#just a vent I guess

[disfrutalakia]

Thing is I like the event, I really do it reminds me of old school minecraft stuff I used to watch (minecraft guerra anyone?) But I guess what is getting to me a bit is the community response right now, it's hard to always be positive you know? I try on my blog to always remain positive and to not complain about stuff too much, but it has been hard to be positive those days cause the community seems so split and dunno, just gets to me sometimes you know?

I'm gonna try to enjoy what I can though <3

[kenapiece-main]

Can you believe I'm having to make this meme even after successfully finishing up taxes and applying to job

[peaceandlove26]

everything is funny & i love being alive

[a-method-in-it]

You know that Chris Fleming line that goes "Call yourself a community organizer even though you're not on speaking terms with your roommates"?

I honestly think every leftist who talks about the "revolution" like Christians talk about the rapture needs to spend a year trying to organize their workplace. Anyone who sincerely talks about building a movement so vast and all-encompassing that it overwhelms all existing power structures needs the dose of humility that comes with realizing they can't even build a movement to get people paid better at a badly run AMC Theaters where everyone already hates the manager.

[problemnyatic]

executive dysfunction really is a complete fucking nightmare. all the decisions you could make, but you won't. All the things you know you should do, you want to do, but you won't. Yeah yeah we all know it's a symptom but it feels and looks like just.... deciding not to be responsible.

It's easier not to, so i guess I just won't. I promise it's not laziness, I swear. It's not me just giving up on things that affect more than just me, I swear. Maybe if I say it enough I could hope to believe it myself.

[vanglaggle-two]

too scared to post on main .

ignore this maybe

[chaosinplural]

i feel like the tragedy of being aroace is that i’m never going to be anyone’s favorite person. like at some point everyone’s favorite person is going to be whoever they have sex with and kiss and i’m never going to want that. hell i don’t even have a best friend now but even if i do i’ll still be second to their boyfriend or girlfriend or husband because that’s how the world works

[shalom-iamcominghome]

"We need more diverse queer representation!"

You cannot even handle queer jews.

[myfacereallyaches]

And what about you, Reigen?

[a-leg-without-fear]

Fucked Up Leg

Wanted to throw my hat in the proverbial ring and try out writing about St. Matthew Murdock. This fic is a little dark as it deals with what I go through with my chronic pain. This is why I am Leg and leg is Me.

Ship: Matt Murdock x GN!Reader

Rating: 16+

Wordcount: 1,733

Warnings: cursing, depressive thoughts, talk of doctor visits, talk of dealing with medical issues, an extremely comforting and loving matt murdock

It was half past 9pm when your leg started aching. You sat on the leather couch with a book in your hands and a blanket over your lap. The billboard across the street shined blinding yellows and blues in through the windows, shadows chasing each other along the edges of your vision. The scent of the dinner you’d shared with Matt, fettuccine alfredo with roasted chicken, floated through the air and settled around you. You could hear commotion in the apartment below you. You assumed there were some new neighbors moving in with how much foot traffic there was, but you weren’t quite sure. You, of course, didn’t have Matt’s senses. 

At first, the pain was just a slight twinge, a dull ache. A deep rooted uncomfortableness that seeped from your hip socket and spread throughout your upper thigh. Knowing this was only the start of a quickly worsening night, you retreated to your and Matt's bedroom in an attempt to keep weight off your leg.

Matt was out on his nightly patrols. He had left at around 8, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead and promising to be back before 2am. At the time, the firm deadline appeared a blessing. Usually you would be left in the dark as to how late Matt would be out. Hearing him give you a set time made you breathe a sigh of relief. Now, however, you thought of how far away that curfew seemed as you settled into your shared bed, bracing for the pain to get worse.

You laid on your right side, gingerly placing a thin pillow between your thighs. The little bit of separation between your legs tended to help relieve some of the pressure on your hip socket. You let your knees bend naturally as you tried to get comfortable. The lights from the billboard were less bright in the bedroom. Partially due to the angle of the beacon in the night, but also due to the paper you’d taped to the windows in an attempt to block out any and all light. You could feel the silk sheets slide against your bare legs as your shorts hiked up beneath the covers. You plugged your phone into your, thankfully, long cord that stretched long enough for you to use it on your side. 

You faced the bedroom door, the right side of the bed empty. Not intentionally, as you’d keep off your left leg anyway, but because Matt would lay on the side of the bed between you and any danger. He was sweet like that, always putting himself in harm’s way for you and others. You chuckled to yourself as you began scrolling aimlessly through your phone. You knew for a fact that if Matt could take your reoccurring pain and put it in his leg to give you relief, he would. He would in a heartbeat. Sacrifice his own fighting ability to give you a chance of being able to dance again.

