#or not use pronouns at all if you dont know

[kyu-kurariin]

its been over a month since mizu5 and ppl are STILL calling mizuki a boy, and as a trans person, im frustrated about it.

so, i put together a post detailing why she absolutely IS NOT a boy!!

in this post, im going to address some of the common "arguments" these people present to justify their blatant transphobia.

(cont. under cut)

-

"She's just a femboy!!"

femboys are relatively accepted in japan. if she were simply a femboy, she wouldnt be bullied as kuch as she is and she would have no reason to worry about her friends accepting her. she also would NOT react that way to simply being outed as a femboy, because like i said, being a femboy isnt a big deal over in japan.

Also, the point of being a femboy is that you are openly identifying as a man whilst dressing femininely. if she was a femboy, she would have no reason to hide the fact that she is "a man."

"She uses boku, thats a male pronoun!!"

almost all japanese pronouns can be gender neutral. this includes boku. while it is traditionally used in a more masculine context, its not uncommon for women to use it on themselves.

in japanese media, this trope known as bokukko, and its actually pretty common in anime or games like prsk. a well known example of this trope is Zero Two from Darling in the Franxx, a cisgender woman who uses boku.

"Her bullies said she was a boy!!"

yes, because theyre her BULLIES. OF COURSE they would call her a man. theyre TRANSPHOBIC. thats the POINT. if youre seriously considering her bullies as a valid and reliable source for info ab her, then i dont even know what to tell you.

"Sega wouldnt make a queer character bc of jp censorship!!"

sega is VERY openly pro-lgbtq. i wouldnt put it past them to put an openly queer character in prsk. in fact, they already have. of course, the main example other than mizuki would be minori, who is canonically wlw and has a crush on haruka, but there are more characters who can be read as queer-coded as well, such as rui, an, and kohane.

"She never explicitly said she was a girl!!"

she never said she was a boy either!

she doesnt have to look directly at the screen and say in perfect english "i am a trans woman" for her to be a trans woman. it lies in the subtext, the implications, everything about her backstory. everything in mizu5. everything ive listed in this post and more. if you still choose to call her a boy despite everything about her telling you she isnt, then you either severely lack reading comprehension or youre just intentionally transphobic.

-

Thank you so much if you took the time to read through all of this!! i hope this post can be used to help educate at least someone out there, although yall can be really stubborn with your beliefs. if you still believe mizuki is a boy after reading this, i genuinely dont know what to tell you. just please dont comment on this post trying to convince me that shes a man. there is no point. i will not listen. i will simply block you, and i suggest you block me as well.

thats all, thanks again for reading!! ♡

[odvunir]

my pronouns are he/him

[corpsentry]

pick your battles

[randomminty]

Yeahlow

[mechaness]

First of many

So much had happened. Nasiens had found her biological family, she found out about herself, she almost died... but now her hero was with her again.

When the battle was decided, a few words were exchanged and someone gave Percival a cloak so he could cover up. He hadn't even realized he was naked. He apologized, though it was clear he didn't see the issue.

After a while, her new family (she had to present them to Ordo as soon as she could!) left her alone with him, sharing knowing smiles.

Nasiens couldn't stop looking at him.

Percival... She smiled.

"So you are a fairy now? That's so cool!" Percival's voice was so soothing to her. How had she missed his smile!

"Yes... I'm not used to flying, though..."

"But now we can fly together!" Percy said, laughing. He grabbed her hands and gently lifted them up. Nasiens was shocked but soon started smiling again. A little spin in the air, and she was laughing along with him.

"I just can't get used to the height..." she admitted looking down, feeling cold sweat in her forehead. It had been fine in the battle, but now... She looked up at Percival, thinking how silly she was being. Something gleamed in his eyes.

He threw her one of his winning smiles and she felt her heart stop.

"Well, that's easy! Just keep looking at me!" His face was too close to hers, but then again, he had never been good at respecting people's personal space.

And Nasiens couldn't think of anything better to look at than his eyes. He always managed to calm her down. She could do anything as long as he's with her.

