There's literally nothing wrong with media containing sexual content, appealing to sexual fantasies, or ppl finding aspects sexually appealing.

There's nothing wrong with enjoying sexual fantasies, getting off to media, speaking about finding characters attractive, etc.

Everything has the right to exist in fiction. There is nothing wrong with using fiction to explore dark and taboo topics, that's what its for. There is nothing wrong with having fantasies so long as they STAY fantasies. Once it involves REAL people then its no longer a fantasy, and not what being profic stands for.

Calling proship/profic people pedos/groomers/ abusers/ect. is watering down very real and very important issues, and making it harder for victims to be taken seriously. If you harass someone over fiction then you are more of a problem than them. Some of you care more about protecting fictional "victims" that you create real ones by doxing people. A fictional character cannot be a victim because they aren't real. Protect REAL victims.

Love is fucking feral.

Don’t dress it up. Don’t call it holy.

It’s not a soft place to land,

not a quiet church for your wounds.

It’s teeth, bared and gnashing—

a hunger so deep it swallows you

before you even notice

you’re gone.

Don’t look at me with your soft eyes.

And don’t tell me about forever.

Forever is a lie we tell each other

when we’re afraid of being

burnt bare.

Because love is not eternal.

It’s destruction. It’s rebirth. It's death.

All wrapped up together,

a sickness you thank for keeping you alive

even as it eats you alive.

Some days, I don’t even like you.

I know that’s ugly. I know.

But it’s true. There are mornings

when your voice scrapes

on the fragile walls of my patience,

when I look at you and feel nothing

but weight.

And it terrifies me.

Not the emptiness,

but the fact that I will still choose you

even in that emptiness.

You want to know what love is?

It’s breaking yourself open

a thousand times and still coming back.

It’s saying, *Yes. Hurt me again.*

Take what you need and leave me hollow

because I don’t know

how not to give you everything.

It’s drowning in your chaos

and calling it home.

We build love out of violence.

Every kiss is a battle cry,

every silence a goddamn graveyard.

We bury the softer versions of ourselves.

We dig, we dig, and we fucking claw.

Not because we’re whole—

no, never that—

but because our brokenness

fits together like jagged glass.

You cut me,

I bleed into you.

And somehow,

we stay alive.

Maybe I don’t love you cleanly.

Maybe my love isn’t gentle or kind or easy.

But I will stand here,

open veins and all,

every ruined part of me

staring at every ruined part of you,

and I will say:

Becoming Anti-Racist by Dr. Andrew M. Ibrahim

Fear Zone:

I deny racism is a problem.

I avoid hard questions.

I strive to be comfortable. 

I talk to others who look and think like me. 

Learning Zone:

I recognize racism is a present and current problem

I seek out questions that make me uncomfortable.

I understand my own privilege in ignoring racism.

I educate myself about race and structural racism. 

I am vulnerable about my own biases and knowledge gap. 

I listen to others who think and look differently than me.

Growth Zone:

I identify how I may unknowingly benefit from racism.

I promote and advocate for policies and leaders that are Anti-Racist. 

I sit with my discomfort.

I speak out when I see racism in action.

I educate my peers how racism harms our professions.

I don’t let my mistakes deter me from being better.

I yield positions of power to those otherwise marginalized.

I surround myself with others who think and look differently than me.