#rant kind ok?

[insomniaccipher]

Soooo...

just finished Encore: Overture...

I'm willing to admit when I'm just bad at a game but is anyone else struggling?

cause it took me an hour and 30 mins to finish it (most of which was the final boss) and I'm not even satisfied. Like I died so many times and I just don't feel happy that I'm done I'm glad to be done with it but just

It wasn't fun for me.

Sorry for complaining

[sameboot]

Simon petrikov coping FAIL compilation

[theribbajack]

"Now, the vow will be honoured, and my Lord brother's soul will return."

Radahn stans keep winning, but I personally am in Miyazaki's walls rn

[vaguely-concerned]

for what it's worth I personally don't believe spite had anything to do with the pantry near-kiss experience at all. I think that was a 100% lucanis naturel disaster no supernatural additives present or indeed required. at most spite was watching that whole situation go down with mild puzzlement about approximately every part of it, I don't think he'd have much interest in it one way or the other. the explanation seems much more mundane and grounded and in some ways much sadder to me.

if your nervous system has never been in a place where any surge of emotion, even -- in fact sometimes especially! -- a good and exciting one makes you feel like your soul just touched a hot stove it can't get away from, then sincerely, from the bottom of my heart and without a trace of snark, thank goodness and I hope you never experience it. For the rest of you... fistbump of solidarity it's rough out here but *grits teeth* we stay silly etc. In the place lucanis is in during that part of the game, feeling like you're losing control (again even for ostensibly good happy reasons) can feel an awful lot like you're dying, or worse. on top of everything else going on for him -- again going only with non-supernatural elements and not even comprehensive: a year of non-stop horrific trauma added to pile of previous mountain of childhood and attachment trauma. chronic sleep deprivation. apparently dead grandma doubling as mother figure. cousin-brother aggressively fucking around and in real danger of finding out. fucked up the ONE thing he thought he knew how to do that's been the central pillar of his identity. the world might be ending even more than it already was because of it. keeps faceplanting with barely any dignity and having to get up again with alarming regularity GOD how could I ever not save treviso this man desperately needs a W (just one!!) like few people in the history of the world have before him. he's more caffeine than man because the alternative feels worse. it's bad in here. and ON TOP of all that he's in the process of falling just. appallingly soul-shrivingly in love, which can notably be playing on hard mode even when you're in a mostly functional place, that shit routinely rocks people to the core under the best of circumstances.

so I'm not surprised it's too overwhelming for him to handle when he tries to throw himself in head first -- in fact I'd have been more surprised if it weren't lol. he clearly wants it so much, which only makes it so much more painful that he can't actually bear to touch it when it's offered to him freely and eagerly. this is the tantalus-level awfulness of this kind of attachment trauma; food seems to be right there, you can see it, almost smell it sometimes, but no matter what you just can't seem to reach it. seemingly not for any flaw in the existence of the food, but because of something broken in you that can't or can't bear to actually eat. his deliberate flirting routine is kind of deeply dorky tbh lol (in the most endearing way possible let's be perfectly clear) and I don't think it's entirely natural to him -- that's a hastily cobbled together 'oh god I am getting the vibes here it is happening for some reason they like me for my personality quick what would illario do' approach if ever I saw it, supported by the fact that it never really makes a return after this --

BUT I do think his obvious near-unbearable delight with rook's existence and person that shines through in that scene is entirely real and unfeigned. he likes them so much. he wants so bad to be able to be close to them. he's so hungry for the reprieve and release and relief they represent to him, just for one moment, just one break from all the awfulness to have something uncomplicatedly good. and it's here, it's been offered, he's welcome!!! and he has to flinch away at the last minute anyway because he's an exposed nerve of a human being. there's a point at which every sensation including joy becomes indistinguishable from agony. he's pretty much exactly at that point. for the love of god have some mercy on him people. the feeling that salvation is right here but you're too broken a vessel to hold it is one I wouldn't wish on anyone. let him have a few moments to stare into the void before he's ready to get back up and try again surely we all deserve at least that much lol

[bixels]

Always an experience watching the leftism leave FNAF fans when someone mentions that Scott Cawthon financially backed fascist politicians.

The switch from posting hardline leftist tweets about boycotts and signal boosts and critical takedowns of politicians and celebrities to ‘ohhh, well. everyone makes mistakes. who can blame him, listen he. he donated money to gay charities too. that makes it ok! a millionaire in his forties is allowed to have political beliefs. does it even matter? just let it go!’ is whiplash inducing. The antivaxxer celebrities have got to go, but this one horror dev who quietly handed wads of cash to antivax lawmakers? He’s chill, he can stay.

