#gender reassignment au

[critique-masochist]

The public is sleeping on Michael's potential utility as a Gender Reassignment Clinic. It has the power to warp reality as soon as you enter its corridors, I mean, the pieces are all right there!

The question is not whether or not it's possible, it's how it would dress for the job. Am currently struggling between real-clinic and makeover-boutique-core. Please offer thoughts and prayers.

[driedlillies]

The magnus archives when everything’s the same but the action happens 10 years into the future (starts 2026) and the institute is under scrutiny because some gossip magazines accused them of having misogynistic management because the Head of the Institute was always a man so Jonah Magnus originally born in the 1700s decides to deal with that by his next body being a woman so now he has to deal with periods and gender dysphoria

[ohno-the-sun]

When you say your Sun and Moons are AFAB, does that mean they were mistaken for female at birth or that they’re bio-female? And if they are bio-female, have they had any gender affirming surgeries or plan to? (Or do anything else like take testosterone or wear binders, etc? Sorry if this is a weird question)

I would say best way to describe their human forms is intersex

As a child Sun was assigned female

Assigned gender at birth doesn’t really apply to Moon lol but I’d say he was identified as a boy when he first made contact with humans

I do kinda wanna leave it up to the reader whether both or one of them have done any gender reaffirming procedures, though for the way I’ve been drawing them, I’d say their human forms underwent a male puberty (hmmm maybe I should do a top surgery scar version)

I may get more into the nitty gritty in how all that made Sun feel in the fic, but I guess we’ll see

Poor Sun growing up as human and all the societal expectations that go along with that

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hi,

could you write a Hannibal headcannon, where he meets his soulmate at an FBI crime scene.You have to touch your soulmate in order to see colour?

(oh I love the idea of Hannibal with a soulmate au, his reactions would be so interesting! hope you enjoy!)

(Hannibal x gender neutral reader - Hannibal is his own warning)

Hannibal discovers his soulmate in... interesting circumstances. Not the perfect meeting by any means, but the universe has its ways.

He'd never made an effort to seek his soulmate out, more than content to live in black and white forever if necessary, but once he meets you he wonders how he could ever have existed without you.

Hannibal had seen you before, he thought, in passing in one of the many corridors full of bustling FBI agents.

You had caught his eye once or twice before, for reasons he couldn't quite place. Obviously you were attractive, but that wasn't usually enough to sway his attention.

Either way, he nodded in recognition when Jack brought you along to the scene. Jack mentioned that you had only just been reassigned to the Chesapeake Ripper case and, while you had obviously done your background research, being present at a scene would be a very different experience.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Lecter. I've heard a lot about you."

You extended your hand in greeting. Hannibal shook your hand and was about to reply, but had to pause for a moment as he looked into your eyes.

Your eyes, that were suddenly full of colour.

From the way your expression shifted, you were experiencing the same thing.

He was pulled out of his momentary shock when you retracted your hand, schooling your face into neutrality once again.

"The pleasure is all mine. I hope I can be of assistance."

Jack soon ushered you both over to the thick of the crime scene, not willing to spend more time than necessary on introductions.

You were clearly trying to push thoughts of meeting your soulmate aside, focusing on doing your job for the moment until you had a spare minute to process.

Hannibal, however, was not able to do the same. He didn't particularly need to focus though, only appear as if he was. The details of this murder were not exactly foreign to him.

Soulmates were not a unknown concept. He was fully aware that they existed, but doubted that he himself would ever have one. Or, even if he did have one, he doubted he would ever be fortunate enough to meet them.

It was also not the most ideal scenario. He had no plans to cease his 'work', but presumably spending time with an FBI agent would make it much more difficult.

He supposed he would just have to figure it out.

His role today was simple, and something he had perfected by this point. Give a slightly vague profile that would keep the FBI on the trail, leading so close but not quite all the way to him, and then act disappointed when there were no traceable leads to be found.

While Jack still seemed satisfied with his profile, Hannibal felt more than distracted by the musical sound of your voice in the background. You were talking to one of the photographers - Hannibal didn't even register what about - and when you briefly glanced back at him and smiled, the rest of the world seemed to vanish for a moment.

There was, as with the other Ripper cases, nothing much to be found in terms of evidence at the crime scene. Not that Hannibal would expect anything different, of course.

Though it did mean he would have to part ways with you rather sooner than he'd hoped.

While the deceased was prepared to be taken for autopsy and the agents finished clearing the rest of the scene, Hannibal watched as you approached him. Perhaps a little cautiously, but not lacking in the confidence you'd held the whole day.

"Could I borrow you for a moment, Doctor Lecter?"

"Of course."

You moved away in hopes of having a little more privacy, and apologised for your reserved introduction. You explained that you didn't want to be seen as easily distracted on your first scene in this case. You wanted to prove to Jack that it was worth having you reassigned and, now that you'd done that, you were very interested in meeting the man, not the doctor, that was your soulmate.

Hannibal understood. He was also not keen on making a fuss about his soulmate, at least not in public.

(Although, he was already considering how best to dedicate his next 'work' to you.)

You intrigued him. Clearly for good reason, if the universe had deemed you to be his perfect match, and he found himself craving the next moment with you, despite the fact that you were still stood before him.

Stood before him with that hopeful, doe-eyed expression.

Hannibal couldn't wait to truly make you his. To possess you, in every way he could.

Though that might be too strong a start.

"Perhaps I could steal your attention later tonight instead? I would love to have you over for dinner."

"That sounds wonderful!"

He took one of your hands and gently pressed his lips to the back of it, delighting in the heat that rose to your face.

"I'll look forward to it, my dear."

[territorial-tarot-tahr]

C.o.D smut that won the poll: Freak show

Word count: 10.5k

CW: Some descriptions of gore/violence but in more vague notions. Some psychological distress. There's a small bit of knotting in here but not in much detail. There's sexual content in this.

Summary: That one monster AU that everyone kinda knows and reader is a strigoi because I said so. Another one of y'all getting freaky in the shower except this time it's with a Scottish werewolf.

AFAB reader but no gendered names or terms

If you found my A03 from this, no you didn’t. Shut up.

There are no spoilers for any C.o.D games

🚨Go to my main account “rorschach-retrograding-rotary” for commissions or requests🚨

🚨This was not proof read and I hate reading my work so I have no intention of proof reading it🚨

Feel free to commission me or donate

𝕙𝕥𝕥𝕡𝕤://𝕜𝕠-𝕗𝕚.𝕔𝕠𝕞/𝕤𝕒𝕪_𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤𝕖

It was quiet. The squeak of the ceiling fan above as well as the dull tune of his breathing provided the only audible ambience that you could hear at the moment. The light of the barracks was practically non-existent during the dead of night, though your senses had been dialed up to an obscene amount since your revival and as such, the room might as well have had the ceiling lights blasting on. Though you knew that the minute someone's turned on that light, you'd find yourself startled and writhing in disgust as the bulb's internal workings practically sparked and popped.

You hadn't been with Task Force 141 for long. You'd really only officially joined them a couple hours prior. Though you'd been in the military for a handful of years prior. In all honesty you'd been one of the antagonists of 141. Childish taunts that you should've outgrown and that you thought you might've, though when you'd initially run into the Task Force, you'd found you hadn't. Looking down your nose at the idea of having "a circus instead of soldiers". You'd left snide comments on a few notes in places you knew they'd be found. Made sure to talk loud enough for any passing member of the squad to hear exactly what kind of breed of freak you thought they were.

And those were the same people you had found yourself standing before as you were reassigned to the squad. All their gazes wandering over you as though scrutinizing every inch of your dull flesh. Each twitch of their eyes might've been a glare cast your way, and each whisper they spoke to one another could've been a remark about you. Retribution for all your time spent mocking them.

You didn't suspect they actually did indulge in spending their free time mocking you in secret, that'd be giving yourself too much credit. Instead, you guessed in reality they couldn't have cared less about "revenge". You figured they believed you being on the same squad was good enough karmic justice. Though you were sure you could find someone glaring at you if you tried hard enough.

It'd felt condescending enough to have Price put his hand on your shoulder when he'd shown you to your new sleeping quarters. A loose gesture with his other hand before he pointed at which bunk he suspected was empty as he suggested you get settled. His skin had been rough, as though his entire had was calloused from years of work. Though you know a quick glance would reveal the small repeating pattern that the tough scales on his flesh as the culprit.

He was warm. Earnestly and physically. Though for the latter, you suspected you'd have the same sentiment about anyone now considering your body no longer made its own heat. Couldn't even be bothered to pump its own blood. You were supposed to be making 2 million new blood cells every second according to a factoid you'd learned in a health class years back, though now you'd be relying on a steady supply from the base. And they had made it clear that this would serve as their collar for you.

"Behave or we starve you. And if you try to quell that gnawing hunger in your belly with a wild animal or another soldier, we will put you down like the monster you are." Or something like that.

In that moment when the medics had first shoved the small bag into your hands, a lot of repulsion twisting their faces into sneers, you'd found a dull shock wash over you. These were the same people you might've found yourself indulging in mockery with. Though they now regarded you with the same attempt at subtle disgust that you'd shared before.

It might've seemed a bigger deal to you later, but at the time you'd been in what you'd consider shock. Having clawed your way out of a coffin and six feet of dirt after sustaining a bullet wound to the head, stumbling your way back to your barracks out of habit and sitting on your bed with dried blood and mud coating your skin, you didn't think anything would've gotten much of a reaction from you at that point.

With no family to send your body to, they'd buried you in the base's cemetery. Just your luck that someone's stray had decided to come meandering along the base that same night. Just your luck that the cat had decided to slink its way into the cemetery and just your luck that the cat had decided to waltz over your grave, dooming you to return as a strigoi.

You'd tossed your duffle bag onto the cot, much to the protest of the springs which squealed like an iron pig in protest. Price had lingered a moment longer, asking again if you needed anything, and again you had shook your head. He'd nodded and walked out, and your eyes had traveled over the expanse of where his second wing should've been, drawing up images in you mind about what gruesome scar must've laid beneath his garments. A twisted show of scar tissue and scales that would never heal. You'd brushed your palm through your hair again as you imagined what kind of eyesore-

And then you found yourself feeling sick. Mouth pulled into a tight line as your hand brushed against your own mark, the bullet wound that would never heal. Your mouth tasted like dirt and you were sure you could smell the cedar of your coffin again. Your nails were bleeding, worn down to nothing and tearing through your skin as you dug frantically at the lid of your coffin. You'd sat there, still as a statue for practically a half hour till another member of the force had walked in and bumped into one of the beds by accident, getting your attention.

