fuuuuck i just realized that the future idealized version of myself cant exist without current me being the catalyst for change and doing hard things. has anybody heard about this
It is really disheartening that the entire Arcane hashtag is FLOODED with gorgeous sexy Jayce x Viktor fanart and intimate discussions…. while all discussion centering around Caitlyn x Vi seem focused around accusations of FASCISM, chemical warfare, police brutality, and oppressor x oppressed readings.
Do you kids know how hard it is to hyper fixate on shit as a goddamn adult?? Sorry boss I know you need those files done but I’m too busy giggling like a goddamn school girl over a fictional man
Every time someone in this fandom romanticizes Abigail's prostitution, an angel looses its wings.
I can’t believe this still needs to be said, but let’s clear something up: Abigail Roberts was not “saved” by the Van der Linde gang out of the goodness of their hearts. She was a 17-year-old working girl. Yes, a prostitute—brought into the gang by Uncle because of her profession, not because they wanted to “help an orphan girl.” Pretending otherwise is not just wrong, it’s an insult to her character and completely misrepresents the darker themes of the game.
“They wouldn’t take advantage of a 17-year-old girl!” Really? These are men who rob, kill, and lie without hesitation. They absolutely would and did take advantage of her. Dutch was not some saintly father figure; he was an opportunist who saw value in people only as long as they served his needs. The gang didn’t “rescue” Abigail, they exploited her vulnerabilities and used her just like they used everyone else.
Even within the game, there’s a camp interaction where Susan Grimshaw tells Abigail she should return to prostitution to bring in more money for the gang. If that doesn’t make it clear how the gang viewed her role, I don’t know what will.
Abigail’s story isn’t some fairy tale about a group of noble outlaws saving an orphan. It’s about survival in a brutal, unforgiving world. She didn’t have a choice in staying with the gang. This idea that the gang was Robin Hood-like and only “stole from the rich to give to the poor” doesn’t erase the fact that they were still criminals who exploited people whenever they could, including Abigail.
The game wants you to sit with the uncomfortable truths of these characters. It shows you the dark realities of their actions and the systemic issues of the time. Romanticizing Abigail’s situation or painting the gang as her saviors completely undermines that. It’s not just naïve...it’s flat-out wrong.
This kind of take isn’t just ignorant; it’s borderline insulting to anyone who’s been in a similar situation. Abigail’s story is powerful because it’s not pretty. She was used, exploited, and forced to live a life she didn’t choose—but she fought tooth and nail to survive and make a better life for Jack. That’s what makes her compelling, not some sugar-coated fantasy about her being “rescued.”
Take off the rose-colored glasses and actually think critically about what the game is showing you. Abigail’s resilience is what makes her an incredible character—not some fake narrative about Dutch and the gang being her saviors. They weren’t.
It’s fine to love the characters, but stop twisting their stories to fit some idealized version of the gang. They’re criminals. Abigail was exploited by them. That’s the truth, and nothing about it is going to be pretty.
it's often just blatant whorephobia. there's this insinuation that those who acknowledge what the text is telling us about abigail and her circumstances are shaming her by telling the truth. in reality, im denoting no shame by simply repeating what is told to us in the text, it's just that they have unchecked biases against sex workers and they have un-interrogated discomfort about sex.
they don't like the idea that this truth means that they have to approach abigail differently. their defences of abigail aim to "purify" her - as if the idea that she could possibly have been sexually involved with anyone other than john makes her harder to defend in their eyes. the idea that, to a degree, abigail would have been a willing participant (even despite the circumstances that she's operating under) immediately make her more complicated than they want her to be.
they'd rather it all be a lie and she only ever slept with john. every insinuation abigail had been involved with anyone but john has to be a lie because if they're true they struggle to come up with adequate defence because, even to them, being a sex worker immediately makes her less deserving of empathy and understanding.
I love looking at Red Dead content on YouTube because it’s just men of the fandom making what they think are amazing, wonderful realizations or giving what they think are hot takes that are really just stuff that the women of the fandom realized on their first playthrough because it’s obvious.
Be original please….like “Is Bill gay?” Yes, next question. “Was there a second rat?” No, next question. “When did Dutch go crazy?” He’s always been crazy, he is a master manipulator with a literal cult following…he didn’t go crazy because he hit his head, he went crazy because he was always like that, he could just rein it in better, next question, “Did Arthur love Abigail?” No, see my entire complex post written out explaining the farthest I think their relationship ever went when John was gone, next question…Like at the very least if you’re going to make these videos over topics that have been done to death add something literally anything of further substance. @pinkysberg made a whole hour long deep dive on Dutch’s mental state on their YouTube and it is one of the most glorious things I’ve ever watched, all of their content is amazing, they do these topics and don’t bring up the same tired talking points, they add something and they have never ever missed in their analysis.
This was meant to be a small post because I was looking for good Red Dead videos to watch while I crocheted, but all I was getting was dudebros making basic observations and Pinky’s videos that I’ve watched a million times over. I mean, I’m going to watch those videos again, obviously, but like the lack of media literacy in this fandom is just….abhorrent.
