#I don’t need your opinion

[randomalistic]

Wait you guys are actually buying Disney products I thought it was a joke

(READ TAGS FOR FULL CONTEXT Sorry it’s long dies

[rowanthestrange]

A thing I think should be included with Ruby’s abandonment/attachment issues when we’re writing her, is that she was a foster sibling to a lot of kids. Like a lot of kids. She has effectively lost so many siblings and playmates and even babies/very young children she’s essentially had a hand in raising. Her entire life has been loving and losing. And for foster kids getting adopted or reunited with their parents under better circumstances, she will basically have been unable to grieve that properly because it’s a good thing they’re gone and they’re supposed to celebrate it. She’s clearly very loving and caring even after a whole life of that, even though each time they leave a piece of her goes with them.

No shit she’s going to end up with some attachment issues. Especially if she considers herself the lucky one, survivor’s guilt, Carla adopted her and none of the others, who have probably expressed that sentiment to her directly and asked why, in the hopes they could stay forever too, or just jealousy - what made you so special?

Foster children/youths in the UK also have to choose themselves to stay in-touch. Foster carers cannot directly contact the child once they have left their care. A “clean slate” approach is preferred. So if the child doesn’t request to get into contact — and sometimes aren’t told they would have to or are discouraged from doing so — that means losing contact immediately and for good. Does that remind you of anything? Sometimes it also happens very quickly - it is far from unheard of for a foster sibling to go to school in the morning and find out the child they’ve been living with for months has gone when they come back in the evening. Even with warning it could still often be only days. I think you could argue 73 Yards has more to do with Ruby’s experience as a foster sibling than being an adoptee.

And of course the continuous loss of loved ones mirrors the Doctor’s experience with their companions fairly often. Another thing that quietly binds them that most other people couldn’t understand.

[deep-space-lines]

look, I love Garrus but his ME1 characterization makes me wanna do this to him

[hijinxinprogress]

Whenever the JL starts complaining about YJs public image YJ just straight up gaslights them

[liatorii]

Unpopular opinion but it’s always funny when you talk about an unconventional pairing of two characters with physical differences that one might consider extreme (human/monster, size difference etc.) to new people. Because the first thought they ALWAYS have is how they would bone.

And like, sure, you’re free too think about that if you feel so inclined but like- most of the time, for me especially, that aspect has never been important. And it peeves me that people immediately think sexual thoughts when it’s an “exotic“ pairing (especially when the characters belong to me).

And it’s not like I am against chatting about it but them literally having sex should be a conversation held after you’ve gotten to know the characters perhaps? Idk

Maybe it’s the acespec talking but to me it’s more about the underlying trust bond they have to build BECAUSE of their differences and learning to adapt and compromise as they learn to love each other.

[menlikeair]

NEW YORK AINT THE SAME WITHOUT YOU. [aidan shaw x fem!afab!reader]

mdni. smut. mentions of alcohol, mentions of cheating. intoxication. language. oral m receiving. angst! unprotected sex, aidan is kind of an asshole, be warned.

words: 3.3k

new york city drummed on balmy summer nights and the heat only amplified its pulse. people from all walks of life were carving out their own spaces in a city that never slept.

except for you, alone in your apartment. left to your own devices with nothing but the hum of sparse traffic outside and the patter of rain against your window. it poured heavily and bounced from the pavement, adding a rhythmic backdrop to the humid summer night.

the city seemed to mock your solitude with the straight downpour.

on the other side of chelsea, in stark contrast to your state, aidan stepped out of the club into a relentless sheet of rain, his mind a whirlwind. neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a glow around him.

betrayal still stung, and in true aidan shaw fashion, rain or shine, baby, he had once told you. he kept his promises.

the street bloomed white under two jittered flashes of lightning.

“juliet, give me my sin again!” he shouted, his voice cracked and carried a lazy slur. if you hadn’t known this tone so well, you’d almost mistake it for a teenager shittily spewing out shakespeare in hopes of getting some while his little juliet’s parents weren’t home.

you stepped from the bed and to the window to confirm what you already knew. it only took a small squint through the flowy curtains. it would almost be romantic if he wasn’t sopping wet and pathetic with a cocky shit-eating grin plastered across his handsome face as he caught a glimpse of you peering down at him.

you paced down each step before slinging the walk-up apartment’s heavy oak door open.

he leaned forward with both hands against the stairs gate, trying to keep his balance as the water soaked through his clothes and he laughed deeply to himself.