The charity thing is so funny too because suddenly utilitarian positive-negative point counting is the way to go. Maybe an abacus would help calculate the net good of donating to the Trevor Project minus donating thousands of dollars to Mitch McConnell and Donald Trump. -10 points if I push a kid in a lake but +11 points if I help an old lady across the street, so I’m chill. You can’t judge me. Hey, maybe. Just don’t push a kid in the lake period. How fucking low is the bar when we’re excusing maxing out the possible dollar amount of donations to Mitch fucking McConnell. That should be like. Default you’re a bad person.

[myokk]

Guess which outfit I wore on my only public outing to the grocery store today and what I’ve been wearing to draw outside, clean like crazy, and give my dogs a spa day😭😭

Plus my studio ghibli redraw of Seb and Eloise🥹🥹🥹 they look like BABIES😭♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

[planetlongjourney]

I love Star Trek, but It’s one of those shows that to truly love it, you have to realise that it can be a BAD show

Don’t get me wrong it’s such a great show in terms of characters and storytelling MOST OF THE TIME!!! but if anybody comes to me and tells me that “Sub Rosa is a secret classic” or “a night in sickbay is so misunderstood” I will throw them so far that astronauts will get whiplash

Not only that but there are so many episodes where I just wish they could’ve done the characters more justice…example, not underusing women characters, especially in TNG, or not randomly switching up someone’s personality because you really want to tell a specific plot that would need them to act like that.

And the more you learn about the behind the scenes of Star Trek, the more I want to go back in time and rip the Star Trek franchise straight out of Gene Rodennberry’s hands and claim it as my own, because some of the stuff that happened off camera is actually horrible! (Go look up the things that he and so many people who worked on the show did)

I mean in the end Star Trek is a usually fun franchise! But it is a FLAWED franchise, and to love Star Trek is to question the choices of Star Trek or something

[episyn]

>"winter event with winter themed items"

>look inside

>it's literally just christmas

[insert that image of a cat staring at the camera really close up]

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Ok a line has been crossed and I am not ok with it on any level. Trolling is never ever ok.

After one of them made a comment on my correctly tagged post (now blocked and reported) they have clearly made a post about it with my url @‘d and as a result I have just had my inbox spammed by over 30 (and climbing) bt stans on anon telling me my url is offensive and they they hope I and Eddie get stage 4 terminal cancer so my url will actually be a relevant reference to something.

The originator was clearly looking to cause trouble by coming into the anti tags after the episode.

I am fully aware the people who actually need to see this won’t but saying that to anyone regardless of ship or fandom or anything is seriously hideous behaviour and it’s not ok.

It makes it very clear they are new to the 911 fandom and have never seen any bts stuff pre s7 especially related to Eddie. For those who don’t know stage four Eddie diaz is a reference to a post Ryan made about Eddie’s new haircut and job going into 5b (Eddie’s breakdown era).

Regardless of that that is an awful thing to wish on a character on a show. That is wishing death on them.

But the biggest and most problematic part of it all is the wishing terminal cancer or any stage of cancer for that matter on someone - a real life human being who opens up their inbox and sees those messages.

A real life human being who may be affected by cancer in their real not online life. A real person who might be enjoying an escape from the reality of cancer and cancer treatment through fandom.

I don’t have cancer but I did loose my mother to cancer when I was 18. It’s not something I would wish on my worst enemy.

The entire thing has left me feeling upset. Fandom is supposed to be a safe and enjoyable space if you cannot respect other peoples opinions and ships then maybe don’t engage with fandom.

They won’t win - I’m made of stronger stuff then that but I cannot let it go without saying anything more widely because who knows what others are getting in their inboxes that might have an impact on their mental health and well-being.

[jawz]

i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way my ethnicity affected the way i was gendered as a child, my drive to transition, and even my detransition…

as a hispanic growing up with my white mom and white stepdad and white brother and white extended family in scandinavian hell (minnesota), i always felt different, always felt wrong. (my parents divorced as a baby, and my dad and his family, cuban and italian, all live in florida.) my neighborhood wasn’t so bad; it was way more diverse than the metro area itself. growing up i had mixed friends, i had friends with curly hair… but us trailer park kids were only a fraction of the population of our schools and district. a sea of blonde hair. there were times in elementary school i would literally pray to god to make my hair straight, make my eyes blue. grown-ups touched my hair and always asked “is it naturally curly?”. my classmates urged me to straighten it and by age 13 it was part of my ridiculously time-consuming “feminizing” beauty rituals.

