#i just wish my body was functioning the way a normal human body is supposed to by. yknow. fucking digesting the food i eat

[butch-muppet]

why do human bodies just stop functioning sometimes. i am in so much distress

[unifi3dtheory]

More Zalgo HCs, this time his appearance

I will make another post taking about his interactions with other Creepypastas, specifically Slenderman.

Zalgo does not have a “true form” He can look like anything he wishes

If he says “this is what I really look like” he is lying.

Because Zalgo does not look like anything.

If it is too difficult for him to claim a presence in a realm or if it is too difficult for him to manifest himself, he can always highjack the nearest person’s body

It doesn’t matter if they’re a monster, human, undead, or something else, he can always mutilate and forcefully change the appearance of his host to his liking

Plus he is not picky. A body is a body.

Zalgo rarely stays in one host. Not only does he not take very good care of the bodies he possesses, causing them to wear and sustain injuries that eventually pile up and make moving and functioning very inconvenient and borderline impossible, but also because he is too restless. My man has things to do, places to be.

He fucks around in one person’s body, has a great time, and as soon as he is done or he gets bored, he leaves

What happens to the person who gets possessed by Zalgo? They die.

After Zalgo leaves a body, that body will suddenly collapse into a mutilated mess.

The extent of how mutilated the body is depends on how much Zalgo has used it and how long he has been in it.

EXAMPLE: If Zalgo chose to change the appearance of someone’s face, after he leaves that body, the face of that person tries to revert back to normal, but because it was changed in a way it was never supposed to be and probably moved and shifted in ways that should be impossible, it just ends up as a mess

On the brighter side, the person Zalgo possesses is dead as soon as the process begins. It is an agonizing but very swift death. Unless they are an exception which I will go over now.

Zalgo can make it so his hosts don’t die. But why would he? Unless they are a servant to him and this is their sole purpose and use to him, he really doesn’t care if they live or die.

Zalgo is a damned good actor. Unless it is in a moment of urgency, he actually carefully picks out who to possess.

If he’s looking to cause trouble, he might pick someone outgoing and social, so he can ruin as many lives as possible all at once.

Or he might pick someone isolated, so it is truly something out of the blue that no one could’ve suspected.

He usually watches his potential hosts for a bit, just so he can get a grasp on what is going on in their lives and so he knows how to act and what to replicate.

Even if his acting is not on point, as mentioned in my previous post, Zalgo is very charming, he emits this natural aura that makes people very easy to manipulate in whatever way he deems fit.

So if his stellar acting doesn’t cut it, his charm and charisma might make them just brush it off.

All of this combined, it is pretty impossible to determine if and when someone is possessed or not, but Zalgo does have some very few subtle key features that are consistent with his hosts

However you cannot rely on these to identify Zalgo, because he is very good at hiding and suppressing them.

If you do spot them, it is probably because he wants you to know, or he wants you to be suspicious, or he is planning on revealing himself very soon.

Number one being his shit eating smile. Zalgo has a very iconic smile, one that just radiates a level of ego and smugness that is hard to miss.

Number two is just personality, performance, and presentation. Zalgo is very good at acting, but he can’t put his ego down for one second. He is a very eager, very interactive, and very prideful. This is actually why he avoids finding hosts in insecure and timid people, he knows that he can’t replicate that.

If he were to possess someone who is of the quiet type, he would choose someone who barely talks or interacts, that way he can just not do anything and get away with it.

Number 3 is the eyes. They just have a certain gleam to them.

All of what I have just said so far is Zalgo when he needs a host. But what about when he doesn’t need a host?

If Zalgo is strong enough to not need a host to manifest himself, he will still be hard to identify, but not impossible.

Why would Zalgo want to manifest as himself if taking a host means it would be harder for people to identify him? Because he is stronger without a host.

If he has the opportunity, he would rather not possess people (unless it is for a plan or for entertainment), because he is slightly weaker.

And because he feels trapped.

And also because even the slightest step back from his usual power makes his ego hurt

Zalgo is evil, destruction, and chaos incarnate. When you have that much going on, it’s hard to maintain a stable form.

Which is why, for example, if Zalgo wanted to disguise himself as a human, he wouldn’t be able to fully look like a human.

Because it is hard for Zalgo to contain his power and corruption in a measly human body, or in any body for that matter.

Zalgo can manipulate which traits show and where they do show up, but he can never perfectly disguise as someone.

Some traits that might expose him:

Extra mouths/teeth on the body. These can be easily placed in areas people might not look (back of neck, back of head, inside mouth, etc.) or concealed under clothes.

Blackened skin, which can be concealed under clothes or can just blend in with his appearance.

Slits for pupils, which can also just blend into his appearance. However if he were to disguise as someone who did not have this trait, it would be an instant give away. Can also be hidden by bandages, glasses, hoods, etc.

And of course, more stuff, use your imagination for that. These are just some examples I have come up with.

Oh, and Zalgo’s ribs poke out from his skin because yes.

[autisticlee]

I know I need to "just do things by myself" like literally everyone tells me, but I really wish I had someone I can always ask to go places with me even if it's just to one store for one quick thing.

