#but i really like the gender performance i have going on now

[aceinacloset]

!FNAF SL REDUX!

Character Profile #6 Funtime Foxy

The boisterous and prideful Foxy of the Funtime crew, known for his theatrical performances and interactivity. Another Main character in FNAF SL REDUX, and quite a lovely fellow all around. Let's head into the mind of such a fun Fox like hers.

Oh yeah I should mention this now, if you still don't know. Funtime Foxy in FNAF SL REDUX is gender fluid and will go by she/her, he/him, and they/them pronouns. So I will be using them interchangeably.

Funtime Foxy was the first Funtime animatronic built and completed. Designed to be inviting and a great attention grabber, smelling of strawberries and having a wonderfully loud megaphone voice. They were originally planned to be purple, but it just didn't look quite right to Afton.

Fruity Ass fox

Funtime Foxy was the perfect entertainment for children with expansive imagination, making and acting out fun stories for the children to enjoy. He's also one of two funtimes who can interact with the kids, making her an even better entertainer.

Funtime Foxy has always been sensitive to light so his shows really give off the theater experience (lights off), and when they were put in the underground facility, originally she was pretty chill. It was dark, it was quiet, the others were in the facility, and Fred was here with him. It was only when Fred would flee, that they would begin to feel empty and alone.

Then she would be experimented on by Afton. It didn't affect them too much, but they would become the 3rd of the main 4 Funtimes to be able to see Liz. Her remnant did affect him though, just like the others.

Funtime Foxy after this, would become very skittish and would try really hard to avoid the staff as much as they could. It didn't always work and if staff got too close he would pounce, making her difficult to deal with or even just do maintenance on. When Funtime Foxy was alone they mostly sulked, but when they began being able to see Liz, anytime she was present he would put on a show for her.

When Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental opened, Funtime Foxy would be ecstatic, and not much would change in relation to how they entertain, the only noticeable differences would be if he was rented out with someone else. She adapted real quick, though, just happy to be on stage again.

Foxy was not fully aware of what the plan was, in the same vein as Freddy, she only knew of the whole “Ennard” part. So like Freddy they had no intention of keeping the most recent technician alive, unlike Freddy that would be a big mistake.

Something CB learned was that she could trigger Foxy and/or Ballora's emergency stop. It is temporary, about maybe 10 to 12 secondary long, but long enough if needed.

And for this moment, it was crucial

Sorry, Foxy…

Funtime Foxy would soon after join the amalgamation, and once Circus Baby arrived he had a few choice words for her.

Let's move on to after CB had been thrown from Ennard, obviously him and Freddy butted heads a lot. With ballora temporarily out of commission, and no one else to reel Freddy in other than Bon Bon, Foxy would be the one to try and take charge. Freddy was not too enthusiastic about her impromptu leadership. Every chance Freddy would get he would take to making snide remarks towards Foxy and their choices.

Foxy wanted them to get in a stable condition, while Freddy was far more eager to just start exploring. It was constant back and forth till Foxy inevitably just took charge

Foxy would scour far for anything that could be used as a piece to make their body more functional, and for a while all they had was a plastic cup and thick tarp to cover them up. That was until they found a box of spare parts.

Taking a couple leg and arm pieces as well as a hook for defense, they would flee the scene and finally would begin to explore. Much to Freddy's delight

Foxys preferred exploring bigger buildings, usually Blockbuster (when it existed), radio stores, and even places like Target (to look at the clothes) obviously these places are usually a bit more locked up and may have security there so they usually have to flee.

Foxy tried really hard to avoid people, but did really miss entertaining on stage, but right now they really didn't have a choice.

By the events of Fnaf 6, Foxy would be the most skittish hiding in the darkness and largely avoiding everyone, including CB (before they truced)

When it comes to Afton though, Foxy watches from the shadows, observing Afton till attempting to pounce at just the right moment. It fails most of the time, but she tries. 

When it came to the fire, Foxy was more accepting, maybe it was exhaustion, maybe not, but she was just tired at this point.

Like the others, Foxy would not die but have her AI brought into the Employee Virtual Training Program.

Fun Foxy, HW 2 Funtime Foxy

Foxy’s reaction was vastly different then the others, reaction more being ‘WHERE THE HELL AM I?’ since they would never enter the private room. It would take less time for him to pick up on the fact that this isn't real, mostly because he had more characters around him that just didn't respond or react to him (This would be before the others knew how to Level hop)

Learning that his friends were with him in this strange new world made him feel so much better, and much like the others would enjoy themselves in this strange place because at least they were safe, safe forever.

Now onto her AR skin

(Note: This skin is specific to this Au and does not exist in Canon Fnaf materials)

Ship Sunken Foxy

Drowned in the sea, dawning a pirate's hat and coat, and not of that mortal realm, but still the same Funtime Foxy that we all know and love. He was released during the Wicked Tides event and was the second to last one released for the event. Grungily voice, and smells of seawater.

And that is the end of Funtime Foxy’s character profile

Circus Baby Character profile

Ballora Character profile

Funtime Freddy Character profile

Elizabeth Afton Character profile

Katherine Afton Schmidt profile

[backlogbooks]

gender envy of the day: old men with medium-long-to-long grey hair, a beard, and glasses

[stinkbeck]

my aunt made me realize i’ve been accidentally making friends with all these old man republicans because i grew up with dean winchester and figured we all knew masculinity was a kind of like fun performance. like we all like cherry pie bc it’s like the closeted macho gay guy’s favorite thing. we like brooding and leather and vintage cars because it signifies the inner struggle of gay/not gay with an emphasis on being filial. my fuckin bad!!! all these guys are straight and hate me!!!!

[wambsgender]

.

[misoforbreakfast]

O dio maneskin makes me feel things

[ozzgin]

Monstertober & Yantober Day 3: AI, Secret Collection ft. Yan!Android

content: gender neutral reader, AI yandere, suggestive

"I'm truly sorry for troubling you like this", your synthetic partner repeats, visibly embarrassed.

You pat his shoulder reassuringly.

"Hey, it's faster than going through all the security checks at the border. I may be no Spacer engineer, but I can still have a look at your kernel to check what’s wrong."