“really cute, but in case you didn’t notice, people live here, romeo.” you hissed and reached down to pull him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt.

aidan trudged up the narrow staircase closely behind you as you stomped. each step creaked under his weight.

“that was stupid, wasn’t even funny,” you mumble and glance at him from over your shoulder as your hands fumble with the keys in the lock.

“i come by it honestly.” he placed his hand over his heart and grinned mockingly.

the air inside your place was thick with the scent of fresh paint and sawdust. remnants of ongoing renovations.

he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the doorframe as he craned his neck to look around you. he surveyed the construction disaster of your so-called ‘living room.’

“well, look at you, little miss la-dee-da.” he pressed past you through the entrance.

“you’re dripping all over my rug,” you muttered from behind him.

“am i?” he sneered back at you.

his gaze flickered to the half-finished bookshelf in the corner.

“i’m quite the handyman, sugar.” he declared as he stripped himself of his jacket and tossed it onto a loveseat sitting awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“could’ve done this for you in a day if you kept me around long enough…” his finger glided over the drywall dust that had collected on a stack of books against the wall before turning to walk closer to you.

“so. what’s new, pussy-cat?”

the tone in his voice seemed to imply he was toying with you. the response was caught in your throat like an air bubble with no escape way.

you studied him quickly, almost obsessively. everything about him was different. they say hair holds memory, and for your own sake, you hoped that had been true. aidan had rid himself of his lengthy cupid curls, and as his broadly toned abdomen pressed against his clinging white dress shirt, you guessed a gym membership was included in the deal.

“what are you doing here, aidan?” you tiredly muttered, trying to hide any expression of shame that dared to ghost across your expression.

“thought i’d see what you were up to, troublemaker.” he grinned deviously, raising his eyebrows as he swayed a bit. he slowly turned on his heels to continue his track around your disastrous living room.

“man, the tunnel! great little place, you been?” he leaned down to pick and prod around at all of the misplaced trinkets on your coffee table. a dull thump of an overplayed club hit rang through his ears, and a few too many straight whiskeys clung to him.

you glanced at him and your mouth fell into a slightly o-shape in a lousy attempt to force the words out of your throat.

the audacity.

you rolled your eyes, “yeah, the tunnel. heard of it.” you mocked back sarcastically.

he hummed in response before letting a short huff of breath out. he turned to face you once again.

“anyway,” he raised his eyebrows and stepped close. too close for comfort. his broad frame towering over you made your heart thump harder and your mouth go dry.

“i think you got some explainin’ to do, little lady.” he expressively pouted his bottom lip.

“you look…different…” you squeaked embarrassingly in response and cleared your throat to divert the attention away from yourself.

“i thought you’d like it.. look like one of those limp-dick wall-street boys you’ve been runnin’ around with lately..” he grinned as his hands wrapped around the small of your waist to manually pull your body closer to his, leaving a suffocatingly insufficient amount of space between the two of you.

his words took you by surprise. on very rare occasions had you heard the man speak with hostility, it just wasn’t his thing, so you wondered why the words left his lips so naturally and smoothly.

“you’re very drunk..” your hands landed on his wide shoulders as you arched your back in a lousy attempt to create any amount of extra space with the man who effortlessly towered over you.

“no, ma, i ain’t.” his deep voice mocked an exaggerated southern drawl as his body leaned closer to dispel the newly added space.

you huffed, exasperated. a strap from your ivory nightdress slipped down your shoulder. you brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration and took a step away from his grasp.

images of a night months ago flashed through your mind. you remembered the dull headache that pounded between your eyes as sunlight poured through your apartment's cracked window. slamming doors and jumping up to run to the window, hoarsely yelling out for aidan, to tell him it wasn’t what it looked like.

but it was exactly what it looked like.

some lousy bartender with a pierced eyebrow sprawled across your bed right beside you in his underwear, there was no way to explain.

so, you didn’t.

you took your last look at aidan as he quickly hurried away from your apartment for the last time. until now. no email with an explanation or apology. no phone calls, no letters. and, at last, he was here for his closure.

he stepped away and leaned back against his palms on the island bar that separated your tiny living room and kitchen. an unfamiliarly smug smirk painted across his defined face. you caught a glimpse of his ribcage snugly pressed against the damp white fabric of his dress shirt, the newly toned muscle between each column of bone made your breath hitch. rainwater trickled from his brow onto the linoleum below his feet.

“aidan, i’m sorry,” you muttered apologetically. your expression softened as you searched for the words to explain, “i was very drunk and my friends.. they wouldn’t stop pressuring me.” your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as you continued.