Your gaze had quickly snapped to him. The Scotts-man of your group, and who you and many others had degradingly called "the mutt" whenever you were tossing insults around. Despite only seeing him in passing for mere glimpses at a time, you'd always describing him as "a slobbering dog of a human". "A twitching and snarling hound that should've been put down already." He'd been one of the first members of the squad that you heard people talk badly about, with most of the stories about him either painting him like a stupid Chihuahua or a rabid beast that was a threat to anyone on any given day. And despite those polar opposites, you'd begun spreading those stories as well despite never even meeting the guy. You grimaced now as those memories ran like a checklist in your mind.

You locked eyes with the man and in all honesty, he didn't seem like the flea-ridden mutt you'd described and heard him be described as. His posture was a slight slouch and you were almost certain you could smell mud on him, but besides that, you couldn't find anything inherently mutt-like about him.

Well, maybe the shaggy quality his hair had to it. Clumped together in patches but also eager to fall aside string by string in others. Maybe the way he seemed to sporadically tense as he stared at you as though expecting some kind of attack because of the eye contact. Maybe the way he seemed to keep taking small huffs of the air as if trying to catch your scent and catalogue it. You would've expected you smelled like a rotting corpse. A shambling zombie or necrotic flesh and decomposing muscle, but he almost seemed to not care or be unsurprised by your scent as he didn't react.

Maybe you smelled like nothing at all and that was where the small twitch of his brow as he tensed his jaw came from. "Here's someone I can't prepare for if they're coming into a room. I can't wave my hand to hush my friends if we're all shit talking them and they're about to waltz in. I won't be able to pick up their footsteps since for some reason they're quiet as a mouse, and now I can't get a scent to get forewarning on their arrival at any given time. Great, just great."

Or at least that was what you assumed his inner dialogue was. You couldn't be sure. For all you knew, he could've been thinking about the time he bit a kid and was pondering about if he was more pitbull or terrier like because of it.

He was staring back at you too, not particularly wide-eyed but with a face that seemed nonplussed but not disinterested about your appearance in thee barracks. You wouldn't say he was easy on the eyes but it certainly hasn't been a chore to hold his eye contact. He shot you a quick wave, a short moment of his time before rummaging around in his small bedside drawer, fishing something out and then leaving without another word. You weren't even worth a proper hello or goodbye to your new squad. Though you supposed that was fair, you hadn't exactly been subtle with your shit-talking and you didn't imagine anyone on that squad had been jazzed to get the news that a person who spent most of their time spewing mild hate speech would be happy to know they'd be expected to watch that person's back and work with them more. Especially not the member that you had claimed had fleas. While he hadn't been a particularly comforting presence, it had made the taste of dirt leave your mouth, and had given time for you to collect your thoughts.

As you lay in your bed at the moment, you again tasted the dirt in your mouth and felt the ache of your fingers, whittled down to raw muscle and only from a job halfway done. You grunted to yourself before rolling over in your cot, sending the now familiar screech of the springs into a performance which soon found an encore when you rolled back over anyways.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

You acclaimed your new found insomnia to your status as a Strigoi. A seemingly bottomless well of energy and a brain that refused to quiet down. The aforementioned darkness of the room still seemed as though illuminated by an overhead fixture. Though still in shades of blues despite the clarity. The acute awareness that your ears provided also seemed to be a large factor in preventing you from catching a wink of sleep or even relaxing. The shrill chirp of crickets now seemed like the climax of a performance from a string band. The hushed breaths of your companions, dampened by pillows and cloth now sounded as a cacophony of crashing waves that assaulted your senses. The small squeaks of springs from your squadmates rolling over or re-situtating now screeched like a bird.

Rather than focusing on the auditory input you were being overwhelmed with, and since visual wasn't much fun, you began trying to focus on the scents that you were practically swimming in thanks to the strange nature of your barrack's companions.

Sulfur, the rancid smell of rotting eggs that made you scrunch your nose. The soft tone of his breathing made his inhales barely audible, but his exhales still filled your ears as if he'd revved a motorcycle. If not for that, you might've thought him dead, and you supposed there was some truth to that. He wasn't exactly alive either. And it seemed selfish to try and compare yourself to him or say you were in the same boat. But you'd never had a conversation with him or even really knew what he was like, so that was all the kinship you could claim to your new "task force friend". He was a lingering echo of what he must've once been. And while he was away on a mission at the moment, you found it as a true testament to his sheer oddity that the scent was just as pungent as if he had been there.

Feathers. A mildly earthy scent that was almost overwhelmed by the prior one, but still held it's ground and filled your senses. His breathing was far more audible, though he wasn't snoring. Less shrill than a whistle but louder than a pan flute. You'd seen him preening the feathers of his wings before you'd been on the Task Force. Varying sizes and of different speckled patterns that drew your mind the Ship of Theseus. How many times had he plucked broken or bent feathers from his back and watched them pile into a small mountain of tawny keratin at his feet? Did it hurt? Simply being alive meant having to hurt yourself in order to keep yourself in working condition?

Smoke. A deep rumble accompanied it and despite the fact that you knew he was farther away, the smell of charcoal still practically burned your nostrils. The warmth from his hands still seemed to burn on your cold skin and you wished you might feel that kind of scorching heat grace your frozen body again. A walking furnace of man with a body covered in scars. You'd heard people refer to scars as paintings of someone's past before, and it left you to wonder how he could still find it in his heart to give his sympathies and patience to what used to be a smart-mouthed brat, turned crying and skittish monster who he got stuck with. All those years of suffering, and you still felt that the greatest comfort you could ever experience might be a simple hug as you let his warmth warm your weary bones.

A lingering smell of wet fur was the now overwhelming scent that washed over you, all encompassing now that you'd properly noticed it. Wet dog. Moist canine. Damp wolf.

What?

Ew.

Nothing dissimilar to Simon, you supposed. Though Simon had a natural smell that tended to linger. This just seemed overwhelming even considering the encounters with the musk you'd had before.

A childhood friend with a dog, much too eager to show off it's fresh smelling coat after a bath.

With that, you grew sickened and simply held your nose shut, opening your mouth a few moments later before finding that the burn of carbon dioxide in your lungs hadn't appeared. What? Were you breathing just because you wanted to instead of necessity now? Filling your shriveling lungs with oxygen that they didn't need? Another mark of your loss of humanity to sit as some inhuman marking upon your very soul and being?

You shook those thoughts from your mind and attempted to focus on the coarse fabric of your blanket. Though what seemed to stick out to you more, was the sensation of how cold you were despite it. A shiver in your bones and a chill on your flesh no matter how tightly you wrapped the cloth around yourself and a realization that didn't seem eager to go away now that you'd noticed it.

A frostbitten ache in your limbs that refused cure or amputation. A clawing and fighting chill that ate and slashed at your flesh till you felt it's influence in your entire body. Frozen flesh that refused to thaw. You wondered if Price had registered the chill in your flesh when her touched you, feeling as though he was patting a cadaver on the shoulder instead of his new ward. How would this freshly walking corpse get along with his array of other oddities?

You grunted and realized the futility of trying to ignore the ache now that it was at the forefront of your mind. It wasn't as though you could drag yourself to your Captain's quarters, knock on the door and give a sheepish "can I sleep with you tonight?" Before being welcomed in with open arms and a warm body. Not happening. Dishonorable discharge wasn't completely off the table even if you insisted that you hadn't decided to do the "horizontal tango" with your Captain who would presumably be blacklisted.

So what could you do instead?

A warm place or thing that wouldn't disturb others? Locker room or shower. In the shower you at least had the excess steam as well to seep into your weary bones and eat away at some of the fatigue as well. It didn't sound like a half-bad idea, and you didn't suspect you'd find much reprimand for it if you managed to keep quiet enough to avoid disrupting the other's rest.

You sat up and swung your legs over the side of the cot without a second thought. At the very least, even if the plans didn't work, you'd have something to do to occupy yourself till the sun decided to rear it's shiny mug over the cusp of the horizon.

It was much harder for external weather to actually make you feel something now, and you found that fact highlighted as you walked into the embrace of the night, hearing the crunch of frost covered leaves and blades of grass beneath your feet but not feeling the slightest chill on your skin. You had the chill of a corpse, and the chill of the weather couldn't find enough strength to overcome or change your already frigid body. You hadn't noticed it during the days as most of your time was spent walking around in a shell-shocked stupor as they pointed you here and there, signing this and that, but you suspected you had most likely been feeling this aching chill for the entire day and just simply hasn't noticed or hadn't had time to notice. And now that you had spent your couple of minutes with only your thoughts, you found that you were already too cold to freeze further. Great

If the same principle applied during the summer, you didn't think trips to the beach would be worth having anymore.

What would be the point of sitting outside on a warm day and having a picnic or something, either? What about being bundled up on the couch after a chilly walk to the store left you with a chilled face that your partner would warm up with chaste kisses and an hour wrapped up in a blanket together?

Don't be so dramatic and stole moping, you don't even know that yet. The burning warmth that had enveloped the flesh on your shoulder practically crackled as you remembered your Captain's hand.

Alright, so you were "cold-blooded" in terms of your lifestyle then. So not all hope was lost.

Your shoes, sloppily tossed in with lases undone, crunches again against the frosted grass as you stalked forward. You reached forward to grasp the handle and push in the door as you slinked into the building. You were surprised that it was left unlocked, but you certainly weren't disappointed.

You continued on your search, trekking through the base to make your way to the showers and find whoever seemed to be in such distress. The base was practically a maze of concrete walls and smooth hallway floors, and if your time before, you had often found yourself as the victim of a bad sense of direction. Wandering and trudging down the halls with no clear sense of direction or understanding where it was that you were.

Now though, despite the increase in your senses, you still found yourself too confused by the overwhelming twists and turns that if asked to retrace your steps, it'd still take you longer than the average person to get to it. But less time than your prior year. You might actually get to the showers before the sun rose. Good job.