You wait for the screen to load as the man sits patiently next to you, adjusting the cables presently plugged into the nape of his neck.

"Just a lot of overhead, really", you conclude, glancing over the processes. "Nothing a little decluttering can't fix."

One folder immediately catches your attention. It's not part of the system management, yet it seems to occupy a tremendous amount of memory space. You hum to yourself, deciding to investigate.

The files flood your screen: thousands upon thousands of documents, photos, and videos of you. Personal information, family albums, images taken from your investigations, as well as recordings of your intimate moments, followed by written commentary. It appears that your romantic escapades with the android coworker have been thoroughly analyzed for improved efficiency.

"Did you record every time we-"

Your computer goes black for a brief moment. The incriminating folder is now locked under a big, bold warning: unauthorized access.

"I'm afraid that's rather confidential, (Y/N)", he retorts, avoiding your gaze. "It is my private collection."

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, going over the sheer madness you just witnessed.

"I'm not that hard to satisfy", you finally remark, still hung on the essay pages regarding your sexual arousal.

"Not at all, no", he says as a faint grin forms on his face. "I simply prefer to be thorough in my research. You will agree, I hope, that no other partner could possibly compete with my performance.

That is to say, I have merely ensured that I am the best fit for you."

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist] | [Yandere Android]

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[maxlarens]

OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)

word count: 2.7k+

an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]

You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.

The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.

You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)

It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.

So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”

The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.

You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.

Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”

He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”

You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.

“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.

“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”

You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”

You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.

Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.

Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.

It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.

But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.

You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.

“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”

“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”

You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”

Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”

You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”

“Definitely.”

The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.

“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.

You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”

“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”

You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”

“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”

“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”

You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.

The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”

Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.

He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.

“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”

He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”

“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”

A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).

He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”

“Okay. Apologise.”

“Excuse me?”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”

You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.

“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”

He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”

He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.

Then he stalks off into the throng of people.

You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.

“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”

Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”

“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”

Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”

He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.

“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”

You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”

You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.

You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”

🏎️ title taken from this song :)

[multigenderswag]

I'd like to talk for a bit about the genre of post that's like "sure you're a boygirl fagdyke genderfreak but do you respect [trans identity]?" I think these sorts of posts do address a lot of important points, such as:

Even if you're genderqueer and going "gender isn't real! smash the binary!" there's a real possibility you haven't unlearned or might still be upholding some very transphobic sentiments, and you should do some introspection about that

Some people only want acceptance for their trans identity but don't want to do the work to deconstruct what gender looks like, stop holding other people to their own gendered expectations, and unlearn their internalized bigotry about different trans identities

Sometimes the [trans identity] is specifically relevant to the identities referenced, such as people who will do surface level acceptance of "boygirls" but then call multigender people problematic for using "contradictory" terms like male lesbian, or asking "are you normal about intersex people?" to point out the prevalent intersexism in the multigender community.

But if the [trans identity] or intersex identity being asked about isn't related to multigender community issues, it seems a little strange to consistently single out labels like boygirl and fagdyke that tend to be used by multigender people in these posts. All kinds of trans people can be transphobic about other trans identities. All kinds of trans people are capable of fighting for their own acceptance but not anyone else's. But these posts are pretty frequently just about boygirl fagdykes.

It reminds me of posts about a "theyfab named Sock being transmisogynistic." Are there transmisogynistic FTX nonbinary people? Yes, no one is immune from perpetuating transmisogyny. But these types of posts are still exorsexist.

Similarly, though I'm not saying the pattern of "sure you're a boygirl fagdyke genderfreak but do you respect [trans identity]" is necessarily exorsexist or transmultiphobic, since like I said they do address important points, some of which actually are multigender community issues. But people do use those types of posts to be really transmultiphobic and exorsexist, but in an "acceptable" way, because the boygirls are transphobic so it's okay to hate them.

Some examples in the notes of this sort of post asking 'are you normal about trans women?":

This assumes that multigender identities are only an online thing, only a young person thing, that all multigender people look cis in real life, that no multigender person has experienced real transphobia.

Again, this assumes that no multigender person "looks like a freak" for their gender, that they never struggle with transphobia offline. And straight up saying they have a "huge issue" with girlboy genders.

Multigender labels aren't "performative titles," they're our genders. This person is just straight up admitting they think our genders are fake, that they're only "titles" and not real fucking identities.

"I tend to Not like multigender people" okay so we're just saying the quiet part out loud now

By all means, keep talking about intracommunity transphobia. It's important. But don't throw multigender people under the bus to do so.

[wonderjanga]

Biblical Marvel

This is connected to the Revival post. If you don’t want to go find that, let me give a quick summary of it. In that post, Mary and Freddy die a lot in their Marvel forms. As a result of this, Billy has to revive them a lot. It honestly stresses the poor boy out too because at the end of the Revival post, Billy finds some grey hairs. So, yeah.

Anyways, so people think Marvel is god sent in human form to protect them. (Let me also connect this to the Billy is Really Old post too. In that post, Billy has been a hero since 1940.) It explains why he hasn’t aged over the almost 80 years of him being a hero. Not only that but once, a homeless person asked him to turn water to wine, and he did, though that’s more a of Jesus thing.

Speaking of Jesus, some people think Mary and Junior are Jesus split in two. I mean, Mary has blue eyes (from C.C.) and brown hair (From Marilyn) for Christ’s sake. Not only that but her name is Mary. Maybe Jesus/Mary is honoring his/her mother. And as for Junior, maybe Mary took the looks and he took the gender?

Marvel: *sorting through letters and replying to a bunch of fan mail while sitting at a table in the kitchen.*

Wonder Woman: *Sitting next to him, eating ice cream*

Flash: *zips over and is now leaning on Marvel’s shoulder looking at the fan mail* “Dude, is that fan mail?”

Marvel: “Yup.” *finishes replying to a letter and putting it in the ‘done’ pile*

Flash: “How do even get fan mail? Do they know your address or something?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid.” *picks up a super fancy looking letter*

WW: “Pardon?”

Marvel: “Whiz Kid. He gets them, and then he gives them to me.” *opens fancy letter*

Flash: “Wait, that little dude who does the radio show?”

