#tampons at work

[emjaydoubleyou]

this post is fearmongering. the results of this study are concerning and should definitely be a matter of public discussion, but this is certainly not the conclusion the researchers came to.

the point of the study was to assess the risks of exposure to toxic metals- something one of the co-authors notes are “ubiquitous” fwiw- via menstrual products. Their research confirmed that these metals are indeed present in tampons, but no further conclusions are drawn. it is possible the metal entered into the cotton from the soil, which is a well-known phenomenon; cotton is so good at lifting heavy metals that it has actually been suggested as a part of the solution for revitalizing polluted ground.

the authors conclude with an acknowledgement that the study should be repeated- their sample size was 60 tampons- and a suggestion that further testing ought to be done to indicate whether or not these metals can even leech out of the tampon in the first place, let alone whether or not such leeching could occur at levels deleterious to human health.

there is, in fact, a body of research- too small, for sure, but much larger than this single study- indicating that long-term proper tampon use has no observable negative impact on health. i am grateful and thrilled that more research is being done and i hope that this study is the first of many on this line of questioning, but i am really frustrated at this post and the response it got.

obviously, if this study alters your approach to menstrual health, more power to you. consumers should be informed-risk-takers, and menstrual health is double-obviously a very personal choice. but it definitely wasn't the researchers concluding that you ought to “avoid using tampons at all cost," only this tumblr user did. the lead author of the paper, in fact, specifically says that she hopes people do NOT panic about the results.

(the notes of the post were disappointing. people affirming that they knew they were right to be suspicious of tampons all along, or even recommending alternatives that actually have very little to no research regarding the safety of long-term use, etc. it’s a different conversation, but categorical distrust of tampons is old-school misogyny. you certainly shouldn't wear them if you don’t want to, but there is nothing inherently scary or wrong about them, and people who prefer them are not being reckless or crass.)

((if you're really worried about exposure to heavy metals, you may want to turn a critical eye to fast fashion, as an aside))

[symptomsofdeceit]

For that one anon who was scared Thaumo would be on their tampon box one day....that day has arrived unfortunately~<3

I hope that anon sees this 😭😭

[milaisreading]

Remember: Jesus cries when u use tampons

☠️☠️☠️

[nerime]

my coworkers are being turbo transphobic and literally refuse to listen to answers to questions they fucking ask argh!!! I can just tell you!!! I can just answer you!!!!! I have answers!!! to the ridiculous questions you ask in a mocking way!!!! if you listen for one second I can just fucking explain!!!! 😡😭😡😭

[merildae]

some outfits from the past week

my life may have no pulse but at least my wardrobe is cool

[binch-i-might-be]

alright that's it I'm bringing up my stupid unspecified vagina trauma in my next therapy session

[prettyymafia]

pros of being on my period is how amazing my tits look. the cons are literally everything else

[oetscop]

tampax is doing this thing now where they tell you to get multiple different sizes for tampons as your flow changes and thats. insane. they arent even being subtle about it i hate marketing

[chicago-geniza]

It is SO HOT and it is going to THUNDERSTORM with POSSIBLE FLASH FLOODING when I LEAVE WORK TOMORROW but at least my past self BOUGHT RAINBOOTS and a 5XL MOISTURE-WICKING T-SHIRT and LACTIC ACID TO STOP MY HORRIBLE SKIN FROM SWEATING SO MUCH

[pullhisteeth]

work it out | eddie munson

summary sometimes sex just doesn't work the way we think it should!!! Eddie does a good job of telling you it's okay. [1.5k]

contains vaginismus/difficulty with penetrative sex, r is embarrassed about it, Eddie is lovely (obviously). angsty fluff, comforting, suggestive content.

-

When you tell Eddie to stop, he moulds into something softer, hard edges shimmering, rounded and warm.