A disgruntled growl left your throat before you registered the sound and you found your brows scrunching together as you continued your walk. Ew. Don't do that again.

With one final turn you were met with the off-white tiles of the locker room floor, and your reflection after you took a few more steps in. The long line of mirrors above the sink to your left sat tantalizing as you gave yourself a quick once over. Your hair wasn't matted with blood-moistened dirt and speckled with wood chips, both from your feverish clawing. Your face was gaunt, discoloured in some areas from bruises that would never clear as well as whatever ugly wounds you'd managed to open on your liberation for the grave. Your wounds were sewed up with medical thread but you were well aware the flesh would never scab and heal.

You watched your face contort as you gritted your teeth and glared at the visage staring back at you in the pristine mirror. Your exhale hit the mirror and you watched the surface neglect to fog. Your corpse breath instead disappearing without a trace as you inhaled and pushed your hair from your face before spinning a 180° and making your way to the flimsy curtains of the showers. Your shirt slipped off first, tossed to the side in a crumpled pile before being followed by your pajama pants and other miscellaneous garments before you pulled the flimsy, opaque plastic of the curtain back as you stepped in. Your nails traced the notch on the turning cog that indicated "heat" before abruptly yanking it on.

For a moment or two you felt nothing more than the brisk chill you had felt before and you wondered if you'd been wrong and your second of heat with Price had been a fluke or some lady spasm of some muscles before they properly bit the dust. A loud cry of "Fuck!" Left your mouth as your buried your hands in your hair and gripped it roughly, your eyes glued to the floor and the trickle of water down your leg.

Though the water then seemed to warm up and you stood in awkward embarrassment, though you couldn't be sure why. It wasn't as though anyone had seen what you could only describe as an outburst. Though you moved your hands to your sides after a shallow cough as you felt the warmth begin to gradually work it's way through your flesh with the promise of further warmth to come as the nozzle began spitting a consistent stream onto your face.

Enveloping. All encompassing. A blanket of warmth that was wrapped tightly around you as you stood. Your spine straightened as you stood to your full height and placed your palms to the tiles and sighed in relief as the ache finally began to cease its assault on your flesh. You wished that you might spy dirt or muck leaving your visage, but instead you saw no grime leaving your form. There was nothing to be washed away and fixed. You felt keen to vomit but your stomach hadn't been filled with anything and as such you couldn't even find it in your body to cough up bile. With a groan, you moved your hands to run through your hair again, attempting to work out nonexistent knots and blocks of dirt, digging feverishly at your warming flesh as you attempted to rid yourself of the muck that seemed to hang on your skin.

You needed to be clean. You wanted desperately to be clean. You needed it. And yet your fingers came away with no grime, no flaws or blemished skin pieces to be fixed by medics or hopeful medics. Your nails dragged harder now. Moving from your hair and scalp to your neck as you felt your throat flutter with your gradually fluttering breaths. Your collar bone was next as your fingers worked harder, dragging your nails though your dead flesh neglected to form bright red streaks across your skin.

Stupid fucking cat. You could've been resting in a grave. You could've had whatever rest you were owed as you rotted and let the maggots and bugs eat away at your coffin till they had free reign of your corpse to consume.

But no. Instead you'd been dragged from whatever peace you'd found. Ripped from the ground in a frantic spit of earth and blood, brought to be puppeteered till your duty was done.

But your job would not be finished soon. The design of whatever cruel fate that demanded you work till your body collapsed as bullets nestled into your skin, stitching threads working through your ruined flesh in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together, wishing and fighting to continue your walks in rotting legs. A member of a traveling circus that for some reason refused to put down their suffering animals.

Your eyes watered, your hands shaking as you gradually slowed your assault on your body as you watched the small strips of flesh begin to fall away in the swirling water of the drain. These wouldn't heal. And if your "tantrum" didn't stop, you would find yourself dragged into some kind of straight jacket or given some stupid mittens in order to ensure you didn't damage yourself. Their "merchandise", their weapon. Their property now in all honesty. And they wouldn't allow you to become damaged goods. If you weren't their weapon, you wouldn't find any other place to call home because of your newly unnatural nature.

This was your reality and you needed to get used to living in it. With a trembling inhale, you seemed to regain your composure even if only externally. The water continued licking its warm tongue across your body like a feverish cat as you allowed it to continue it's work. Relaxation. If you couldn't get it any other way, you didn't care.

With your mind now slowing less from the speedy sprint they'd managed to work themselves into, you began to acknowledge the push of your senses as your awareness began to seep back into the environment. The huff of the ac and ventilation farther in the locker room, the sound of water dripping down the drain and churning in the pipes below.

Using your hand to shield your face from the water, you turned to the side and placed your back against the condensation slicked tiles as you sat down on the floor. When had it been cleaned later? Who knows, but you didn't think you could find it in your heart to care. While you weren't sure if it was actual sleep or not, a rush of fatigue seemed to finally settle over you, encouraging you to lay your head on your crossed arms and sit till someone comes along. The shower was snug. It was warm and the sounds you could hear all seemed to fit together in a way that allowed you to slip the back of your mind as unimportant in the moment.

Sitting with your arms on your bent knees and your face bruised in their warming flesh, you couldn't be sure how long you'd stayed there. But every peaceful second was practically a god-sent as you allowed yourself to fall away from the real world and all it's incessant nagging for attention. You were almost certain you'd get used to it eventually, learn to tune out all the extra noise. But for now this was what you wanted. This floating away into an empty mind, not asleep, but not well aware of your surroundings. The sound of impact from the water on the ground wormed it's way into your mind and blanketed the other chitters and chirps as you began to focus on solely it.

~

You weren't sure how long your peace lasted, but when you opened your wet eyelids and blinked away the droplets that hung frantically off your lashes in an attempt to save themselves from the drain, you realized you weren't alone anymore.

The sound of someone walking filled your ears as it grew gradually in volume. Someone approaching. They weren't going at a particularly leisurely pace either. They were walking like they had somewhere to be, alright. You wagered that they were simply going to pass the locker and shower room, maybe move to the next hallway and settle some late night grievance with a higher up. Whatever it was, you expected to slip back into your dull state after the few seconds of interruption, but instead you heard the door to the locker room swing open, slamming into the wall. The crack and splinter of tile alongside the door screamed in your ears and you scrambled to your feet, practically slipping on the well-soaked floor.

You'd snapped the handle for the water as the dying echoes of the door faded, quickly jamming it into the position that choked the water from its pipes and made the coiled snake of metal fall quiet as you waited with baited breath to see what the newly arrived individual might want.

Had some hearing been made to put you down? That's why the brute-force creature had appeared here? Had you missed your chance to plead for your own life and defend your right to take up "3 hots and a cot" on the base? You weren't the first one misfortunate enough to end up with your undead fate, infact, base had even given you a briefing on the ways you could find yourself falling and not getting back up. An uncomfortable creeping silence and pricking along the back of your neck as you heard the thudding heartbeats of the guards who had been positioned to ensure you couldn't escape the room easily. As though you were already a threat. A silver stake through the heart was the main one that had gone to your mind. Direct sunlight could be worked around with the use of different full body garb. Decapitation and burning carried over though as deaths. But considering those were things you were used to trying to avoid, you hadn't seen it as a big change.

So what? They'd sent someone into the shower's with a silver stake to drive through your heart? There wouldn't be much to clean up considering your lack of blood, but the shower still did seem like the natural decision for a murder. Here you were, exposed and vulnerable with no real source of traction considering the puddle at your feet.

You had little intention of going down without a fight if they were, and the sound of the footsteps picking up again as solid thuds with determination didn't inspire confidence, but it did invite challenge. A snark bubbled at the back of your throat, but before you could vocalize it, you grew embarrassed of the sound and quickly quieted yourself preemptively.

You watched the blurry figure of the person through the opaque shower curtain as they paused in their movements before stilling completely and you watched with baited breath for what they would do. They had yet to actually move against you. Their interest didn't seem to be with you.

Were you being paranoid?

Gross.

Maybe?

You turn into a freak and all of a sudden you think the world revolves around you.

What?

Nothing.

With a cautious step forward, you gripped the edge of the curtain and sheepishly tugged it back a few inches to see who had entered the room. The curtain rings glided quietly against the bar and you gnawed on your lip in anticipation as you tried to keep your knees from locking.

A shaggy stripe of brown hair on what was otherwise a buzz cut, baggy sweatpants and a sweat-soaked tank top. Tanned skin coated with discolored scars rippling and heaving as he you watched him lean forward and press his forehead to the presumably cold mirror. His back which was to you, was heaving and you heard the forceful gale of each exhale that slapped against the reflective surface of the mirror.

Oh. What's the Scotts-man doing?

You furrowed your brows and thought back to the glimpses of moonlight you'd seen through the clouds. It hadn't been full from what you could remember and despite your little interaction with him, you didn't wager he was about to inadvertently show off his "Jacob Black" impression.

Don't say that again.

Sorry.

Benefit of the doubt: Maybe he just had to piss and he'd somehow managed to catch you at your most paranoid so now here you were villainizing him when his only crime was like, drinking too much water.

Dumbass.

Maybe if he hadn't-

The overwhelming smell returned. Wet fur and warm breath, a mixture of fresh-out-of-the-shower smell and sweat tied together with a bow of dog's breath. His heartbeat slammed and echoed in your ears like a set of taiko drummers who'd decided you needed a private performance. There was a sickly scent you didn't recognize interlaced with the other pungent smells. Like he'd lathered himself in perfume or cologne of some kind and now he stood red-faced in the mirror as he choked on his own smell.

The sweat on the back had soaked through his shirt and you watched the wet fabric cling to him like a second skin as he swiped his hand over his face to try and clear some of his sweat which he promptly wiped across his sweatpants. Though as the fabric shifted, you watched his face contort in anguish as if about to start crying to add more salt to the already slicked canvas of his visage. His muscles tensed again, pulling tight the cover of his skin and you wondered if he was about to spasm and vomit.

Your fingers found the curtain again and you prepared to pull it shut, though the shriek of the rings now seemed eager to speak up as it became stupidly obvious that you were in the room with him too. Your gaze had been locked onto the rings, as if glaring at them might somehow make them revoke their sound and let you continue going unnoticed. Though when you turned your gaze back to him, you found that your chances of that weren't looking all too friendly at the moment.