“always in my ear about me losing my youth dating someone older, and—”

the shame flashed across your face sent a fresh wave of irritation through him. a deep hum from aidan stopped you and you watched as he tilted his head to the side to examine you. his hard expression didn’t change and your blood went cold as you realized that soft spot in his heart for you had long since turned rock-solid.

he adjusted his hips as his thick length twitched impatiently against his left thigh.

“you left me hangin’, baby, high and dry..”

he sucked his left cheek between his teeth and tsked, glancing down at his feet and he leaned back further against his palms, stretching his toned body.

you threw your hands up with a shrug of your shoulders in defeat “i’m sorry, i don’t know what else to say…”

aidan took one hand he was leaning against and completely grasped around your wrist to pull you a step closer.

“come here. what are you standing so far for?” he relaxed, looking down at you as he examined the surprised micro-expressions lighting your face up. the feeling of your wrist in his hand made his already-drunk thoughts spin. his jaw went slack as his body pressed into you with ease.

“you can’t just do this.” you hoarsely stammered, the pressure around your wrist applying as he pulled you closer.

“do what?” the man grinned against you teasingly. he turned his body and boxed you into the counter, bracketing you against the faux marble.

aidan's broad six-foot-five frame completely engulfed you. his hand released your wrist before snaking around your hips to pull you into his torso.

“busting in like you own the place and—” you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip and pressed into him closer, motioning over his body with your eyes

“this.”

you nervously toyed with the neckline of his shirt, slipping your fingers underneath to slide against his collarbone.

aidan’s breath hitched as your fingers traced against him. his eyes darkened, and he leaned in closer. the heat between you was palpable, and every inch of your body was hyper-aware of his proximity.

he ducked his head down and hunched over you, slowly pressing a kiss against your mouth and using his tongue to push through your lips like an intruder. you melted into him. thoughtlessly, like second nature.

and for a sudden, hopeless moment, you missed him. you missed his weight against you. his lips on yours just like this, slacking your jaw to allow his hot tongue to slip against yours as his hungry hands palmed your ass through a thin and nearly iridescent night dress.

you felt his thickness twitch against you, behind the constricting material of his tightening dress pants.

you were drunk on the way he smelled.

it was overtly masculine, everything about him was and always had been. heavy, earthy, and warm, the tinge of whiskey lingered on his lips and the scent of oak on his skin long after he’d left his workshop.

he pulled away to step forward, guide you into the living room, and sit in the heavy oak chair he’d designed with his own hands, sprawled back cockily. it creaked beneath his weight.

go on, baby.

you didn’t know whether it was his husky voice that had commanded you or your subconscious guiding you to pay your karma, but you obliged.

watching him loosen his belt, you lowered yourself to your knees and scooted forward.

“pretty girl,” he muttered to himself and tsked his tongue against his teeth in thought.

“you hurt me, you know that?” he felt better when he wasn’t made of steel with you.

his head tilted to the side to examine your flushed face and you instinctively pulled him out of his boxers. you craned your neck forward to trail a lick up the underside of his cock. his familiarity and warmth made heat coil low in your belly, pooling wet and anxious between your legs. he held you off, just enough so that he could watch you struggle forward trying to take him into your mouth fully.

he twitched against your tongue, huffing out a sharp breath. the uneven hitch of his breath urged you to continue and you take him into your mouth further. your throat constricted wildly, and he hissed through his teeth.

the two of you belonged to each other once again, the salvia pooling in your mouth, running down his length as your mouth and lips did the apologizing that your words couldn’t, belonged to him. his hand at the back of your head which felt like security, raising his hips to fuck up into your mouth. his groans belonged to you, just as they always had.

you whimpered softly as he tugged your hair to pull you from his flushed cock. a line of spit hung off your bottom lip, sticking to your chin. you wiped away tears from your clumped eyelashes with the back of your hand and sunk your teeth into your plump bottom lip eagerly. the need to please him was sudden and violent. his strong hand caught in the soft tangle of your hair.

his face was stricken with an expression you couldn’t quite grasp. with his nostrils flared and jaw clenched, you could recognize anger. but his softened gaze and furrowed eyebrows felt like sincerity, guilt. he couldn’t tell if he wanted to fuck a lousy apology out of you or send you to bed and leave as if nothing had ever happened in his drunken haze.

he used his large hand to wrap around his shaft and drag his slick tip against your open lips before pulling you down onto him once again.

your apology was warm around him, pressing up against the back of your throat.

it hurt in the way it was supposed to hurt — your guilt scorching away inside you.

he forced you down, filling your mouth with his cock, tears clouded your vision. your whimpers were garbled, broken things around his cock.

he’d been the one to teach you how to take it without a fuss, maybe he didn’t hear you over the resounding crashes of thunder and your window rattling on his hinges. couldn’t see the tears welling when you fluttered your eyes open up to him as he tilted his head back against the chair in a guilt-stricken haze of pleasure.

his gaze fell onto you, and his strong hand released the grasp on your hair.

