#just need to vent about this

[tanadrin]

after that giant buddha statues post, i had the sneaking suspicion that any individual post on tumblr really only ever garners like 2-3 different comments max. for the buddha statues one, it was “what about cristo redenton!!1,” “you forgot about cristo redentor!” and “i bet cristo redentor is bigger!!!”

for the uzbek cooking pot post, which has inexplicably taken off, it’s “i can’t believe that evil museum stole those nice people’s only cooking pot” (it was donated, it said so in the screenshot) and “lol they don’t make em like they used to anymore amirite, planned obsolence plastic mass production bad”

which is an equally stupid comment, given that not only is the perception that modern goods are flimsier a great example of survivorship bias, but a 2,000 year old cooking pot made of solid bronze (that hasn’t been used for most of those 2,000 years) is sort of the example of survivorship bias par excellence; but also, cheap plastic crap is wonderful, cheap plastic crap is why we live in comparative luxury compared to our ancestors who had to make everything out of extremely heavy and labor-intensive leather, glass, stone, wood, or hammered metal. you people are bitching about modern cookware when the ancient Sata of central Asia would give their firstborn son to be able to pop down to Walmart for a new soup pot when their old one broke or got lost.

[honeypleasejustkillme]

i thought i was at my lowest but holy shit it gets lower

[ratbastarddotfuck]

if you're a white person taking pleasure in the idea that Trump voters of colour are experiencing racist violence from white trumpers because "they got what's coming to them" I don't think you're anti-racist at all, I think you were just waiting for an acceptable target, and you're also fucking weird.

Bad Person Deserves Punishment For Their Sins give me a fucking break and get yourself out of the fucking catholic church. you're all prison abolitionists until you see someone you don't like.

[ducktracy]

there are a lot of evil people in the world and a lot of darkness in the world and so it’s very important for me to stress that now more than ever is the time to spread kindness and compassion. combat the evil by not only not partaking in it, but actively refuting it. destroy the notion that being compassionate or generous or kind to someone is uncool or embarrassing or even scary. be the change you want to see. start a chain reaction. positivity only breeds more positivity. do an act of kindness for someone so that that person who is too afraid to do it themselves can see you, realize that they’re not alone, and perhaps sheepishly follow your example. and then the next person who is too afraid but sees that person can do the same. when bad news comes out about bad people or horrible atrocities in the world it’s such an easy impulse to despair, and obviously it’s important to feel what you need to feel. grieve. be angry. be sorrowful. be empathetic. but dust off your pants and get up and be a part of a chain reaction that, no matter how small the scale, and spread compassion and love and care. all the reasons why you might not—“it’s hard! it’s scary! people will make fun of me! it’s useless because there’s too much evil!” are all grade A arguments as to why you should. you have no idea how many people you could inspire to do the same. even if it doesn’t get you anyway far, you can at least say you have the nobility of trying. please choose love and please choose life. you are worth loving and you are worth inspiring others to love

[artofalassa]

| Don't leave me All by myself in this world |

[vurelly]

how am i meant to ha wahoo yippee through life in these conditions

[1caru]

downfall cuddles for anyone who needs them right now

[adustoflove]

Having bpd to me is like I'm the loneliest person on the planet, no matter how many people I talk to, no matter how many connections I make or have, I'm a lonely void who will die alone. I have to be talking to someone or with someone every second of every minute of every day. I love people so much, I need people. There's so many people out there with different things to teach you. And then, if I have to talk to one person for more than 6 seconds today, I'll kill them. I'll kill myself. I need to be left alone for the rest of the day, I need no one but myself to be happy. I don't want to partake in anything with anyone because it's all draining and taking out of my alone time. Everyone is the same, they're all boring and self-absorbed. Every conversation feels like I'm forcing myself to be actively present. I just want to be alone in my room with nothing or no one. I don't see a future where I'm happy with anyone other than being by myself.