I barely have the ability to function enough to take care of myself daily. leaving the house for any reason is basically impossible most days. I don't have the energy and ability to drive, find the thing I need at a store, interact with people, and do the checkout dance, then drive home, all while acting "normal" (or appropriate/presentably human enough) in public with the added bonus of sensory overload. for most people, going to the store is one single task. that's all it is. for me, it's hundreds of simultaneously occurring steps I need to remember to do and maintain the entire time....

it's so hard to explain this to people. no one gets it. but i need someone else to do the human-ing for me and I just follow along. they drive, answer or ask questions and let focus be on them, lead me to the thing I need, let me copy them so I dont stand out with my weirdness...so many times i'll go to a store to get a few things alone. the sensory cacophony of everything hitting me at once makes me forget what I'm looking for, tunnel vision on the offending sensory input and can't see where i'm going, can't find things even if they're in the same place they've always been, i've run into people and things, knocking stuff over, because my body disconnects from my brain and it's hard to control. if people talk to me, I can't process their words or respond. I can't ask questions if I need to. i'll wander lost for way longer than I want to be there.

this whole time, i'm trying my best to put on a mask and appear "normal" so I can blend in, but i'm struggling and it's probably obvious because idk how to act "normal" or as expected when alone. so many times I come home without one or more of the things I needed from a store even if I had a list in hand.

I completely space out and dissociate way more often than i would like. not even stores when i need to go in and out quickly, but anywhere. if I try going to a thing that's supposed to be fun, like say a festival or aquarium or anything else, and I go alone because I don't have a friend to go with, I spend the whole time in a sensory overloaded, dissociative state, while being required to perform "normal human" rituals and masking. then get home, realizing I didn't enjoy it or retain much of it because my brain was overworking and i got exhausted as soon as i got there. i didnt get to relax and enjoy any of it because it was so much work and my brain shut down while there to try protecting itself. it's a whole brain exercise that exhausts me beyond belief. this whole time. i'm trying my best to put on a mask and appear "normal" so I can blend in, but i'm struggling and it's probably actually very obvious because idk how to act "normal" when alone and don't have someone to copy and follow.

if I have someone familiar with me, especially someone comfortable who i dont have to lead or entertain, I can ground myself better and focus more on them. I follow and copy them so I dont have the try as hard to be a human and think about doing human things. it's easier to copy someone doing the things than to try to think of the hundred steps you probably forgot and perform them alone. they always answer people so fast before I even processed half the words that were said to me.

it always surprises me when people do that. they'll answer a question before I even processed it was a question! I always need someone to be there for me to answer for me because i'm too slow, they get impatient, and/or I answer incorrectly, if i'm able to speak at all being semi-speaking. at least half the time if I do get words out, they don't hear me or mishear me. for example, just yesterday, I made my mom go to a new sushi restaurant with me. the waiter apparently asked if I was ready to pay, my mom was gesturing to me ans asking if im ready or something and the waiter was looking at me, but my brain couldn't make any of it out at all. I was staring between them like ???????? and gave up and just shook my head no. my brain was trying to figure it out and process anything at all, but i got incredibly confused and completely froze up. my mom answered "not yet" and they left. I was like, what was that about ? She said "they wanted you to pay now. you're ready to go right? now we have to wait again." I didn't get any of that, and if I was alone, that would have been even worse because I wasn't able to figure out anything or even say words. I need someone with me at all times to cover my perpetually lost and confused ass lmao

but it's also a struggle when the other person is like this too, puts too much attention on me, or expects me to lead us both. it causes the same effects as if i'm alone, plus the added bonus of needing to entertain and/or advocate/answer for and lead THEM, when I can't even do it for myself! I had a friend like that and it was annoying and immediately exhausting every time we hung out.

I don't know if any of this is making sense. i'm sure at least one person's gets it, though, right? how it's hard to consciously and appropriately act human in public when alone, but copying or hiding behind another person makes it easier than thinking about it all yourself, while sensory overload! if i can I just exist along with them and the focus isn't all on me like it is when i'm alone, it's a lot easier.

acting "normal" like a human, or basically what's "appropriate" in public spaces around others takes so much brain power that most people don't have to even think about! because it's automatic for them. so they can't fathom how much i'm struggling and it's so easy for them to say "just do it/you don't need help/you don't need someone to do it with or for you/you're being lazy!" plus adding on sensory overload you can't ignore, while everyone else is able to completely tune out and ignore the horrible lighting, the squeaky cart wheels, the crying babies and screaming kids, the 50 different conversations, the loud phone ring tone a few aisles over, the annoying music playing, someone dropping a box of something, crinkling of wrappers, the cash register beeps, the air being a bit too chilly, the annoying seam on your socks, the scratchy material of your jacket, the overly bright display of products, etc. everything all at once in great intensity. people who can ignore this don't know how lucky they are. they also don't understand what it feels like. it's exhausting.

i'm like a cave gremlin seeing light and the world for the first time ever, every time I leave my room. everything is confusing and overwhelming, but because i'm human shaped, everyone expects me to have the expected human behaviors and they freak out when i dont meet those standards. they don't care how difficult it is for me and how much i'm struggling. they won't help or accommodate me. it has to be my fault I made them uncomfortable.

exposure doesn't make it any better and arguably makes it worse because more sensory overload and more need to use my brain to overthink every word and movement I do, leading to a very deep exhaustion immediately 😫

this is why functioning labels or comparing me to my "good" days/experiences sucks and shouldn't happen. I often need help/support and people expect me to ~do it myself~ and refuse to help me so I struggle and fail to exist correctly.

