been doing other research, reading journal articles and pop psychology and talking to people, and that's been good, but even if I had none of that, the medication has been so helpful in getting me back on an even keel and then making life even better.

This sounds kind of weird to say but I'm not generally someone who needs a lot of solace. There is some relief in knowing that at least some of my fuckups in life weren't something I could have prevented by simply having more strength of character or working harder, and that's nice, but it's something I could have had without a formal diagnosis -- just like you could simply tell your siblings and bullies you have a diagnosis. (Being real, I doubt they'd care; bullies gonna bully whether you had a reason to be weird or not, and none of that would have been your fault regardless of your neurology. But it's all very situational, as I'm sure you know.) I wasn't badly bullied as a kid and there's nobody really to...tell, in the sense you're thinking of. But I didn't get into it for emotional solace; I got into it to fix a life that was, albeit extremely slowly, starting to fall apart. So if you're someone, as most people are, who derives emotional satisfaction or catharsis from having the diagnosis, I think it probably would be pretty helpful. But even if you aren't, like me, if you can get medication or accomodations, I think it's worth it.

[terrence-silver]

(This is the plot opening to the movie Mulholland Drive) If beloved was a victim of a car crash but she survives with scars on all over body with amnesia and is seen stumbling down Los Angeles by Terry, what do you think he’d do when he sees her?

---

To reference my previous post here but, yeah, finders keepers?

He has a perfect opportunity to do, oh, I don't know, just about whatever he wants and simultaneously seem like the hero? The benefactor? Have complete and utter control over a situation and an individual? Appear like a kind man saving a car crash survivor? All while tenderly molding the person? Utilizing their amnesia to make himself whatever in reference to them and vice versa, effectively invading their life? Pushing aside any and all family members because he'll pretend to be concerned for beloved's mental state and how many people they should be around in the first place to ''avoid overburdening their traumatized psyche', all while, in reality, he wants to be the only one on their mind from now on. Nobody else. Practically abducting beloved from the world by alerting pretty much nobody of importance that he found a full blown person next to a vehicle wreckage. Again! It's for beloved's benefit, he promises! Their brain needs rest. Their body too. You'll find this man has an excuse and a valid, moral-sounding explanation for everything, all while selling the whole situation like there's no strings attached. That he has noble intentions in mind. That Terry Silver's merely doing this --- this whole business of taking someone like this under his wing out of sheer unselfishness, unable to let some poor, poor lost lamb wonder the highway bloodied and bruised?

He's too much of an sweet hearted man to do that, don't you know?

But, of course, we know nothing's for free and that he seldom ever does anything without an agenda, if ever, that he's ultimately claiming beloved in their most vulnerable state, leaving out any and all authorities from the issue (or promptly bribing them off) bypassing every rule of ethics and usurping beloved's whole life into his own, making himself indispensable, necessary, the support network of the century. He can sell whatever lies he wishes to them, tell whatever truths he deems fit, give way to half-truths, partial truths, twisted truths, gaslight them, shape their memories however he pleases, manipulate them, seduce them, isolate them, take them into private treatment off the records instead of maintaining them in a hospital because it's frightening what a powerful person with money can get away with, make it seem like his presence here is entirely beloved's idea because they need him ---- look at the state of them after all; they absolutely cannot be unsupervised and no, no, Terry's conscience cannot allow him to leave them, at least until he's sure they're better, basically wiggling his way in and seeming like a saint while he does it, making beloved seem like the unreasonable party for doubting him or wanting privacy --- they barely survived and yet they shrug away any and all help, especially when he's offering help so readily and with so much passion --- he could have beloved feeling irrational, indebted and ungrateful in no time, and himself, as the ever-understanding best friend in the whole wide world they didn't know they lacked until now. Look at the all the things he's done for them, after all; their recovery resort is a palatial mansion, they've a waiting staff, private nurses (probably contractually obliged into silence) and an array of security, for their own protection, even though, he's here. He'll protect them. What happened to them will never happen again. He'll look after them. He'll look after them so well.

But, that's why Terry loves LA.