“come here.” the man muttered, motioning you up with his head.

your fingers hooked at the straps of the flowing night-dressed and it fell to pool around your ankles. you stepped out of it, slipped onto his lap to straddle him, and closed your eyes as you sunk onto him with ease. he didn’t give you time to adjust to him before he rocked his hips to fill you completely.

a sharp hiss of an inhale left through your teeth as his tip reached far deeper than you had been used to in your time apart.

he leaned forward and groaned against your warm skin as his hips guided themselves upwards, he closed his eyes. his hands grasp around your waist to steady you and hold you in place as your legs shook in response. his head dipped down and his lips and tongue sloppily grazed your nipple.

“ ‘m sorry. ” your words left your lips like a soft cry as his cock reached deeply inside you, making your head fall backward, torso and breasts arching further against his mouth.

“you’re always doin’ shit you need to be sorry for.” he grunted into your skin and pulled you from his cock with both hands on the sides of your waist. he angled himself back and slowly rocked into you with a moan.

“gotta have the patience of a fuckin’ saint with you.” his jaw clenched as his thrusts went harder, deeper than you could handle.

you whined, an attempt to writhe away from him, but it was no use. you were his, and his strong hands around you made it impossible to lift yourself from him. your fingers dug into his wide shoulders over the translucent material of his damp shirt.

“it’s too much, it’s—” you took a ragged gasp as he pressed deep inside, screwing your eyes tightly shut.

he leaned closer as your body cautiously moved up and down.

any expression of guilt or shame had long been replaced by something else. anger, hunger, and he wanted you to feel it.

“it hurts, baby? does it?” he tilted his head with his slack jaw, a ghost of a smirk tugged the corner of his lip while watching you nod weakly through half-lidded eyes.

his free hand reached between you to draw slow circles against your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb.

“how bad does it hurt?” he sneered at you. his words were like venom. any ounce of sympathy had long since flown out of the window by now. he hoped it hurt.

at least this is the type of pain you could contort and manipulate into some kind of unsettling pleasure. you should consider yourself lucky.

he pressed further and you arched forward with a gasp, your lips trembled as they tried to form words that were no longer there, letting out a desperate sequence of moans, whimpers, and sobs. you answered his thrusts with weak rolls of your hips, pulsing around him. enveloping him. your body seemed to respond with a will of its own.

you thread your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck. you leaned forward to kiss him, sloppily and still salty from his pre-cum. your surrender was sweet on his tongue and he trapped it in his mouth, it belonged to him, anyway.

his thumb continued its path against your clit, spelling his name against you slowly, long and drawn out so you wouldn’t forget.

you were close, desperately so, and your hand slipped down to brace yourself against his chest. you pant into his mouth, sinking and drawing him further inside. he buried his face into your neck, and rocked his hips against you. he felt your throat constrict, your breasts heaving against his chest as he lazily worked his name against your clit with the pad of his thumb, over and over.

you kept making those pretty sounds, clasping your fingers into his hair and holding yourself steady on his broad chest. his orgasm convulsed through him as he moaned, a ripping noise from his mouth that ricocheted through his brain and against the thin skin of your neck. he rocked unthinkingly into you, riding out the rolling tremors that racked his body.

aidan swallowed unevenly, his breath escaping his swollen lips in shaky bursts. his thumb left your swollen clitoris. you whined sweetly in response, trying to rock yourself against his toned naval for any kind of friction. the constricting tightness as you wordlessly begged for more made his hips jolt in over-sensitivity. the feeling dizzied him, striking into the sides of his skull.

he braced himself and stands with your legs wrapped around his waist.

he carried you through the hallway effortlessly and laid you onto the unmade bed with ease.

when he pulled out, you whined and writhed in discomfort, the feeling of anxious excitement pooled somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach. you wanted him, his hungry mouth against you, coaxing you to an undeserving climax with his tongue. not tonight.

he dropped his pants around his ankles and stepped out. from his thighs, he pulled the elastic waistband of his boxers back around his hips snugly and tugged the uncomfortably damp shirt over his head.

aidan watched as he leaked from between your legs, coating your inner thighs. he reached between to gather a bit of it. he brought his two middle fingers up to press past your lips and onto your tongue, watching intently through bleary eyes as you suck him clean.

with a soft groan, he laid down to pull you onto your side and flush against him. he wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. you leaned forward to press a ghost of a kiss against his neck.

every breath you took sent the thud of your heartbeat thumping through your head.

you could feel the man radiating heat, his eyes fluttered closed tiredly. you listened intently to the rapid thrum of his heart against his chest.