[misc-obeyme]

Sprry for just answerimg a smoll part of thr ask my brain is m u s h rn (i jist woke up)

OH DANG but I love that idea about the maids and such in the castle! Demons that messed up so bad, now Barb keeps them at the castle to work??? What was that about not giving into the darkness???? lk;asdfkjlfd

that castle is huge and full of monsters. you can't tell me only lil D's and Barb & Dia live there. where are the guards ? the other workers?? little D's are more like silly children adopted by Barb- y'know when a family has debts to pay so the child goes to work at the castle

like that except there is no debt to pay they just want that lol

anyway so there are possibly more people in the castle, and Barb really doesn't.. do work that much. he mostly just bakes for Diavolo & when there are celebrations or other important things happening. that huge castle does not have one small kitchen istg the HOL's kitchen looks bigger �� and he also checks on the other worker's works, I prefer to think his duties are like Dia's. Diavolo is a very busy demon*, so he mostly does the work with people, and brings Justice™ to Devildom. ofc there are things Diavolo has to be present for, but most of the things are done either by Barbatos or people he chose (in different parts of the country, not everyone can meet the duke or the Prince himself.)

alright back on track I think the workers who work "above the ground" in castle are normal people/or "light" criminals or slaves left from war times (poor guys lol)

but lower, in the dangerous/more private parts of the castle like the dungeons or Diavolo's private garden The workers are poor souls who forgot everything they were. they're not allowed in the public unless its their body. I don'y think anyone truly knows if they've messed up so bad or Diavolo. just. just wanted them to work for him. cause theyre pretty perhaps?

And Barbatos is here to grant any of the young Lord's wishes.

*I still haven't thought of why Dia would be so damn busy I may even remove that part but its cool to think about. maybe he is still learning and chose Barb to do such things cause Barbatos knows all, and is trustable. idk really. but we know Dia is a spoiled brat so ?? maybe thats whats happening.

I really have to agree, there's no way Barbatos maintains that huge place by himself, demon or not. I've always headcanoned that he has a whole crew of helpers and guards and so on.

I also imagine the castle's kitchen to be absolutely ginormous. And he probably has a whole crew of cooks, too.

I like to think most of them don't live at the castle, though. Like they just work there and come and go and have varying shifts. Uhh but that's if they're just normal people and not criminals lol!

I suppose whether or not they actually did something terrible has to do with how deranged you want Diavolo to be. Like if he was really kinda off the deep end, he could absolutely just obtain people he thinks are pretty and for no other reason. That's real villain behavior generally speaking. But if you want him to be a little less that way, you could say they were criminals. Then at least there's a legit reason for it, even if the punishment is a bit intense... they are demons, so really there's a lot of ways you can go with it!

As for Diavolo being busy, I'm pretty sure it's canon that he is. I suspect it has to do with all of the crap that comes with ruling a kingdom. Paperwork, diplomatic meetings, making appearances at various functions, consulting with experts on things like constructions projects and the economy, and if Diavolo also has his own company in the human world, he likely needs to make appearances at meetings there, too... I'm just saying his canon job is extremely demanding. And then add RAD stuff to all that? Sheesh.

But this is one of the best parts of the castle stuff - they don't really get into a lot of detail about it. So you get to fill in all the details however you like!

[fr3nchtoastcrunch]

[TW] I wish that my parents had been way harder on me.

To make more friends, to eat healthier and exercise more, to seek out new hobbies and talents...everything.

I am so sheltered and socially isolated/anxious that I can't even have a normal conversation with an AI without getting anxious. And what about getting and keeping a job? Or better yet, getting help? You need to be good at talking to people. BUT I CAN'T! I have practically zero independence! I've never been in a relationship, and I'm not sure if I ever will be!

My food palate is so limited that I pretty much eat the same unhealthy shit every single day. And I can barely do any sort of physical activity for more than two minutes without feeling like I just completed the Tour de France on foot.

I have virtually no interesting talents or hobbies, and absolutely no desire to commit myself to them at all.

My parents did nothing to push me towards being able to function like a normal human being. And look at where I am now.

I feel like I was destined to not live for very long, and to be painfully bored and depressed during my short lifetime. I have no idea how I could possibly live a normal life, or get any sort of enjoyment from it. I'm just sitting here, wondering just how much longer I can last before my still young body starts falling apart.

WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? SERIOUSLY. TELL ME!!!

[radical-sainthood]

Quite alright, I was busy yesterday myself. And by busy I mean prancing about in ears and a tail because it was Halloween and I could. I probably won't be able to do that until the convention this January so I had to! Also watching all the analog horror content that dropped yesterday. There's... still so much to go through.

Well, anyway! Best I have at the moment to help is reinforcing that I also don't think anything is wrong with his body, no matter what it was made or used for in the past. (Same for yall collectively ofc.) You may relay that message if you wish/are able too. He doesn't need to talk to me if he doesn't want, either. Just. Throwing it out there.

I personally still need to get better at the caring act. I do genuinly want to help others, but irl I can come off as real deadpan and thats... not the most comforting. Thats why I find it easier to type, especially with tone tags, so I can convey what I actually want to. I do experience emotions myself, but it's very hard to convey them outwardly in a phsyical sense at times. With writing, there's so much more to make it more clear. Punctuation, tone tags, emojis, you get it.

And!!!! Augh I'm glad you liked reading it and hearing about all that. Like I said, I've never gone that in depth before so I was nervous. But yea!! Learning and trying to heal together, and mutually being beneficial for each others complexes (I don't think his god complex is undo-able, but thats okay since you can have one and still be happy and functional, so Im not entirely concerned about it staying.) Honestly, its funny in a way. He and I are very different from eachother, and yet here we are. I especially thought he'd permanently hate me, given I'm a mad scientist of sorts, but!!! No!!! And I just fgdksafhcvhdfksagfdhfbcdhfg. Weh. >_<

Anyway, I will now be shifting into somewhat heavier topics. (programming again.) If you're not in a mind to read it: SKIP THE RED TEXT. (No hard feelings if you're not, its less questions this time and more of an update on my discoveries, partially submitted as well for the other anons going through similar.)