"See? You can fly really high if you want!" Like a spell being broken, she looked down. She almost let out a scream. They were so high up she could barely see the ground!

Her arms moved on their own, hugging Percival. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, trembling.

Percival was shocked. Not because of the hug, he loved Nasiens' hugs, as different as this one felt. However, she felt like dead weight. Had she stopped flying?! Of course she wasn't in any real danger as long as he was there to hold her, but...!

"Nasiens?!" He could hear her mumbling nonono again and again, "I'm sorry! I thought...! Are you ok?" He was so worried about her and Nasiens was still trembling, but she managed to answer,

"Ye-yeah..." she looked up. She was again at a loss for words. She knew Percival was still Percival inside, but he was really big now, and tall, and... she could feel her face aflame. "Yeah, I'm... I'm good. I was shocked, I guess..." she couldn't look him in the eyes anymore.

Percy was silent for while before he spoke again.

"You really feel different now, uh..." Nasiens eyes widened at his comment.

"Wh-what do you mean? Is it bad?" Percival's silence made her a little nervous. He wasn't looking at her anymore. She forgot to ask again though, since they landed in the hollow part of a cave, up in a mountain, and the sight amazed her.

"It's beautiful..." she said. Percy agreed, but he wasn't looking outside. His eyes were fixed on the pretty girl he was holding by the waist.

Screw pretty, he thought. Nasiens had always been beautiful, but now... It was like a whole other level. The way she held herself felt different. Also,

"You got boobs now!" he shouted, almost giving her a heart attack. She almost tripped, blushing like crazy.

"Ye... yeah..." she put her hand on her chest. They weren't even that noticeably, but... "the whole thing feels weird..."

"Bad weird?" he sounded genuinely curious.

"N... no, I don't think so. I never felt bad being called a boy, but now... I like this. Being a girl, I mean. It feels right, but I'm... not used to it yet. Not completely, at least. Is that weird?"

"I don't think so! Anyway, Nasiens is Nasiens, no matter what! You are amazing!" when he looked at her, he could see that gentle smile of hers that he loved so much.

Nasiens was so grateful. Of course Percival wasn't fazed. He was just Percival. He hadn't even questioned her change, something which she she was grateful for. She couldn't even imagine how she could start explain the whole thing to him.

She was thinking how much she loved this side of his and was so deep in her thoughts, she didn't realize when Percival got behind her.

"You gotten slimmer too, right? Right?" his poking sent shivers down her spine. What was his obsession with her back?!

Nasiens felt her face aflame again.

"Please, don't do that!" she almost screamed, taking a step back.

"Why? Can't I touch you?" he sounded so innocent, she almost felt bad. But when she looked up again she saw how serious he was. She felt taken back. He had never looked at her like that before, not like this.

How could she tell him that the only thing she wanted was for him to touch her all over... it was just so embarrassing to admit!

She felt her true feelings coming forward before she could stop herself.

"Well, if you a-!" a flashback made her stop. A painful memory crossed her mind and she felt silent.

Anghalhad.

She felt her blood boil.

"...you know what. I think it's best that you don't." She turned, not before giving him the iciest look he had ever seen. That kind of look was never directed at him! Percy got worried.

"N-Nasiens?! Are you angry at me? I hate it when I make you angry!" he ran to her. He grabbed her hand so she couldn't get further away from him. She flinched and stopped, but she didn't look at him. "I'm sorry, did I say something bad?"

"You got Anghalhad to touch, don't you?" she said, immediately regretting her words. It wasn't Percival fault, or Anghalhad's for that matter. Plus, she knew Percival didn't understand these kind of things! She barely could, after all.

"Yeah, I guess..." Percival's voice made her angrier and she felt so ashamed. She took her hand back, snapping at Percy.

"See?! Go to her for all I care!" she looked down, hiding her eyes as best as she could. She couldn't face him like this...

"Wha...?! No! I don't want to! I want to stay here with you! Nasiens!" he grabbed her by the shoulder, shaking her a little. He had to make her understand...!