Opportunities like this are sprawled out in the streets in front of him every day, and all he has to do is find them, recognize their worth, potential or in beloved's case, there was a literal diamond chunk on the highway, and since he's picked it up, cleaned it, polished it, it's his for the keeping. Into his pocket it goes. The rules of the game are what you make them. Everything he'll plant inside of beloved's head will be infinitely better than whatever their life previously was considering their previous existence didn't have him. Boo. And clearly, whoever beloved's original social circle was allowed them to total their car and nearly die --- something Terry takes immensely personally, holding an outright grudge over the whole thing and everyone involved, refusing to view and accident as an accident; more like a reason to retaliate. A reason for revenge. Not that he won't utilize the needed channels to find out everything about beloved anyway outside of his conditioning because he'll feel it's his right to know the same way it's his right to withhold whatever it is he knows. As I said; finders keepers. Beloved's mind, body and soul all belong to him now.

[yugiohz]

i do agree with you, and i’m still delusionally hoping shigaraki still has something left to help that conclusion even though it’s not looking likely, but do you not think these endings are more “realistic”? like obviously it’s a superhero world and we are already stretching reality in every way possible but do you think it would’ve been too “and they all lived happily ever after and everything was okay yayy” if all the villains just turned out good? (in the most basic way to say that lmfao). i’m not saying that i fully think this because i do agree with you, that this ending is giving bad writing. i think hori had the guts to set up this beautifully complex world with flaws and wrongs and made some amazing villains and anti-heros with valid mindsets and then didn’t have the guts or maybe the artistic ability to fix it all.

so yeah my only “reprieving” thought i guess is the idea of like… i guess that’s real life? like the wronged people are wronged to the end, and bad people are forgiven, and life is unfair. but idk i just think hori is a coward too lol. i will say i’m at least surprised that he had natsu actually cut contact, maybe the best handled part of it all imo (or maybe it just hits home for me lol)

sorry for dumping all this i guess i just have a lot of thoughts too you don’t have to post this dhdhdhd

re: realism: yes i think everyone suffering from irreversible consequences is realistic and that's sth i expected. As i said in my previous ask, I never expected or wanted dabi to magically survive and heal from this by any means, but I think there are better ways to handle a character like him because the narrative frame of bnha allows for that.

re: happily ever after: I don't think that giving one of the biggest victims in a story some sort of good ending is necessarily a corny, wish-fulfillment type of bad writing, especially when the protagonist postulates that the other big villain is worth saving. I also find it fascinating that bakugo can survive an open-heart surgery on the battlefield & that deku's arms get disintegrated and grow back while that level of suspension of disbelief doesn't seem to apply to the villains. bnha has always been kind of corny, so I don't think it would have been weird for shoto to be able to somewhat save his brother when that has been his goal within that dynamic all along. So far, neither deku nor shoto could save their foil, so what's up with that??

happily ever after: while it has always been obvious that bnha is not a radical, anti-establishment story, to me, deku's conflict with grand torino & the vestige has allways been representative the "everyone deserves to be saved, everyone deserved to have their hero who's gonna save them". why set up characters as foils within the context of a hero story with saving as one of its core themes when 2 of these 3 villains won't get saved in the end? why do deku and shoto fail at such a point in the story? "saving" is a very tangible thing in the case of bnha, I think ep. 1 basically sums up the overall narrative paradigm of the good guy indiscriminately saving someone out of a bad situation, so to me, it just feels like there is a glaring narrative incongruence in this final arc & epilogue

re: i guess that's just real life: i think that premise is a bit misplaced here because bnha is not a story that is meant to reflect our reality, like ofc it's all a big allegory that tackles a lot of real issues, but it also is a genre-typical hero comics that is borderline fantastical, so i wouldn't say "that's real life" is a valid premise, like the established diegesis & themes of bnha would have allowed for sb like shigaraki or dabi to be granted a kinder conclusions

i'm not forcing anyone to agree with me and i'm not saying that i dislike this closure because i don't want anyone to die, i just think horikoshi's choices for the villains of his story are rooted in pragmatic reasons; shigaraki & dabi die so he won't have to think too much about how to handle the abjects of society, so he won't have to consolidate that with his decision to cling to the establishment

like i don't think it's too much to expect a victim of abuse to survive in a story that's about a boy who constantly risks his life to save random people, esp victims of grooming & abuse like i don't think it would be corny for dabi to end up in a better state, esp when we've seen deku grow his arms back and bakugo dying and coming back to live and

[robertdowneyjjr]

so none of this is what any of you asked for, but part 3 of the stonyclunks soulmates au @stark-and-shield @polizwrites @soliloquent-stark