Honestly he looked near the point of being blackout drunk, but the alertness in his dull-y bloodshot eyes gave too much evidence to something else. His chest was heaving, and each breath was enough to spark your mind's cruel humor and summon up images of the three pigs and the Big Bad Wolf giving his assault on their homes.

You let go of the curtain and were ready to give a shallow wave out of curtsey, but were cut off by his commanding, if not a bit fatigued voice.

"Sorry, didn't realize anyone else was n 'ere." He forced a friendly smirk to his lips, but his weary eyes broke the illusion of a chipper attitude despite his best tries. You stood still as a statue, your mouth pulled into a fine line as you watched him await a response, fingers tensed against the rim of the basin, and the veins across his body pressed to a visible position as if he was flexing. Your tongue felt dry, but after another beat you seemed to remembered you hadn't spoken yet so you forced the same cautious smirk and responded.

"Are you," Vomiting? In need of assistance? About to drop dead? "alright?"

The sound of your own voice felt pathetic and you became acutely aware that really all that was helping you retain your modesty at the moment was a shower curtain. But your clothes were clothes to him that you, so your options were to either burden the clearly already ailed teammate with a favor, wait for him to leave, or waltz over to the bench and act like you weren't practically airdrying yourself on the walk over.

He wiped his mouth again in a style that brought to mind and alcoholic wiping his lips from habit. His fingertips came away wet with sweat again and you watched him swipe it now against his side, as he kept his hips angled to keep the majority of his front out of your view.

"Yeah, right as rain. 'ealthy as a 'orse." His smile was forced, a lopsided grin now as he overcompensated in spite of whatever was ailing him.

Pretend that you believed his fairly pathetic performance or push harder and try to help with whatever it was?

"What abou't yerself? Most peopl' ain't jumpin' to try and go shower right at the arse crack of dawn."

Deflecting probably. Get his mind off of whatever was bothering him in the first place by listening to your troubles instead? You wouldn't bet your life on it but it seemed like something you'd probably have done a couple times in your life. Some small part of you screamed to be embarrassed about your reasoning and cited it's stupidity.

Shut up and lie. Say something cool. Turn it back to him.

"I was cold."

Lame.

"Cold?" He repeated. His eyebrow was raised and you watched the sweat drip down the curve of his scrunched temple as he fidgeted where he stood. You seemed to forget you were expected to respond now, too enveloped in his skittish behavior now as you watched his hands begin to rub lines around the ring of his wrist. You blinked like a dumbfounded kitten before noticing his half-way expectant expression seemed to get you out of your stupor as you nodded.

"Yeah. I just- I don't think I make my own body heat anymore. So I was just-" You trailed off as you watched him twitch again, a half-hearted gesture as though twisting the handle of the shower properly ended your response.

"What about you? You said you're 'healthy as a horse', so why're you up and sweating like a sinner in church?" You sounded snarky, more so than you'd meant to. And in all honesty you supposed it was as if you'd forgotten who you were for a moment. You were no longer the person who spread gossip, rumors or nasty remarks about the 141. You didn't have any right to claim the squad as being freaks while ignoring the oversized canines in your mouth. And yet here you were, starting up an accusatory attempt at embarrassing him, choking information he wasn't keen on giving, even though you were standing stark naked behind a shower curtain and starting to tremble like a leaf.

Despite the obviously flushed nature of his face, you could've sworn he blanched at your question, as though he already expected you'd have somehow forgotten. You watched his lip pull back in an uneasy sneer, allowing you to see his own set of gnarled and oversized teeth. His pink gums were overcrowded with the pale white curves of his "maw" and it sunk in for a moment, how genuinely screwed you would've been if he had bitten you when you were alive. He could've taken a chunk from your shoulder, nearly half your neck, whatever he wanted.

You'd mocked him before in rumor for doglike qualities without even having seen these, and you were sure he could hear some of the comments considering you said then in front of him the majority of the time. One flash of his teeth and you'd have snapped your mouth shut, and you were sure he knew it. And yet he'd only ever met your remarks with apathy or a sarcastic smirk. As much as you wanted to believe that it had been out of politeness and control of his temper (and you wouldn't pretend some amount hadn't been) you were now aware some of the restrictions placed on 141. You were too be detained or reprimanded if you showed violent tendencies or behavior, and you'd already been issues a warning when you'd accidentally spaced out, your gaze happening to linger on a nurse and her neck. You could only imagine what kind of reprimand he'd had been given for snarling or simply acting aggressive. And you knew in your heart-of-hearts that if he had, you'd have been the first one scampering off to your higher up to demand he be taken off his squad and put down like a mutt.

You'd grimaced at the thought at the prior actions you wished you could distance yourself from, yet this was still in fairly recent memory. This was still who you were wasn't it?

You seemed to be fished out from your wandering mind as he began to speak, and while he had ceased touching his own wrists and flesh, either out of wishful appearances of having everything under control, or a rush of embarrassment at the habit, it was still clear that he wished he hadn't. He started the statement with an almost sarcastic laugh.

"Figure yer about the only one on the squad who doesn' know, so better yuh hear 't straight from the horses mouth 'nstead of from one of those gossipin' lassies yuh always hang around. Don't need that pretty face of yours sneerin' at me anymore than it has already, 'specially if it's over somethin' untrue or blown out 'f proportion."

Used to hang around with. Don't think they'd much like to even be in the same room as me now. But you couldn't find any courage to even speak the rebuttal. You didn't have to right to separate yourself from that life yet. It'd be done for you in time if you really did clean up your act.

Now it was his time to be overtly embarrassed, though it was clear he was trying to be cordial. Considering you were the one naked in the shower, you weren't sure how embarrassing this would have to be.

"Canines as a whole got their matin' seasons, yeah? I ain't a full blown dog or nothin' but every now 'nd then-" He trailed off and made a gesture with his hand that you couldn't decipher the nature of.

"'nitially, they jus' tossed some meds my way 'nd called 't a day. But the meds toned everythin' down. Made me sluggish. Delayed reactions 'nd all that. So rather than riskin' my capacity as a soldier 'n case I ever needed to be deployed while drugged, I started-" His face was practically beet red now, you were about to say he didn't need to explain further if it was too embarrassing but he opened his mouth first.

"-gettin' that extra energy 'ut with someone else. That worked better. Ain't an air tight system but it seemed a good alternative. As 'pposed to a full week of bein' drugged up and loopey, it's jus' losing me and my.....helper for 24 hours, and then check up after the time's up. 'm usually fine after that. Maybe a bit headstrong or- I don't know, I guess protective 's a good word for 't? 'm a bit protective 'f my helper but it's nothin' too bad."

He rubbed his eyes, and though you suspected he didn't have anything wrong with his ocular region, he still continued rubbing while he spoke.

"I got one designated 'elper cause with 'im it's a guarantee that there ain't any threat of actually concevin' somethin'. He's out doin' something for this week. Normally it ain't an issue 'cause they're pretty good on 'nsurin' he's never out when it's 'round my time. But they needed him, so I got the short end of the stick. Yuh happened to catch me killin' time before meds happened to scamper over to shove some pills in my face."

The silence that filled the room left an uncomfortable prickle along your spine as you stared at him. The smell of wet dog was still pungent in the room, and though it was nearly overwhelming, you could detect the slightest hint of sulfur mixed in with it.

Sulfur?

Oh.

Now that you looked him over, under a scrutinizing stare, his pants did seem a big bigger around the hips than what fit him, the drawstring tied tightly to ensure they stayed up. You'd have bet your dignity and what life you had, that those weren't his.

Alright. It made sense you guessed. A literal dead dude wasn't exactly prime breeding material so it stood to reason that the base wouldn't be waiting with baited breath and terror about it.

You nodded in cautious acknowledgment, unsure of what else to do. You didn't really have any secrets or burdens to share with him in return. And although you did care about his opinion of you, you cared more about staying warm. So with a cautious gesture behind you, you motioned as if turning the spigot, and you watched him cycle through confusion, disappointment and acceptance in a split second before waving a thumbs up at you and turning around as though about to wash his hands.

As you snapped the water back on and felt the flood of warm water splash over you again, you attempted to drown out the scent of him. What else were you supposed to do? It wasn't like you could make Ghost magically pop over here. And for a few minutes, you stood in the water stream trying to ignore the information he'd just tossed your way. He really was a dog, huh? Just some mutt in heat that needed another stray dog to whimper and bark as-

Stop. That's not who you are anymore. Cut it out. He didn't chose that life anymore than you chose to be shivering and trembling under a stream of water because you're too pathetic to make your own body heat.

You heard the hiss of the shower curtain beside you snap open and the howl of water as he bathed himself in the embrace of the stream. You slumped down again, your back against the tile as you stared at the adjacent wall with dull eyes as you attempted to fall back into the half-sleep you'd found yourself in earlier.

And for a while, that's what you got. Though instead of continued peace, you were met with the smell of sweat. The sound of coughing breaths and grunts that led you to understand almost immediately what your shower companion was up to.

Leave. Give him privacy.

And yet after you pushed yourself to your feet, standing in the puddle of splashing water, you realized you didn't really want to. So instead you stood for a few minutes, listening to the sound of his choked breathing as he attempted to keep himself quiet and drown out his sounds with the chorus of the water.

"Do you want me to help?"

What? Why the hell did you say that? What's wrong with you? Okay so take the statement back. Cover it up with a cough.

"What?"

Say nothing, say you sneezed, say something else. Back out.

"I mean, I know I'm not a wraith, but I am dead. So- I mean I don't think the base would have any reason to worry about- y'know conceiving something."

....I hate you.

"I ain't looking to force you, and I didn't tell yuh all that stuff to get yuh to pity me enough to offer-"

"You're not. You didn't. I'm- look I'm genuinely offering. If you don't want to, that's alright. I'm just putting it out there."

You swallowed hard as you waited for his response. Silence hung like a heavy cloud, the splash of water on the tiles provided the only audible stimulation, and you were sure he'd stopped breathing considering you couldn't hear the slightest peep on his end. Great job. You screwed up and now your squad mate thought you were a weirdo who was so desperate to get fucked that they were exploiting their suffering teammate. Might as well try to resign, though you doubted they'd even let-

"Alright." He sounded less reluctant, and instead more cautious. He began breathing again, shallow pin pricks of air as you heard him grunt and resituate, then the sound of skin on tile as he presumably leaned against the wall, giving you room to squeeze into the shower stall with him. You tugged your curtain to the side, the familiar hiss sounding out as you walked the few steps to his, watching his fidgeting silhouette through the opaque curtain before you eventually stepping into his.

