#especially the thirsty bitches (gender neutral) like myself

[david-tennant-in-chairs]

David, get back here! We gotta celebrate 1000 followers!

That's better! 🍿

[lailakotori]

Hey i was wondering if you could write headcanons for Wilford with a reader whos shy and dosnt talk much? gender neutral pronouns please :}

Headcanons Shy and talk least reader | Wilford x GN!Reader

Omg, my first request- *Exciting Scream*

Ok ok, calm down myself. These headcanons make my brain work fast like a car and make me excited, I love to imagine how this dynamic couple being cute asf . Enjoy my first headcanons on Tumblr! :DD

Summary: Wilford and SHY!GN!reader some headcanons

TW: fluff, Just fluff, English not my first language so- I’m sorry for how bad I am T.T

Your first meet is in the disco club. You go with your close friend because they want to hook up with someone. They let you alone in a loud place. Drink some water and wait for the bestie to come back. You wait so long, I could say you are so boring and want to go home right now. Until you meet Wilford who drinks a margarita next seat of you, When he saw you he tries to talk with you like. Of course, you so nervous because you too shy to talk stranger like him.

But damn... You are so comfortable to listen his speech. Don’t have to answer the question all the time, just listen. Sometimes he asks about you and you answer but not much or long like his, And he neverminds about that. (Such an angle *sod*)

Then your friends come back from hook-up, You and Wilford say goodbye. he got your number and said “I’ll call you later, Honey!” that make you blush hard and run to your friends.

That night change your life.

He calls you every day, every night. Sometimes talk about other egos, Sometimes talk about his TV shows. He loves to tell all the things to you.

Both of you always meet in the disco club and take the time together like talk or dance on the floor.

Wilford loves to call you ‘Honeybun’ because you’re shy like a bunny and act sweet like Honey.

And yeah...he calls that cuz he has a crush on you.

He flirts with you with a joke to make you giggle. He loves to see you smile, It’s like a precious for him.

One day, he invited to meet another ego, Especially Darkiplier his BFF.

When you meet all of ego first time, It’s got your nerves so much. Wilford holds your hand and try to make you calm, Speak to you with gentle voice.

Every ego adores you like sister. They treat you well but that make Wilford jealous them cuz you talk more than before but not with him.

After that, he hugs you in the living room. Not let you go anywhere, you try to but it's didn't change.

“...W- Wilford”

“Mhm...” He mumbles on your head.

“Can you let me go? I- I’m thirsty”

“No honeybun, we’ll stay at this forever” he tight his arm

“Then how to M- make you let me go” you ask, lay eyes see him sulk.

“Talk to me, more than everyone”

“Huh-”

“No ‘Huh’ honeybun”

You try your best not to make it awkward, and he satisfied them so lets you go and peek at your cheeks. That's make you embarrassing.

Illinois knows Wilford is in love with you, So he tries to help his own best to make both of you date together. Yancy suggest music to make them dance together.

Of course, Dark knows too but he didn't seem to care that much. He just saw two idiots trying their own best.

Wilford is the person who asks you to date with him, and you say yes :))

You and him fully being partners, Not as besties but as Lover.

Now now, SIMP TIME BITCHES

He always thinks about you and talk about you like how cute you are. And it's make Dr.iplier annoying asf. (LMAO I CAN’T-)

Every time he saw you, He kiss you everywhere and tell how adore you are.

At every celebration, Wilford would invite you to dance together.

He loves a hugs! <3

He always tells you about a day he is, You listen carefully and braid his little hair.

Sometimes he teaches you to learn how to talk more but if you are uncomfortable, he decided to stop right now.

But you know what? Maybe he will not teach that thing because he learns something from you.

‘Talk less, Smile more’ that’s what he learns, And he prefers to let you be like that.

Of course, you’re shy and talk less but didn’t mean don’t have your own love language. Your love language is time quality. And Wilford is physical touch as l said he loves to kiss and hug you.

He love to see you were a pink color match with him.

He dreams that one day, you and he will marry and have a family.