much earlier, by the age of 8 or 9, i already had thick, dark hair growing on my legs. other kids, boys and girls alike, called me “gorilla girl”, faked gagging when i wore shorts, insisted i was actually a boy. that one became more and more common as i came into my personality: bold, class clown, competitive with the boys. (always wanting to charm the girls, but i didn’t recognize that back then.)

my mustache was there by 8, as well. just a little peach fuzz above my lip but dark enough to notice. are you even a girl? my mom would spread wax over her own face and soon began waxing my stache as well. it hurt so badly. i put up with it because she said it would make the kids stop teasing me. of course i was a girl- she was a woman and she had peach fuzz too!… but i felt self-conscious at the fact that my body hair was so much more noticeable, even as a child. my mother’s hair is very thin, straight, lighter brown; her complexion is warmer than mine, pink where mine is olive, green and yellow. i worried you could see the strands about to burst through. i was worried that to be a girl- a woman- i must hide parts of myself every day. i must cover the shoots of grass, the weeds that reveal that i’m not fit for society, that whisper i’m wild and untamed.

it wasn’t actually until i was 18 at least that i actually started to consider myself latino. i had sometimes said ‘hispanic’ growing up, as that’s what my family in florida called themselves; they referred to themselves as “spanish”, which i found out was not quite true after compiling my family tree and discovering that those ancestors emigrated from havana. in their minds they were white: “descended from spanish royalty” (as if!!)… i had spent my youth constantly trying to claim solely whiteness, confused as to why everyone was asking me “are you mexican?” “are you jewish?” “are you middle eastern?” - even though inside i think i knew. i knew my family didn’t look like me. i resented my surname being changed to Lind when i was five, my stepdad’s name, in order to give me the same name as the rest of them. despite my apparent envy of swedes and norwegians i knew it wasn’t my name; i still stood out terribly. i glared at myself in the mirror every day, i never could move past how the kids at school said my eyes were the color of shit, that my hair looked like pubes, that i must have had a sex change without being told because that would explain the mustache, the aggression…

by the time i was fourteen i was entirely primed to accept an alternative explanation to what was “wrong” with me. my sexuality was becoming more and more apparent but before i could ever come out as lesbian or even bi, i had discovered what it meant to be trans. i was so immediately certain that this was the key, THIS was why everyone said i didn’t fit in, THIS was why my behavior wasn’t girly, THIS was why i wanted to date girls. it was 2011, still deep in the “brain sex” era of the trans community, and i was sure without a shadow of a doubt that i was physically female, mentally male. all that needed to be done was to “correct” my body and bring it in line with my brain. despite the fact that very few people knew what transition actually was back then, i genuinely assumed it would make sense to everyone else, too: they had told me i wasn’t ‘really’ a girl so many times i had no trouble believing it.

transition, of course, did not suddenly de-latinize me LOL. first i became a total Other, outside of both the minnesotan ethnic norms and the gender+sex norms; eventually, with hormones and surgery at a very young age, i was able to pass as a boy, but by the time i could grow actual full-on facial hair, i realized i was still the pan-latin american enigma to people around me. multiple times someone would call me “sanchez” as some sort of attempted insult or joke. police looked at me differently than they had before. shop owners followed me, accused me of shoplifting. and sometimes, the white girls i dated told me that i was way cooler than all the boring white boys they knew. one girl even called me “exotic” to my face. it was, apparently, a compliment.

when i was 21 i heard that my girlfriend had referred to me to others as “a POC who identifies as white”. it felt as though she didn’t even know me at all. i’d never claimed either of those things to her.

moving to the west coast (socal specifically, where being latino/a is not considered ‘abnormal’) illuminated a lot of the bizarre and unnatural racial expectations of my midwest upbringing; i think by this point i was beginning to realize what so many things from my childhood had meant. that they weren’t really saying i was a boy. they were saying we don’t like girls who look like you, and we’d rather not have you included in our category.

it took me another three years to fully reckon with this. by the time i decided to detransition i had a much better understanding of the circumstances of my life; conversations with close friends who are also latina and have walked similar paths to me, heard similar insults, similar “compliments”, opened my eyes to the fact that i was not alone. i no longer feel weird for thinking the race/ethnicity boxes on government forms are hopelessly reductive. i know who i am and who i am not.

