u/that_villainess

Every time I see a nervous sub who is worried about finding a findomme who is in it for the power, for the kink, for the fun of it—I think of Ted Lasso.

If you’ve seen the show, maybe you already know what scene I’m thinking of. (And if you haven’t seen the show, this goddess commands it. Run, don’t walk.)

In that scene, Ted has recently told off his therapist. He basically implies that she can’t care about him for real because she’s getting paid to be with him. Now, he’s back in her office after leaving their last session on that note.

She asks if she can be honest with him. And then she tells him he offended her—and she asks a fantastic question:

Would you coach football for free?

Yes, he says. The answer is yes.

Then she hits him with the kicker: “but do you?”

The conclusion is clear: just because you’re getting paid for something doesn’t mean you don’t fucking love it. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t leave you breathless.

Sometimes we do things just for money. Sometimes we do them because we fucking love them. Sometimes we’re lucky enough to fucking love something and make money doing it.

I’m not saying there are no people out there in this space just to scam people. But I am saying just because someone gets paid doesn’t mean they don’t care.

Therapists. Coaches. Findommes.

It’s not different.

Now, if you haven’t seen Ted Lasso, go do that.

Speakeasy invite in my linktree.

It’s a classic trope: a superhero emerges. Bit by the radioactive spider. Arrived from another planet. Awakened one day with previously-unknown powers.

And the hero, knowing the world won’t understand, hides. They mask. They create alteregoes. They relocate. They keep secrets—even from those they love.

They do this to stay safe from the villains. And they do this to stay safe from the world.

Because the world doesn’t understand. Because change is scary. Difference is scary. And they no longer fit.

So they mask. They hide.

And of course: they long to be seen.

It’s a core tension of every hero story. Feeling that they need to hide; wishing someone could see. See them in their entirety. Their totality. Their power and their weakness and their truth.

It’s an apt metaphor for the world I see so many submissive men living in. One where they realize their truth, their power, their special gift is service. Care. A desire not to subjegate or overpower or control, but to rest, to care, to sacrifice.

But in a world that doesn’t understand—that actively punishes you for taking off the mask—an alter-ego is created. A mask. A performance of dominance because the world is so rigid and stupidly narrow in what it expects from men.

And behind that alter-ego, under the mask, in the secret, tender, pulse-jumping places: longing.

To be seen.

To be yourself.

And—importantly in the case of submission—to be valued for who you really are.

To have someone look at you with a glint in their eye and say oh, you. I see you, with your superpower. Your submission. Your care.

My partner has told me often that when he was young, he felt ashamed of those parts of himself. The parts that didn’t want to chase and subjegate and push women. Instead, he wanted to admire and serve and worship.

With his consent, I’ll tell you some of his secrets:

He was ashamed that he didn’t want what all the men around him kept telling him to want.

He felt so strange, so off.

And he was afraid he would always be alone.

That’s the core of it, isn’t it? The fear that when you reveal the secret thing, it means danger, shame, isolation.

But here’s the truth, kitten: in the years we’ve been together, as he sinks deeper into his truth, into my knowledge of it, he keeps expressing one thing–

Relief.

Relief that he is who he is. Relief that he didn’t listen to the men trying to prod him to be someone he wasn’t. Relief that who he is is fucking beautiful and now seen.

Because the truth is that care is a superpower. Admiration for women in a world that keeps telling you not to have it is a superpower. Service is superpower. Submission is superpower.

And it doesn’t actually matter if the whole world understands.

It matters that you do.

That I do.

And the braver you are in showing that part of yourself when you find someone you can trust with your secret, it will matter that they do.

Money Heist Discord server is accepting both dommes and subs. Link in comments. Come play.

It’s a classic trope: a superhero emerges. Bit by the radioactive spider. Arrived from another planet. Awakened one day with previously-unknown powers.

And the hero, knowing the world won’t understand, hides. They mask. They create alteregoes. They relocate. They keep secrets—even from those they love.