God, you missed dancing. You used to go to dance classes every week, sometimes multiple nights in a row. Letting yourself flow to the music as you followed choreography, bouncing from foot to foot, swaying your hips, laughing when you would mess up. For years that’s how you kept active, kept busy, kept happy.

Until your leg decided to say “fuck you,” that is. The doctors assumed it was “just too much dancing” that did your leg in. What started as a tear in the cartilage in your hip joint spread throughout your thigh as other problems arose. Stress fracture in your femur, a worn ACL, torn muscles under your kneecap. A seemingly never ending list of problems made you debilitated, forcing you to use a cane and, in extreme circumstances, a wheelchair. The doctors tried physical therapy, medication, and even surgery. But the problems kept reappearing. You would have fine mobility and limited aches for a good few months, maybe even a year. But sooner or later that dull ache would find itself rooted in your hip. And you’d just have to strap in for a long ride.

About 10 minutes after you’d laid down the pain got worse. The ache turned into a sharp jab, like someone had stabbed you in the hip and kept the knife there, sliding and slicing to create waves of pain that lasted for minutes at a time. You clenched your jaw as you tried to remain focused on your phone. This wasn’t anything you hadn’t been through before. You could handle this. Of course it felt like a hot poker was stuck in your hip socket, but that was just a regular Tuesday for you.

Then the muscle above your knee twinged. A redhot spark of pain you could feel in your teeth. The pulsing shocks permeated throughout your entire leg, not just your knee. Stacked with the ache in your thigh it was beginning to be unbearable. 

Your phone fell from your hands as your eyes squeezed shut. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shuddering and wincing. Nausea began to build in your stomach and your head began to spin. The muscles beneath your skin started to jump and twitch. You blew a sharp gust of air out of your nose.

“Fuck me,” you whispered. Why? Why, when things are going great, your leg practically lights itself on fire? Just last week you’d helped Matt take out a handful of bank robbers, dodging blows and landing punches like Black Widow herself. Matt had even been impressed at how well you maneuvered yourself. You kicked and squatted and jumped like there was no tomorrow. And not a muscle was out of place the next morning.

Laying in bed, arms wrapped around your trembling body, leg having a tantrum. All you could do was resign yourself to this neverending feeling of hopelessness. Will it ever get better? Is there some magical cure you just haven’t found yet? What are you doing wrong? You could feel yourself spiral in your depression, the minutes and hours blending together to become an ongoing existence of pain. It felt like a rock had sunk itself to the bottom of your stomach. Your heart was racing, anxiety coursing through your veins. Was this what would become of your life? You would be reduced to nothing, just a leg on fire attached to a motionless husk? Would you ever be able to dance again?

“Sweetheart?” a voice rang out from the living room. A familiar, tentative tone laced with concern. Your eyes snapped open to see Matt. Standing just beyond the doorway, all dressed in black, cloth mask in hand, chocolate eyes looking in your general direction. His dark hair was matted to his forehead from the exertion of his nightly outings.

You cleared the edge of pain from your throat, then said, “Yeah?”

Matt was kneeling in front of you on the bed before you could blink. His brow was so tightly furrowed you had the briefest thought it’d stay that way. Warm, large hands began flitting across your body.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Was someone here?” he asked in a flurry of questions. One of his hands landed on your jaw, fingers trailing across where your pulse flowed strongest. The other ended up tangled with your own as you tried to quiet him.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m okay,” you breathed. You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his bruised knuckles. Matt’s fingers held your hand tighter as he let his eyes fall closed, his breathing slowing. You knew this was what he did when he sent his senses out, listening and smelling and tasting and feeling your body better than you could. His awareness diving deep beneath your skin to seek out anything abnormal.

When his eyes fluttered open, his gaze landed on your chin and a frown settled across his lips.

“It’s your leg again, isn’t it,” Matt said, not posing the phrase as a question. He already knew the answer.

All you could do was nod, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You could feel the grief of decades of pain and sorrow build along the walls of your throat. Your breathing grew ragged as the tears broke free and slid their way down your flushed cheeks. What if he grew tired of you? Grew tired of constantly needing to take care of you, tired of dealing with the bursts of pain you needlessly endured. A man of his skill, his charisma, his fighting ability. Surely he wouldn’t want to stay with someone as encumbered as you.