(parts one and two)

tony spends his flight home from london agonizing over what he should do next.

on the one hand, his feelings about captain america haven’t changed. if anything, he’s now even more adamant that he wants nothing to do with him, because not only does tony now have proof that cap is a total dick, he also now feels like all that childhood trauma?? was the result of a lie. now he knows that he grew up being compared to someone who isn’t even really as great as his dad made him seem. so maybe now he has some validation (and vindication) that howard was wrong. but still, he could have just done without the years of feeling like he wasn’t good enough.

on the other hand, he’s a hopeless romantic at heart and he’s always dreamed of meeting and growing old with his soulmate. he grew up surrounded by them — his parents are soulmates. ana and edwin jarvis are soulmates. aunt peggy and uncle daniel are soulmates. that nature-defying love has always been the shining example of what real happiness is to him and he’s been desperate for it since he was 25, the average age when people meet their soulmates. the fact that he lived until he was 38 and still never met his soulmate had hurt him everyday. and sure, he’s happy in other ways. he’s content with how his life has turned out. he has amazing friends. he has a family that supports him. but god, he wants to share it with someone who he knows is fated to be his.

now, he’s kind of annoyed that he and his dad have another thing in common, what with howard not meeting maria until he was in his 40’s. and at this point he’s starting to think that being soulmates with captain america is some sort of sick cosmic joke that the universe is playing on him.

also he’s really, really pissed that the words that are permanently marked on his skin are so ugly.

at dinner before their night at the opera, tony tells maria, “mama, i met my soulmate.”

“oh that’s wonderful, antonio! tell me all about them!”

maria can hardly contain her excitement, and tony feels awful that the news he’s about to share isn’t worth her feeling this happy about.

“it was two weeks ago, a total accident. he was really mean,” he explains softly. if they weren’t in public right now he might even have just shown her the words on his thigh, but he knows her protective instincts would rear their head immediately and she’d skip the opera just to get started on hunting down the man who spit such vitriol at her son.

“oh. well, has he apologized for it?” maria asks. “i hope he has some basic manners, at least. i won’t allow someone who treats my son such poorly into the family, whether you’re soulmates or not.”

“he… has. quite dramatically,” tony says, thinking about the instagram post that had been causing a media frenzy for a week now.

“well, good. he should know you’re to be treasured,” maria sniffs. “when will i get to meet him?”

“i haven’t seen him again since. i don’t know if i really want to.”

“why not, bambino? you’ve always wanted to meet your soulmate.”

“mama… it’s captain america.”

maria looks around the restaurant. “where? i thought howard was with him tonight. crazy old man, still thinks he’s in his prime and trying to keep up with people half his age.”

“no, mama. my soulmate. he’s captain america.”

“oh. oh dear.”

“yeah.” tony picks up his fork and starts eating again. “i think i might just be better off dying alone.”

maria doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. suddenly all the excessive whining from steve that howard has been telling her about makes a lot more sense. she knows that steve is a good man. maybe not perfect like howard always made him out to be. but kind, nonetheless. he would be good to tony, good for him, she’s sure. tony just needs to give him a chance.

but also, like she said, tony should be treasured. if steve wants to make up for how they started off, he needs to pull out all the stops. tony deserves nothing less than the best, after all. and to be honest, maria thinks she might enjoy watching steve grovel a bit. she’s also looking forward to making fun of howard for having such an idiot as a best friend and future son-in-law.

so she starts planning.

“tonio, darling, why don’t you stay over at the mansion tonight? ana was just saying we haven’t had brunch with you in ages.”

“sure, mama.”

under the table, she texts howard.

M: is steve still pouting about his life?

H: unfortunately. i’m just glad beer does nothing for him. i can’t imagine how much worse this all could be if he were drunk.

M: poor boy. maybe he’s also feeling a bit lonely. there are plenty of rooms in the mansion if he doesn’t want to go home to an empty apartment tonight.

H: he might like that. i’ll let him know.