If you like it, order your steak well done. Get your bagel toasted with jam and butter. Put ice in your scotch and ketchup on your hotdog. Get red wine with fish and white with steak. Who cares?
If you want to, listen to pop music. Watch blockbuster popcorn flicks. Read dime store novels. Enjoy them.
Dye your hair or cut it off. Paint your fingernails blue. Wear whatever the fuck you want on your own time (ie, when not at a job or school or whatever where you can get penalized for breaking rules) as long as you aren’t like welding or shoveling snow.
Anyone who tries to tell you you’re wrong? Say “okay” and go back to what you were doing. You’re not hurting them by enjoying yourself or having things the way you like them.
There are no caveats or addendums to this. No “but what about x?” Nah. You’re allowed the things you like. You don’t have to justify your taste or apologize for it if it’s not hurting anyone.
And likewise, let other people live their lives. We’re all dead in the long run, so tend your own garden before you become fertilizer in it.
IDGAF if the women in my fiction are empowering or aspirational, I'm an adult, I don't need role models, I want the women in my fiction to be interesting, and if that involves being pathetic, hypocritical, amoral, or trapped in a delightfully dysfunctional relationship so be it
Red Dead Redemption 2 was so real for creating the most in-depth, realistic clothing system I've ever seen in any game, and exclusively using it on burly, unhygienic men.
You choose every layer, every accessory, with dozens to hundreds of each to choose from. You can go in and fine-tune minute details like whether or not to roll up the shirt sleeves, or button the collar, or whether to wear your pants under your boots. These clothes get dirty in real time depending on what you do in the game. Mud, dust and blood linger unless washed off. Every garment has a warmth rating based on its material, and the game calculates what temperatures an outfit is suitable for based on the combined total. Dressing too cold or warm for the weather causes health debuffs.
You can choose which way he parts his hair, and whether he gels it. If you eat too much he gets bulkier and gains a double chin, and if you eat too little he can go underweight and get all bony and sallow. Both of these states come with stat changes. His hair and beard grow in real game time, and you need to routinely style and shave his facial hair if you want any style other than a full Santa. You need to bathe him regularly or people will start commenting on his BO, and he'll start visibly appearing filthy long before that. He sunburns in the sun, and in the heat he becomes slick and glossy with sweat.
This shit is IN DEPTH. It blows the customization systems of actual fashion-centric games like tf2, Monster Hunter and Splatoon out of the water in every regard. They honestly look basic in comparison. It's a paradigm shift for sure once you experience RDR2's level of customization. Everything else starts to feel smaller.
The player character all this customization is applied to, and I simply cannot stress this enough, is a 36 year old, 6'3" smoker weighing well over 200 pounds, with facial hair thicker than a sheepdogs, forearms like gnarled tree trunks and a dark, dense forest of body hair covering every reasonable surface. His skin is pocked and marred with scars from a rugged, nomadic lifestyle, and his teeth are the colour of cornbread. He has a thick southern accent, is a known mean drunk and knows how to skin pretty much any North American animal. He has never worn deodorant, flossed or moisturized. He eats canned beans, fruit and the like by simply pouring them into his mouth and gulping, often while walking or riding a horse at full gallop.
I can think of NO better use case for such customization. Not some fresh-faced little twink, not some busty anime babe. Just a gross, hairy, unwashed homeless dude with crippling self esteem issues and a chest broader than a barrel laid lengthwise. A non fashion-centric game, certainly a non-fashion centric character, but for some reason the best clothing and customization system ever concieved, bar none. What the fuck.
sometimes i.think about how thick arthur's hair is. you click the "right part" option at the barber and it just flops in a vaguely different direction. thats why he's got a sprout when it's real short. shit is like straw.
When your genocidal warmongering colonialist imperialistic buff butch milf wolf mom wants you to join your home country’s military industrial complex but you’re too busy being artdeco steampunk fenty beauty mogul diplomat goddess with a buff latino-adjacent boytoy who has a situationship with a sad eastern European 90’s heroine-chic machine messiah Czech hunter twink boyfriend
summary: You had been a whore for years. It was a fact of life. End up in the streets, or sell your body.
For some, it was a hard choice, but not for you. For you, it was transactional, barely even comparable to actual sex. It was an exchange—stagnant movements of body parts against body parts, devoid of feeling.
But this man was… different than the others. He introduced himself as Charles.
It wasn’t long before he was paying for a room on the second floor of the saloon, stressing that he wanted it all night. He wanted you all night. He was more than willing to pay.
a/n: wrote this for bestie who's down BAD for Charles (same)
nsfw under the cut!!!
You had been a whore for years. It was a fact of life. End up in the streets, or sell your body.
For some, it was a hard choice, but not for you. For you, it was transactional, barely even comparable to actual sex. Sex was what you had with people you wanted to. Whatever you did with those drunken fellers at the saloon every night for a price… That wasn’t sex. It was an exchange—stagnant movements of body parts against body parts, devoid of feeling.