[hankypranky]

More Ambiguous with Two

Gabriel x Winchester Sister 

Reader wakes up in the trunk of car with no memories. The driver is just as shocked and they continue their path of discovery together with a chimpanzee named Sparkles.

Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia Fic, Feels slightly AU

Part I (word count 2200)

Inspired by this video of this girl escaping from zipties using her shoe laces.

Notes: It was meant to be a reader insert, but it got away from me a bit. The character isn’t gender neutral, it is told from the reader’s perspective with female pronouns - very little description of self other than having hair long enough to wash.

For a split second you thought you had been buried alive but you felt the motion around you and the slight smell of carbon dioxide. Then the bass began thumping through the speakers, ridiculing your pounding headache as you realized you were in the trunk of a car. A flare of panic spiked, but your center of mass started shifting. Unable to brace yourself against anything you involuntarily rolled onto your face, hissing in pain.

Your hands were bound behind your back and your feet strapped together. Everything hurt. Trying to think back to how you ended up in this trunk… there was no recollection. Fuck.

Taking in deep breaths, you tried to remain calm but it was growing increasingly frustrating when the music was turned up louder. The lyrics filling your head and you instantly hated it.

Having your hands in front of you was your first priority to getting out of these bindings as quickly as possible. With little room to maneuver, you turned on your side to hunch your back in an attempt slide your legs through your hands to have them in front of you.The more you inched backwards, the deeper the bindings cut into your flesh. … They were zip ties. Taking a deep breath, you opened the palm of your hand to relax the muscles in your wrist and give you a margin of more room to shimmy with.

It helped, but the strain you were putting on your bindings was great as your fingers became slippery with what you assumed was blood. It was a huge relief when your shoulders released and your hands sprung against the back of your knees. However, it was short lived because the driver hit a pothole and you bounced with so much force, you felt your arm break when you landed. Screaming out loud did nothing to mask the pain but you needed to carry on. You still weren’t done yet.

Extending your arms forward, you pulled your knees to your chest and swooped your arms around your legs officially freeing your hands from behind your back.

A bubble of fear, relief and pain swept through you and a sob escaped your lips. Clenching your teeth you took a steadying breath and rolled onto your left side to take the pressure off your broken arm. You lifted your feet to tie your boot laces together. You couldn't finger them, so so you bent down and pulled the string up with your teeth.

This next part had you worried. You needed to use your laces as a saw which was going to hurt like a son of a b*. Your feet were bound, so you couldn't use the pedal motion. You needed to use your hands and shoulders to create enough friction to cut through the zip tie. Trying to keep more pull on your left arm didn’t help much, every pull had you crying out in pain, your body revolting in every motion. Tightening your grip with your broken arm, you gave it all you had to end this sooner…

It snapped. Your adrenaline was pumping now and there was nothing that was going to keep you a victim. Sliding the place between your ankles, you did the same thing with your feet, except this time you weren’t going to use your right arm. Instead, you slipped the lace through the crook of your left elbow, and did a seesaw motion with your right hand. Though it was causing a nasty rash and took much longer, it was worth avoiding your bad arm.

Despite being locked inside of a trunk, you were free. Why are you locked inside of the boot of this car? Who put you here? Your memory was as dark as this damned trunk.

The music pulled you out of your musings. Time to get to the facts.

Finding the soft spot where the tail light should be you began kicking. Forgetting to brace your arm was a mistake, but one rectified quickly. You kicked so hard your foot got suck momentarily. Shifting around you pulled the liner off to reveal the a desolate highway.

Day time, check.

Other things to assess:

Am I hungry? No.

Am I thirsty? No.

Shit. I’m in so much pain, I can’t tell.

Am I dehydrated?

Your tongue slipped out to find very chapped lips. Definitely dehydrated.

Reaching out you touched your face, there were no open wounds, but a lump on your chin. Punched in the face. Must have been a knockout hit. That explains the memory loss. Okay, so maybe I have been out about 5 hours?

Now having most your mobility back, you made the decision to let the driver know you were awake. They wouldn't be expecting you be free and to strike first. You waited until the song stopped playing before kicking and yelling at the top of your lungs. The next song started playing, but the driver turned off the music, so you kicked even harder against the top of the trunk. As the car slowed down, your heart sped up.