Were those tears?

"Nasiens...? What's wrong?" she lifted her arm, trying to wipe her tears with her sleeve.

"I... I'm a horrible friend! I don't hate Anghalhad, I actually like her... but thinking about you two...!" she put her hands on her face, trying to control herself. "Who am I to say anything? You are free to do whatever you want...! But I hate it! I hate the thought of you two-!"

Percy hugged her so tightly she almost couldn't breathe. She felt his hand grabbing her hair, same way he had done early that day.

"P... Percival?"

"I won't touch anyone else!" he exclaimed, shocking her. "I don't really get it, but I thought of some else touching you and that made me angry, so I guess it's the same for you? Is that it?"

"Ye... yeah."

"Is it because you love me?" Nasiens felt trapped. She was about to protest when...

"Cause I love you too!" he said, his smile so bright it blinded her. He caught her so out of guard she almost fainted.

"Well," he continued, "I love all my friends... but with you... love falls short. Does that make sense? I want to hold you forever..." Percy said, snuggling to her. Looking down he saw her eyes, so full of hope and love, he couldn't help but smile. Nasiens smiled back.

"Y-yes, it makes sense. I... I feel the same way." Nasiens couldn't believe it. She confessed! She managed to do it and now...

"Good!" he grabbed her waist again, lifting her from the ground, "then it's settled!"

Nasiens felt tears forming again, this time from happiness. Things could be so easy with him sometimes... but then she remembered their little argument. She blushed again.

"A-about before... I don't mind, you know... but, you have to ask."

Percy was confused for a moment. Then it hit him.

"Really?!" he had pulled her down a little. His face was so close to hers...!

"Ye-yeah."

"Can I, then?" he asked. His lips were so close to hers, she felt her heart about to explode.

"Yes..." she tried to close the distance and...

"NASSIE! Percy! Dinner time! Come on, where-! Oh, there you are!" Tioreh shouted, appearing out of nowhere.

"...what are you two doing?" she asked, innocently.

It was a rare sight, if you asked her. Nassie with her face all red, pushing Percy away. Her hand was on Percy's face and he looked miserable, ignoring Tioreh and trying to get close to Nassie.

"But you said I could...!" he whined.

"QUIET, PLEASE!"

Tioreh had never seen Nassie so embarrassed. It was fun!

Later that night...

Nasiens couldn't believe it. They had almost...!

But the moment had been ruined.

She put her hands on her face, sighing. Maybe some other time... She was fixated in the fire next to the log she was sitting on, deep in thought.

"Nasiens! I was looking for you! Look!" Percival's voice took her out of her trance. She looked up to see him better, confused in what was she supposed to be looking at.

He placed a white flower on her hair.

"I knew it! It suits you!" he said, making her blush yet again. She gently touched the white flower with her fingers. "You look beautiful, you know!" Nasiens felt her blush deepen. She was going to get a fever from blushing so much...

"Thank you, Percival..." she smiled at him and he smiled back, love in his eyes. He sat down next to her and she rested her head on his shoulder, sighing.

"Man, that sucked, uh?" he suddenly said, looking down at her. "I really wanted to kiss you."

Nasiens was definitely getting a fever.

"Re-really? Honestly, I did too..."

Without much thought, Percy turned and grabbed her by the waist, surprising her. He flew them away from the dinner and the rest.

In the air, with the moon shining brightly, he looked at Nasiens. He smiled, closing the distance between them.

"Can I?" he whispered.

Nasiens laughed. He really took it to heart to ask first.

"Of course...!"

Their laughter filled the night. At least for tonight, everything was going to all right.

[mouseplaid]

im sorry but owen not feeling anything inside, feeling like shes missing something (which is because shes trans and repressed) being interpreted by people as her being aroace is so upsetting to me. like headcanon her as that if you want but dont use the emptiness she feels, from refusing to let herself accept shes isabel, be the reason you think shes aroace. it feels so dismissive of how badly repression can affect someone to be like 'she feels that way because shes aroace! its totally fine to feel that way!' like no she feels that way because shes repressed and is refusing to accept who she is and its killing her. its not good and its terrifying and devastating and thats why the part in the bathroom is so important, because owen sees whats in her, and there is still time.