[creature-wizard]

Sorry for taking so long. This is shy system ROMCOA anon and after seeing your response I realized I needed to write a narrative explanation of things rather then just a list of painful or difficult truths that have helped us which is more difficult then I expected. I'm going to do a bit of both I've decided. Jumping into it though, IMO simplified Narcissistic Abuse discourse can be a gateway to ROMCOA stuff when it is clear that people who hurt them aren't 100% evil monsters and another explanation is needed. I think that's how I got more interested in it. The NA explanation felt overly slanderous, plus being bitter isn't healing and is actually incredibly exhausting. The sentiments that undercut the issue of intent in a helpful way I think are these: - You don't have to know why someone did something because abuse doesn't need justified. - It is unfortunately true that love does not prevent mistreatment and abuse. - Something doesn't have to be intentional to have hurt. - It's harder that there is no such thing as someone who is pure evil and that nobody is born evil, but eventually you will find many truly kind but still imperfect people. - Intentional or otherwise, cruelty towards someone does not reflect on or diminish their inherent value.

I think people either want to absolve or hate those who hurt them because loving someone who has deeply hurt you adds an additional pain. The questions of "How could you have done that?" or "How could you not remember doing that?" tend to haunt people. Unfortunately, I also think life and trauma are often complicated in mundane ways. Nobody has to be evil or be targeting you specifically for abuse to take place, and no amount of good intentions invalidates harm done. I think this middle ground has helped me because it is tempting to imagine that my family was merely neglectful but not harmful towards me. To imagine that it was someone else with clear and bad intentions.

At the same time it is hard for others to see a middle ground where they didn't need to be evil to have hurt me. It's easier to invalidate my experiences then to own up to anything and it's hard to determine what owning up would even look like. In that regard I try to remember these things: - Everybody is affected by things differently and trauma is thus relative. (i.e. Autism made anything food related worse.) - Strong feelings do not indicate a trauma's relationship to what society considers serious, but it is no less valid to have those feelings. - "Lowercase t" traumas can stack into a bigger issue that is hard to discern the origin of because there is no clear bad thing or cause. Those seem to be the two major sticking points, intention and validity. I think they have so much sway as sticking points because if shit sucks and that's totally valid but most people and even you yourself may never fully understand it, what are you supposed to do then? It feels like a terrible hand to be dealt and an unfair game to play. While I do think the most realistic explanation also sucks ass, I also think that's not where things have to end. Some things that have helped me and system friends: - We'll never be someone without a painful history, that's ok, and it's valid to grieve. - You can't time travel, the unknowns and what if's are ephemeral so eventually the only thing left to do is make a better path forward. - Don't let the valid hurt and anger turn and bite you. If you can, use that energy to assert your value and make something better of life. (i.e. Spite is why I choose gentleness.) - Managing big feelings is a skill everyone has to learn and the process ebbs and flows, but it gets easier. - You're not alone in having complicated feelings and history and experiences. - If you can't believe the future will better, it could at least be interesting. It's worth it to wait and see.

(Please do not assume anything about me or the "level" of my trauma from this. We are diagnosed, though a diagnosis doesn't determine whether or not anyone has issues. I just gives them a name.)

(To anyone reading this: If you've heard the term "RAMCOA" but haven't heard how it originated among conspiracy theorists and was always meant to push conspiracy theories within legitimate psychiatry, further information is provided at the end.)

Oh oof I really forgot this in my inbox for over a month. 😵‍💫

And yeah, I'm not surprised that the whole "narcissistic abuse" thing can lead into RAMCOA stuff.

Like, the concept of "narcissistic abuse" is another iteration of the cultural myth that there's a distinct category of person that if we all just avoid or exclude, we can protect ourselves from abuse and toxic behavior, and it makes a pretty effective grift for people who've experienced severe abuse from people who just had zero interest in treating them well for one reason or another. The question of why anyone would engage in relentless bad faith behavior often torments people who've been through these experiences, and the concept of narcissistic abuse seems to finally provide an explanation that, while right about some things (for example,, it's true that people may lash out when their egos have been injured), is severely wrong about others (an NPD diagnoses is not a guarantee that someone will do this, and not everyone who does this has NPD). Basically, it's yet another half-assed solution to the problem of evil.

But like you say, many people have more complicated experiences with their abusers. And the alter programming conspiracy theory is absolutely a myth that seems to explain these kinds of experiences. Many people don't fully realize how someone might be handling a bad mental health day badly, or might be under some kind of stress they don't know about, or might have internalized some toxic belief that makes them act really shitty over some things, but not necessarily everything. "Your mom acted differently because she's actually a programmed multiple system, and what you experienced were different alters" is the kind of thing that makes sense when you know a little bit about DID, but not enough to understand why the idea of TBMC/alter programming is pseudoscientific nonsense.