But this man was… different than the others. He looked different, not that you minded, but he was large, his dark skin and long black hair catching you off guard in the white, hick saloon in which you worked.
He spoke to you like a person, asking about your life and dreams, yet he barely talked about himself.
He was quiet. He listened, his eyes holding your gaze so intensely that you actually found yourself becoming flustered by his attention.
He introduced himself as Charles.
It wasn’t long before he was paying for a room on the second floor of the saloon, stressing that he wanted it all night. He wanted you all night. He was more than willing to pay.
You had been waiting for some kind of catch. Surely, a man this kind and thoughtful on the surface had to be hiding something, like a strange fetish or a small dick that he was waiting to spring on you once he got you alone.
But, as Charles held your legs open and gently lapped at your swollen pussy, making you come for the third time, you began to realize that there simply wasn’t a catch.
Your mind numb and your eyes heavy, you stared down at him as you fell apart, his dark eyes on you as he ravenously sucked at your clit.
You were fully naked, sprawled over the bed, panting and sweating and blushing like some innocent damsel in a romance novel. Your hands were gripping the pillow above your head for dear life, his mouth relentless, making you shudder and whine the most sinful of sounds.
He was clearly intent on making you come again, lightening up his touch, letting you catch your breath as he gently licked up your juices, yet pressing on.
“Ch-Charles…” You finally managed to gasp, your body tensing up with each touch, too overstimulated to form a thought.
Above all, you couldn’t believe he had paid you for this, for the whole night. A large amount, at that, just to play with your pussy, making you come again and again.
If anything, you should have been paying him. You hadn’t come this good in ages.
“Hm?” He pulled away from you, looking up as he mouthed the inside of your thigh. His chin and upper lip glistened with your slick, making your stomach swirl.
“It’s too much.” You sighed, relieved by his movements ceasing, his stubble rubbing against your thigh.
Charles nodded, his eyes soft, understanding. “Alright.” He chuckled softly, letting go of your legs and moving up your body, his mouth trailing light kisses up your stomach.
When he reached your breasts, he bit one of them lightly, moving to your nipple to tease it between his lips.
You hummed, your hand reaching down to tangle in his thick hair. “I- do you want me to do anythin’… for you?” You asked, feeling how hard he was through his trousers, his dick straining against your ass. You assumed he would at least want the favour returned. It was your job, after all.
But Charles looked up at you. “No.”
You were caught off guard. “No?”
“No,” he repeated, continuing his attack on your breasts, lips eventually trailing up to your neck.
“But you paid me—“
“I paid for you ,” he mumbled against your skin, “not for me.”
You furrowed a brow, his simple wording strangely making sense. He paid you for access to your body. He paid you, to make you feel good, and for some reason that made your skin go hot and your pussy flutter around nothing. If other men thought about it like that, it would make your job a lot easier.
You tangled your hand in his soft hair, gently tugging at it as his lips made their way up your neck, to your jaw, teeth grazing your skin.
You hadn’t kissed him yet. You never kissed anyone on the job.
But his lips were suddenly brushing yours and you were opening your mouth, allowing him to slip his tongue inside.
Moaning into his mouth, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close, his hands gently kneading at the flesh of your hips, waist, and eventually breasts.
Whatever he planned on doing, he was taking his sweet time. You almost had the urge to wiggle out from under him, push him onto his back, and do what you were best at, but you refrained. It felt weirdly good to be taken care of, touched with intention, kissed with passion.
Eventually, though, out of pure habit, you reached down and palmed at the bulge in his pants, eliciting a low groan from the man.
He pulled away, nuzzling your nose with his, his hips gently bucking to meet your touch.
“You want that?” He asked.
You swallowed, nodding.
Charles didn’t waste much time, reaching down and freeing himself from his pants, the buckle of his belt clinking as he moved. You bit your lip, fighting a smile of excitement.
To your surprise, he sat back on his haunches, his large hands positioning themselves in the crooks of your knees as he lifted your legs.
“What’re you-“ You questioned, cutting yourself off as you realized he was propping your ankles over his broad shoulders, moving over you so his length could grind against your— still— oversensitive pussy.
“This okay?” He asked, looking up at you through his hair that had fallen over his face.
You nodded again, dizzy with arousal, knowing that this angle would feel exceptionally different… his large body pinning you down, pressing you helplessly to the mattress. Your knees were practically resting at your shoulders as he leaned over you, your hamstrings stretching. He had you folded in half, and his cockhead was catching on your clit each time he rubbed it over you, making you squirm.
Reaching up, you attempted to grab at his thick waist to pull him closer, or maybe somehow manage to convince him to just slip it in … but he didn’t budge. He was taking his time, slicking himself up, making your pussy throb with the need for him to be inside.
“Please, just…” You whispered, nails digging into his sides. His eyes flicked up to you, and he let out the smallest of smirks.
“Don’t worry.” He said calmly, his arm firmly holding himself up on the mattress beside your head, the muscles in his arm flexing as he continued to torment you. “I’ll give you what you need.”
