#i fucking hate fandom spaces

[dakotaversions]

lotta discourse going around on yjtwt rn b/c where else abt the fact that its rly likely that tonights episode is gonna have a Melissa is the 8th survivor reveal and how the writing esp. in the later stages of season 2 and into 3 has fallen into a pattern of treating the POC characters a little sub-optimally and like. this is all true everyone has a point and i do think a lot of the characters who've been sidelined throughout season 2 had that done messily and that Melissa's whole thing in season 3 is too sudden but like. fandom spaces have no room for moderation now it's all either people losing it gloating over Melissa being the eighth survivor or people being like 'Melissa has literally no character' and none of these people are right?

like yeah! sure! i'm happy Melissa survives i like her enough but oh my GOD people are being such assholes about it? and there's definitely a compelling core to her character w/r/t the way Shauna uses then abandons her in the wilderness and the way she presumably comes back to take some sort of vengeance in the adult timeline but also coexisting with this is how interesting it would've been to see Akilah's season 3 arc keep playing out with her as a survivor [side note but in the part in last week's episode that mentioned i think Gen and one of the others not surviving was one of them Akilah?? i forget but if it wasn't then there's a chance] and same with some kind of, like, grand reintroduction for Mari or something i don't fucking know.

and like. yeah thats the core of this we don't fucking know shit there's no shot season 3 is a planned ending or anything it could continue smooth as hell into a fourth season and we could get another survivor reveal there bc i'm not sure if 8 is like a confirmed number and if so where it comes from and there's still time for the writers to maybe take on some of the points being made and pull back some of the character decisions and varying prominences of storylines and presences of POC characters b/c the way some of them [Simone and Sammy, jesus] have been just kinda abruptly shelved is messy, messy writing. idk. we can only hope

[thefloatingstone]

The older I get and the more terrible takes I see the more in favour I become of gatekeeping

[reallyunluckyrunaway]

Too accurate.

[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.

[woefulstar]

the marauders era characters being portrayed as one big happy family who all love each other and would do anything for each other is what keeps me going <3

[ehh-is-the-name]

You know when I said I'd make a Floory rug..?

So yeah, I did it.

This is your calling card to do the same. Make a rug, I triple-dog dare you. Don't know how?

Here's a breakdown of how I made The Floor:

Before fully getting into it, in that rb I said:

We could have so much mroe than what the shop offers- it could be glorious. I couldn't get tuft chin hair or flower power blush floor with $45 dollars at their store, but I could get it irl for the low low price of like a week-straight worth of work.

Ha... haha.... No. It took a lot longer than that. MUCH longer than that.

This is a little jitter lapse with the dates I worked on him. In each pic I spent around 2-3 hours working on him, except the last few in August. Those I spent like 3-5 hours on because I needed him to be finished before the semester started. My goal was to get him finished and sitting in my dorm, and I fucking did :)

= - - =

Starting from the top though, since I had the design after making the rb post linked, I decided on the size. I was watching the video showcasing him as a rug, and I gauged he was about a yard wide, so I based my measurements on that. I knew that I was going to needle punch him instead of latch hook him because I felt the punching would be faster. And well... I've done punch needling before this project so I figured it'd be faster than learning a new technique.

Here's what I mean, for a frame of reference.

Since I went the punching route, I knew he'd need a frame to be punched out on. To keep the fabric taut and all that jazz. Luckily for me I had a bunch of wood hanging around from an old bed's slots, so I made the frame out of that. Similarly, I had a bunch of fabric lying around.

Word of advice: DO NOT USE NORMAL FABRIC WITH A NORMAL PUNCH NEEDLE YOU WILL TEAR THAT SHIT UP. Learned that the hard way-

The fabric I used was NOWHERE near "loose" enough for a big punch needle. Loose in the sense that it has more holes in it. On the left is the fabric you're supposed to use when making a rug (Monk's Cloth), and on the right is the fabric I used (pic not of the exact cloth but close).

Notice that the holes on the right are a LOT smaller... I did not realise this mattered until I'd already primed the frame and drew him on with a sharpie.

Bask in his glory.

To give a breif on how I did this, I hooked my 'puter up to the TV with an HTMI, opened the image I had of him (it's a bit different than the of doodle in the rb b/c I wanted brighter colours), and literally held the wooden frame with the fabric on it up to my TV and traced it. I traced it from the inside first so that it would be mirrored on the side I would be punching on. If you draw the design you want to punch on the side you're punching on please mirror the image first.

Forgot to say, yes I had a staple gun too, so that didn't add into the price of making this Floory rug.

After this point, it was pretty smooth sailing, sorta... It would've been if I'd bought a thinner yarn for the main body. See, in this whole experiment, I was very dead set on keeping this project under $45 so I bought a large ball of cheap yarn. I tried to gauge how much I would need with the needle height (about 3/4 inch I used), but I got scared and just wound up buying this giant green ball that I needed to de-ply to work with properly. You could kinda see it in the jitter-lapse below, but yeah.