[calamitys-child]

I would've thought we knew better than this by now but I'm getting it from fucking Everywhere right now - using they/them pronouns for me is STILL MISGENDERING ME

[girlwiththegreenhat]

Why the fuck are people on Twitter upset about nonbinary robots. Transformers are aliens, why would they follow another species gender binary based on reproduction when they don't even reproduce sexually. If anything, ALL the robots should use they/them.

[good-beanswrites]

A little something featuring Fuuta and Es after talking about their criminal lack of interaction in fanworks with @waivyjellyfish ! You had such awesome ideas (a few of which I'm still bouncing around in my head to post at some point,) but this one ended up taking over my brain -- I hope you enjoy 😅 Attempting to answer the widely-debated question:

“Oi, why didn’t you hit me?”

Es looked up from their paperwork.

“Prisoner number three. Most people are glad when they’re not struck.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

Es usually left the door open at this hour, in case anyone had any last-minute complaints before curfew. No one usually took them up on the offer. They figured that if there was any prisoner they could count on to complain, it would be Fuuta marching through their door.

“You hit all the other guys. You even hit some of the girls that were giving you trouble. So what? You think I’m too weak? You think I can’t take it?” Fuuta spread his arms. “I can, so show me what you’ve got!”

Es sighed. They put down their pen. They folded their gloved hands together, resting their chin on top. “Fuuta, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Why not?”

“As of right now, I have no reason to. If you’re referring to the interrogations…”

They reflected on the first one they'd shared with him. To be fair, the thought had crossed their mind. It would have been satisfying to give this rowdy prisoner a taste of his own medicine – striking him after such a dramatic charge at them. But Es was always good at reading people. It didn’t take them long to understand Fuuta was the type to lash out first and ask questions later. In fact, that was likely what had landed him in Milgram in the first place. 

Although Es knew they weren’t here to do any reformation, they wanted to try to show these prisoners where they’d gone wrong. So, they resolved to act as the bigger person. They’d prove that senseless violence was just that. By keeping their composure, they’d show Fuuta just how childish he was being. 

That wasn’t my only reason. I guess that's true, my actions weren’t all purely righteous. I still spent the entire time looking for ways to make him squirm… But it wasn’t all cruelty. I really did want to understand. I wanted to help. That counts for something, right?

Es never struck the prisoners out of anger, or as a petty show of power. It was a way to force the prisoner to mind their ego. When they’d gotten a bit too full of themselves, a bit too comfortable with the awful deed they’d committed, Es’ blow encouraged them to feel a bit more humility and guilt. 

By the time the second trial arrived, Fuuta oozed guilt. 

The moment Es entered the interrogation room, it was clear that he needed no lesson in humility. He hugged his arms to his chest. His remaining eye darted around the room in thinly-veiled hysteria. His voice trembled when he spoke. It didn’t require any people-reading skills to hear the remorse that underlaid all of his accusations and threats.

Hitting the others felt like giving a dog a tap on the nose after breaking a rule. Meanwhile, Fuuta snapped and snarled like a stray who’d been kicked time and time again.

Of course, he could never know any of this. Any way Es phrased it, Fuuta would misunderstand it as pity.

Well, wasn’t it? I thought he looked like a kicked puppy – that sounds a lot like pity. No, it was out of respect. Does that mean I didn’t respect the prisoners I did hit? No. I respected them too. Then, what’s the difference?

Fuuta was still staring at them, asking the very same question. What’s the difference?

“Each of Milgram’s prisoners is unique.” 

They were met with an unimpressed glare.

Es chose their words carefully. “Each one responds best to a variety of treatments. Some need attention to be comfortable, while others need time. Some need validation in order to confess. Others, a bit of debate does the trick. Some need a show of force. You –” remind me too much of myself  “– require something else. I’ve learned to change my approach depending on the person I’m dealing with.”