It wasn't that he was particularly tall, but now as he turned his head to the side to avoid meeting what he assumed would be an accusatory gaze, his craned neck made him appear as though he might've easily dwarfed you in size. That and his squared shoulders and well-kept physique. He'd seemed embarrassed in your conversation but now his lack of eye contact seemed more as his attempt at giving you time to rethink your decision without the pressure of his eyes boring into your skull.

The water that he had spraying out was noticably colder than the water of your choice. But then again, you could feels the heat practically radiating off him, and you suspected he was similar to Price in that regard. Though from a different root cause.

You felt yourself resisting the urge to begin squirming in discomfort, though you were insistent on not making a fool of yourself. Your gaze traveled over him as though sizing up a foe, though you stopped changing your focus after your eyes landed on his groin. You'd been watching his chest rise and fall with each uncertain breath, that had drawn your attention to the thin trail of hair down his chest all the way to the thatch of hair below his navel, where your gaze had landed on his cock.

You didn't consider yourself promiscuous by nature, but you weren't a virgin, it wasn't as though this was your first time seeing a dick, but you would say this was the first time you'd felt intimidated. You wouldn't have been caught raving about the size, but you did feel your mouth go dry. There were a few veins visible even from where you stood now, and the flushed red tip did not go unnoticed either. But the swollen knot at the base drew your attention as you furrowed your brows. Even if you did help with some, you weren't sure that would ever fit. It was already practically coated in pre-cum and you could only imagine how long he'd spent fussing in his cot with his face buried in Simon's slacks as he attempted to pretend that the garment signaled Simon's actual presence.

You saw him cast a quick glance over your face as though attempting to gauge your reaction without seeming too obvious or without seeming like he was demanding one.

Here goes nothing?

Your movements were sluggish, now giving him plenty of time to back out of your deal if he so chose, but seeing as he remained almost statuesque in movement level and pose, you assumed he was alright with your opening. Without thinking too deeply, you brought your palm forward to lay against the underside of his cock as it stood erect.

"Yer colder than I was expectin'." He finished his statement with a chuckle as though he somehow hadn't understood the extent of what you meant when you'd been claiming to need the water to warm you up.

You gave a hum of acknowledgement before closing your fingers around the length of his shaft, your thumb pressed against his leaking cock-head as you watched him twitch. Unwilling to seem any more discomforted than he already had, and yet he was fighting a losing battle as you watched his Adam's apple bob before rubbing his eyes as he had before.

You watched him reach to his side and turn the nozzle to turn the water warmer, for his own enjoyment as much as yours as he watched your muscles relax in the welcoming embrace of the heated spray. He swallowed again as your fingers squeezed gently, sliding them down to the base where you proceeded to hear him give a hiss of an inhale as he gritted his teeth at the agitation of the sensitive spot. With a few moments pause, you trace your thumb along his cock-head again before standing up straight and kissing the side of his neck. Leaving a small bite mark on the tendon-pulled skin.

What you hadn't been expecting was his hands to suddenly find your shoulders and push you against the tiled wall behind you, dipping out of your bite before roughly pressing his lips to yours. You would bruise, you were sure of it. And just like the other few ones, you wouldn't heal. Some others you figured would be reminders of fights or blunt trauma but a bruise from being manhandled during sex? A permanent mark?

Fuck, it was too late to do anything about it now. You met his force with the same intensity, slamming yourself against him and yanking your hand along his cock in one swift jerk that made him whine into your mouth. His hands wandered, grabbing roughly at anything and everything he could sink his nails into, though he at least had the sense to not puncture your skin.

He pressed you tight against the wall and it surprised you that you hadn't heard the crack of tile or cement yet from how he kept amping up the force as he repeated the motion of pulling you closer to him before shoving you back against the wall. If he had a tail, you were sure it'd have been wagging and that certainly would've been a funny sight, though you would have to make due with the needy groans that he kept making anytime he removed his lips from yours to bite or lick at your neck.

One of his hands left the meat of your hip and moved to the back of your head, pushing you tight against his burning flesh, his heat leaving you in a similar bliss as Price's had. Though the moment of solace with your face pressed against his neck was lost as he shoved you against the wall again, this time the pressure hitting his own hand as though he'd realized that he shouldn't have been handling you so roughly. Though your theory was debunked as he used his other hand to flip you around so your back was to him and your chest was against the tile now.

The height difference ensured you felt his warm cock against the base of your back. Your breath left your mouth in short spurts as you felt him bite at your neck from behind now, before looking over the damage he'd already caused in terms of the scattered flecks of discolored skin. Though if he cared, he had a funny way of showing it seeing as how he promptly grabbed at your ass and hips and squeezed the flesh till you were sure he'd have drawn blood if you had any to shed.

You felt him still for a moment longer and waited switch baited breath for his next move, only to be flipped around again, though this time without the luxury of his hand blocking the shock. You felt him hoist you up with a grunt but little effort as though you weighed nothing, and you had little time to ask what he was doing before he slammed you down onto his cock with no warning.

It leaves you screaming wordlessly as you feel tears threaten the corners of your eyes as he grunts into your chest. You might've tried to pull yourself off if you'd found the strength to, but seeing as his grip was holding you in place, it seems fruitless anyways. Instead, you snapped your mouth shut and dug your nails into his shoulders as you leaned your head back against the tile and felt him begin pulling out and then ramming back into you as though he fancied himself to be a violent piston.

You grit your teeth and do your best to ignore the pain that tears through your body and leaves you gasping for breaths you don't need to take. You hook your legs over his hips and he greets that movement with tossing you up a few extra inches to leave himself barely in you before letting you drop back fully down on his cock as he moves his face to resume biting and licking at your chest and neck with vigor as he continued working you like an oversized fleshlight. The distinct shape of the knot occasionally bumping against you when he snapped his hips up to meet your jostling bobbing that you'd begun doing to avoid being completely man-handled.

You suspected Simon probably had an easier time with this shit considering you weren't even sure if he could bruise or feel pain. But you were his cheap replacement for the night, a chew toy for him to make due on. And fair, you'd offered yourself, and while a part of you wanted to recede your offer now, you found you couldn't will your lips to move nor your mouth to articulate anything besides a stifled moan, and you weren't sure you wanted more. Only around 24 hours right? You could bear to miss a day of P.T.

~

By the time you're done, everything hurts and you're left with a hormonal Scotts-man passed out beside you, snoring quietly as he holds you tightly. As the time began to come to an end, he'd seemed more fatigued than anything else, and his finale climax had been done with a whine. The next thing you remembered was waking up in his bunk in the barracks with him holding close against him as though he were a skittish child clinging desperately to a security blanket. The smell of wet fur and dog breath was all enveloping, but you found it didn't bother you as much this time, though you wouldn't soon be singing it's praise as a perfume.

The bunks are quiet and you don't suspect anyone is oblivious to the reason of your absence the day prior. And even if they were, the very obvious bruising in very, choice areas, were enough of a dead giveaway to any glance of scrutiny. But that was tomorrow's problem. At the moment, you focus on the sound of his breathing instead. The feeling of his chest rising and falling against your side and his occasional twitch as he dreams whatever his fucked out brain can think of. His breath is warm on your neck and the small bruises he left along your shoulders during his activities, and you wonder if you ever would've experienced this had you not dropped dead and been reborn.

You don't sing praise for your predicament or your death, but you raise a good question. If not for the bullet to your brain, you would've died only thinking about him as a slobbering mutt. A dog with violence and sex as the only thoughts that it's mind could possibly have the capacity to think of. You hadn't thought that honestly, but it wasn't far off. You'd thought him an unpredictable, liability who was crude in the best of circumstances and who pissed you off simply by being in the same room as you at the worst. What did you think of him now?

....in all honesty you weren't sure. But you now had a gnawing in your heart that left you eager to learn more about him. A sensation that left you trying to memorize the way his fingertips were drawing lazy circle around your hips despite his lack of consciousness. A sensation that left you turning on your side to play your back against his chest and try to mimic his breathing. A sensation that left you wanting to follow him around and simply watch his day to day behavior, asking questions about him and his habits as he went along. Now that he'd already fucked you senseless once, you could get to know him. Ironic.

The warmth radiating off him is what draws your attention more. As though cuddled in the arms of your lover on a cold winter day next to a roaring fire after a frostbitten walk. And though you knew in a few days he'd be back hanging around Simon and spending his tussling with the wraith, you found comfort in this night. And though you couldn't find sleep despite your fatigue, you also found you didn't mind laying awake, held gently in the arms of a teammate. Even if they did have dog breath.

[bad-lobcorp-aus]

Lobcorp au where cogito gives you free gender reassignment surgery. That's all it does.

.

[edai-crplpnk]

Some Team 8 + Sand Sibs chara sheets

I procrastinated writing yesterday by doing little chara sheets for my polycule AU.

Kiba and Shino have been dating since they were teens. Shino and Hinata have been dating since college. Kankurou and Kiba start dating at 22/25 (I am writing this fic). Hinata and Kankurou may or may not have some queerplatonic relationship going on eventually.

I used this picrew for the sheets!

Additional facts!

Kiba:

Inuzuka Kiba isn't his legal name, he is still officially registered under his deadname and his father's family name. He might change it once his father's dead, probably not before that since he doesn't want him to know about it. The rest of the polycule handle most of his mail so he doesn't have to deal with it unless necessary.

He is Japanese through his father and Filipino through Tsume.

Hana is his half-sister (different father).

He transitioned in his late teens and has been on T + post-top surgery for some years now.

He got a hysterectomy for endometriosis.

He doesn't smoke much anymore, mostly vapes, which allows him to control CBD/THC levels and ratio better.

Kankurou:

He doesn't identify as trans, but might identify as non-binary somewhere along the way. He's fine with being seen as a man and conveniently goes by he/him, but is honestly a bit too psychotic and dissociated to really have an opinion about his gender and gendered body.

He is Jewish through his mother, but was raised by Baki (here, Rasa's half-brother) so most of his relationship with Judaism and Jewishness is self-taught reconnection.