They do this to stay safe from the villains. And they do this to stay safe from the world.

Because the world doesn’t understand. Because change is scary. Difference is scary. And they no longer fit.

So they mask. They hide.

And of course: they long to be seen.

It’s a core tension of every hero story. Feeling that they need to hide; wishing someone could see. See them in their entirety. Their totality. Their power and their weakness and their truth.

It’s an apt metaphor for the world I see so many submissive men living in. One where they realize their truth, their power, their special gift is service. Care. A desire not to subjegate or overpower or control, but to rest, to care, to sacrifice.

But in a world that doesn’t understand—that actively punishes you for taking off the mask—an alter-ego is created. A mask. A performance of dominance because the world is so rigid and stupidly narrow in what it expects from men.

And behind that alter-ego, under the mask, in the secret, tender, pulse-jumping places: longing.

To be seen.

To be yourself.

And—importantly in the case of submission—to be valued for who you really are.

To have someone look at you with a glint in their eye and say oh, you. I see you, with your superpower. Your submission. Your care.

My partner has told me often that when he was young, he felt ashamed of those parts of himself. The parts that didn’t want to chase and subjegate and push women. Instead, he wanted to admire and serve and worship.

With his consent, I’ll tell you some of his secrets:

He was ashamed that he didn’t want what all the men around him kept telling him to want.

He felt so strange, so off.

And he was afraid he would always be alone.

That’s the core of it, isn’t it? The fear that when you reveal the secret thing, it means danger, shame, isolation.

But here’s the truth, kitten: in the years we’ve been together, as he sinks deeper into his truth, into my knowledge of it, he keeps expressing one thing–

Relief.

Relief that he is who he is. Relief that he didn’t listen to the men trying to prod him to be someone he wasn’t. Relief that who he is is fucking beautiful and now seen.

Because the truth is that care is a superpower. Admiration for women in a world that keeps telling you not to have it is a superpower. Service is superpower. Submission is superpower.

And it doesn’t actually matter if the whole world understands.

It matters that you do.

That I do.

And the braver you are in showing that part of yourself when you find someone you can trust with your secret, it will matter that they do.

Last weekend, a kitten was screaming outside my window. Crying into the night for her mother. Calling endlessly.

I (along with many neighbors) attempted to coax her out of the car undercarriage where she was hiding, terrified. But there were too many people; too many car noises.

And so I came back at 5 a.m. No people, few cars. Just me laying on the pavement with a bowl of shredded chicken and a phone loaded up with kitten noises.

She stepped gingerly down. She eventually took some chicken from my fingers. And after some patience, I caught her. Took her home. Got rid of the fleas. The car gunk. The intestinal parasites.

Each day, she attempts to suckle on the inside of my elbow, comforted by the idea that I’m her mom.

Each day, I watch her put weight onto her underfed frame and I coax her into bravery.

Each day, she borrows that courage from me, follows me to a new room, explores a new thing, and then falls asleep in my lap where she can feel safe.

I cannot help but compare our connection to my journeys into polyamory and domination.

Polyamory because just like my partners, this kitten is free. She can sleep anywhere she chooses, but she chooses my lap. And I’m happy for her when she gets the courage to choose a spot beside the dog or another lap.

I do not try to own her. I do not have to force my will. I simply offer my courage, my support, my strength, and she turns toward the comfort of it.

It’s the same way I approach D/s dynamics. My presence is the control. My courage, my strength, are what draws them in. I am an owner, a mistress, a goddess because my pets, my subs, my worshippers choose me. And they choose me daily. There are other laps. Other deities. Other mistresses. Other lovers.

And I make no effort to keep my subs, my foster kitten, my partners from those things.

You are here because you want to be here. I am here because I want to be here.

To me, that is true connection, true power. You do not stay because you have to. Because of a contract or a commitment or having only one option.

You stay because you want. To make me proud. To make me smile. To rest in my capable hands. To become better. To connect.