"Oh, honey," he coos, rough hands calm on your bare thighs. "Sorry, shit, here-"

You're ignoring the feeling of embarrassment, the way it prickles under your skin, flames of humiliation licking up your neck and behind your ears. There's a funny feeling in your gut, like there's a Catherine wheel in there, painting your insides with hot sparks of shame.

You squirm under him as he leans back to rest on his knees, his bed creaking low noises beneath the both of you. You're also ignoring the look on his face, hiding your eyes behind your clammy hands so you don't have to look at him.

This isn't how it was meant to go. You'd planned this all the way down to this moment, assured yourself that no matter how difficult you found it, he'd be able to do it. You'd never need to tell him; he'd never need to know.

"Here," he breathes. His hand finds yours, pulls them stiffly from your face. You can't hide from him, though you try, turning your head to the side and into the comforter. The tears are hot and heavy, and you're scrunching your face in protest.

"Here," he persists, pulling on your hands. The room's getting smaller, you can feel it; the walls are suddenly very close, the air thick and you feel more vulnerable than ever, laid naked on his bed, crying because your stupid, naïve plan failed. You let him move you, sitting up and looking down at your knees, far too afraid to look him in the eye.

You feel his fingers and the way he shifts, the bedding moulding around you as he does. Your eyes are still closed, willing the tears back in, surrendering yourself to him as he wordlessly moves off the bed. This is it, you think - the moment you suspected might happen if ever you got into this situation. He's going to leave you because you're broken.

Your breathing is dry and twisted, your heartbeat is loud in your ears, and you're staving off that inevitable headache that comes from crying, so you don't hear him moving around the room. In fact, you're sure you hear the door.

"Here you go," he says, soft though it makes you start. You open your eyes, an instinctual response, and find him standing by the bed, towering over you with a shirt on and a mound of fabric in one hand. You reach out and take it, every movement heavier than the last. You're sure, now, that he really is going to ask you to leave.

You unfurl the pile and find your underwear, though it's wrapped up in a shirt that isn't yours. And then you feel the warm pads of his fingers running down your legs, tentative as though you might bite, but you move with him, stretching them out in front of you. He takes your underwear from your hand and pulls them on; the feeling of being coddled like a child inflames the shame, makes you snap. Maybe you can bite.

"Hey," you say sharply, pulling your legs inwards and working the underwear up over your knees yourself. He flinches, only slightly, and backs away, as you pull the shirt down over your head.

The thick air is fizzy with guilt now. You can feel it coming off you like steam, this horrible mix of remorse, embarrassment, fondness. He's still here. He hasn't asked you to leave yet.

He sits beside you, facing you with one leg under himself, clearly unsure what to do with his hands. The silence is sticky, unwelcoming.

"What's going on, hm?" he says, poking the beast.

When you say nothing, breath loud and expression sour, he says, "You're gonna have to talk to me at some point."

This is not an outcome you had ever envisioned. In your head, there were two ways this could go: it would work, he'd never know any different, and you'd be fixed; or it wouldn't work, he'd realise you're not worth his time, and he'd leave.

You never thought there was a third option, one where it doesn't work but he stays anyway.

"I don't work," you manage, voice thick and wet with tears.

His face morphs into something like concern, perhaps confusion.

"What do you mean?" His words are deliberate, staccato, intentional so as not to upset you further.

"I don't work," you repeat, exasperated. "I'm... broken, or something. I thought it wouldn't matter, but-"

"What do you mean, broken?"

You sigh and look at him, at where he's leaning on one hand planted firmly on the bed, fingers gripping his sheets with white knuckles.

"Nothing goes in," you say in a quiet voice, low so you can hide from the truth. "It never has."

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes on the space between you, before he says, "Why did you never tell me?"

There's a bitterness in his tone that you know he's entitled to. This is important, you always knew that, and you've withheld it from him.

"I don't know, I just... It's embarrassing."

"But we could have prepared for this, I could have-" He stops himself and startles, some kind of realisation dawning. He looks up at you. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," you plead. "No, I'm okay, Eds. It hurt, I guess but it's not... It's not that simple."