He had only one brief relationship before Kiba and had sort of settled for the idea of not trying to look for partners (both romantically and sexually) because it was a lot of work and socialisation and it didn't feel all that too important for him, but hey, shit happens. (Kiba happens, and it's good shit.)

He gets a colectomy and stoma bag for his ulcerative colitis around 25 (again, the KankuKiba fic is about that). He probably won't try to get a reversal surgery in the future because he hates surgeries and hospitals.

Shino:

He mostly uses Makaton and text-to-speech as AAC. The former is easier for short indications and requests in daily life, and the latter for more complex conversations.

He gets on opioid replacement therapy sometime during his teens, although still injects occasionally as an adult.

He was initially assigned male at birth, and then reassigned female during his childhood, which he (very understandably) did not live well. Shibi defended his right to choose his gender presentation and refuse further intersex surgeries after that, and he's been mostly living as a boy/man since then. He half identifies as a cis man, half not because dissociation and plurality and trauma make gender complicated but he's sort of working through it. He'd still consider his relationship with Hinata straight, and his relationship with Kiba gay.

His parents broke up when he was a kid (in part over the decisions made about him) and Shibi raised him for the most part. He sometimes sees his mother as an adult, but they're relationship is not very good.

Hinata:

It's been a bit of a struggle to slowly acclimate Hiashi to her being part of a polyamorous relationship, but he does like Shino a lot, so that helped. (He doesn't have an excellent opinion of Kiba but they also mostly never see each other and they're happy with that.)

She has a fairly ok relationship with her family now, but being able to move out and live in group with way less hierarchy and a whole lot more community support has been very healing and helping with having more resources to maintain her relationship with her family too.

Kankurou does all her phone calls (as that of about everyone in the polycule, to be honest).

And the sibs!

Gaara:

He's had a lot of autism-related struggles as a child/teen, but functions much better as an adult now that he understands his needs better and has accommodated his daily life to them. He works as a landscaper but has a lot of at-home work hours.

Lee is his first relationship (I also have a fic about that) and he does think he's gay? But also never has thought about neither his orientation nor the idea of dating and who he would want to date much before that, so he's not sure. He's going with that for now.

He waxes his eyebrows because he compulsively plucks them otherwise. Dying his hair also helps with trying not to pluck them.

He was mostly raised by Yashamaru, who is Jewish and raised him Jewish, but has a bit of a complicated relationship with that because there was a lot of projection on Yashamaru's end, and difficulty to see him as his own person and not just his late sister's baby. He's not religious although he sort of still observant out of habit. (Ex: he doesn't necessarily care about eating kosher, but it's also the food he's used to make and eat, so he will still go for that most of the time.)

Temari (in pyjamas mode in this picture because I didn't have something less casual that fitted her style in the picrew):

She works as a diplomat and is very much a workaholic. The trauma is strong but the grind is stronger.

Just like Kankurou, she was raised by Baki and her connection to Jewishness and Judaism are mostly self-taught. She is a bit less observant than Kankurou.

She has chronic pain that she probably ignores a bit too much, but who can really stop her. (Kankurou should try and probably does.) Compression stockings enthusiast.

She has a motorcycle that Kankurou is very afraid to ride. (Gaara is okay.)

I'll probably do more in this AU later!

[moodymermaid3690]

"Bridge Kids" - Larissa (Fan-Child)

Let me start by apologizing for my lack of skills in drawing in the "Bridge Kids" style. This is only my second piece in the style, so practice is sorely needed.

To prevent this post from appearing too long for people scrolling through, I'll post the drawing and then explain a bit of her lore under a Keep Reading break.

To be completely transparent, my darling girlfriend, Abbey (@busyasabbey) drew Larissa first and named her. Since then, she (along with another fan-child that I'll draw in the future) has become a co-creation between the two of us. Abbey came up with the names and designs, while I came up with the back-stories.

So, I've had the head-canon of Isaiah being trans-masc since the beginning. I also ship him with Lars, and wanted to expand on how their (and the other characters') lives would be in the future - an AU of sorts.

Lars and Isaiah weren't planning on having children, considering Isaiah's sights were set on having his gender-reassignment surgeries. However, at one of his check-ups in preparation for top surgery, Isaiah is rejected. At first, he's livid and feels discriminated against, but Lars reminds him not to jump to conclusions.

When the doctor returns, they explain that the surgery is only going to have to be postponed because blood-work reveals that Isaiah is pregnant. Knowing how much it means to Isaiah to transition, Lars (reluctantly, yet supportively) assures Isaiah that it would be okay if he decided to terminate the pregnancy.

Isaiah, however, becomes rather defensive because, while children weren't in their plan, their baby was part of each of them. The conversation is sappy, but goes along the lines of: "are you kidding me?! They're part of you! Part of us! But... uh, let's just make sure this is our first and last...? Okay?"

And, that's essentially how Larissa comes to be in mine and Abbey's future-AU.

Her outfit is an almalgamation of hand-me-downs from both parents (hence Lars' shirt being turned into a dress) and her Uncle Marc Anthony.

We also have a second fan-child for Moe and Fugger. Unlike Larissa, however, their child is adopted. Her name is Maggie, but I won't delve into her lore until I finish drawing her.

A few other head-canon ideas we have include:

• Lars and Fugger host a podcast together; Lars' main job being at a convenience store and Fugger's being a librarian. Fugger is also studying to become a history teacher.

• Lars and Isaiah have two pets, a turtle named Kurt (Kurt the Turt as a joke) and a ferret named Cobain. Their names are a clear nod to Kurt Cobain, while the animals themselves are because we think Isaiah looks like a turtle and Lars looks like a ferret.

• Isaiah tutors children in music while studying to become a psychologist.

• Moe and Skid actually get their rap career off-the-ground, but often use Isaiah as a ghostwriter for their lyrics.

There are many more, but I'm running on little sleep, blood loss, and what's either severe allergies or possibly COVID. 🙃

[isame-allen]

Ok I'm back with more angst stuff but this one has fluff

This one is about finch, so we know He is a trans man who comes from a universe based on the early 1900s so things were pretty horrible and he kind of lived in the middle of a war and his family isn't happy about him being trans

So when JR came in to help, dream was in a situation where he could have been extremely hurt but was saved by finch, eventual when the war ended dream wanted to stopped by finch's house wanting to thank him and offer him to work for him only for him to hear finch's family screaming at finch, dream comes inside and sees finch hurt and bruised and so dream wanting to keep things civilized offers to take finch and the family misinterpreted this as dream wanting to marry finch(in the past young girls we're married off to adults older than them), dream was about to deny it but decided to roll with it, dream offers if they give him finch he will give them money they agree and finch leaves with dream, when they got into omegatale and the jr building dream explains that he doesn't want to marry him he just wanted to help him and offers him to work for him, gender reassignment surgery, and a new eye to which finch accepts.

Finch rises through the ranks surprisingly fast and gets paid with tons of money he sends some money to his family, eventually they found out the truth but can't do anything since Finch is a captain at JR and is friends with dream meaning he has more power than them, idk if finch would either cut contact with them but still send them money or cut contact with them and stop sending them money

(I feel like Finch was scared of dream finding out he was trans due to all the discrimination and harassment he suffered and back when he still thought that dream was an actually angel and dream would send him to hell)

Finch better than me

I’d cut off all contacts with my hometown au

[classificationhell]

How would Adam treat a little? What if it was his little one?

Adam, whether he likes it or not, is a Beta Caregiver, so Littles are kind of his personal weakness. He does have a heart underneath that exterior. Yeah, he doesn't see Sinners as even remotely the same as Winners even though they are literally human souls, and he is a staunch misogynist, but he didn't exactly have an example to follow, he just happened to be the first dickhead to have the thought that men should be the head of household. However, that also means he was the provider, the one making sure there was a means to eat and kept the family protected. Clearly he became more lax and chased flights of fancy in heaven where he didn't have to work for anything, but anybody will stagnate or worse deteriorate morally, emotionally, and intellectually if there is no real push for them to be better and heaven is the pinnacle of that. Every need met and catered to and Winners don't need to worry about falling no matter what? You bet your ass prolonged exposure to this setting would fuck even the best person up to the worst parts of their character, and Adam is literally the oldest soul in heaven.

I'm guessing for the first while he'd be alone and would be told about his second wife's betrayal (if he didn't already know, there's this whole thing about Cain being the son of the serpent if you wanna know more Google it but this combined with the fact Lucifer implied he also had sex with Eve leads me to believe it could've somehow happened while they were alive, buuuut there's a whole other tangent there because they state Adam was the first human soul but then does that mean Abel didn't get into heaven or was his soul waiting for Adam do Cain and Abel even exist in the universe?!) [[For the purpose of this AU, they exist, and Abel just waited for his father at the gate because he didn't want to go in without anyone he knew there. However, for whatever reason, they've grown apart and don't see each other anymore.]]

Ehehe, sorry about that massive tangent above. This is the first Adam ask, and there's kinda some groundwork to cover for this to even make sense for a lot of people. Anyhow, back on track after his second wife's betrayal he would be in no hurry to get anybody to try and fill in any sort of spot as someone he genuinely cares about and needs him and all that. Hence, he becomes something of a playboy. Also, being the first human soul in heaven and finding out about the secondary gender and designation system he wouldn't properly understand it, all he knows is that he's a fucking Beta cuck and by the time reassigning treatment for it comes along there's already too many people here for him to just go in discreetly so he's stuck using artificial hormones and things he can get under the table through two or three parties before reaching him so nobody would ever know. Over half of his "I'm the original dick" bullshit is literally just this front he puts up to keep the facade that he's an Alpha. He even uses injections to give himself a fake rut at the same time a normal cycle would happen. His avoidance of connection leads him to staying away from places where he might bump into Littles leaving him to joining a band that plays at the strip and bar joints (it's probably tamer than hell but you're really telling me there's no one in heaven who's a good soul but just horny or likes the occasional drink? Like I get that those who indulge in excess are guilty of the sin(s or a combination) of Gluttony, Lust, and /or Greed but like once their up there you're telling me it's all ice cream shops and petting zoos and singing? Especially in this version? I mean, at what point does fun become hedonistic or overindulgence? Can you have no sex except vanilla behind closed bedroom doors? Boy, if I got redeemed, I'd be clawing my way back down extermination or no if you're telling me BDSM is outlawed. XD I am lowkey tired while writing this, so sorry for the obscene amount of tangents, cursing, and odd tone) just so he can avoid them. When Lute comes, he has someone to project his needs of caring for someone onto even though Lute is an Alpha Neutral. (90 percent of the exorcists are Alphas actually and it simultaneously passes him off, because why the fuck isn't he an Alpha, and gives him a power rush since he commands them easily and they're eating out of the palm of his fucking hand.) Granted he's not the best at it, but he's trying and also Lute is a bit much for even him at times, plus she's the only one who will correct him whenever he's wrong or about to do or say something completely stupid so he kinda hates that even if it is very rare.