Listening to the steps the driver was taking towards the trunk, you secure your broken arm and positioned yourself to to attack.

Tap tap tap.

Was this person seriously knocking on the trunk?

A man’s voice asked, “Hello? Is someone in there?”

Mimicking his tap, tap, tap, you waited for a response that came in the click of the trunk opening.

The light blinded you but you saw enough of a shape to make sure your punch landed on their face. Your knuckles connected and you fought the urge to close your eyes.

He fell to the ground and began scrambling backwards on the pavement, “Who the hell are you?”

He was still a blur, but his shock was evident. You shouted back at him, “Who the hell are you?”

The man raising his hand in a non threatening gesture, his eyes wide with fear. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you. I- I literally rented this car this morning.”

Still unable to focus on anything in particular, you accepted the fact he was as surprised as you were. Slowly nodding your head, you believed him. He slowly stood, intentionally trying to make no sudden movements. “You’re hurt. Let me get you to a hospital.”

“Where are we?”

He stood and dusted his hands off on his green jacket, “In Nevada. Off Route 80. About halfway between Reno and Salt Lake City. What’s your name?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you accidentally dropped your broken arm. “Son of a bitch!”

Your arm hung loosely on your side but you could still move your fingers. Grasping your arm, you squeezed your triceps and biceps. You spoke to yourself out loud, “Ok, it’s just dislocated”

Finally able to see the man in front of you, his expression consumed your attention, especially his eyes. They looked gold at first, but had a bit of auburn woven in, for a moment you were mesmerized. “Help me pop it back in.”

“No!” He looked horrified at the thought. “ We gotta’ get you to a doctor.”

You wouldn’t be able to hold out that long, “I can do it myself, but I’d rather have you help me.” Taking in his startled appearance, you asked gently, “Please?”

He huffed out a breath so grand it stirred the bangs on his hairline. “How can I help?”

You walked towards the back of the generic blue sedan and gestured for him to stand near the right side of the car. Settling yourself on the trunk hood you cradled your arm. “I need to relax the muscles first… talk to me. Tell me about yourself. I’m still running on adrenaline.”

You squinted against the sky to see him. Wiping his brow he stared at your in bafflement. “Uh, well my name is Rich and I work in Reno.”

It was difficult to relax, but you closed your eyes knowing the worst of the pain should be over soon, “Oh yeah? Doing what?”

“Gee, what don’t I do. Bartender, host, ticket collector, whatever they need me to do. We’re like a modern circus. We have a variety of performances, some freaks, delicious drinks. I do what needs to be done.” His pacing calms your nerves, he doesn’t have anything to do with your kidnapping. He burst out, “How are you so calm?”

“Did you lock me in the trunk?”

“Hell no!”

“That’s what I figured. I need you to calm down too, okay?” He stopped roaming. “I’m sorry I ruined your day.”

Rich moved in front of you and blocked the sun, it silhouetted around him and it looked like a halo formed above his head. “You’re sorry? What?” He looked down at you and you could see the sincerity and hesitation in his eyes, “ No, no. Look at you. I’m sorry.”

His voiced soothed you in such a way you felt like your worries had been washed away. His voiced bounced from gravelly to high pitched and back in just a few syllables. “Okay, I think I’m ready.” You laid across the trunk. It was hot but not enough to burn you. “Grab hold of my wrist with both your hands, keep my arm level with my body.”

There was a long pause before you felt his firm but gentle grip. Biting your lip, you kept your groan to a minimum. “I need you to move my arm from 90 degrees towards my head while making a handshake motion. Can you do that? Not too fast, not too slow.”

“Yea’.” He gave your wrist a squeeze. “You ready?”

“Yep.” The pain was excruciating, but you felt your joint slide back into place. It hurt, a lot but it was nothing like it was. He moved your arm back so that you could cradle it once again.

“How did you know how to do that? Are you a paramedic or something?”

Unable to even entertain that question, you interrupted him, rubbing your arm, “Hey, I’m gonna’ need a sling or something.”