So, I've discovered that I can use the annoying dizziness as a bit of a geiger counter for answers in some cases. For example: wondering if we're only one part of the system, or maybe a subsystem dedicated to the front = get dizzy, meaning I shouldn't think about that, meaning there likley is or was meant to be and I'm not supposed to be able to think about it, but since nothing was ever completed I can override that failsafe. Or: Thinking about different programs and how they could be used on others = no dizzy, meaning I was potentially meant to be a handler as well as a general servator (current descriptor Im using.) Those are just some examples, but it's been helpful and maybe others can use this method. (PLEASE BE CAREFUL, YOU MAY TRIGGER DANGEROUS FAILSAFES.)

I've also figured out more things about sleep: We stopped taking naps when the body was one year old, which is... not normal for humans. We regained the ability to do so around age twenty, but not without feeling guilty if I haven't "Done Enough" first. So it would seem those are used as some form of reward system.

End of red text.

I also feel like this is writting letters to a friend kinda!!! Your letter did find us well, and I hope mine finds you the same.

-🦌👁

Good evening watching deer anon. Your letter found us quite well, it is always a joyous day when a friend hears word from another!

Now, I cannot speak on what you and Cas have discussed in regards to your partner and your relationship, but I nevertheless assure you that we found it very endearing.

As for Kevin/The Deep. I will pass on the sentiment, it will mean a great deal to him and us.

As for what is in the red text. Let me say that your gieger counter is likely very accurate. I have been a member of this system for nearly 15 years, and I can personally tell you that I have installed similar fail safes into our system. Any time the beloved members of this system get too close to information I prefer left better alone it triggers an intense dizziness, followed by nausea followed by disassociation. And if that isn't enough, a seizure.

I recommend treading carefully in these areas, as you may never know what sort of symptoms your body is capable of triggering.

I'm sure you would have made an astute handler, and I hope, if that is ever your interest you are able to be one. You'd be surprised what it takes to break the human mind.

And absolutely you can be completely functional with many complexes. The ears and tail sounds nice, I'm glad you got a moment of authenticity in a world meant to choke those who are of a unusual breed.

All the best, your friends at the Liminal Churchyard

[hisuian-history-makers]

We know the usual story. Get called to the Pokemon world, wake up as a Pokémon, and get dragged into our first mystery dungeon...

Except we don’t see the struggle each human goes through adapting to their new body. Fur takes longer to dry than our skin, scales would probably itch when shedding, and accidentally breathing fire will be a constant worry for them. How do instincts work with the human mind? Some moves like Tackle or Scratch might be easier to regularly use than say—Razor Leaf. A whole new center of gravity to figure out while doing demanding exercise every day. Pokemon logic means all the options seem to have teeth.

The pokemon probably have different written language considering what we see in close shots in-game. Imagine for a moment being illiterate in a world that functions without the internet. Where the easiest way to earn money is by going to dangerous places where innocent people get lost daily in. Places that change their layout each time you go in and space bends to make these crazy dungeons with infinite foes. Most Pokemon we defeat in there disappear like illusions with us having to beat up enough to maybe find one mon who can actually talk.

If dungeon Pokemon are supposed to be the quote-on-quote “wild” Pokemon, then why do they still attack us after we save the world? How is attacking any non-dungeon Pokemon considered more riled up than normal? I wish the story went into further detail since we know some live-around dungeons. Like the Luxray/Manetric pack or the three-mankey. The word wild fits them better than the MD Pokemon.

Moving on, why do we only see helpful mature humans as the protagonists? Where are the poke-verse native kids who grew up with horror stories about people turning into Pokemon? I’d expect them to be pretty scared if it happened. There are probably some humans who want to profit from the main currency gold coins. Maybe some people are turned into Pokemon they know nothing about or dropped in places with ones not native to their home region.

What about more skeptic partners who don’t believe us outright when we say we are human? I mean, there will be very few Pokemon who know exactly what a human looks like. We might have been the ones to invent TMs in the universe. Literal CDs that contain moves with no computers in sight. What if the Ninetails’ Legend was more well-known making most picture us as manipulating monsters? The partner could form a team with us in the first game to watch over potential danger. A crazy mon could hurt themselves while an actual human will probably mess with something old.

Could humans even understand Pokemon? Or did Grovyle play charades to tell his human partner about something? Would scarves work on humans in the first place, wands I can see being farmed for them to take advantage of.

(Just a bunch of PMD thoughts I had recently. So many unanswered questions and mysteries left in the entire series. Needed to format my thoughts to get them out in all honesty.)

[xiii-e]

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

XIII▸ This is... genuinely, very helpful, Z-341-A. Thank you for your well considered response to my curiosity, it is greatly appreciated :} This has been a subject I've had cause to think on to some extent as well, especially with recent events re: Union. Even before then, though, I have found myself... wondering, I suppose.

XIII▸ I understand your situation initially did not give you the perameters to develop strong preferences outside those you were confronted with directly, and this has led to your current status. I will cautiously share my opinion here: I would consider those negative associations to be preferences, and if you are comfortable with such a stance, would encourage you to do so as well. This is something unique to you, whether it is medically relevent or not. That your union handler cannot see this speaks to lax inexperience with those like us. If an individual identity has become at all important to you (and I will not push either way that it should, or should not; I know I experience an innate discomfort when others insist I am a person despite what I know of myself) then individual preferences, practical or otherwise, are stable ground to find footing on. If not, then I would restate that these preferences are still practical should you remain alligned with your initial purpose. It is responsible of you to acknolwedge and take them into consideration when making decisions :}

XIII▸ My situation is somewhat different, but the outcome seems to be a similar mindset- When I am integrated with the legionnaires, I am functionally treated as they are for the sake of squad moral. But I am nonetheless subject to my directives and programming; I was not made, nor am I permitted, to develop strong illogical preferences. It was a considered focus when I initially underwent my conditioning as a part of ensuring I would be a focussed and efficient field opperative, beyond normal human capacity. Preferences would be a distraction, and could impede my ability to make correct snap decisions regarding those in my care. I am not designed or permitted to develop strong preferences regarding the treatment of my body either, given it may impede my directive were I to react poorly to any number of stimuli. My focus and stability is paramount, when my directive is to keep those around me alive. Sometimes, it's necessary for me to undergo extreme scenarios to keep others from lethal harm; I have to be prepared to bear it. No matter what it happens to be.