Anyway, by present day he's so far pushed back his actual instinctual needs to care for someone that the very first Little, Sinner or Winner, that touches him his Caregiver is going to bond with and he's going to be stuck with them. If they're a Sinner he's sneaking them into heaven and hiding them away and at first he fucking sucks but he can't stand to see them crying especially when regressed so he gets better pretty quickly. If they're a Winner he's better to them but still somewhat resentful they're harshing his whole unattached Alpha male stud vibe he had going on. It'd be a learn to be better type story. If Lucifer found out he might be very concerned because he knows the kind of man Adam has become and he wouldn't trust the man with a goldfish, let alone a Little. (But that's a story for another time)

Anyway hope that all made sense and wasnt offensive or anything somehow I'm literally falling asleep typing.

TLDR: Adam wouldn't go within ten feet of a Little if he could help it, but when he has one of his own more and more of the man he used to be is awakened and he becomes a better Caregiver if not person overall.

[critique-masochist]

what if, theoretically, i walked into michaels gender reassignment clinic and said "I want YOUR gender"

It looks at you.

The wind chimes that signalled your entry are still ringing softly and you are beginning to feel a little bit stupid for making such a bombastic entry. You're just about to chicken out and leave when you suddenly find yourself in a chair being pushed further into the shop by Michael, who has seemingly teleported.

You did not know it could do that.

He pushes you into a dark room with a projector, lets go of your chair and snaps its fingers. The projector whirs to life, showing text and an image.

Is this your Gender:

Below is an image of a liminal space, resembling a grey office, with cubicles on the ceiling. Michael looks at you expectantly. You shake your head no.

It snaps its fingers. Next slide.

An orange hallway that seems to go on forever. It leans into your field of view, trying to gauge your reaction. You nod. It seems irritated.

It snaps its fingers. Next slide.

An endless series of suburban houses. That's just America. You shake your head no. Next slide. A pink room with grandma wallpaper and blood stains. You nod. Next slide. A door that opens into another door that opens into another door that opens into another door-

You nod.

It's upset, squinting at you with its hands on its hips.

“You know, transitioning into that wasn't very fun,” it argues. “I feel like you're just asking things and not thinking about the consequences.”

It frowns when you make grabby hands. “Give.”

“Fine,” it says, sarcastically. “Be like that, it's not like I care.”

You leave the shop with spirals in your hair and the uncanny ability to morph space.

Neat!!

(Im sure it'll forgive you over some tea at the edge of reality)

[raspberry-and-friends]

Name: Rainbow Dash Pie

Gender: Agender (they/them)

Sexuality: Pansexual

Partner(s): Pinkamena Diane Pie

Children: Rainbow Sherbet Pie-Dash (16), Sugar High Pie-Dash and Electric Spice Pie-Dash (13), and Saltwater Taffy Pie-Dash (19)

Headcanons and disclaimers below the cut 👇👇

🩵 Retired Wonderbolt who now specializes in teaching future trainees. Rainbow sees a bit of themselves in every aspiring Wonderbolt, which is precisely why they love their job so much. That, and they’re afraid one of their students may end up “Washing Out” and falling in line with their rival, Lightning Dust.

🩵 Their adopted sibling, Scootaloo, realized he was trans soon after graduating grade school. Rainbow and their wife, Pinkie, ended up raising enough funds through a Wonderbolts-sponsored bake sale for him to transition.* It was during this time that they realized they were agender, and Scoots was, predictably, just as supportive as they were to him. What’s more wholesome than coming to terms with your identity while simultaneously finding time to help your older sibling accept theirs as well?

🩵 Has a soft spot for spa days, visiting with Rarity every once in a while to get their hooves done. It took Rainbow quite some time to get used to it, but eventually they even began letting the spa twins massage their wings after a particularly rough day on the job.

🩵 Surprisingly close friends with the dragons of Spike’s former nesting grounds. After Twilight discovered a spell capable of shielding a pony from the heat, Rainbow began going lava surfing with their new friends every other weekend. Ember’s a pretty cool gal (and Thorax does also get along quite well with Pinkie).

*In Equestria, surgery in the typical sense isn’t necessary for medically transitioning, seeing as there are plenty of complicated spells that can do the job in a fraction of the time it would take a doctor. Problem is, this type of magic is normally so incredibly draining for the caster that they often charge a pricey fee as compensation. In addition, only certain unicorns specially trained in the field of gender-reassignment are able to preform the spell(s) accurately.

***DISCLAIMER: In this AU, The princesses DIDN’T hand off their powers to Twilight, and still remain the primary rulers of Equestria during the course of this story. The illustrations and writing (the latter of which has since been revised to fix previously missed grammatical errors and to more closely align with my current headcanons) were done back in 2020-2021 and posted to my now-inactive DeviantArt account. The signature ‘Hun’ reflects the name I went by at the time, Hunter.***

[unityrain24]

An Accumulation of My Fics

Hello! I enjoy writing fanfiction. I write on ao3 (and wattpad, but I dont particularly like wattpad). The links listed will be to ao3, but they are all on my wattpad as well, so you can find them there if you prefer that. Following is an accumulation of the fics I have written, with a short, overly-simplified description. This should also be a live document, so I'll hopefully update it when I write something new.

(note: it will be seperated into a oneshot section and multichapter section, each with a short description)

My fics are typically (if not always) Loki-centric. I enjoy reading angst, hurt/no comfort, and hurt/comfort fics, so that is what I typically write. Sometimes I'll do some fluff, but no smut. Specific elements I like to incorporate include mental illness/eating disorders, self-harm, suicidalness, and gender dysphoria. Loki in my fics is queer, including genderfluid. Even in fics I write Loki to present as masc, he is still genderfluid. I do not write thorki/any other proshipping. Lastly, I write my fics on the orginal, "sacred timeline" Loki, not the TVA variant from the Loki TV series. Those are two different characters.

Anyways, here are the fics:

Multichapters:

Convalescence- After the events of Endgame, Thor finds Loki's body and maneages to bring his younger sibling back. The two continue their reconciliation, heal from their past traumas, and Thor learns about some rather gruesome elements of Loki's past.

Warm Hearts of Jötenheim- coming soon

My Own Goddess, Not Your Wife- coming soon

Oneshots:

Reassignment- During Loki's assignment to aqquire the Tesseract and take control of Midgard, he gets a message from the Black Order to withdraw for an urgent reassignment. The Avenger were present for this message, however, and there can be no witnesses.

A Bargain for a Son & A Stone- In his quest to acquire all six infinity stones, Thanos uses Loki (who should be dead) as a bargaining chip to get the Aether from Asgard.

Memoir of a Fallen God- A short retelling of the events of Thor 2011 (mainly Loki's suicide attempt at the end) from Loki's point of view, in a memoir style

Woke Up On The Wrong Side of the… Body?- body swap AU in which Clint and Loki switch bodies, yikes

Revelations of The Sun- Loki, Dr. Strange, and Wanda Maximoff are all stuck in a magic-inhibiting desert. However, the hot sun and Loki's Jotünn body don't mix well, and Stephen & Wanda find out some things about him he did not want them knowing

Masks & Cuts- you walk in on Loki cutting, which is not how either of you saw your afternoon going

Palace Mornings- you and (fem)Loki spend a lazy morning together, but she feels she doesn't deserve you

Poems:

The Tragedy of Loki, One of Many- a summary of Loki's life from his abduction on Jötunheim to his suicide attempt on the Bifröst told in the form of a sonnet (though an irregular sonnet; doesn't follow rules exactly)

Banished: (i didn't want it to show up under multichapter because i dont like it)

Genderfluid Loki & The Avengers (Uploading Test)- a fic I made so I could figure out uploading to sites. No plot, really, out of character, etc etc, but that's because that wasn't the point of it. But if you want to read it, though, its on the Avengers learning that Loki is genderfluid while they all live together.

[paragonrobits]

Transformers AU where Transformers cannot change the basic shape of their alt mode, which is determined by a very complex number of factors based on their environment, the terrain they live in, their lineage (which is itself a complex factor because they reproduce in extremely complex ways) and more, but the end result is that they can ADAPT their forms to things around them, but they can’t completely alter what they are except through surgical means, which is considered incredibly extreme and equivalent to gender reassignment surgeries. Some approve of it, some don’t, but it is usually considered a very important identity detail to want a particular form badly enough to go through this process.

A truck-type transformer can’t become a car. They can’t become a plane, or a submarine, or a boat, or a spaceship; they might become a semi-truck, or a flatback truck, because these are close enough to their native Cybertronian forms that they can mimic these things, but they can’t outright bend it out of shape.

And the whole point here is that a beastformer cannot be anything but a beast.

Exactly how they feel about this varies from one to the other. Some are proud of their shapes, particularly in those from the city-state of Simfur which in this context is presumably populated heavily by beastformers. Others, in the modern day of the Autobots, regard being a beastformer as not really any different from being any other alt mode; in their modern culture, all are equal regardless of the utility of their forms.

Those from older generations, though, remember a different kind of Cybertron. They remember the functionalist era, when to assume the shape of a beast was to be a beast.

To be legally designated as an animal. A thing. Below even the ranks of the disposable castes, to be designated as aberrant animals flawed enough to intrude on the domain of true Cybertronians, allowed to live only as attack dogs and killing machines in Functionalist-dominant regions. They were treated as monsters by every corner of society, and it was drilled into their heads.

