#don't you fucking dare bitch

[insomnya777]

do you guys know that youtube dating show called the button. because i was watching it with my friend the other day bc we were bored and we were like this seems funny and i somehow got a boat boys fic idea based off of it. so if i make a fic about the button dating show will people underdtand or is it too niche

[winepresswrath]

i am absolutely a nicki girl by the way it's just that much like show!lestat my love for him is so pure he doesn't even have to be hot. he can be an ugly crier with a floppy lil wig it only inspires tenderness.

[sage-nebula]

Martha didn't get a Tennant Doctor because she didn't want a Tennant Doctor. Martha was the only one of RTD's companions who left the Doctor of her own volition, and only ever called him back on her own terms, when she had need of him.

Rose didn't leave the Doctor willingly. Rose was trapped in an alternate universe because it was either that or be stuck in a void with Daleks and Cybermen for the rest of time. And when she returned (primarily to warn the Doctor about the oncoming darkness caused by Davros but also because she wanted to be with him), she left with the Metacrisis Tenth Doctor and their own TARDIS because that was the only way to give her a satisfying ending from the viewpoint of the audience. (And even then, there are some fans who will tell you that nothing short of her being with the Time Lord Doctor in the prime reality is satisfying, but that just couldn't happen for reasons outside the narrative story.)

Donna didn't leave the Doctor willingly. Donna absorbed all of the intelligence of a Time Lord into her human brain, and this was going to kill her. She had to have her memory erased and be kept away from anything alien for presumably forever or else the knowledge would return and literally kill her. Donna begged the Doctor not to wipe her memory anyway, because she would rather have died than give up that life. Just like Rose, Donna had planned on staying with the Doctor for the rest of her life.

This was not the case for Martha. Setting aside the fact that Martha was treated like garbage for the duration of her season from a writing standpoint, by the end of season three Martha has realized two things: 1.) that she is goddamn brilliant and never deserved to feel like she was second best, and 2.) that she doesn't want the Doctor anymore. Unlike Rose, Donna, and Captain Jack, Martha leaves the TARDIS of her own free will, to pursue her own life and career outside the Doctor. Even Sarah-Jane says in "School Reunion" that she waited for the Doctor to come back for her; she didn't want to leave, not permanently! But Martha did. She chose to step away. The only other companion to have done this during RTD's run is Mickey, so I guess Martha wasn't the only one; still, she's the only one of the primary companions, the three women, to want to leave. She made that choice herself.

Now, does that mean everything about Martha's ending was perfect? No. As much as the "Smith and Jones" wordplay of her ending with Mickey is amusing (get it, like her first episode), it makes no sense when you consider that she was engaged when she returned in season four, and yet we never hear of that fiance again. I mean, I guess it's fine since it's not like we ever saw him? But what happened there? Why was no thought given to Martha's story there? What was she doing with Mickey in an active war zone? Why no mention of her in these three specials even though, last we heard of her, she was working with UNIT in a really important position? I like Mel well enough, but why couldn't Martha have been there instead? Especially since Martha and Donna had a preexisting friendship, and would have been delighted to see each other again?

With that said though, she doesn't need a Tennant Doctor. She didn't want a Tennant Doctor. Frankly, Tennant's Doctor doesn't deserve her with the way he acted ("Rose would know" right to her face, like -- dude, I get it, you're grieving, but that's fucking rude and Rose would NOT approve you using her memory to make another woman feel bad about herself). Martha's character arc was about recognizing her own brilliance and her own worth; standing on her own two feet as a PROPER doctor, Doctor Martha Jones, walking the earth and saving the world without a TARDIS or Torchwood or a Time Lord brain. Just her own fucking determination and brilliance.

Rose and Donna got Tennant Doctors because that was the way to make their final send-offs satisfying. Rose and a Tennant Doctor got to be in love and happy together in a parallel world, which is fitting considering that they were in love and never wanted to leave each other. Donna and a Tennant Doctor get to be besties and happy together in this reality, so that RTD has a convenient excuse to pull Tennant back into a story if he ever wants to again (since it'd be hard to explain why Tentoo came over, versus having Fourteen right there) . . . but also because, like Rose, Donna never wanted to leave the Doctor, she wanted to be with him forever.

But Martha didn't want that. Martha left on her own accord. She left with a smile on her face and her cell phone on the TARDIS console, so that when she said "here boy!" the Doctor would listen. She left on her terms, with him at her call, only there when she has use for him.

And honestly? Good for her.

[dappy-dappernette]

Gonna be real with y'all ppl who say "G-rita is canon" are the most annoying mofos in this fandom /hj

[ourlordapollo]

Believe it or not that White Claw was completely full at the time of filming

[Spoken: "Do you know who the fuck I am? I'm Phoenix Wright."]

[obstinatecondolement]

Wish my parents would take the "not swearing at me and shouting about how they own the house I live in" challenge every time I push back mildly against them treating me like a literal child challenge.