I dunno how much you know about Michelle Remembers (the book that formed the blueprint of this mythology), but if you don't (and for the benefit of anyone else reading this who doesn't know), ritual abuse absolutely became a way to rationalize complicated relationships with parents. While Michelle Remembers didn't incorporate the DID aspect into the narrative (it just stuck with repressed memories), the short of it is that her mother was a single parent of three in the 1950's (her father basically walked out) who at least occasionally used alcohol. There's no way this lady didn't have some bad days. Plus she also died when Michelle was pretty young, which couldn't have been great on her psyche.

So yeah, it makes sense that people are getting into it today as a way to explain why their own parents were Like That.

For anyone who isn't aware: RAMCOA, which stands for "Ritual Abuse, Mind Control, & Organized Abuse" is not an innocent catch-all term for religious abuse, institutional abuse, sex trafficking, etc. It was coined by conspiracy theorists to try and make far right conspiracy theories sound respectable within legitimate psychiatry. For more information, see Cathy O'Brien - The First Project Monarch "Survivor" and Fritz Springmeier and Cisco Wheeler: Two Of The Most Dangerous Conspiracy Theorists Most People Have Never Heard Of.

[hetalia-club]

Don’t know if you take requests like these but I’m really curious and I really love your interpretations of the characters but what kind personalities would certain nations be attracted to??? Feel free to disregard this, love you and your blog!

hmmm that's an interesting question let's see....(And thank you sm Ily to anon🥰!) (I would like to remind you all these are my opinions you don't have to agree)((I would also like to clarify this is for like a human AU))

Italy- I think Italy would like someone who was more pathetic than him. I do feel he would like being the 'strong one' in a relationship. He says all the time he doesn't like feeling useless or stupid so I think he would seek out an SO who looked to him as a knight in shining armor. I think he would get easily depressed in a relationship where he is constantly being 'mothered' by his SO. He might be fine with it at first but I think eventually it would really kill his self worth. I think his SO asking "Can you open this jar for me" "Can you look at the sink? I think it's broke" would be such a little victory for him. He would also want someone who appreciated him for him. Someone who thought his art was pretty and loved his cooking. He would really like praise from his SO and would need validation about their love for him almost daily and would always give it back as well.

Romano- I think Romano would essentially want to date himself. Not consciously but I think he would subconsciously seek out someone who was almost exactly like him for better or worse. Someone who didn't take much effort for him to understand. Someone with similar hobbies, outlooks and energy levels. He wouldn't like chasing someone and would like for it to come easy.

Germany- I think Germany would go for someone who was as ridged as him. He does not seem to care for nonsense. He doesn't like to leave his comfort zone so I think he would date wanting his comfort zone.

Japan- I head canon Japan as ace and not really caring much for relationships in the least. But if he were to be with someone I think he would want someone who was the opposite of him. Someone who was loud and energetic. I think he would feed off their energy and try and incorporate it into his own life.

Prussia- Prussia is another I view as hard core ace. As in he does not even think about relationships at all, he thinks they are icky. He has zero desire for physical contact and the idea of it kind of freaks him out. BUT if I had to decide what kind of person he would pick it would be someone who was crazy about him. Personality and looks wouldn't matter much to him they would just have to think he was perfect. he would feed on positive comments and praise from them and drink it up like a fine wine.

Austria- I think Austria would only date someone who had very specific interests. He cares deeply about certain things (Classical music being a big one) He would not call someone back after the first date if they said something like "I don't really like music". Austria wouldn't only be looking for a lover but also a best friend. someone he could talk to about his hobbies for hours, Someone who would sit and listen to him play his piano or violin and never complain. Someone he could bring to the opera or a symphony and they could gush about it the rest of the night and how great it was.

America- America would want to date someone who went with the flow. He is a very spontaneous person and he would want someone who could keep up with his ever changing mind and hobbies. Someone who would be happy to wake up at 5am and go on a hike and then half way through get an UBER home and finish out the day at Disney World. He would want to date someone who was also fine with lounging home some days and having streaks where they do nothing but watch movies. I think his SO would have to get used to being ghosted a lot. Not that he's doing it on purpose just that he maybe forgets to call.

England- England would want to be with someone who understood his dark humor. Someone who would laugh at his jokes and understand them without having to over explain it to them. I think his biggest turn on would be someone who could make him laugh really hard. Like an ugly laugh. Someone who he could sit and watch a movie with and they poke fun at it the entire time laughing and joking until the wee hours of the morning.