Before punching with this Red Heart size 4 yarn, I had to separate 1 of the ply FOR THE ENTIRE RUG. I had to pull out a substantial amount from the big skein, de-ply it, roll it back into a ball, then needle punch with it.

And why did I have to do this? BECAUSE I WAS USING THE WRONG FABRIC AND NEEDLE PUNCH FOR MAKING A WHOLE ASS RUG!!

I didn't know that the needle punch needle I had was an embroidery one, NOT a normal needle punch needle. Notice that it's small, and embroidery floss is the thing going through the hole and NOT size 4 yarn. And for the right, notice that it's also kinda small but the needle itself is a lot thicker, the channel that the yarn is going through is wider than the yarn itself- and that it's YARN AND NOT EMBROIDERY FLOSS.

Needless to say, it was aggravating and made the process take a lot longer than it should've. It wasn't impossible, I mean, you see him finished above and below, but it made it WAY more tedious, since a the thicker yard, even after being de-ply'd, still got stuck in the needle punch needle. After wresling with that off and on for... what about 4 months give or take, it was on to gluing and backing.

Going on the record to say that Tuft the World, Sam Made That, Shop Last., AJ MAKES, and BrokenBlvds' thread were the backbone of my glue searching, and rug-making experience. If you genuinely want to make a tuff rug (hand-punched or otherwise) their guides are so helpful <3

But for real, finding the right glue was a lot harder than anticipated. Many people said to use Roberts 3095 adhesive for rugs along with another glue, but I didn't have the funds for that, nor was planning to buy a whole gallon of rug glue I'd only for 1 project. I took up BrokenBlvds thread as my glue of choice, even though they were asking for something better. So far (about 3 months of use and a couple cleanings) the Roberts 6700 glue is holding up fine. The thing that isn't, is the yarn. After one vacuuming, fuzzies have been obscuring his eyes and junk. It's not bad, or even that noticeable, but I do miss his original state. That's what I get for using cheap yarn. I still love him to death tho.

Side tangent aside, I also used the 6700 because it has less of an odour, and I planned on bringing him to my dorm right when he was dry. While that was drying outside, I worked on the backing. The OG Floory rug had a nonslip backing attached (if I remember correctly), but mine does not! In similar fashion to the fabric of the rug itself, I also used left over fabric as his backing. For structure, I used some of my father's old uniform pants, and to make it more like dirt, I used an old bed sheet.

I stitched them together in a quilt-ish design so that the layers would be attached throughout the rug. That was a rush, but when I finished it I went out back and stuck it on there with a bit more Roberts 6700. When it was cured enough to come inside (3 days after gluing) I worked on the nonslip portion.

Had a rectangle of rug grip mat stuff, stuck some pins around the edges of Floory, traced the pins then cut it out. It's a little hard to see but looking up top, you can see a few of the pins sticking out around his edge.

After getting that, I released him from the frame, "pinked" his edges, and whip-stitched the edge shut.

That hurt my thumb SO FUCKIN BAD- Had to have pliers next to me for most of the whip-stitching, because it was so hard to get through the glue with a blunt needle. I used a blunt needle 'cause it was the only needle I had that could hold the yarn, and to keep in the spirit of the experiment... No way I was buying a needle when I had a needle that could technically work.

Now, in the name of the whole experiment, let me do a breakdown of the things I bought verse used:

Items Bought for project:

Green Red Heart Yarn - $15

Roberts 6700 Carpet Adhesive - $9

Wrong sized punch needle - $3

Total spent on Floory rug: $27

Items used in general:

9 different colours of yarn

About 1.5 yards of polyester/cotton blend fabric

1/2 of a flat sheet from a bedsheet set

1 pair of uniform pants

1 embroidery needle punch needle

4 (roughly) yard-long wood slots from a bed

Nails and screws (and the tools for those)

1 Staple gun & about 70 staples (I fucked up a lot of them & restapled)

A sewing machine

Pinking shears

Tapestry needles

etc...

Total if I had to buy all that: More than $45!

I put the lists side by side to say that I know saying "Oh just make it yourself" is easier said than done. If I didn't have all the shit I did, I would've just bought him myself like any sane person would. But no, I had the will and the materials, and I wanted The Floor in my dorm. And now here he is, along with my crazy ass Jhariah x hfjone bag...

That's for a different post- but forgive me, it's the most recent photo I have of him.

All and all, I had a good time working on him! It was very therapeutic to hunch on the floor of my living room and stab fabric a gazillion times to make The Floor from Inanimate Insanity. It drove me a bit inanimate insane, but honestly, I wake up every morning and see his face and it makes things better. So in reality, I guess you could say it was the friends I made along the way- thanks for watch

[rouge-the-bat]

ive never seen literally anything hp, but man the way some people post about it feels more like theyre going "finally, a socially acceptable thing for me to relentlessly shit on and be condescending to fans about without (much) backlash" rather than, you know, actually being invested in defending and supporting trans people.

like do you want to signal that youre safe for trans people to be around, encourage people to stop monetarily supporting the author, stop posting about her series until ding dong the witch is dead so she wont see it as supporting her, or do you just have fun going "ew people still like this shit? cringe 🤢🤢 it was always awful, find something actually good to be a fan of, dumbasses." do you think thats helping the trans people that the series was/is extremely important to at all.