[sailorstarr-chan4]

Honestly, the more I read Mao, the more the "carbon-copy Inuyasha" accusations make no sense. You know what IS a good Rumiko Takahashi earlier work comparison?

MERMAID SAGA/FOREST

Themes of immortality being a curse? immortals either doing good or wrecking havoc? a stoic immortal protagonist who's lived on the Earth too long?? a plucky female protagonist who holds her own in a fight and SHARES THE SAME CURSE AS AFOREMENTIONED IMMORTAL???? Mystery surrounding WHY said curses exist to begin with???? Hello?????

Not everything goes back to Inuyasha, or even Ranma. Takahashi has been doing this shit longer than most of us online have been alive, so of course, she'll have recurring themes, tropes, styles, etc. No shit. So does practically EVERY SINGLE MANGKA IN EXISTENCE.

[farewell-persephone]

I'm so fucking hot. incredible

[alligaytorswamp]

c4 baizhu haver checking in - read all of his stories and voice lines - am screaming crying throwing up etc

[spaghetti-machete]

"I LOVE-"???? I'M SORRY GUILLERMO, "I LOVE-"???????? YOU GAY BITCH??? YOU LEAVE FOR A YEAR AND IT'S LOVE, YOU GAY BITCH??? HE'S BRITISH?????

[vvatchword]

Chapter 1: Take the Head

You remember Pa teaching you how to pop the head off of a chicken. You weren’t very big yet, maybe five. You had always been taught to treat the animals with respect, so it jarred you to yank the chicken up by the throat. The chicken flapped and kicked; the golden eye latched on yours, a panicked pinpoint.

You couldn’t break her neck. You tried and you tried but you just rubbed her throat in a circle over and over like you were trying to give her an Indian burn. She frantically scratched your arm up and down, her beak gaping in a terrified pant. You know now that you could have done it easily—a chicken’s spine is little more resistant than a dry stick or a pencil—but that was just the problem: she wasn’t either of those things.

Then Pa took her from you, wrapped his fist around the throat, and popped the head clean off. He held the head out to you. The eyes had closed. The lids were soft and pink. Her face was peaceful. Her body still kicked.

“See?” he said. “Easy. She didn’t feel a thing.”

There was blood on Pa’s hands. When he pointed out the cockerel for you to try again, there was blood on your hands, too.

** You aren’t much of a conversationalist. You’ve gone on dates where you barely spoke a word. Your coworkers don’t know your name. You work in a factory line, screwing in one piece at a time. Dull work, monotonous work. Lets your brain run on its own time at its own pace.

You like to remember lists during such times. Pa taught you about something called a “mind palace,” a detailed map you build in your mind and store thoughts inside of. Somehow recall is easier when you can imagine them in a physical space. You store your shopping lists there. You also store guns—lists about makes, models, ammunition.

Guns have been a special interest of yours since childhood. You would save pages out of the Sears catalog as a child and tape them on the wall so you saw them when you woke up. You were fascinated how they went together and would draw them in their disparate parts before drawing them put together again. You liked drawing them from all different angles just to admire the geometry. You checked out books on guns from the library so often that the librarian started setting aside new offerings for you. You had never been able to own guns of your own, but you practiced with your father’s Mark I Sturm Ruger and the old .22. You could ping prairie dogs like a pro.

You like to think that eventually, you’ll buy one of your own. You know just the model—the BAR, or Browning Automatic Rifle—full-aut, carried by Bonnie and Clyde, running second-fiddle to the M1 Garand throughout World War II. When you repeat the gun list, you think “BAR” before any of the others; it is the highest honor you can bestow.

You like monotony for the same reason you like lists. There’s something relaxing about rhythms. It’s like music, like dance. You can’t dance, of course—you never learned. You don’t own a record player, either—you don’t spend money on frivolous things. The Depression is still a heavy black cloud in the back of your mind. You lived on a farm, so your belly never went empty, but you also didn’t grow up wearing shoes.

You are 28. Or is it 29? It’s been a while since you’ve thought about your birthday. It’s on July 3. “Our independence baby,” someone said. It may have been Pa, but you don’t remember exactly; you were very small. You do remember Ma replying that it was one day off and they weren’t in America anyway, so it didn’t count. You were disappointed for some reason; sure, you know it doesn’t make a difference either way, but it would be nice to have something special that was just your own. Oh, Ma and Pa told you you were going to do great things someday—that’s something you could believe when you were, say, eight. But then you had to make your way in the world and all the world offered was a factory line, a small dark room, and the weather. It’s hard to believe in anything magnificent at the bottom of a hole.