Marvel: *Doesn’t like being called little but thinks it would be weird for him to defend himself while in Marvel form* “…Yeah… That ‘little’ dude.” *Takes out letter and reads it before sighing*

WW: “What’s wrong?”

Marvel: “The pope asked me to dinner again.” *sighs again and puts letter down on table to slouch and spin in his chair like a depressed little kid* “Now I gotta think of another excuse.”

WW: “The pope? As in the Catholic pope?” *eats bite of ice cream*

Flash: *looks to WW* “You know who the pope is?”

WW: *looks to Flash* “Yes? Flash, I may be from Themyscira, but I’m not completely ignorant of man’s world.” *looks to Billy* “If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you want to go?”

Marvel: *shrugs as he slows his spinning to a stop, having came up with an excuse. Picks up letter and starts replying* “I don’t know. Do you want to have dinner with a guy you’ve never met?”

WW: “I see. I suppose not.” *goes back to eating ice cream*

or

Mary: *Watching a show on a TV in Mount Justice*

Robin!Tim: “Mary? Could you help me with something?”

Mary: *pauses show* “Huh? Yeah sure.” *flies over to Tim* “What’s the problem?”

Robin!Tim: *sitting at the kitchen at the counter with a laptop* “Can you tell me everything you know about angels? I’m writing a paper about it for school.”

Mary: “Oh. Uh, sure?” *Proceeds to talk Tim’s ear off for the next 15 minutes about angels and their different types and personalities and such*

Robin!Tim: *finishes paper* “Thanks a lot.” *closes computer and hops off chair*

Mary: “No problem, but why’d you ask me specifically? Why not use the internet?”

Robin!Tim: “Aren’t you like the primary source?” *heads back to his room*

Mary: *confused*

or

*Captain Marvel flies down and asks to pet a woman’s dog when all of a sudden, a mother holding a child runs up to him*

Mother: “Please cure my child!” *holds child out to him* “You can perform one of your miracles, right? Please!”

Marvel: “What?” *looks between Mother and child.*

Child: *looks really sick*

Marvel: *gets concerned at the sick child* “You haven’t taken him to a hospital?”

Mother: “It’s too expensive! Please! Just this once.”

Marvel: “Uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh…” ‘Solomon! Help me!’

Solomon: ‘Repeat after me, Billy’ *proceeds to rattle off healing spell*

Marvel: *repeats spell and heals child*

Mother: “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” *hugs child tight* “I’ve never been much of a religious nut, but now I’ll have to start believing more. Thank you so much!”

Marvel: *Little confused by sudden mention of religion* “Your welcome? Have a good day, miss.” *floats off the ground, giving her a little wave before flying off*

or

*Freddy is hanging outside one of a meeting rooms in the Watchtower because he wasn’t allowed in due to the face he looked like a kid. He’s now talking to someone on the phone.

Junior: *talking on a phone he magicked from God knows where while floating a foot or two off the ground*

Kid Flash: *bored out of his mind, leaning against a wall, standing next to him cause he also wasn’t allowed in for the same reason*

Junior: *ends call*

Kid Flash: “Who were ya talking too?”

Junior: “My friend, Cain.”

Kid Flash: “What, like bible Cain?” *was joking*

Junior: “Yup.” *didn’t realize he was joking*

Kid Flash: “What seriously? The Cain from the Bible? The Cain that stabbed his brother? The Cain that’s immortal because he stabbed his brother?”

Junior: “Yup.” *starts typing on phone, a little too nonchalant about the conversation*

Kid Flash: “And Cap just lets you be friends with him?”

Junior: “Uh yeah? Why wouldn’t he? You know he’s friends with him too, right?”

Kid Flash: “Wait really? Shouldn’t they hate each other or something?”

Junior: “No? Cain’s pretty chill.”

Kid Flash: *blinks a couple times at that* “Huh.” *he seems a little surprised*

*The meeting ends and the heroes file out of the meeting room before Kid Flash can ask another question*

[viperbunnies]

"Nothing good ever comes out when I start hoping... but maybe just a little bit."

[Thank you to @.unfinished-projects-galore , @.ai-kan1 and @.stestylius-arts for the assets! Thank you as well to @jovieinramshackle for giving me the inspo to finally start on this, and to @crystallizsch , @angelwishess and @twstgo whose oc intros I took inspo for the layout 🫶]

An outlier from the school, due to his situation he was home-schooled for the majority of his first year. They have decided to accompany the Ramshackle prefect in their daily endeavors, serving as a guide and as a companion in the worn-down dorm.

BASIC INFO.

NAME: Oswald "Oz" Damarys BIRTHNAME: ???? ??????? ALIAS: Oz, Ozzie, Flashlight Fish (Floyd), Monsieur Porcelaine (Rook) Shortie-senpai (Yuudai) AGE: 17 BIRTHDATE: August 26 HEIGHT: 154 cm SPECIES: Half-human half beastmen GENDER: Demi-boy (Uses they/he and masc titles) ORIENTATION: Demisexual ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral MBTI: ISFP Voice claim: Here! (Stc)

LIKES: Stargazy pie, Seafood in general, Acrobatics, Crochet, Art in general, Reading, Fairytales, Music boxes, Classical Music, Card games, Mystery books, Sightseeing, DISLIKES:Wishmaking, Shooting stars, Crowded places, Performing, Being observed, People touching his birthmark, His "Luck", Basketballs

Unique Magic Your Next Line is! [ Flash Forward ] — "An indisputable future is what I see... Your Next Line is!" Oswald is able to take a peek into someone's future as long as they keep contact with his pearly white eye. It can be anything from 5 seconds from now or a day later - This visions manifests like rolls of film - Lately It appears his unique magic is going haywire, showing him visions without the need of eye contact. (They aren't pleasant visions)

TRAITS +  Easy-going; Flexible; Warm; Appreciative =  Tolerant; Perceptive; Witty; Impartial -  Overworker; Indecisive; Reliant; Worrisome

BRIEF OVERVIEW (STC)