“Sugar, you need a lot of everything right now. Hold tight.” After a few moments of him scrambling in the backseat, you heard a loud tear. He had ripped one of his undershirts and was approaching with a gallon of water. “Let’s get some of this blood cleaned off before we put this on.” Dowsing his shirt in water, he began to clean your hands. Gently pulling your fingers, wiping away the blood. “Tell me, how did your wrists get to looking’ like this?”

Taking a moment to look at him, his hair shined in the sunlight. It reminded you of a wheat field swaying in the breeze. A few freckled donning his face and thin lips. Though he had a small stature, he made you feel small for some inexplicable reason.

“Freakin’ zip ties. I was hogtied in your trunk with zip ties.” You watched as his eyes widened and waited for you to continue, “I- uh, used the friction from my shoelaces to saw through them.”

Disbelief covered his face, “I thought you said you were hogtied?”

Slightly embarrassed, you felt your cheeks redden, “I was, but I was able to shimmy my arms under my butt to get them in front, but you hit a pothole and that's how I dislocated my shoulder.”

He looked at you, his eyebrows quirked together, “You’re certainly a badass aren't you?”

Your head began to hurt once again. “I guess so… I don’t remember much right now.”

His eyes sharply met yours, “What do you mean, like amnesia?”

Startled by his seriousness, you pulled back, You knew your memory wasn’t right, but the thought of not remembering startled you. Meeting his gaze, you saw the color drain from his face. It perplexed you more. Did he know something?

“It must be the carbon monoxide.” Running your fingers over the lump you had found on your chin, you raised your hand to feel your skull. Your fingers stopped when they discovered another bump and caked on blood in your hair. “I must have a concussion too.”

“Well, we’ll get you to a hospital.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“What do you think they are going to do? I have no ID, no possessions. I’m on my own. They are just gonna call the police.”

“That’s kinda the point Toots. They can help.”

“Yeah, sure, but then what? I’m still on my own no matter what.. From what I can gather, I’ve only been out about 6 hours, not enough time for a missing persons report.  If someone was trying to get rid of me, I don’t want an APB out I’ll have more luck with contacting the car rental place.”

Rich’s hand was on his hip, he snarked back, “Oh yeah? What are you gonna’ say, ‘Helloooo, I woke up bound in one of your trunks, do you recognize me?’”

“Look, you packed light. You plan on going back to Reno shortly, let me tag along and we can talk to the rental place. IF they don’t have any information, I’ll go to the police. Deal?”

His arm flung out with his pointer finger extended, “A. That’s creepy you have been able to deduct all of that in the last ten minutes. B. Do you know how frustrating you are?”

“No.”

“Right, right… amnesia.” He sighed and opened the passenger door for you and awkwardly helped you put your seat belt on.

-- -- -- 

If you want to be tagged, just let me know! Currently, it’s at about 17,000 words.  I will most likely continue to post chapters here as I finish the last couple of chapters. You can find my A03 here.

[homophobic-n-misogynist-news]

Gay men like me need to start acknowledging our misogyny problem

I used to think it was my obligation to make disparaging remarks about female friends’ appearances and outfits. Especially if they weren’t glam enough. Elsewhere, RuPaul’s Drag Raceand its parody of bitchy, competitive womanhood does nothing for me

Independent ⎮ Jamie Tabberer

RuPaul in drag in 2014 Rex

In January, I wrote an op-ed for LGBT site Gay Star News called “Why gay girls have it harder than gay guys”.

I thought the piece innocuous, self-explanatory; that most people’s reaction would be “No sh*t, Sherlock”. Spoiler alert: I was wrong.

“No one bats an eyelid if two women walk down the street holding hands,” wrote one critic.

“Lesbian sex has never been illegal and punishable for one thing, as gay sex still is in some countries,” extrapolated another. “Is he serious?”

Lesbianism is still in fact illegal in Qatar, Oman and Tanzania, among others. Meanwhile, corrective rape occurs everywhere from South Africa to Jamaica to the UK. But I understand his point.

Today marks 50 years since the Sexual Offences Act 1967, or the partial decriminalisation of homosexuality, to be more accurate.