[callixton]

i think the thing to understand abt martha jones is that even after she leaves she is five seconds away from dropping everything and traveling with the doctor at any given time. bc that itch to blow everything up and damn her personal duty to hell in search of a higher call never leaves her. but martha is smart. and rational. and has spent a long fucking time needing to keep herself safe. (bc he comes when she calls but never before.) and so she has gotten very good at keeping herself on the right side of those five seconds. but i do think if ten was a different person (if he could acknowledge how much he needed her instead of just how much he liked her) (if he didn’t feel this righteous martyrdom when it comes to being left alone) (if he cared enough about her to beg. if he cared enough about himself.) i think that her answer no would come crumbling down pretty quickly is all.

[kittenfangirl20]

I know I am trying to avoid talking about yurnu and their portrayal of God. They said that he was based on the Old Testament and that just isn’t true. If that were the case then God would be angry at Adam because right before Niffty killed him Adam openly said he should be worshipped which ignores the First Commandment which clearly states that you not allowed to worship anyone except God. One of yurnu’s favorite ships is Adam and Michael which Old Testament God would have frowned upon, I am not talking about the fact that it is a ship involving two men, but the fact that it involved an angel and a human. One of the many reasons why God flooded the Earth in the Noah story was because humans and angels were hooking up. I feel like they were using the Old Testament as an excuse to make God an edgelord, monster, and bully. One of the many things that upset God was a soul going to Hell and he would have been happy that a soul in Hell found redemption and got to go to Heaven. God would also never call Emily stupid, in fact he would say she was one of the few to uphold the morals of Heaven. Unlike what some of the fans of yurnu is saying, I am not causing a controversy, I am expressing my opinion. I know that they don’t like people questioning their little comic, but I can’t stay silent on this, their art is good, but their version of God is a monster who is nothing like the one in the Bible in the Old or New Testament.

[ricciardover]

“what do you mean people are sad about daniel leaving, i don’t like him” wow you’re so edgy and different. do you want a cookie??? should we throw a party?? should we invite helmut marko????

[ropebunnykant]

i feel like people forget that characters don’t always just like. fall in love instantly. like they can have genuine feelings and not be IN LOVE yet. like there are layers. no, neither kant or bison are IN LOVE with each other yet. that doesn’t make the feelings they do have any less real? it doesn’t make it less painful for kant to realize he’s actively falling for someone he also has to betray or for bison to know how suspicious kant is and also be actively falling for him. same goes for style and fadel, like no i don’t think either of them are IN LOVE yet… it doesn’t mean they’re not still interested? it doesn’t mean their feelings aren’t genuine, that they aren’t enjoying each others company? there IS a middle ground believe it or not. you have to fall in order to be in love - these characters are still in the falling stage

[akkivee]

i’m not posting this for any other reason than to cry over ichiro’s voice as he teases kuukou lmao 😭😭😭

[thevulturesquadron]

I see nothing has changed in the DA fandom in the past 10 years. Fans still like judging one another from the moral high ground of ‘actually your take on the character/ship is problematic’, because Maker forbid we just say ‘it ain’t for me’ and move along.

[seagreenstardust]

Live and let ship people. I don’t care what you like, go nuts, but please don’t flood my ship tag with reasons why yours is better. I have my own reasons and you raining on my parade isn’t going to change my mind.

Anyway bkdk are soulmates, canon supports bkdk more than any other ship, and I do not have to flood the other tags with this message to enjoy it. Thank you.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

”I’m too old for this young person show I can’t relate to their drama” then why for the love of god are you reviewing/critiquing it???

[overthinkinglotr]

I desperately want to live in the fantasy world that people who go on about “the importance of representing healthy platonic male-male friendship in media” live in. clearly, these people live in a world where gay romances are super common in media, and platonic male friendships are extremely rare. They certainly don’t live in our world, where it feels like the majority of all media centers on platonic friendships between men, or het romances. I’d love to live in their bizarre little world where queer romances are so common

[seasideoranges]

guys i gotta be honest whenever people call the live action avatar “darker “more serious” and “less childish” then the original show i just think of this meme