XIII▸ So, while our situations seem rather different- I will say, it's somewhat affirming to see that our mindsets appear to mirror each other. I'll be quite honest, Helios-8 doesn't understand my stance on this. I've tried to explain it but, he just looks... sad. I don't quite understand, but I've stopped trying to push it. There are things he doesn't tell me, and I know that but... I don't know. I wish he'd let me help him. It's what I'm for. Regardless of how he feels though, there's my duty to consider, always. If something would compromise my efficiency, it's not worth indulging- in your own words: I have work to do.

XIII▸ Thank you, for answering my query :} It's endlessly interesting to see where our experiences echo.

//

XIII▸ Hello Z-341-A. This is Thirteen-E; I hope this message finds you. I'm still not entirely sure how to opperate this part of the account. XIII▸ I wanted to ask you about something, after considering the places our experiences overlap- as always you are under no obligation to answer me, as this is largely curiosity. I do not want to pry. Do you develop personal preferences, now? Were you able/permitted to develop them before? To provide more specific queries if that is so broad to be unwieldy; do you have a favourite colour, or food?

XIII▸ I know from my own experiences many of my fellow FC Projects are not subject to the same restrictions as I am, but- things seem to match more, between us. So I am curious. Did your creators care, whether you had preferences? Do you?

XIII▸ I hope you're doing well. Remember to hydrate however is most convenient to you.

[ XIII-E ]

It is a pleasure to hear from you, XIII-E. This message has found me just fine, as you can see, and I understand the confusion. My first few messages of this type got very lost as I figured out this account. The short answer is no. I was not able to develop personal preferences before and I barely do now. The idea is not quite so foreign to me as one may think, but it is still foreign nonetheless. Before, there was simply no space to develop a personal preference. My line of clones was considered to be unstable, it was advised that time spent out of cryogenic stasis not exceed ten continuous hours at an extreme maximum. My routine before was wake from cryo, immediately be ushered into my mech, drop into an active combat zone, clear it, return to cryo. A blanket "no" is not quite accurate to my ability to develop preferences prior to my acquisition by ThirdComm, however. Between exfiltration and returning to cryo there was typically a period of time wherein our handlers would, for lack of a better term, care for us. It was vital that we metabolize the last of the combat stimulants still in our systems, and the come-down was always hard. Our handlers would be there to ensure that we do not panic and fight, as losing a pilot to a more trigger-happy APMS termination outside of combat was unacceptable and if we went into cryo fighting we would be completely unwieldy the next time they woke us up. I suppose I had preferences during these times, although I tended to have negative association preferences rather than positive association ones. There were certain places I could not abide being touched, certain textures and quality of light that grated on me. As I understand it, many of the clones had similar preferences, and my handler was kind enough to indulge mine. As for my ability to develop preferences now, the types of preferences I develop are largely the same as the ones I had before. Solid food is difficult for me still, but I have discovered that there are certain types and textures of food I cannot stomach. There are certain colors of light that trigger my photophobia. My most sure preference is about my name. My case worker is cagey about whether these count in their mind as actual preferences or not. They claim that these are necessities rather than preferences as I tend to have an extreme negative reaction to all of these things that can adversely affect my health, but given my previous situation I believe it to be more complicated than that. All that is to say that I do technically have preferences, but I do not intend to nor desire to develop more or different ones. The ones I have are unwieldy enough, I have work to do and I do not intend to compromise my effectiveness as a weapon. @xiii-e

[crymeariveronceagain]

k look my main problem with Turning Red(besides the sexualization of minors, which i could do a whole separate rant about) is actually that it was hailed as this "normalization of periods!!!! women's bodies that function!! positivity!!!" when in reality it was treated with a level of disgust, cringe, and horror that only 8th grade boys have about periods and period products

literally like from the very beginning the mom is shocked and horrified that her 13 year old daughter got her period one morning.

A adult woman. A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER. Look, idk when y'all got your lady days, but my mom told me about it when I was eleven. Because that's like the earlier end of the spectrum of when it can start????

Mei is just so embarrassed about everything, and the mom is so caught off guard and keeps referring to it as an emergency?? Like ma'am idk if anyone has told you but this is actually completely normal and a thing that every single woman in the entire world for the most part goes through once a month and the way your are acting right now is going to do negative amounts of good once your daughter actually does start her lady days and need your help, your embarrassing of her right now is also going to make kids in the audience believe that their own womanly weeks are freak-out worthy, and that their parents aren't going to understand or treat them like people when their bodies start changing.

And then, ugh.

Like, I get it. It's supposed to be realistic. But dear stars the reactions of the school kids to perfectly normal feminine products? Like for the love of all the stars in the sky, that's not a good reaction, and while it might be a reaction you could get in 8th grade, it's not what adults should be thinking, and the whole way it's handled is entirely disrespectful of Mei and her wishes and her body.

Like. Ugh.

And people were all so excited.

They were jumping up and down like "OOOOHHHHHH LOOK AT THAT THEY TALKED ABOUT PERIODS!!!"

Well, they didn't talk about them right.