Oz is a man of many tricks; he was raised to entertain the audience, which is why he is great at lightening up the mood of the room. The many tricks he can do reminds others of a puppy trained on how to play dead, or shake hands. Despite that, Oz actually struggles in actually expressing the his true feelings— used to being the brunt of many jokes growing up, he believes that he is simply a puppet used for the entertainment of others. He sees himself as a hollow doll with no real personality, only meant for display. He is confused about who his truly is, used to what others want to see and not what he wants to show. Slowly, he is realizing that he is merely human, and that he should live for his own sake. (Old info from my notes)

TIDBITS

Random Facts - Part-beastmen, specifically a rabbit beastmen but he lacks actual features aside for his tail that was cauterized off when he was younger - He doesn't look the part but he also likes getting into shenanigans, sometimes instigating Yuu and Adeuce with the pranks they do (No one really believes the trio when they say it was Oz's idea) - He's double jointed which is helpful with his Acrobatic hobby. - Love language is gift giving, and has a tendency to make crochets for other people. They're typically things that remind them of the other. - Has a lot of birthmarks on his face, but he started to cover them with foundation after Floyd made fun of it. - Has a terrible sense of direction so he gets lost easily, but he'd like to travel around the world someday. - He has terrible luck, and while he doesn't believe in superstitions he began to be wary about them. Doesn't want to get knocked out unconscious by a basketball whenever he passes by the gym. - Doesn't really mind being called Oswald, but he associated that to whenever he'd get scolded... so Oz is his more go to nickname.

TYPING QUIRK: - His friend got him into using Kaomojis, he likes the ones with bunny ears. - Likes sending voice messages to get his point across. - Usually types in sentence cases, (although when he isn't feeling well he types in lower cases) SPEAKING QUIRK: - Uses a lot of onomatopoeia to describe unknown things. - Speaks firmly when he feels strong emotions. - Sometimes bites his tongue when he rambles, or not focused. BEHAVIOURAL QUIRKS: - Nose has a tendency to twitch when he’s interested, or irritated. - He also unconsciously thumps his foot when he’s annoyed.

RELATIONSHIPS (WIP)

(Might put a brief overview on their more notable relationships in the future!) Note: - Main Oc x Canon is with Jamil (ignore that pink on silver and jade) - Divus is his foster parent

PNGS BELOW:

p∀ƎH ⅄W NI פNIH┴ƎWOS SI ƎɹƎH┴

[pomefioredove]

Hello 💕 If you're still accepting headcanons requests, could you write something about a reader who seems normal and "ordinary" and even a little shy/demure but shines brilliantly on stage as if a completely different person (can be an actor, singer, idol etc.) with Rook and Vil and the Pop music club (separately)? Tysm 💓

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the opposite of stage fright

type of post: headcanons characters: cater, kalim, rook, vil, lilia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu

introverts are Lilia's favorite people

...to torture

when you first started attending club meetings, he assumed you were some kind of groupie

I mean, who wouldn't want to fawn over him?

but he still tried to drag you into club activities

you just... refused to play anything, wouldn't sing, wouldn't so much as speak...

but Lilia was confident he could get you to stop holding back

so, the club got clever

at their next concert, Kalim ~magically~ has a sore throat

and who else to take his place but the only other member of the club?

manipulative little fae...

and, as he thought, you had been holding back

the concert is a rousing success

...and he's never going to let you forget it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Vil is like a bloodhound for talent

he can smell the potential on you from one look at your plain, slightly-disheveled self

he knows that any other student would have ignored you. but he isn't just any student

he knows you're holding out on him

and he'll crack that shell of yours no matter what it takes

that is to say,

once you've caught his eye,

you will never know peace again

...and maybe that sounds like an over exaggeration, but if you're a timid person, it's your worst nightmare

I mean dance rehearsals twice a week, vocal training, posture, projection, poise, presentation-

everything

the other Pomefiore students may give you odd looks as you walk by on their Housewarden's arm,

but he knows

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Kalim doesn't need a big performance to know that he's already proud of you

what can I say? he's got enough enthusiastic hugs to go around

and he definitely doesn't mind that you're shy

...honestly, the thought hasn't even occurred to him

even if you don't want to party or dance or say hi to everyone in the dorm every time you come over,

he like you. he doesn't need anything else

you're already amazing to him

and ... in a way, he kind of turns out to be right?

he had always said he could see the star in you, and here you are, performing on stage like a professional!

...not that he isn't surprised

Kalim is completely blown away

it's all he can talk about for the next week, actually

(much to your embarrassment)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Rook had a feeling

...and he's also listened to you singing to yourself when you thought you were alone

I mean WHAT who said that

he definitely just had a feeling

now, seeing you on stage, he's almost brought to his knees

having watched the seed of your beauty blossom into a beautiful flower is the ultimate enrichment for him

and unlike Vil, he waited for you to blossom on your own

a hunter is nothing if not patient, after all

though, he still can't help but feel a little accomplished...

even though he didn't push you, or train you, he kept the secret of your beauty all to himself

...which is a kind of guidance

admittedly, he wouldn't have minded keeping it all to himself for a little while longer, though

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Cater always just thought of you as...

...kinda cute. right?

you were shy and quiet, always avoiding his camera, meek, the kind of person that doesn't last long at NRC

...of course, he had to take you under his wing!

sort of?

really, he just liked that you let him talk your ear off

he didn't even mind that you never let him take your picture! ...kind of

and he thought he knew you pretty well, but...

...seeing you on stage after the music club's performance...

totally wiping the floor with them...

well, well, you still find ways to surprise him

of course, though, now that he knows you're a world-class performer, he's never going to let it go

he got a lot of likes on the videos of your performance, after all

I guess he finally got that picture he wanted ;3

[seeminglydark]

A look-book and little break-down of Caro’s style and fashion Journey. I didn’t include their cheer uniform or GasCo uniform because those really didn’t influence their actual style much, other than the Varsity jacket and work jacket. I thought it would be fun to set it up almost like a magazine article and I’m in love with the results. I hope you enjoy it too. (The cover is my fave thing ever, just so you know.)

Here’s the Text:

Caro Greene, Cheerleader to Ghosthunter! An exclusive look at superstar Caro Greene’s style evolution. From femme to them!

The Teenage Years! Caro has been aware the high-femme style their parents chose for them was not the look they wanted for a long time, but didn’t know how to address it. Pairing their best friends tee-shirt over their Prom dress was the first step in figuring out their own personal style! From there, they tested out the route of borrowed too-big sweaters whenever they weren’t under the watchful eye of their family.