[rosesradio]

i try not to let dumbass fandom disk horse take up any space in my mind but now on behalf of the percico side of the fandom that had to deal with that entitled negativity i wanna write a percico drabble

actually the smuttier and more offensive the better

[crescenthistory]

sorry but what are you even doing on tumblr if you're married??? this site is for depressed teenagers and emo people in their 20s and 30s who never stopped being depressed teenagers. get your happiness OFF of my dash omg we don't want the soft found family mushyness we want angst and creators we can actually relate to

LMAOOOOOOOO this is by far the dumbest, most brain-dead fucking take i have ever seen in my life. kindly fuck off!

[dakotaversions]

so in my head and tired of fandom arguments i just muted like 15 words related to one of my favourite shows on twt. i don't fucking care any more i just don't want fandom stuff to poison another show i really liked. this is not me trying to mute out the people giving actual constructive criticism of yellowjackets' writing b/c i agree with them i think it's messy and definitely needs to check itself w/r/t the way it subtextually treats race but i just can't fucking deal with arguments abt whatever happens in the next fucking episode

[eywaseclipse]

Fuck Emilia Perez and the entire cast. They are so undeserving of awards and recognition. Fuck Zoe’s response to a Mexican journalist telling her that it was harmful to project racist stereotypes. This is why we need more self awareness in ALL forms of media consumption. So avatar writers get your heads out of your asses and stop exploiting cultures that don’t belong to you because you’re thirsty for clout. Stereotypes harm people. It’s not just fiction. And until you’ve experienced this in all forms yourself, this isn’t the space in which you get to disagree with me.

I’m so sick of the apologists in this fandom. And honestly Zoe is one of worst I’ve seen recently. A sobering moment to realized these celebs are not our friends. They simply just play characters we like. That film was very hurtful.

[ovaryacted]

Randomly ranting about AI.

The thing that’s so fucking frustrating to me when it comes to chat ai bots and the amount of people that use those platforms for whatever godamn reason, whether it be to engage with the bots or make them, is that they’ll complain that reading/creating fanfic is cringe or they don’t like reader-inserts or roleplaying with others in fandom spaces. Yet the very bots they’re using are mimicking the same methods they complain about as a base to create spaces for people to interact with characters they like. Where do you think the bots learned to respond like that? Why do you think you have to “train” AI to tailor responses you’re more inclined to like? It’s actively ripping off of your creativity and ideas, even if you don’t write, you are taking control of the scenario you want to reenact, the same things writers do in general.

Some people literally take ideas that you find from fics online, word for word bar for bar, taking from individuals who have the capacity to think with their brains and imagination, and they’ll put it into the damn ai summary, and then put it on a separate platform for others so they can rummage through mediocre responses that lack human emotion and sensuality. Not only are the chat bots a problem, AI being in writing software and platforms too are another thing. AI shouldn’t be anywhere near the arts, because ultimately all it does is copy and mimic other people’s creations under the guise of creating content for consumption. There’s nothing appealing or original or interesting about what AI does, but with how quickly people are getting used to being forced to used AI because it’s being put into everything we use and do, people don’t care enough to do the labor of reading and researching on their own, it’s all through ChatGPT and that’s intentional.

I shouldn’t have to manually turn off AI learning software on my phone or laptop or any device I use, and they make it difficult to do so. I shouldn’t have to code my own damn things just to avoid using it. Like when you really sit down and think about how much AI is in our day to day life especially when you compare the different of the frequency of AI usage from 2 years ago to now, it’s actually ridiculous how we can’t escape it, and it’s only causing more problems.

People’s attention spans are deteriorating, their capacity to come up with original ideas and to be invested in storytelling is going down the drain along with their media literacy. It hurts more than anything cause we really didn’t have to go into this direction in society, but of course rich people are more inclined to make sure everybody on the planet are mindless robots and take whatever mechanical slop is fucking thrown at them while repressing everything that has to deal with creativity and passion and human expression.

The frequency of AI and the fact that it’s literally everywhere and you can’t escape it is a symptom of late stage capitalism and ties to the rise of fascism as the corporations/individuals who create, manage, and distribute these AI systems could care less about the harmful biases that are fed into these systems. They also don’t care about the fact that the data centers that hold this technology need so much water and energy to manage it it’s ruining our ecosystems and speeding up climate change that will have us experience climate disasters like with what’s happening in Los Angeles as it burns.

I pray for the downfall and complete shutdown of all ai chat bot apps and websites. It’s not worth it, and the fact that there’s so many people using it without realizing the damage it’s causing it’s so frustrating.

[egoarc4de]

finished succession again, found some kenstewy wips from way back

[subspace--w0kemine]

wgat the hell

[chiangyorange]

I just had some violent flashbacks of the peepaw polls. Hit me like a truck

hey bestie did u mean to drag my ass down with you

[mangyraccooon]

I’ve seen the fandom take a bastard character and make them a poor little meow meow, twice now

Which isn’t a lot but it’s fucking disappointing.