[lycandrophile]

let trans men&mascs romanticize testosterone.

keep your “you’re not going to look like an anime boy or whatever, you’re just going to look like your dad” to yourself.

keep your “but what about the balding and the acne and the anger problems and the gross hair everywhere and the horrible painful bottom growth and and and” to yourself.

keep your “once you look like a man you will scare people and you can never stop thinking about that” to yourself.

keep your “testosterone is poison and don’t you dare even suggest that saying that might hurt you” to yourself.

we are not obligated to take on your fears and traumas around testosterone as our own, nor are we obligated to let them influence our relationship with it.

we are not obligated to sit here in a world that heavily restricts and constantly threatens our access to it and listen silently as you contribute to stigma around it.

we’re already tired of watching cis society as a whole try to rip it away from us; we don’t need fellow trans people and supposed allies giving credence to their cause.

for many of us testosterone is life-saving medicine, it’s liquid gold, it’s the nectar and ambrosia of the fucking gods.

is it so hard to just let us have that? to let us believe that and say it and celebrate it without being given a million reasons to question it? is that really too much to ask?

if you can find it in your heart to let other trans people romanticize their transitions, i promise you can let us do it to.

testosterone is a beautiful thing. it makes people hotter and even more importantly it makes them happier and anyone who wants it should be able to have it because it’s so life-changing and magical and wonderful and incredibly important to so many people who deserve the happiness it offers.

[trans-leek-cookie]

yknow what. I wanna say: CSA and COCSA survivors are all incredible, but I also wanna give a shout out to ppl who were exposed to sexual stuff or had any kind of sexual experience as a kid that they either aren't comfortable labelling as or don't consider abuse, but they know it still fucking sucked and shouldnt have happened. Even if that changes later in life and you identify as a victim/surivor, it can be messy to have to imagine those labels applying to the ppl in ur life and that can take time.

The most important thing is to prioritize your recovery + health, and to support other victims + survivors.

[little-hermit-crab56]

WHY IS THE NINJAGO FANDOM OUTSIDE OF TUMBLR SO FUCKING TOXIC

[templetv]

the way I crave a parent who, not only loves me, but likes me, and notices me is so so embarrassing

[transkingcobra]

Gods the poly erasure I just saw is baffling

Someone saying they wanna romance Halsin but don’t jive with polyamory so they won’t (valid, respect that, very same reason me as a person irl could never date Halsin no matter how much I love him, I can’t do open polyamory)

But then all the comments were “you can still date him monogamously!!!! There’s an epilogue that suggests he’s being serious and monogamous with Tav!!! You don’t have to date multiple people!!!”

Just because Halsin and Tav are not seeing anyone other than each other does not change the agreement.

It’s doesn’t change Halsin’s nature when it comes to relationships and partners.

Romancing Halsin is an agreement to be in an open polyamorous relationship. It does not matter if Tav never finds someone else they love at the same time. It does not matter if Halsin never finds someone else he loves at the same time.

Halsin is forever and always poly, and he never settles into being monogamous for Tav. He will not change his nature for you, nor does he want you to change your nature for him.

There is no “monogamous path” with Halsin.

[wis-art]

I argued with some random asshole on the internet a while ago and I noticed I made them feel really bad with my anger, I decided to at least get them some groceries as a apology gift because I know they struggling too, few days ago I went over to talk about the situation while calm and to properly apologize, made sure to let the person know that they don't gotta talk to me that it's ok if they don't want anything to do with me, they agreed and added me to a group chat with their girlfriend and then proceeded to berate me for the next 4 hours straight taking turns to call me names 😭 and I'll tell you what. To be called creepy and obsessed for sending the money and get berated for that too??? Like I know $50 isn't like a huge amount nowadays but it was half of all the money in my bank account at the time. And it was a tough decision to make because I am already struggling to pay rent and because I'm too disabled to work. I snapped out of it immediately, like wow no wonder I got mad at them in the first place.

The moral of the story is, don't try to fix things with the worst people you have ever met, your gut feeling was right, there's a reason why you got angry. It will only harm you and make you harm them, too, when you eventually get emotional and pissed off over how they treated you and then use it against you. Whatever you do won't be enough and taken as the worst possible thing to do. Simply fuck off. That's the best outcome for everyone that will hurt the least amount of people.

[romatito]

coloring experiments with some displeased españas 🍅 i always love digging beneath his optimism to find the negativity underneath thats Just as passionate -- its one of the most fascinating things about him to me

closeups under the cut

[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.