(around this time, i happened upon some old pictures of my dad’s side of the family. beautiful and glamorous women: adela, my uncle’s mother, the piano player; melanie, my aunt, the wife, hostess, and addict; lauren and andrea, my cousins, the restauranteurs; stella, my dad’s mamma, the widow and matriarch. and on all their faces, thick dark eyebrows, and, yes, that ever-familiar peach fuzz. i swear it healed something in my soul. despite my lack of beauty and glamor, we are not so different after all.)

that’s not to say all things are easy now. i’ve spent three years living as a GNC woman and if that wasn’t enough to confirm most all of my hypotheses on people’s perceptions of me, i don’t know what is.

detrans spaces (like most trans spaces) are overwhelmingly white- or at least that’s who dominates conversation. i see SO much downplaying of the things that naturally hairy women go through societally. i see trans allies who purport to be “okay” with detransitioners, saying “what’s the big deal? if you took testosterone you can just go off it and get laser hair removal!! :)” as if laser isn’t expensive as hell, painful as hell, and also WAY more of a process for a woman with dark curly hair than it is for one with straight blonde hair lmfao!!! i see detrans women obsessed with removing all traces of hair from their bodies (even though most of them clearly don’t have a neverending five o’clock shadow like some of us do! my lower face has a constant blue-green disturbance under the surface which makes female spaces incredibly daunting) and insulting the rest of us for being ugly and hairy and making no effort to look like women or what the fuck ever. basically, a lot of people who claim to support us are just racists and essentialists and believe that sex is visual and not biological…🤨

anyway… i guess my main takeaways from all this are:

1. please stop acting like detransition is an entirely internal process and that it’s easy for all of us to be seen as our sex again (some of us like. actually transitioned and passed as the opposite sex), or that potential physical interventions aren’t incredibly invasive and difficult

2. stop assuming all transition and detransition journeys follow your own experience of lifelong whiteness and hairlessness

3. it is a distinct experience to be regularly de-gendered or denied your sex, PRIOR to ever thinking of yourself as literally trans. many trans/detrans people had this happen to us (we were once the vast majority of trans people). but many did not, and generally shock others when they begun breaking gender norms. i really think people from the second group often have trouble understanding that for the first group, changing gender expression is basically a bandaid over an abscess… we have lived entire lifetimes being denied our sex, being told our bodies are not “truly” ours, that there is someone else inside trying to break out. kicked out of the bathroom, the changing room, alienated from single-sex peer groups. transition just flips this experience and instead separates us from our preferred gender group, reinforcing the feeling that we have no place, anywhere.

race/ethnicity, being homosexual or bisexual, mental illness stigma, disability, and low economic class all play an additional role in this. stop perpetuating this and denying us our biological sex.

[toastingpencils37]

"Megatron"

"Don't get mushy I'm not doing this for you"

These divorced mfs

[ihavesomejays]

quick shapey sunday thing i painted to procrastinate on my drawing assignment

detail shot under keep reading

[eemamminy-art]

I sometimes think about the person who blocked me out of nowhere on twitter and ao3 when I thought we were still friends, because she couldn't stand to see my words or thoughts or ideas, but admitted she still lurked on my tumblr because "the art is nice".

I also sometimes think about the person who would post my art in discord servers to gush about how good it was but that "it's a shame she's such a bitch" and sent me anon hate for 2 years because I drew my ot3 which happened to contain the two characters of her ship but she hated the third character.

Or the exes and ex-friends who would guilt trip me into making art for them dozens if not hundreds of times, only to tell me my art was shit anyway after we broke up.

I don't think about them because any of them matter or because I'm particularly scorned or anything, but because people like this build up into a bigger problem: people treating artists like they aren't also people.

People who think that art is a commodity that is owed to them, but simultaneously can be used as a weapon to cut down the person who created the art. People who think that the person that created the art is worthless but their creations that took hours, days, weeks, of sweat and tears and sometimes a little bit of their soul are free for the taking without a second thought about how that art came into being. People who will nitpick and complain in tags or replies thinking the artist somehow won't see it, or who will send entitled asks about why the artist did or didn't draw this or that, or who will wish death upon the artist for drawing something that they personally didn't like.

I think it would be cool if we could all start acting like the people behind art are real people. Because they are.

[shurup-overt]

the terukane development still blows off my mind because what do you mean akane considers himself telling teru to go away while he's on a date with aoi an ooc thing. I grew up in a time when "hearing sorry from you is creepy" was legit his most normal and calmest response

ashamed to admit but I'm still there. my mind is still there. and then I watch in pure horror how akane caresses teru's back

[paracozmistari]

Id really like if people stopped editing Eddie with the intro being his fight with Bobby where he basically tells him he thinks he is a murderer and should rot in hell (which is not true btw) just bc he got his little feelings hurt. Like boy that aint no savage moment its just straight up wrong