China- China would have very traditional views on relationships I feel. He would want someone who understood is culture. Someone who little work. He would want someone who as basically a mind reader. Someone who knew him better than he knew himself.

Russia- Russia would want someone who was loving and kind. Someone who looked at him with soft eyes and weren't put off by his threatening demeanor he puts out. I think his biggest turn on for a relationship would be someone who initiates all the affection. He wouldn't be the one to grab his SO and kiss them in a grocery store but if they did it to him it would make his day.

Canada- Now I think Canada would want someone who was a good listener. Someone who listened to what he had to say happily and could listen to him talk for hours. And he in turn would listen to them. Communication would be HUGE in a relationship with Canada. I think he could get easily dejected if he felt his SO were ignoring him or weren't listening to his feelings. Canada would be the type of guy do double and triple text just to make sure you saw it. If that would be a problem for you then he would be a bad partner to have because if you told him to stop he would completely shut down and stop texting you all together taking that as 'well they don't want me texting them ever I guess'

France- France would want someone who liked to wine and dine. He would want someone who wanted to go out every single weekend to a 5 star place. Someone who he could order for. Someone who put al their trust into him. he would want someone who he could really invest in. Someone he wanted to learn everything about. He would remain mysterious but would want to date someone who he knew like the back of his hand. So he could buy them a perfume he knew they would love. Take them to a wine tasting and say "try this one I know you'll love it"

Denmark- Den would want a best friend first and a lover second. He would want someone to go everywhere with him. Someone who was happy to drop everything and go to the store with him, just walk around the city, or go to a club. He would want someone who would be his world, his new obsession. He would be absolutely wild about his SO. He would buy them a ton of surprise gifts. They would wake up to a man at their door delivering flowers or him sowing up with a designer bag he got them. Denmark would want someone who was not afraid to ask "hey can you buy me this?" he would be the type of BF to ask "How many and what color :)?" He would want someone he could spoil rotten.

Norway- I think Norway would want an easy going person like himself. He will ignore his SO. He will make them wonder if they are even still dating and then then he will call his SO one night at 10pm and be like "Want to come over and watch a movie?" He would have to be with someone who was okay with that because he can't change it.

Sweden- Sweden needs someone teh complete opposite of him. Someone who will do all the talking at a party for him. Someone who will know when he wants to leave somewhere without him asking, someone who knows what he likes to eat and where he wants to go out. His SO would be running circles around him while he just stood there and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Iceland- I view Iceland as ace as well but if he were in a relationship I think he would want someone who was like him. Someone who was moody and sassy. It would irritate him to no end and he may instigate a lot of arguments about it but at the same time he would like that. he would like someone who wasn't afraid to push his buttons and someone who he could push their buttons and they would just forget about it in a few hours and not hold it against him. Iceland would want to have a heated argument about "Don't put the keys there put them here" and he wouldn't let it go until you agreed with him and then a couple hours later he would be like "So we getting Dominoes or..."

Finland- Finland would want someone who made his personality look dark and brooding. Someone who was the light of his life. Someone who was cheerful and kind. But also someone who enjoyed the same music and shared in his heavy metal obsession. It wouldn't be a deal breaker if they didn't like it. But the entire relationship he will be showing them bands saying "What do you think about these guys?" and if he did so happen to find a metal band his SO liked he would go over board buying them shirts, concert tickets, albums and just really nurture it.

kind of came up with these on the spot but it was fun to sit there and think about them for a minute! I love picking apart personalities

[thejesterstears]

I am gonna ramble here a bit, partially meta and partially headcanon so...? Bear with me lol.

So I had seen someone share that according to the series' pitch doc, Pomni is described as a "rational and level-headed" person (I have not seen the doc myself as it was only shared via Glitch Inn, but if anyone else has it available I would love to see the whole thing). And I think the show has already done a wonderful job of portraying this part of her, in episode 2 alone. I know some people were preemptively worried that "nervous" was going to be her one defining trait, basing it on her behavior in the pilot alone, so it was great to see that there's so much more to her. And while honestly I do hope that her anxiety plays at least a partial role in the series--specifically her learning to overcome it while relying on her new friends in this digital hellscape she now calls home--I really love the direction her character has taken so far. She's proven already to be a thoughtful, logical, level-headed person able to help others and is well-articulated in expressing as much.