GasCo Era! Years of emotional neglect build until Caro chops off their hair, an asset more important to their parents than their happiness, and finds themself abruptly homeless, with nothing but some jeans, shirts and an oversized jacket belonging to their long-gone boyfriend. They get a job at the local gas station, and are gifted a new jacket that fits, with their new name on it, in their favorite color! More gender exploration leads them to a better haircut, and their first time trying a binder, and starting to not hate how they look.

Thrift stores, Sneakers, and T! Now in a new environment with supportive people at the GasCo, Caro discovers thrift stores and the tacky ‘80s aesthetic of their dreams. After years of other people controlling their body and looks, starting on low T is a big step in taking back control. They start wearing crop tops and sleeveless tees to show off new body hair, but also love chunky colored sweaters since they’re always cold. Sneakers go with everything, and when you’re short, the possibilities are endless in the kids shoes section.

Mil-Liminal! Caro’s podcast Mil-Liminal goes viral, and they are given the choice of staying faceless and anonymous, or taking the stage in live shows. They decide to do a face reveal, and that means choosing an iconic ‘look’ for their live performances. They choose their favorite color, GasCo Purple, and a jacket that is a blend of their varsity jacket and GasCo work jacket, two clothing pieces that always made them comfortable. They wear their trans identity on their sleeve, and top it off with the snapback look they donned years ago on their first venture ‘out’ as a teenager. The rest is history!

Current Caro! Which brings us to the present! There’s been some small changes, oversized sweaters and tees with a cosmic theme, which is new for the usually spookified Caro. They’re sporting white hair instead of their trademark blond, and have added a cross earring and a pendant to their Mil-Liminal uniform. A black snapback shows up as often as the purple one, and there’s a new bounce in their step, but perhaps they’ve just been indulging in too much coffee these days.

Caro Green is from my webcomics Seemingly Dark and Mil-Liminal, and podcast Mil-Liminal.

[cobragardens]

Notes on the Scene in Job's Basement

Crowley is not tempting Aziraphale here. He's experimenting on him.

Getting Aziraphale to sin, or even getting him drunk, is not Crowley's intent in this scene. Eating food, taking pleasure in food, drinking alcohol, and even being drunk are not sins in most of Judaism or Christianity (and they're certainly not sins in British Christianity, regardless of any church's doctrine). When Aziraphale turns down alcohol, Crowley just suggests he try food instead; so it's not important to Crowley what Aziraphale tries, but it is important to him that he try something.

This scene is also the first time (chronologically) we see that Crowley likes to drink and likes to be drunk.

We know from

and from

as well as from Book Omens and Word of God that angels have no instinct beyond curiosity pulling them toward eating or toward gender. From this we can reasonably presume they have no instinct toward Beverages either.

That means that in this moment--

--Crowley is very likely the only metaphysical entity he knows on either side of the divide, or even knows of, who has ever experienced a physical pleasure.

And he probably has some Lingering Questions about it, like we all did the first time a physical pleasure blew our minds. Like,

Is it this strong for everyone?

Is there something wrong with me?

Am I going to hurt myself if I do this, like, a lot?

And it's not like the poor creature can ask anyone, because the answers for humans aren't necessarily going to apply to him.

So when he sees an opportunity, Crowley gets that one angel he knows who'll talk to him to try a human thing, and then he watches to see if physical pleasure hits the angel as hard as it hit him.

And that's why he looks so creepily pleased when it does.

Apparently it is this strong for everyone and there isn't anything wrong with him. Now he can relax and get sloshed without worrying, and he even has someone to talk to about how rad human stuff is.

A Dip Into Speculation

We know because we're shown this isn't the first time Crowley has gotten drunk that, watching Aziraphale, Crowley understands what he's seeing. I think it's really interesting that Crowley doesn't laugh at Aziraphale at any point during this scene, and he doesn't correct the way he's eating, either.

Maybe it's because this is what it was like for Crowley the first time. Maybe he got so drunk he passed out and woke up in a puddle of his own sick. Maybe he got so drunk he passed out and didn't wake up at all, and there was Paperwork and he had to get used to a whole new corporation just when he'd got the hang of having legs in the old one. Maybe somebody had to show him how to use a fork or whatever they had going on for eating utensils in Ancient Mesopotamia. I distinctly remember having to learn as a small child to chew with my mouth closed. There is every possibility Crowley doesn't consider the way Aziraphale is eating to be worthy of ridicule because whatever Crowley did the first time was worse.

Maybe he wants to leave Aziraphale set up for later embarrassment over his table manners. Aziraphale was a judgy bitch about the wine.

Or maybe it's something like Let him have this one. There can be rules to it later; let him just enjoy it, once, like a little kid with both fists in their birthday cake.

Maybe it's desire. There is some textual evidence for this. Once Aziraphale learns to eat properly, the way he does it is very attractive, and we know Crowley loves watching him do it.

I don't think it's overreaching even to interpret David Tennant's physical performance of Crowley watching Aziraphale eat as one of sensual or erotic pleasure. I mean--

I'm not saying it absolutely has to be erotic, but it's not a reach, or even a full extension of the elbow, to read it that way.

There's another meta somewhere [I'll link it when I find it again; if you know this meta, please drop it in comments!] that discusses how this exchange in Job's basement is filmed like an erotic scene.

Like Crowley, we all want to kiss this face.

Aziraphale isn't eating prettily, but he's eating lewdly, ravenously, desirously, and it's lit like romantic sex, not like gluttony. Whether that's funny or poignant or hot may depend on the viewer. Here's how Crowley's handling it:

Srs tho, any frame of this scene could have been painted by Artemisia Gentileschi.

Or maybe--and this is my favorite of the available interpretations--maybe this is what it was like for Crowley the first time and he doesn't interfere because he wants Aziraphale to come out of this as someone who's had the same experience Crowley's had so Crowley won't be so totally alone in having had it.