**

You live in sparsely-furnished rooms in cheap apartments near the ocean. On weekdays, you make your bed, eat breakfast (eggs, toast, coffee with cream), shave, dress, go to work (screw, screw, screw), come home and turn on the radio (evening news, then whatever entertainment strikes your fancy, usually action and adventure programs), drink a beer while completing the evening ablutions (wash dishes, pack lunch for tomorrow, shower, set alarm clock, read evening edition in bed until you get tired).

Sometimes you go to your neighbor’s to watch their television in exchange for a beer; you sit side by side and quietly drink as Lucy gambols and the laugh track rolls. On Saturdays, you go shopping for the household essentials and stand in lines while the grocer bags produce and the butcher cuts your lunch meat.

If it’s nice enough, you walk down to the ocean to stretch your legs. It’s not a pretty place by any means; a sodden gray beach where colorless rushes thrust insistent heads and sun-bleached shells lie. In winter, it’s even more dreary; the Atlantic is a sullen gray sweep and the nasty cold steals your breath. It’s the kind of cold that makes you feel wet and heavy even if you haven’t touched water.

You have never felt as though the sea is a nice place; you distinctly remember deciding this back when you first entered the town. Even in the summer, when the water is glassy green and the beach crowded with tourists, you feel as though the sea is a vast and apathetic monster—apocalyptic in size, in scale, in potential. Apocalyptic: you don’t go to church, but that’s the word that comes to you. The sea feels as though it should be the focus of worship, the kind of thing you sacrifice to; you’ve never held much by spiritual claptrap, but you will grant one place worthy of godhood.

You did not grow up near the sea. You grew up in Kansas, a land so flat you used to roll up papers like spyglasses and try to see Japan. You moved to the coast of New Jersey because you’d wanted to see the ocean. No—no, it may well have been because of the factory job. They do pay well and they probably printed something in the help ads. A family friend in New York often sends newspaper clippings with his letters just to be of service. Yes, that would make a great deal more sense: “I heard Jack is looking for a job,” he’d say. “Here are some local ones that are right up his alley.”

Yes, now that you think about it, that’s exactly what happened. The sea was a bonus—until you saw it. But how were you to know what the sea was really like until you went there? It’s too bad someone couldn’t have told you.

Sometimes you think you should move away, but learning new routines is such a pain that you just put up with it. Someday you’ll probably get tired enough to leave. The way the cold weaponizes itself with humidity tires you down to your bones.

You know, you haven’t thought of the family friend in a while. What was his name again? Joe? Jim? John? One of those common names. You’ll have to check your address book. It’s been a while since you’ve heard from him. You should write sometime to make sure he’s all right.

For that matter, you haven’t heard from your parents. When did they last write? Hell! Maybe it’s your turn to write. Yes, it’s your turn to write for certain; that would explain why you haven’t received any letters recently. You do tend to forget minutiae with the humdrum flow of everyday life. Your parents are older now; you know better than to leave them without a word every now and then. Your mother must be worried sick.

You decide to purchase some stationery and stamps that weekend, but you forget until the invitation comes, and by that time, it’s far too late. You didn’t know that then, of course. You didn’t know much of anything, if you have to be honest.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

[terryfuckingturniptruck]

Had a resident's son not like an answer I gave him so he proceeded to bitch about me to the housekeeper and described me as "oh ya know, her down the hall...or whatever they are."

[im2tired4usernames]

Huh do you guys remember the book tuck everlasting? How the main girl Winnie was a fat ten year old with an immortal love interest who was "17" but actually like 100 n something and the whole thing with him was he wanted her to drink the everlasting water when she turned 17 so shed be 17 forever and they could get married like that was kinda weird he would.like take her just the two of em and talk up marriage with her and she was like TEN ? They changed it in the movie and made her a skinny fifteen year old but still wow I'm surprised why so many christan parents let that romance book be allowed but like....pride n prejudice was a debate? I don't understand the logic of homeschool mother's AT ALL WHY WAS THAT BOOK ALLOWED BUT WHY WAS I SCREAMED AT FOR CHECKING OUT OLD YELLER AT THE LIBRARY BY A HOMESCHOOL MOTHER IN OUR CO-OP???

[themoonking]

sorry not sorry but if you were ever a prequel hater i'm gatekeeping you from being a prequel lover now that it's popular to do so. you don't get to shit on the prequels for no reason only to turn around and be a prequel stannie (ESPECIALLY a hayden christensen stannie) now that kenobi is the hot new star wars thing. obikins don’t touch my post, i am also gatekeeping you <3

[meowmeowmessi]

ain't no fucking way did messi actually decide on miami

[spiritofjustice]

i will tell y’all it is wack as shit being friends with people who only have interest in hating stuff because trust me, it eventually turns into them seeing all of their friends as merely court jesters or annoyances that they put up with out of obligation because they have no interest, nor even a physical capability of seeing other people as human beings. you’re either Smart and Right Every Single Time, or you’re stupid and deserve whatever bullying and mistreatment comes your way because you’re Wrong.

and they wonder why they can’t keep their fucking friends LMAO