No further words were exchanged between the two of you. Matt gingerly slid his arm beneath your head, letting you cuddle against his chest, as his other arm pulled your torso close to him. His body curled around yours, as if the pain you were feeling was an outside source and he was the shield that protected you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and breathed his comforting scent, cinnamon and smoke, in. Hot tears trailed their way from your eyes and stained his shirt.

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,” he said, lips pressed to the shell of your ear, saying exactly what you needed to hear as if he knew. He slid one of his legs between your thighs, replacing the pillow that was there originally. At first the movement was a shock to your already agonized body. Then, the extra bit of space between your legs lifted some of the pressure on your hip joint. You sighed shakily against Matt’s neck.

The two of you remained that way, Matt’s leg between your thighs, his arm beneath your head, your face tucked against his neck, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into your side. He whispered sweet words of reassurance every now and then. Saying he loved you, he wasn’t going anywhere, he’d help you find a way to fix your leg. 

You knew that soon he’d have to get up to go to work. You knew he’d unwind his limbs from yours, would give you the softest kiss you’ve ever felt, and promise to be back with your favorite foods.

But until then, you would stay tucked in against your Devil. Your guiding light. Your comfort when things were dark. Your relief from a fucked up leg.

[amphibianaday]

day 1522

[offkilterkeys]

Being a Jane liker is so hard cause you go to her tag and it’s just a bunch of people lamenting how overhated she is and then continuing to ignore her, and being a Jake liker is so hard cause you go to his tag and it’s just tons of people making the most demeaning comments about him cause his character committed the crime of being annoying (unforgivable.)

[getvalentined]

Disappointed that, in spite of using a more accurate translation in Chapter 2 of Crisis Core, EC has switched over to the original English localization for Chapter 3—in spite of having Japanese audio, meaning you can literally hear that the lines exchanged between Genesis and Sephiroth are NOT WHAT THE SUBTITLES SAY if you have THE MOST BASIC UNDERSTANDING OF JAPANESE.

「いい だろう」 (ii darou) is not "come and try." It has never been "come and try." In context, it's literally "that's good" or "that would be nice."

Let me clarify this, once more: in Japanese, Genesis says "I'll be a hero too," and Sephiroth responds "That would be nice."

This fucked up no-homo English localization has utterly ruined Western fandom's perception of these two since the game first came out, and the continued refusal to fix it is one of the most infuriating things to deal with. It makes Genesis seem petty, bitter, self-absorbed; it makes Sephiroth seem arrogant, sanctimonious, like the kind of person who viciously belittles his closest friends.

That's not who either of them are, particularly not with each other. Genesis didn't want to surpass Sephiroth, he wanted to be his equal. And Sephiroth wanted that too! Sephiroth wanted an equal as much as Genesis wanted to be able to stand at his side! Sephiroth was as supportive as Genesis was determined, and both had too much respect for one another not to give these matches of theirs everything they had. Genesis would never accept a victory that wasn't genuine, and Sephiroth would never belittle him by offering such a thing.

They were playing. They were supporting each other. They were having fun working toward a mutual goal because they love each other.

It's been over 15 years and the update dropped during PRIDE MONTH and English localizers STILL HAVE NOT FUCKING FIXED IT.

[inkly-heart]

please don’t be sad little sprout, you are loved 🌱 🖤

🌱

[tanihanya]

Living in the UK as a trans woman is finding the most "trans supportive" party to only be the ones that view us as an annoyance instead of a threat.

It's having to spread warnings about the Guardian, a Left Wing source, as they are some of the constantly worse in trying to demonise us.

It's holding hope in the Scottish or Welsh governments, just for them to turn on us in the drop of a penny

It's sitting here helplessly as Dr. Cass removes in a single report, what we have worked so hard to gain in Thirty Years.

It's the knowledge that it feels as if there is a deep and intrinsic TERF culture running throughout this country.

It is seeing 'allies' agree that we are so much better than the US with trans people and then seeing zero backlash to the removal of all Puberty Blockers.

It's seeing The Guardian go after DIY, and the response is "to wait it out"

It's having a 48% suicide rate that nobody cares of, and is entirely dismissed.

It's the hopelessness and the dread. We know others have it so much worse. But there's just. this overwhelming feeling. That this is the way it will be for us forever.

[lazylittledragon]

there are so many things i could scream about the watcher situation because i'm So upset but i think i can summarise it through a comment i saw on The Video that said something like "we didn't care about anything more than text on a black background. all we wanted was You" and. yeah.