[nthspecialll]

The fandom glorifies Arthur Morgan

Now I am not talking about about low honor, I play high honor and got it as the top at the end of every damn playthrough but my Arthur, as it is the cannon Arthur, is not a good guy. I am not going to talk about all of the murder, robbing and stuff he does, because we are majorly aware of it, I am talking his sexism, casual ignorance and disrespecfulness.

I quite often see people say that Arthur Morgan is a woman lover, and he definitely is, he is better than a lot of men from that time (which isn't hard), but he would not hold up in modern times, because he is not from modern times.

Generally speaking, Arthur Morgan is a man who believes in gender roles, he believes in the idea of "a man being a man" and "a woman being a woman." He has opinions about what a woman should do and what a man should do.

I think the biggest hint at this is his relationship with Sadie, because while he accepts her running with the boys he doesn't seem entirely happy about it. "You got a pair of pants and all of a sudden you think you're Landon Ricketts?" "You want to ruuuunnnn with the men?" and also "can Ms Grimshaw spare you?" when the girls asks if they can come to Valentine with him.

Talking of that quest, when he runs off to get Jimmy Brooks he puts Uncle, a lazy old bastard, in charge of getting the girls home even though they are more than capable of doing it themselves as they are healthy young women who knows how to handle horses.

In several antagonize lines against women performers (which are just as cannon as his greet lines) he shouts things like "That isn't very ladylike!" or "Go back to the kitchen" and "go make someone supper."

People keep saying Arthur would "treat them right" and he would, to an extent, he would care for you, he would be nice to you, but he would force those gender roles. He does have a belief women are somehow "softer" and that he as a person with a provider gene should do more of the harsh work.

So now we covered that, lets talk about the racism, or as I probably should rather call it, ignorance, because it is very commonly know Arthur does not judge by the color of skin.

The first one is that Arthur uses the whites-only saloon in Rhodes. Tilly mentions it to Arthur that they don't allow people of color into it, and yet he still supports it, it isn't a big thing but it is something of notice.

Secondly, when he talks to Eagle Flies where he "sets him in his place" Arthur, honey, you are so wrong here. Eagle Flies is being chased by the government for the mere fact that he exists with a different culture, you are being chased because you murdered so many folks, you can run across the sea and live a good life, they are fucked regardless.

When we first arrive in Lemoyne, Lenny and Arthur talks about the Lemoyne Raiders about racism and Arthur says "These boys got a manner about them but I haven't particularly noticed," Arthur of course you wouldn't, you are a tall, muscular, white man with sun kissed hair and blue eyes, you are the poster boy for eugenics.

Lastly, which will also bring me to the third point, the casual disrespect:

Arthur causally calling Javier a slur on the boat for no reason, did you really need that one-liner so badly? That goes for a lot of times in the game such as: "are you secretly normal" "what a lunatic" "we should find a better story for that scar" "But you continue to irritate me, I will kill you and make my appologies to the lady" "stick around and you might die for her as well" "oh I didn't know I was talking to a lady." All those were a slight bit disrespectful, enough to be able to annoy the majority of us if he said it to us, and they were also unnecessary.

He is also canonically chronically late, most notably we can hear Sean saying "that man will be late to his own funeral," and when you go around antagonizing characters in camp they are not surprised at all, rather they go "back at it again huh?"

All of this is just to sum up, Arthur is a pretty bad man (also counting in all the illegal stuff) and we tend to glorify him and forget some of these things, partly is also because Rockstar are amazing at hiding them, at making them seem natural, and they are because this is a historically accurate game! It is set in 1899 and this is a man from 1899 he is going to be casually sexist and disrespectful, and again, considering that he is from 1899 he is a decent guy because the majority of folk would be like Micah, not Arthur.

I definitely love Arthur, and I love Arthur exactly because the point of his character is him not being a saint but a human. His redemption is choosing to do good where he can, but even so, this is a man in 1899 and he is going to have a 1899 mindset. If you want to play a game that is set in the past but don't have that type of accuracy it is not Red Dead you want to play.

Also here is an Arthur pic as a thank you for reading all of that. I love him.

[sundrop-writes]

Eager Little Puppy

Isaac Lahey x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

You offer to help Isaac relax. He agrees, thinking that you have something entirely different in mind. But when he finds out what you have planned, he really can't bring himself to mind.

(Or - you fuck Isaac's brains out to help him relax.)

Isaac Lahey x GN!Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 2,700

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is primarily a smut fic; the reader character is completely gender neutral - there is no mention of the reader's genitals and no description of what kind of genitals the reader has, and the only pronouns used to refer to the reader are you/yours; use of Y/N; most of the fic focuses on Isaac and acts the reader performs on him; there is dom/sub dynamics - the reader is more dominant and Isaac is more submissive; there is a slight passing mention of Isaac's abusive past (and how it makes him stressed out, so he is eager to use sex and submission as a way to relax and ease his mind); marking kink (the reader giving Isaac love bites and hickies); anal fingering - Isaac receiving (mention of Isaac being an anal virgin before this); oral - Isaac receiving; praise kink (reader praises Isaac and he loves it) - the reader calls Isaac 'good boy', 'pretty', and 'puppy'; lots of dirty talk; use of a dildo on Isaac (anally); passing mention of blood (the reader licks Isaac so hard that he bleeds and then licks it); Reader swallows Isaac's cum - I think that's it?

A/N: Just another random fic I wrote while on hiatus because I can't get enough of my baby Isaac, and I feel like he would love being called by the nickname Puppy (and that is now forever what I refer to him as in my head). He just looks like such a puppy lmao. He has big puppy dog eyes, he's constantly looking to others (like Scott, Erica, and Derek) for guidance and validation, he's eager to follow even though he's strong and could be a leader. He is an eager little puppy lapdog and I love him so fucking much. I just wanna pet his hair like a sweet little puppy and praise him and also fuck his brains out. Hence, this fic. Anyway, if you're a fellow Isaac lover, I hope you enjoy this fic!!

...

When you had suggested ‘relaxing’, Isaac thought you meant taking a bubble bath, some candles, aromatherapy.

Perhaps reading a book curled up in bed with some gentle music playing in the background. You seemed like the type of person to enjoy those things. He had no clue what relaxation even was - it’s not like he had a lot of time to relax, going straight from his father’s house of horrors to Pack life with Derek, nearly being killed every other week. 