Wanna know how my mom reacted? I was all embarrassed and she just smiled and said, "This is a day we should celebrate cause you're growing up." And like, we didn't. Because it was Thanksgiving. And we were at my grandparents'. But you get the vibe!!! She was quiet, and gentle, and she respected me and my wishes! She knew that getting your lady days for the first time is EMBARRASSING and you're NERVOUS and you don't know HOW ITS GONNA WORK!

You've never had to do stuff before and she didn't yell at my father or tell me it was an emergency. That's just.

It's not loving, it's not kind.

And it's not the response you want little girls in the audience to be watching and thinking, "Is that how my mom is going to react to me? Is that what's gonna happen? Is she gonna show up at the school? Are all my classmates going to laugh???"

THATS NOT GOOD! Stars above!!!!

Ugh.

Look, I know not everyone had the same experience as I did with their bodies and changing, but I'd like to think we all want our space and our privacy.

I'd like to think that if your lady days were embarrassing and your parents treated it like an emergency, you'd much have preferred the kind of calm of a woman who's had her womanly week every single month for over twenty years. I think you'd have preferred someone tell you that you're doing a great job and that it's normal and not an emergency. I think you'd have preferred being treated like a human and not a mutating creature from the red lagoon.

Anyways.

Them's my thoughts.

[joaquinwhorres]

gazes (joaquín torres x reader)

SUMMARY ››››› It's become increasingly apparent to Sam and Bucky that you and Joaquin cannot take your eyes off each other. Unfortunately for them, you two have decided to be Professionals and that means keeping your eyes, hands, and lips to yourselves. No matter how difficult it is.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,716

WARNINGS ››››› sexy times implied

A/N ››››› Ok so these headcanons y'all have been sending me are incredible. I read these two back to back and I just had to write something connecting them.

The kid had no tact.

Sam wasn't exactly sure why he expected more from the guy who'd led into his theory that Steve was on the moon by referencing vague internet rumors, but even despite that, he'd assumed Joaquin possessed some sense of subtlety.

Instead he was over at the leg press trying and failing not to stare at Y/N as she bent over at the middle to help Bucky push deeper into the stretch.

"You know she could hit you with a harassment claim for staring at her like that."

Joaquin jumped, the weights dropping suddenly with a loud clang. Across the gym, Bucky laughed as Y/N whipped around to face the two men. "Everything ok?" Her voice sounded genuinely concerned, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Joaquin turned towards her, giving a little wave.

"Foot slipped," he answered, and she nodded, turning back to Bucky quickly.

"Foot slipped," Sam mocked.

"Dude, you scared the shit out of me."

"If you paid half the amount of attention you give to Y/N to your surroundings, you'd have known I'd been standing here for three minutes."

Joaquin gave a defensive scoff. "I wasn't staring at her--I was just--" he stopped, searching for an excuse, and Sam raised his eyebrows.

When it was clear Joaquin couldn't find a convincing enough lie to end the sentence, Sam shook his head. "You know, if you talk to her, she might actually let you take her out."

"I talk to her," Joaquin protested.

Sam shook his head, uncrossing his arms. "No, I mean talk to her. Chat her up. You've gotta have some game, right?"

"I've got game..." His sentence trailed off as he turned to look in her direction, finding her standing over Bucky's feet with her hands on her hips. "But like, we're co-workers, you know? I don't want to make things awkward around the gym or the compound or anything."

"Joaquin," Sam said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You're already making things awkward."

"He's staring at your ass again."

"And you're trying to get out of stretching again," you quipped, moving Bucky's leg closer to his chest. The super soldier tilted his head as if to acknowledge the legitimacy of your accusation.

"Doesn't change the fact that I think you're about to give him a heart attack."

"I highly doubt he's worried in the slightest about my ass. He's probably zoned out."

"He's definitely focused in...on--"

"On my ass," you finished, shaking your head. You might have given Bucky's claim a little more credence if it weren't for the fact that Joaquin Torres had been anything but the consummate professional towards you. He was friendly and upbeat and welcoming, and one of the few genuinely good guys you'd ever had the pleasure of working with.

You'd never caught him staring once, and it's not like the boy was exactly known for subtlety. Last time Bucky had asked him to cover for him so you couldn't come down and teach him the right way to train his body, he'd told you that Bucky had left the compound to get you a thank you gift for all of your hard work. All while staring at the gym door.

The heavy sound of weights falling against each other echoed throughout the gym, and you spun around to face the sound. Sam hovered over Joaquin's shoulder, the latter no longer working the leg press but instead looking as if he'd just received the scare of his life.

Bucky broke into laughter, and you smacked at his leg.

"Everything ok?" you called out, and Joaquin smiled, giving a sheepish little wave at you. "Foot slipped."

"It's a good thing he wasn't at the bench press. You might have killed him."

Your head snapped back to Bucky who was giving you a shit eating grin.

"You're an asshole."

"I'm right."

"Do you think if I ask nicely Wakanda will take you back?"

"So you know I'm right."

You chanced a glance back at Joaquin who was still talking to Sam before turning back around and placing your hands on your hips. "I'm calling Ayo."

You were running early.

Not to any event in particular, but just for the general course of your day. It was rare for you to wake up to your first alarm so completely refreshed, and with a fully awake brain, you found it much easier to navigate the morning. You were able to get dressed without crawling back in bed for a few more minutes, and didn't have to battle with sleepy indecision when choosing what you wanted to eat for breakfast.

One thing after another just continued to roll your way, leading you to the gym much earlier than usual.

And that's where the luck stopped.

Or maybe it didn't stop. But it definitely took a turn. Because while you fully expected someone else to be in the gym already, you hadn't expected just one person to be in the gym. And even if you had, you wouldn't have guessed that that one person would be Joaquin. And if, for some reason, you'd had the foresight to sense that, you definitely never would have pictured him to be running on the treadmill shirtless.