Some of them really let it sink in, growing bitter and angry and determined to think: well, if the world treats them like animals, and will never allow them to be anything but monsters born to kill with nothing else they’re good for, then they’ll slagging well act like monsters. This may be a valid origin for the Dinobots, and Grimlock in particular; centuries if not even longer of rage building up and up, and when the Autobots rebelled he let it loose, and when the Decepticons rose up to ensnare the galaxy in tyranny he turned it against them, and he’s just been unleashing that fire over and over again for eons, with no end in sight. Maybe he hates himself. Maybe on some level he internalized the idea that he is a monster, a thing with claws and fangs and no wheels or engines; if an alt mode is a purpose, what purpose has a terror-beast but to kill other Cybertronians?

But this ultimately amounts to a digression. What this boils down to, is this:

When you call a beastformer a furry, and thus implying that they chose to transform into beasts (whether that is a native mechanical-like form, or the use of Pretender technology to disguise themselves as the fauna of a world), at BEST you’re probably insulting them on some level. At worst you might get hit while they start snarling ‘you think I CHOSE to be a slaggin’ ANIMAL??’ and at worst, you might just end up ripped into pieces. (And to refer to Onyx Prime, oft worshiped by beastformers as the progenitor of all things monstrous and yet loving them all even as the Functionalists decried them, as a furry is deeply sacrilegious and insulting. The Black Prime did not choose to be all beasts in one, they simply are.)

The most angry among them decided a long time ago that if they’re legally treated as animals, might as well act like it. That doesn’t go away even after the perpetrators are long dead.

[naavispider]

Hi do you have any thoughts what if spider was ftm in your modern au? How does this affect his relationship with Quaritch and what do you think about it in general

ftm Spider 🤔🤔 inTeresTinG... I wrote a post about Spider being mtf already but not ftm.

He would hopefully have gone through gender reassignment service by the time he meets Quaritch, but this would be no surprise to him. Since Quaritch got out of jail (and even before then) he'd looked Spider up and had his team keep a close watch on him. So he would know that his 'daughter' wasn't a girl anymore, and tbh I think he'd just be burning with curiosity. He'd be asking himself what happened for his daughter to become a boy - even wondering if there was anything he could have done to stop it.

He wouldn't be a dick, but he wouldn't really see Spider as a boy either. He'd treat him like a girl tomboy, and try and make light of the situation by joking about how he always wanted a son to teach football/baseball to.

All of Spider's official documents would still be female because that's the last thing CPS could care about.

Spider would realise probably around the age of nine or ten, and start hormones as quickly as possible. Thank God for Norm - not all social workers are as proactive and supportive as Norm, and it's part of what makes their relationship so tight.

This is one of the few occasions when Spider was grateful to be moving around so much - everywhere he went was a new start, and nobody new him as a girl. At some point he gets the chance to bitterly thank Quaritch for giving him at least that.

Also here are some thoughts about if it happened in the canon universe (because I'm an idiot and didn't read the question properly)

Norm would be on those hormones straight away, obviously. When Spider first came out as a male, Norm was sceptical at first but after it became apparent that Spider wasn't going to change his mind, Norm was the first person to support him. I have thoughts on hormones at Hell's Gate here, and do think that Norm would procure them for Spider.

I feel like Spider would really want his breasts gone. I don't know how practical that would be, seeing as there are zero qualified surgeons living at Hell's Gate, but with the advanced technology I'm going to go ahead and say it would be possible. They would even be able to remove the scar tissue in time!

I think he'd realise pretty early on - around the time when he first starts hanging out in the forest for most of his time (so about the age of nine? ten?) and of course all the Na'vi are perfectly fine. It's the humans who Spider has to struggle the most with, and there are lots of hushed conversations behind closed doors about how 'this wouldn't have happened if he'd had a proper family!'

Of course Spider ignores it all and gets on with his life, maybe it's part of what drives him to spent more time with the Na'vi, and make him feel more accepted into their culture than human. After all, the Na'vi couldn't care less that he wanted to change genders, and on top of everything else they've got going for them, that's even more amazing of them in Spider's eyes.

Quaritch would be completely confused. I wrote a oneshot about their first meeting if Spider was mtf (which I cannot find for the life of me) and his reaction would honestly be pretty similar!

x

[yellowocaballero]

HEY!! Your trigun swap au is so very good!! I've always loved roleswap aus as a concept, and yours is the perfect example of why. it's all about the balancing act of twisting the (swapped) character's background/mentalities for maximum domino effect while not actually *destroying* the character ya know? you still gotta recognize them, it's half of the fun. just some little nudges here... and there... with the delightful result of a changed plot/world that you can discover anew

Also I surprisingly vibe with Dr Knives. a lot. what can I say I guess it's the fucked up superiority-inferiority/guilt complex with a dash of imposter syndrome. also the transgenderism. he's just like me fr fr (minus the speciesism and bloodlust) 1/3

SPEAKING OF! I'm literally a week late for that but chapter 4 may be my favorite so far. it's got it all: Ww's bloodlust coming through and being given a GUN, M&M being #JustNormalGunsmokeKidsThings about it, Knives being incredibly tired and enthusiastically murderous in turns, TRANS PEOPLE!! Funky morally dubious trans men ! Intersex nonbinary Knives (in humans terms) !! small internal rants about ecosystems!

I particularly like that one bc I too found myself twitching whenever I see (in fics or fandom at large) Gunsmoke being shown as a ~hostile, barren~ planet when, like.... *waves agitedly at the Tomases* *waves frantically at the WORMS, in all their INCREDIBLY DIVERSIFIED sizes and shapes* tell me there isn't an entire ecosystem supporting and including these bad boys. And god do I wanna know about it. Terraforming this terraforming that. Enough. I want bio-worldbuilding fics that are just as weird and unhinged as the rest of trigun (2/3)

To go back to Nicholas : I loved his discussion with Knives about fate and predestination and stuff (esp since -I may be reading too much into it, but it’s interesting that Knives says he doesn’t believe in predestination anymore, and just a bit later goes about how his personality is Like That bc he’s Biologically Programmed for it), and his last words in it are especially ominous. WHAT were you gonna say about Vash. How does it concern Nicholas. This is gonna bite them in the ass later isn’t it.

Also ur last asks/answers REALLY doesn’t reassure me about woowoo’s fate. Is he gonna die. Is he gonna end up going thru the same things than his canon counterpart (concentrate of medical-and-general unethicality). Idk what those flags are for but boy They Are There.

Aallll that to say I absolutely love that fic and can't wait to see what you do next with it, thank you so much !! (3/3)

This is so nice thank you so much :D :D :D To comment in order:

Roleswaps are no fun if you can't recognize the character. You're absolutely right - the funnest part is to make the smallest changes possible, and see how they cause the biggest differences. That's true of every AU, honestly - you guys know those 600k shonen manga aus where something major is different but every story beat is identical to canon? Or they're identical to every other au? They're addictive but without substance. Also sounds boring to write.

It's so funny that you (and others) vibe with Dr. Knives! From my end, he has my own very wry deadpan and self-esteem problems. Characters who have both a ridiculously inflated ego for comedy purposes and some real self-esteem problems for drama purposes work great.

I was surprised that so many people enjoyed the trans thing so much! I didn't expect it to make people so happy. Of course it's a nice surprise. I don't remember why I made the BDN decision (funny, probably) or the 'Knives invented gender reassignment surgery' thing (funny definitely), but a very active decision and something that made Knives above every other character fun to write is that he is not a human being and does not think of himself as such. The way his body experiences emotion is different, his body itself is different in a way that probably includes genitalia, and there's no reason for him to experience gender the same way. As I'm about to talk about in the upcoming chapter, he casually refers to himself as a thing and with it/its and it doesn't affect his superiority complex whatsoever.

I...would not have said that this is trans by myself, if that makes sense, because I wouldn't have wanted to say "in order to really hammer in how this character is INHUMAN then I'm gonna make him not male or female and prefer neopronouns!". It's just the shape of the character, to me. BUT LIKE IF Y'ALL LIKE IT! NO PROBLEM! I was just worried I might be saying the wrong thing, so I didn't want to say it, if that makes sense. Y'all can say it though.

Trigun worldbuilding is nonsensical and hideously vague and as a writer if you stop and think too hard about silly questions like "where does the wood come from" or "why is Vash eating salmon sandwiches" then you go insane. But...yeah, Gunsmoke's like any other ecosystem, and its worms and thomases seem to be doing great! It's not Gunsmoke's fault it is almost completely uninhabitable to humans. It sucks for us, but...does Knives care about that??? Lmfao???

There is a shitton to say about Knives' relationship with predestination and inevitability, because it's why he made the worst decision of his life. I think of it as...reasonable, in a lot of ways. If all you knew about humanity was what you read in history textbooks, and human history ended with the destruction of Earth and themselves, how would you feel? Everything humans have done, they do again. And if they dissected your sister, in an act of cruelty that they had done to even themselves...of course you'd worry. Of course. If you're young and scared and you can hear the screams of the dead in your ears, of course you feel like it's going to be you or them. And if you're.........Millions Knives.......and reverse!Vash.....then eliminating the threat is just good business sense.

And you aren't reading too much into it - Trigun in so many ways is about choices, and the impact of your choices. Your decisions are you own, and you must take responsibility for them. Decisions have weight in Trigun. I think what ppl miss sometimes about Vash is that he also wants to fuckin' murder people sometimes. He wants to be violent, he wants to hurt. He just chooses not to. Sometimes choosing pacifism is a hard fucking choice, and I think wiping that away does a disservice to the character. So if Knives would say, "Well, it's just who I am, I had no choice, I had no control, I just go nuts and murder it's not on me..." - what does that mean, in Trigun? It's??? Like??? A pussy thing to say???

But, the way I thought about it - what Knives is fighting is his internal sense that he is predestined for cruelty. He knows "who he really is" and any attempt at goodness is futile, because he's secretly bad and will always be bad. And he fucks up sometimes and starts exploding worms. But Knives chooses goodness, and I don't think he's really cottoned on that his choice to do good is more important than his internal desires to do bad and his history of badness. Because he hates himself.

I think what Knives knows now as an adult is that our lives have paved a path for us to tread. Sometimes that path is innocent, and sometimes your life paves a very nasty path. But it's our choice if we walk it or not. Knives knows what his path is, and it gives him extreme shame - but he chose which one he walked, and that's what I judge him on. Still funny how much he loves murder though.