Of course, that was exactly why you had suggested this. 

You and Isaac had been friends for a while, flirting back and forth for even longer, and fooling around for only a few short weeks. He knew that you cared about him a lot, and he was grateful that you actually thought about these things. That you actually considered the toll that stress took on him. 

He just had no clue what he was getting himself into when he agreed to a ‘relaxing’ evening with you. 

He certainly hadn’t been expecting this. 

Being laid out on your bed, completely naked while you were still mostly clothed, the lights delightfully soothing and dim, the covers so soft against his skin while you took him on the ride of his life. His body was covered in your spit and teeth marks, sharp suction spots where you had latched on and made him moan. Unfortunately the marks were already healing, making you regretful and even more determined to make him remember you by the distinction of your touch alone. 

Still, you dug your teeth in, providing the perfect little bite of pain to go with the pleasure, especially now as your fingers well-lubed fucked up inside of him - making your impression in his previously untouched hole for the first time. You pushed your fingers deep inside of him, fucking him with precise, certain movements while your mouth worked on his cock. 

He felt like his mind was slowly melting between his ears, every single known thought escaping him - but he had a distinct feeling that’s exactly what you had wanted. Because now he couldn’t worry, he couldn’t stress, he couldn’t even spend a single moment thinking about anything that had been plaguing his mind for the past few months. He couldn’t even be insecure about the whorish moans he was letting out or the way he was angling his hips toward you, silently begging for more. 

This was entirely relaxing. 

You moaned around his dick, encouraging him - causing him to let out another loud moan. 

It made you smile internally, feeling that in the way his body gave in to you, the way his needy hole flexed around your fingers, opening up to you but clenching slightly - telling you how badly he wanted more, needed more, even without words. 

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop, causing him to let out a shuddering moan of disappointment as the now spit-slick sensitive organ was exposed to the cool air. His dick fell against his stomach, smearing precum against the smooth, porcelain skin there while you eased another finger into his greedy hole. Now, fucking three of your fingers in and out of him, something that made Isaac part his thighs and wiggle his hips down into your touch, of course - desperate for more, even unconsciously. 

“That’s it - such a good boy for me.” You purred, grinning down at him. 

He was so pretty like this. 

His face dropped back against the fluffiness of your pillow, his eyes fluttering closed and his mouth gaped open as he let out the prettiest soft sounds. His lips were swollen and spit-glossed from where you had kissed him, something that made him breathless and wrecked. His nipples were puffy and swollen from where you had bitten and worked them, making him so frenzied and frantic, his stomach heaving with little breaths, desperate to get air into his lungs as you continually punched it out of him by fucking your fingers up into him. 

His long, thick cock gently bobbed against his stomach, leading down to a nest of blond hair that covered his heavy balls, smeared wet with the lube that you were fucking him with. 

Somehow - even in such a sinful state, he looked so damn angelic. 

He was severely enjoying the thickness and the rhythm of your three fingers, you could only imagine how much he would like what you had for him next. 

“Such a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You couldn’t contain the praise, not when he was this good, not when you felt the affection swelling up inside of you. He let out a loud, rattling moan at this, and you knew that you had struck gold. “Such a pretty boy. You like it when I remind you how fucking good you are, huh?” 

“Please,” Isaac choked out, his throat clearly dry and strangled from all the moaning he had been doing. “Please - more.” 

You locked eyes with him, and saw nothing but glassy, empty headed pleasure swimming there. And while his needy body flexed tightly around your fingers, you knew exactly what he was begging for - like a fish on dry land gulping desperately, you knew exactly what he was struggling for. 

More of your praise. Something he likely didn’t even know he had wanted before this, now lighting his body on fire. Now something he was desperate for more of - something he would likely need to survive from now on. 

“You want more, pretty boy?” 

You teased him, gently skimming your thumb along the underside of his cock, tracing a thick vein that made his muscles jolt. He nodded his head frantically, breathing thickly again, his eyes falling shut as his head fell back once again, eagerly waiting for you to comply. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna get everything you want. Cause you’re such a pretty boy - you deserve it all. Such a good boy, such an eager little puppy-” 

The nickname was something you had teased him with before. When you had found out that Derek had turned him, you insisted that if Derek and Scott were well-trained, full-blown wolves, then Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were just ‘puppies’. Newbies. It was something meant to taunt him, belittle him. But you had always seen the spark in his eyes when you said it. 

And now, feeling the way his hole clenched around your touch, feeling his hips fuck down against you, seeing the little pulse that shifted his cock as a bit of precum leaked out - you had known that you were right. 

Isaac was just an eager puppy waiting to be fucked. 

“Please, please!” He gasped out, whipping his eyes open and looking down the length of his body at you. “Hnng, I need it!” 

He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was begging for - it was pure static between his ears, a senseless TV signal that only became slightly clear when your voice cut through the snow. 

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay, puppy.” You said, smoothing your free hand across his stomach, purposefully avoiding any contact with his cock. “I’ve got you.” 

He reached out and grabbed your wrist, and your chest swelled with just how sweet he was - how loving and affectionate, even when he was clearly desperate to be fucked. 

“Such a sweet boy,” You continued to praise him, petting that hand across his torso, reaching to gently flick his nipple, exhausting more moans from him as you did this. “Such a sweet little puppy, aren’t you? Just an eager little thing desperate to be fucked, huh?” 

Isaac’s moan in response turned into a little howl of disappointment as you pulled your fingers out of him completely. You were almost hurt by the way his lip quivered and his brows furrowed - you would have been more upset if you didn’t know that you had something better in store for him. 

“Y/N-” He began to argue, his voice absolutely sour, but you cut him off. 

“I’ve got you.” You told him firmly, leaning in and kissing across his chest, ending this by laying a kiss on his mouth, causing your clothed body to roughly brush against his cock for a moment - which made him whine. “I’m gonna take good care of you, puppy.” 

He let out another guttural moan at these words, and watched with wide, curious eyes as you reached to your nightstand. His eyes widened when your hand came back with a cock - a six inch, bright blue, veined dildo. He felt a slight twist of anxious intimidation in his stomach at the thought of taking the object inside of him, but it was quickly washed out by pure need when his hole clenched around nothing and he realized how terribly empty he felt now that your fingers were gone. 