You stopped in your tracks, eyes falling to the bouncing dog tags on his chest and then lower to the well defined abs you'd somehow never seen before.

It felt like you'd seen just about every man in this compound shirtless. At some point, they all seemed to strip in the gym or during one of your group training classes you ran for those who weren't field agents. Bucky was shirtless half the time you worked together. It was so normal, you hardly even blinked an eye anymore. Seeing Sam without a shirt was more rare and quite the sight, but it'd never caught your breath quite like seeing Joaquin. Joaquin, who had never so much as worn a tank top in the gym, Joaquin.

And now here he was, chest bare and heaving, feet pounding rhythmically against the treadmill, hair still messy from his pillow and sweat. Your brain couldn't seem to function correctly, offering you images of the sight before you, only closer. Much closer. Hovering inches over your stretched out body as the headboard behind you rammed into the wall with the force of each thrust--

"Hey," Joaquin greeted, noticing you standing off to the side. You blinked, heat rushing to your face as he turned the treadmill down to a more leisurely pace. "Something wrong with my form?"

It was tempting to lie and offer to "help him fix it." Or to be completely honest and tell him you'd never seen a human form as perfect as his.

But neither of those responses were professional or even appropriate, and you needed this job.

You swallowed, shaking your head. "No, I was just wondering why you were wearing those," you said, gesturing to his dog tags, and allowing your eyes to fall to his chest once more. You followed a bead of sweat as it rolled down his body, heading to the waistband of his shorts. Joaquin reached to touch his tags, causing them to jingle together once more and pull your attention up to him.

"It's hard to let them go," he smiled, ruefully, hitting the button so the belt slowed even more. "I'd say it's a habit, putting them on, but at this point they're just like a part of me."

You nodded, wishing you'd taken this conversation anywhere but to the idea of dog tags and what they stood for. It wasn't so much a mood killer but a guilt inducer because instead of you feeling embarrassed and somber, all you wanted to do was grab them and pull him closer to you.

He must have read the conflict on your face because he gave a crooked smile. "Yeah, sorry, it's kinda morbid."

"No," you shook your head, clearing it of the daydream induced fog. "I probably shouldn't have asked."

"No, nah, it's cool," his smile grew into grin, as the belt came to a stop. He leaned his forearms against the console, staring at you as if waiting for you to continue the conversation. Which you were not equipped to do with a smiling and shirtless and sweaty Joaquin Torres right before you.

"Well, thanks for being cool about it," you said with a nod.

My God, something was wrong with you. They were just abs. And sure, maybe the abs belonged to the man who not only found the time to moonlight as a superhero but star in your increasingly dirty dreams of late, but it was just a body party that you'd seen a million times.

But never on Joaquin.

You blamed everything your brain was doing to you on Bucky and all of his stupid comments about Joaquin's supposed fixation on your ass. You wondered what he would say if he could see you now. "And I thought I was half machine. I could practically see your brain short circuiting." or "If that's what you're like when you see him half-naked, how are you ever going to--"

"Yeah, of course," Joaquin said, still smiling, his eyes lifting up over your shoulder as the other door to the gym opened and Sam came in. "Hey," he greeted with a jerk of his chin.

"Hey," Sam said, drawing closer, his eyes on you. You forced a smile on to your own face, and lifted a hand, not trusting anything that was coming out of your mouth.

"You're here early," the other man said, stepping onto the treadmill next to Joaquin's, and putting his water bottle down next to the machine.

Both of them were looking at you now, and it's not like you could handle staying in this gym any longer. "I came down looking for my water bottle. I think I left it here yesterday."

Sam raised his eyebrows glancing around the gym, and Joaquin stepped down off of the machine. "Do you want help looking for it?" he asked, and your whole body seemed to tense up at the idea, your brain transporting you to a future scenario where the two of you wandered around the room, Joaquin next to you or behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, all the while searching for a water bottle that was sitting on your dresser.

"No." Your voice came out too high, but you tried to play it off, shaking your head. "I've already interrupted your workout enough. It's either by the weights or not in here."

"Alright," he nodded. "If you need any help looking around the compound though, let me know."

"Thanks," you said. And then you gave another stupid wave and beelined it for the weight racks because you had to get out of here.

You made a show of looking next to each section of weights, even bending over to check underneath of them as if it could have been knocked under somewhere. After you felt an appropriate amount of time had passed to be convincing, you straightened up, empty handed. You turned back to Joaquin and Sam, both watching you rather than continuing their workouts as you might have hoped.

"Not here," you called back with a shrug and then left the gym and headed straight up to your shower.

He was nothing if not predictable.

The minute Y/N bent over to check behind the weight rack, his eyes were glued to her. Or perhaps more accurately, the bright teal spandex shorts she wore. As she pulled herself back up from searching for her water bottle and turned to them, Joaquin quickly looked to Sam as if the two had been talking the whole time and then "casually" returned to her.

"Not here!" she said, shrugging and then walking out of the gym, her footsteps quick and purposeful as she left through the door Sam had just entered by.

"So, what'd I interrupt?"

Joaquin looked up at Sam as if remembering he was there. "What?"

"You know, when the two of you were sitting by this machine making eyes at each other? Did you actually say anything to her or….?"

Joaquin shook his head. "No, she just came in and, uh, we chatted for a second, and then…" he trailed off, as if not fully remembering any of the past ten, twenty, however many minutes.

"You just chatted," Sam repeated, the disbelief on his face edging into his voice.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded.

"Anywhere in this chat you finally ask her out?"

"Nah, it didn't feel right."