Among the celebrations I, for one, am surprised to learn the change in law didn’t technically affect women. It was actually same sex sexual activity between men that was previously illegal.

But does this mean gay women had a head-start on their male counterparts in the path to acceptance? Hardly.

I boiled my aforementioned argument down into five points. How few public spaces there are for lesbians compared to gay men. How underrepresented gay women are in popular culture (in TV, for example, lesbian characters are often killed off). How gay women are objectified by straight men in a way gay men aren’t by straight women. And how, thus, most lesbian porn is made for the male gaze.

Then there’s the misogyny of gay men ourselves.

“But gay men love women,” I thought to myself, citing the fact that 80 per cent of my most cherished friends are women. “And after all, my misogyny is subconscious.” I later caught myself calling a female cyclist a “bitch” under my breath. (I now try to stick to gender neutral insults, like “tosser”.)

It was actress Rose McGowan who first alerted me to gay male privilege, with her explosive quotes on a podcast with Brett Easton Ellis in 2014.

“[They’re] as misogynistic as straight men, if not more so,” she said. “You wanna talk about the fact that I have heard nobody in the gay community, no gay males, standing up for women on any level? There is Sharia law active in Saudi Arabia, there’s a women about to be stoned – I have not heard [AIDS activist] Cleve Jones discuss her, and nor will he.

“I think it’s what happened to you as a group when you are starting to get most of what you fought for. What do you do now? What I would hope they would do is extend a hand to women.”

Rather, if you scratch the surface, there are many subtle shades of sexism unique to gay men.

When Stephen Fry described his friend and Best Costume BAFTA-winner Jenny Beavan as a “bag lady” at last year’s ceremony, I shuddered with recognition. I used to think it was my obligation to make disparaging remarks about the appearances of female friends. Especially if they weren’t glam enough.

Because from Marlene to Madonna to Ariana, we love ourselves a diva – until they’re no longer perfect.

I’ll never forget the disdain with which a gay guy I know critiqued Artpop-era Lady Gaga. “I’d rather have a nice figure to look at,” he spat. This is someone who used to dress as her. Who, to my knowledge, is sexually attracted solely to men. His dismissal was purely aesthetic.

Elsewhere, RuPaul’s Drag Race and its parody of bitchy, competitive womanhood does nothing for me. I’m of course considered a freak by many for this, so I tolerate its existence. But I draw the line at the use of “fishy” to describe suspiciously convincing queens. Surely this, like so much drag humour, is from a bygone era?

Finally, look at the ubiquity of “masc4masc” descriptors on dating or hook-up apps, whereby users cartoonishly butch up their image to get laid. Scruff’s “most-woofed” feature is pure comedy. To my eyes, everyone looks the same. Femininity, whatever that is exactly, is a dirty word, meaning lesser. It’s exiled.

Advocate contributor Ben Kawaller sent the whole thing up last month, writing about feigning masculinity with a simple hat trick. “It turns out, throw a baseball cap on this thirsty theatre queen and voila: she’s masc!” he exclaimed.

His piece made me laugh, but it also made me sad. My 16-year-old self certainly wouldn’t get far on those apps, with my love of studded chokers, glitter and bangles up to my elbows. In the years that followed, I wonder to what extent I’ve stunted my own sense of femininity – however unsuccessfully – in an attempt to fit in.

True, the trailblazing queer youth embrace the trans movement and gender fluidity (the latter currently in vogue, but categorically not just a trend). I’m now a gay man in my thirties, but I still often wonder where I sit within gender’s infinite framework.

But I sense my peers going the other way. Gay men of a certain age and disposition are becoming increasingly repulsed and scared of femininity – unless it’s safe, a joke, a release valve in the form of a reality show.

Filling out the government’s LGBT survey this week, I surprised myself by answering the question “How comfortable do you feel being an LGBT person in the UK?” middlingly. Half a century on from Sexual Offences Act, many of the battles are won, but we have so much further to go. And until gay men start recognising our misogyny problem, true equality will elude us forever.

Follow on Twitter @jamietabberer

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