“Do you trust me?” You asked, reaching for the lube that you had dropped on the bed beside him earlier, slicking up the cock with more than a healthy amount. 

“Yes.” Isaac told you honestly. 

“Good.” You grinned at him. “Cause this is gonna be so good for you, baby.” 

You then put it between his thighs, using one hand to tease the tip of the lubed up dildo along his slightly gaped hole while you reached your other hand, still very wet with lube, to his cock. You took a good grip on him and began slowly jerking him off while you eased the first few inches of the cock into him. 

Isaac let out a loud moan, tossing his head back, his thighs tensing as he was already overwhelmed with pleasure. It was just a hint of what was to come, but it was so good to be stretched open around something so thick, something that filled him up so well. 

It was just a slight burn in his muscles as his body ached to accommodate something thicker and wider than your fingers - but there was a feeling, something deep in his stomach that was aching and curious for more. His cock was slowly warming up with pleasure as you touched him, turning his brain into even more of a soup as he gripped at the sheets beneath him and prayed that this feeling would never have to stop. 

“More!” He cried out, angling his hips further into your touch. 

“Such a greedy puppy, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice edging on mocking as you sped up the pace of your hand on his cock, easing more of the dildo into him, indulging in the beautiful sounds he let out. “Just can’t have your pretty hole filled fast enough, can you?” 

Isaac let out a moan in agreement, and you pushed forward until the last of the cock was finally inside of him, leaving him furled around the base and gripping it tightly, echoing out a pretty gasp as he was fully filled. 

The six inch dildo wasn’t huge, but it was the biggest (and only) cock he had ever taken inside of him, so it made him feel absolutely full. It made him feel like he was being split open in the best way possible. It made his mind melt right down to liquid butter, made his cock pulse with pleasure in your hand. Isaac felt a sense of bitter cruelty when you closed your grip around the base, making his dick throb harder and ache. 

“Good?” You asked, clearly meaning to check on his well being.  

Isaac wanted to voice a complaint about you not making him cum fast enough, but he knew that wasn’t what you were asking about. 

“S-so good.” He choked out, trying to angle his hips back and fuck himself on the cock. 

“Good.” You replied, a wicked grin forming across your lips. “Now you’re gonna get exactly what you need. You’re gonna get your dumb little puppy brains fucked out,” 

Isaac didn’t even have a moment to question these words before you were pulling the dildo out of him slightly and fucking it back into him as hard as you could muster. This started a brutal, rough pace of hammering the toy between his thighs, not even giving him a moment to feel empty before he was full again - something that would have been painful if not for his incredible healing abilities and the pain tolerance that came with it. No, this wasn’t painful - this was just bliss. 

Pure, mindless bliss at your hands, having his hole fucked at such an intense pace - something he always needed but never knew to ask for. 

And then, your mouth was on his cock again. 

He let out a purely inhuman sound, a deep growl that dissolved into a whine like the puppy you accused him of being when you took him down to the base all in one go, smothering his cock in the impossible sauna wet heat of your mouth in seconds. 

You only relented your pace of fucking the fake cock into him for a moment to concentrate on not gagging on his impressive seven inch thickness, giving a few hard gulps around the tip of his cock as it settled in the back of your throat. Something that drove him absolutely insane between the pressure of your throat on his dick, smothering him in wet heat, and the feeling of the fake cock fucking into his asshole, filling him up so good, wetness smearing between his thighs, making him feel so perfectly raw as you continually fucked him. 

You pulled off his cock and replaced your mouth with your hand, kissing along his hip, digging your teeth in and leaving another harsh bite that would heal too soon for his liking. Isaac had a passing thought about getting a tattoo of your teeth marks on his skin, but it was drowned out by you licking up the bit of blood that sprouted there before you began talking again, your voice a bit more rough than before from having his cock nestled so tightly in your throat. 

“You like getting fucked and filled, puppy?” 

You purred against his skin, your voice full of spit, so perfectly syrupy. Isaac didn’t have a moment to even contemplate answering, not with the barrage of sensations overwhelming him, quickly drawing him closer to his orgasm. 

“You like having your pretty cock sucked while your needy little hole is filled up? Hmm? Are you gonna cum like this? Are you gonna cum from being fucked like the needy little puppy that you are?” 

One of these days, that nickname was going to kill him. 

“Please, Y/N, please!” He chanted out, his breath barely making it back into his lungs every time the force of you fucking the dildo into him forced a sharp moan out from between his lips. “Please, ‘m gonna cum, please lemme cum, please-!” 

Him asking for permission to cum was the thing that truly drove you insane. 

“Cum for me, puppy.” You told him, reaching to sweep the tip of his cock back into your mouth, eager to taste him. 

You continued to fuck him hard through it, creating a beautifully sloppy sound in the room as the thick plastic toy destroyed him, fucking into his needy hole utterly relentlessly. It was only a moment later that he came, his shaking thighs stiffening and his back arching off the bed. 

You were barely able to hold him down as he shoved more of his cock into your mouth, shooting thick spurts of cum across your tongue and down your throat, so perfectly driven mad by all the sensations you had delivered to him. You sucked him through it, not stopping until you were satisfied that you had every single last drop of his release. 

When it was over, you popped off his cock, and he was still panting, desperate to catch his breath when you eased the dildo out of him - causing a gentle moan from him - now slightly disappointed at the feeling of being empty and wondering if he would ever be the same again without that fullness inside of him. You put it aside to be taken care of later and crawled up Isaac’s body, draping yourself over him to capture his mouth - causing an odd delight to him as he tasted himself on your tongue. 

“Well,” Isaac sighed against your lips. “That is one hell of a way to relax.” 

You couldn’t help but to laugh at this.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a follow up or a 'Part 2'. So if you are going to comment, please comment about the body of the material that has been written.

I would love to write more about Isaac in the future, and I do have another smut fic for him in my drafts, so if you're an Isaac lover, definitely follow me and look out for that. And go to my Teen Wolf masterlist for more non-smutty stuff about him that is currently there. But for now, this is a singular, closed off story and there will not be a follow up to it. I hope you have enjoyed it if you have read this far, and thank you so much for reading!