Fuuta’s features flashed with confusion, then shame, then his usual mask of anger. “Tch. How pathetic.”

“Excuse me?”

“So you just change your personality when it’s convenient? You put up fake smiles and fake attitude? Have some balls and just be yourself.”

Es was caught by surprise. “... I am. Those are all pieces of myself. I choose to bring out different parts when it would be most helpful.” 

“Sounds manipulative as hell to me.” 

It makes sense he doesn’t understand. He’s a very clear-cut person, with every aspect of his personality lining up in a way that makes sense. I find that predictability fun. Or, is it something that I envy? Could it be both?

They had no time to dwell on it, as Fuuta was struck with an idea. “Though, if you can do it on command, why don’t you give me the ‘you’ that wants to hit someone?” 

He spread his arms once more, hands gesturing to his chest. Es pretended not to notice him wince. They remained in their seat. 

“What are you waiting for? Hit me!” 

“I will not.”

“You just said you can change your personality on a whim, so let’s see it!” 

“That is not what I said.”

His good eye began to look frenzied. He raised his voice. “You scared? The big bad warden of Milgram, nothing but a big coward!”

“Stop this. You’re acting childish.”

“No! You’re treating me childishly! Let me see the Es that kicked Shidou! The one that slapped Kazui! Treat me like you treated them!”

“I hit them because they said something stupid. They deserved it.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I deserve it too! I deserve it! Come on!”

At the last word, his voice broke. He stumbled to his knees. He let his head drop. He sucked in strained breath after strained breath. Shidou would surely give him a lecture about getting so worked up with his injuries. 

Es finally stood.

They made their way around the desk. They knelt on the floor in front of him. 

“Why?” he wheezed. “Tell me…”

“Fuuta.” 

Should I just go ahead and do it, just to make him happy? No, I want to talk it out. But what do even I say? I'll tell him that I care. I can’t. None of the prisoners understand that I care. Why? Why is it so hard for them to see? I’m trying my best, why can’t they see? 

Es extended their hand carefully. They didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish, but in that moment their thoughts were too loud and conflicting. They needed to do something.

Fuuta saw the gentle intention, and immediately raised his own hand to strike. It froze midair, though whether it was from Milgram’s restrictions or his own hesitation, Es would never know.

Neither of their gestures connected.

Footsteps. Then Yuno’s voice, hesitantly from the doorway. “We heard shouting, is everything alright in here?”

Es retracted their hand.  A beat. Fuuta dropped his, too. 

“Yuno. Yes, we’re fine. Fuuta was just heading to bed. I’m going to walk him to his cell.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I said, I’m going to walk him to his cell.” 

Es stood, nodding to Yuno. When she’d gone, they turned their attention back to the prisoner crumpled on the ground. They made an effort to quiet their ever-racing thoughts. 

“Listen. I know you can handle yourself. I’m not doing this because I think you’re weak. You’re strong. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t see that.”

They held out their arm to help him up. He didn’t move.

“Sometimes you are a bit too strong, if you ask me. I mean, picking fights with your prison warden, really?” They clicked their tongue. “You should be grateful for a superior that gives you second chances.”

At last, Fuuta  took their hand. He avoided meeting their eyes, but his voice had softened considerably from his rant. “The only thing you give me is a headache.”

Es offered a dry smile as they pulled him to his feet. “The feeling is mutual.”

[yooniesim]

I know nobody gives a shit about this in comparison so posting a save file with uncredited builds in it, but reminder of that time @mapanou started calling me out of name and spewing hateful nazi ideology at me out of nowhere just bc i made a lukewarm criticism of a paywaller and I dared to say black people are often criticized more for being angry... but since only one of my parents are black that ain't allowed 😬 some of yall acted like this was okay but I didn't forget it, I notice how some of their friends are acting all betrayed now bc their homie turned out to be a sims content thief but you knew who you were laying down with clearly. You were glad to support an extremely nasty ass person when the vitriol was directed at me, but God forbid someone not credit a build! anyway guess who was struck down and it wasn't me bitch 💀

That aside, since the insufferable cunt had the nerve to mention the One Drop Rule, which has been used as a tool to discriminate against all black people and keep their mixed offspring othered for as many generations as possible, here's some sources on what it actually refers to (and some related articles about the struggles of mixed race people). It's a method of discrimination by white supremacists, not a way for mixed race people that you think are unworthy of speaking to "claim" to be black. If you're lurking, mapanou, i hope you and your friends read them and understand something you should have already at your "very big age".