"I don't-"

"It's not all... physical. Like, it hurts," you explain, using your hands in some crude kind of gesture to make your point. "But it's also in my head. It's like... I think it's going to hurt, like, I convince myself it will, so in my head, it does."

"But if you force it, surely..."

"Yeah," you sigh. "If I force it then yeah, it can hurt."

He's quiet again, contemplating this information. You watch as his expression changes, slight shifts in his brow or the scrunch of his nose.

"What did you think was gonna happen?" he finally asks.

"I, uh," you begin, a little lost for words. This was not in the plan. "I guess I thought I'd be- I dunno, I thought..."

For the first time since you stopped, he reaches out to touch you. His hand finds yours, pulls again, still just as tender as he was earlier. This time you follow him willingly, wriggling over his bed to sit right beside him, thigh-to-thigh.

"I thought it would just work," you say after a deep breath. "I thought I'd be wet enough, or something."

He laughs softly at the way you cringe at the word wet, the way your shoulders shift up and your face scrunches.

"It doesn't work like that," he says, smiling. "Even I know that."

"I know," you breathe, admitting defeat. "I was kidding myself."

"Hey," he says quickly, turning fully to face you, settling his hands on your neck with his thumbs on your jawline. "I didn't mean that, I just meant... I meant you should have said something."

The tears are back, running quick lines down your cheeks, so his thumbs wipe them as they come. You're sniffling, all wet hiccups and snot, but his face never falters. He still looks at you just the same.

"I thought you'd hate me," you whisper, glad for the relief of honesty.

"I could never hate you, sugar."

"But we can't have sex," you whine, sad about both the fact that you're sure you're not normal, and also that you can't give him what you think he deserves.

"Hey," he scolds, his voice still fond but strict. "Sex isn't just dick in vagina, you know that, right?"

"I know, but-"

"And I'm here for good. You're not gettin' rid of me, so we can work on this, yeah?"

You look him in the eye and find the face of a man who really does love you, even if he hasn't said it yet. Even if it has only been a couple of months.

"This is why you'd always stop me?" he asks.

"Yeah," you confirm. "I mean, I also just like you eating me out, but..."

He breathes a laugh, and then your name with some kind of sorrow. "You really should have said, I'd never have even tried, I'm sorry."

"No," you protest. "I'm sorry for not telling you."

You lean into him, let your body fall onto his. He pulls you in with firm arms around your shoulders and lifts you, gently, so you can sit in his lap with your legs either side of his own.

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck, your own arms around his chest, squeezing tighter when you feel him squeeze back.

He kisses the crown of your head and says, "'S'okay. You're fine just the way you are."

You sit like that for a while, slotted into his space just how you like it, knowing that you'll work this out between you, eventually, and that Eddie isn't leaving, not yet. Not ever.

"Also," you hear him say. His voice is a drawl, low and suspicious, so you sit up and look at him. You find that stupid smirk on his face and resist the urge to kiss him.

"What?" you pry.

"This is fine," he says, eyes raking up and down your body, "Because I happen to like eating you out just fine."

"Eddie!"

-

[teamjo]

Absolutely psychotic activity on the timeline tonight. This is where I take my leave. 😁🤙🏻

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

.

[penguin--person]

Do you think they neuter mutants at the facility

you sent this ask to the wrong blog ❤️ the pafl confessions blog is here ❤️live laugh love

[porto-rosso]

there is so much aggressive misinfo abt toxic shock syndrome out there its a nightmare

[coquelicoq]

those jokers in greek mythology are always getting punished for their hubris but at least their hubris is over impressive stuff. it's all "fly too close to the sun" this and "be really really really good at weaving" that. whereas my hubris is always shit like "this tampon will last for another hour" and "surely i paid that bill already" and "i'm actually not very depressed"

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

Grocery shopping with Limp Bizkit. Need them to pick anything up for you?