On that note, I do still think she very likely struggles with anxiety. This is all theorizing that could very well get thrown right out the window as more episodes come out and we learn more about her, but just hear me out. I fully believe that the reason she was able to sympathize so closely with Gummigoo's fears and feeling of nothingness is because she has personally experienced those feelings herself even before her life in the circus (evidenced by her stating that it's something she is familiar with "where she's from," in her old life). She understands how painful it is to endure and doesn't like to watch others suffer the way she has, and wants to be able to provide what comfort she can and grasps better what might help ease some of his sorrow because she knows what has helped/would have helped her to hear. As someone with anxiety who also has a tendency to reach out to others due to empathizing heavily with them, I really related to this scene and her actions a lot.

I'd also like to touch upon the fact that it's apparent how Pomni is also the type who responds better to talking out her emotions, to feeling like she is being listened to and understood, rather than blindly told that everything will be okay and attempting to be cheered up (hence, why she was so turned off by Ragatha's "toxic positivity" and felt that she was being talked down to, despite Ragatha's good intentions). She recognized that Gummigoo was in a bad place, one that she related to deeply, and rather than try to cheer him up she heard him out and validated his feelings--the way that she needed to be heard and validated in her struggles. I think this would be part of her "rational" mind at work, needing to actually sort out her emotions and talk about them with someone who really understands where she's coming from in order to process and feel better about the situation rather than be pacified about her feelings (because it really sucks to simply be told everything will be fine and to not worry about it when you have anxiety and are already upset about the situation). Gummigoo inadvertently helped her as much as she helped him, by giving her sort of a vehicle for airing out those feelings and sympathizing with someone on how miserable it is.

This next note might not be much on its own but I felt like it was worth bringing up because it was something that had been on my mind since first watching the pilot--while she is more than capable of being level-headed and a practical problem solver, it seems that under severe stress she's more likely to make bad decisions. I honestly hesitate to say she was being selfish in abandoning Ragatha twice in the pilot, because she was reacting on fight-or-flight impulses in a situation that was extremely unfamiliar and terrifying to her while also still trying to convince herself that this was only a dream rather than actually trying to desert her. She did make an effort to help before her desperation for an escape took over. But it seems clear that in certain situations she lets her panic cloud her judgement. We also see that she easily dissociates entirely when under extreme stress, needing to be snapped back to attention, and she also expresses very self-protective body language (keeping her arms close in front of her, keeping her shoulders hunched, she also tends to hold her own arm at times as if self-comforting the same way Ragatha tends to do).

So. Those are just some observations from what we have seen of her so far, of her anxious tendencies but also her ability to be a source of emotional support to others likely based on her own experiences.

This kind of leads me into what I would love to see in the series, going forward. Now that we've seen that Pomni is beginning to accept her fate and realize she's not alone in her predicament, I'd love to see how she might end up really learning to rely on the others to help keep her tethered to her sense of self in her new life, help her cope with her anxieties as they arise. But I'd equally love to see her helping her new "family" here, as well, in along the same vein as she helped Gummigoo. Just an example, but I would love to see her actually confront Ragatha on her endlessly sunny disposition when she clearly sees how forced it is sometimes, and let her know it's okay to just not be okay and to allow herself to be vulnerable and sad and angry about their situation sometimes...because I feel like if anyone is going to be able to get Ragatha to open up, it would be Pomni. A fresh face in the circus who understands how hard it can be to not feel heard and to struggle alone, who doesn't want anyone to feel as if they are nothing the way she very likely has in the past (and, as evidenced by her fears of being quickly forgotten in her own nightmares, still likely struggles with).

I hope my rambling here makes sense but TL;DR--I adore Pomni so much, how she's a multi-faceted character who has a lot to offer in the circus whether or not she realizes it yet, who has her own fears and anxieties but can also use her own experiences to help others and offer the kind of hope and empathy that she would also want to receive. She's anxious but she's also smart and reasonable and capable of being emotionally sensitive with others. I'm so excited to see even more of her character development and how she learns to cope with her new life, and how she might help others cope as well.

(End disclaimer: please bear in mind that all of this comes from someone who struggles greatly with anxiety and also sees a lot of myself in Pomni so recognizes certain patterns that make me conclude that she very likely has anxiety as well)