One Drop Rule on Wikipedia (for the basic concept + more sources)

How The "One Drop Rule" Became a Tool of White Supremacy

How The Nazis Were Inspired by Jim Crow

Understanding the Stressors and Types of Discrimination That Can Affect Multiracial Individuals

Exploring Black mixed-race experiences of Black rejection

Not Enough Or Double The Prejudice: On Being Black & Asian American

Why Imposter Syndrome Goes Deep for Multiracial People

When Your Own Family Is Racist Toward You

^ the basic gist for the lazy. and just an added bit. I don't know if mapanou has ever seen me, because I barely know them and certainly didn't share with them, but I have been doxxed plenty and my pics probably shared to them by others and im obviously not white though i am light skinned. im very proud of my dark natural hair, brown eyes, thick lips and big nose that I all got from my father. I have nothing to prove nor hide about who I am. I am black and asian and white and I love every part of what makes me, me. I am mixed race and if you don't believe or like me as I am that's your problem not mine. just wanna clear that up for all the people that may have been confused about it. and for all my followers that are mixed, especially black and asian, I love you and you have a place here. your voices and experiences are valuable and you deserve to be heard. that's all I got to say.

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[kil9]

everyone agrees that the patriarchy teaches men to hide their emotions, and that this is a bad thing, so why is it that when men actually show an emotion everyone jumps to call him an abuser or manipulator or whatever :\

[volivolition]

suggestion do you have... any wants? like obviously you do but like? suggestion my guy my ourple boy. both the easiest and hardest to write. you need a skill to say something to move conversation along but it doesn't fit any skill in particular? about 80% of the time you can have suggestion say it and it will make sense. but like actually characterizing him... how do i define you dude... what makes your character tick... urgh. i dont get you yet. im trying to understand but you are difficult.

[thegreatyin]

who is the scoundrel? I see you posting about them(it? Idk) all the time but I haven’t figured out who they are

my fallen london OC! i made them by accident a few months ago and as you can tell ive very quickly developed scoundrel brainrot. it's a terminal illness for which there is no cure and the symptoms are instead of brain there is scoundrel.

in terms of actual character rundowns, their full moniker is The Bandaged Scoundrel, though i tend to call them "the scoundrel" for short. their real name is D█████, but they'd sooner die permanently than respond to or even acknowledge its existence.

they are! a bastard! a rat! a son of a b___! a motherf______! they are vain beyond your wildest imagination and they think they're the most infallible perfect being in all of existence and they have the exact attitude of a saturday morning power-hungry cartoon supervillain on cocaine.

and also, perhaps most importantly, they're Really Fucking Stupid. because of course they are.

they are resplendently awful. they are inevitably going to cause their own demise in an act of pure karmic retribution. they are a speck of dust in history that desperately keeps trying to insist they're actually a tornado. i love them dearly.

in loose conclusion while also acknowledging ive explained literally nothing; my goofy silly victorian london browser game player character that deserves to get timetraveled against their will to the 21st century specifically so they can get hit by a truck

[trans-kevin-juice]

does anybody else like to use she/her, they/them, and/or it/its pronouns on cookie??

asking cuz I’m curious about something

[terrorbirb]

Idk if I'll get in trouble for this but I've been changing all "the engineer.....he should..." To "the engineer......they should..." On the official documents/letters . Like I'm not sure if that would confuse developers but I'm getting a little sick of being referred to as "he" by default.

Don't give me access to this if it's so important. They've had completely outdated language on these things before about which building is where.