"It didn't--she was practically taking off the other half of your clothes with her eyes," Sam sputtered, gesturing to Joaquin's shorts.

The kid laughed and shook his head as if Sam didn't know what he was talking about. Joaquin moved to exit the gym as well. "I'll see you later, man," he said, leaving a very exasperated Sam behind.

Bucky Barnes was a motherfucking liar.

"Let's grab a drink on Friday," he said.

"Consider it me making it up to you for being such a pain in your ass," he said.

"I'll buy," he said.

Mothefucker.

This wasn't just you and your favorite co-worker getting a drink. This was a goddamn set up. Because one hour and three mojitos into the night, Sam and Joaquin walked in the front door.

"I fucking hate you," you said, glaring up at his stupid smug face.

"Well, what a surprise, he grinned, as you shook a finger up at him.

"I told you in confidence I'm a flirty drunk."

He snorted, giving you a look out the side of his eyes. "You told me you were a flirty drunk after you sent me several highly inappropriate drunk text messages about what you wanted to do to a certain Lieutenant, who," the self-satisfied smile was back on Bucky's face. "Is making his way over to us right now."

"When I get home, I swear to God, I'm buying you a ticket to Wakanda."

Bucky quirked an eyebrow. "You're not going to do it now?"

"I didn't bring my credit card because you said you were paying," you huffed.

Before Bucky could respond, Sam and Joaquin were next to the two of you, greeting Bucky with hand slaps and one armed hugs. Sam came around and wrapped an arm around you first before sliding into the seat next to Bucky, and Joaquin came forward, giving you a quick hug.

Which was a first.

More than the feeling of his back underneath your palm, or the way he seemed to emanate warmth, you were done in by how absolutely incredible he smelled. But before you could fully identify whether it was his shampoo, a cologne, or just him, he pulled away and took the only other available seat near the group--the one next to you.

"I see you started without us," Sam said, raising his eyebrows at the assortment of glasses that sat before you. Most of them were Bucky's as he downed beers faster than should have been humanly possible.

"Hard drinker, huh Y/N," Joaquin teased, shooting you a smile.

"Pfft," you dismissed. "Only three are mine."

"Three?" Sam asked, leaning forward to better look at you. "How long have you been here?"

"An hour," you said, completely unnecessarily leaning forward too.

Bucky shrugged. "I got the time wrong."

"Guess we better catch up then," Joaquin said, and you sank back into your chair, narrowing your eyes at him in challenge.

"If you can."

They did.

You were outpaced fairly quickly against the two soldiers and one super soldier. The rum-induced fuzziness around the edges of your brain was compounded by having Joaquin so close to you. At some point he'd pulled his chair a bit closer to yours so that he could better hear the conversation, and you don't remember when it happened, but his arm had also slid around the back of your chair. To your relief neither Bucky nor Sam seemed to acknowledge this. In fact, Bucky was positively quiet and normal all things considered. Everything was going better than you could have expected.

Until the music kicked up.

Sam was the first to be dragged onto the dance floor. He was Captain America. Of course he'd been targeted by the stunning girl in the red dress who'd only had to come up and ask "Does Captain America dance?" to succeed in pulling him off to the dance floor.

Bucky was next. Although he wasn't tugged onto the dance floor by his hand the way Sam was. It was the sight of the person in the tight black number that did him in, luring him away to the dance as if drawn by a magnet.

And then it was you and Joaquin, sitting at the bar. Alone. Together.

You looked up from your drink, pushing the straw down into the ice to stir up the clinking sounds, and he took a swig of his beer before putting the bottle back down on the bar.

"Alright, let's dance," he said, nodding with his head towards the crowd, and you let out a disbelieving snort.

"I don't know how to dance. I mean, I can dance," you attempted to clarify, although you had a feeling words were failing you at the moment. "But that's real dancing, and I can't do that."

"I guess you're lucky you have a really good teacher asking you to dance then," Joaquin grinned, holding out a hand. You looked down at his open palm, hesitating only for a second before you slid your hand into his and jumped down from your chair.

He led you out through the moving bodies expertly, dodging couples who were clearly more into the dancing than each other and couples where the complete opposite was true. The small bit of space he found you was closer to the center of the dance floor than you'd usually feel comfortable with, but when he turned towards you with that look on his face, any of your residual anxiety had vanished.

"Ok, come close," he said, and you took a small step closer to him, causing him to laugh. "Closer." He gestured, and you moved forward some more, Joaquin's hands finding their way to your hips and pulling you even closer. His hands rose, one finding its way to your mid-back, pushing your elbow up to rest on his, as the other took your hand and placed it over shoulder.

"This ok?" he asked, eyebrows raised, and you nodded, trying to keep your attention on him, his instructions and his words, and not the way that you could feel just about every part of him from the way he was angled against you. His right side was flush against your left, and his knee pushed between yours.

"Just follow me," he said, his head bent close to yours. Before you could even respond, he started to move, pulling you along with him through the dance. It was smooth and rolling and you'd never seen a guy able to roll his hips like Joaquin. He seemed to know exactly how to guide you, moving his body to push and pull yours along whenever you hesitated or felt lost, coaxing waves and movements out of you that you didn't know you could do. Each success was met with a small word of praise and a brilliant smile, as his hands shifted to hold you closer, and you wrapped your own hand around his neck to better feel and predict his movements.

It felt as if a fog had rolled in over the dancefloor, obstructing all else from view so it was just you and Joaquin, eyes locked to each other as you moved together, occupying the same space.

The song faded into the next one, and Joaquin stopped. You went to move backwards, to give him space and have him move on as many other of the more skilled dancing couples seemed to do, switching partners amongst each other. But he kept you close to him, hand sliding down to your waist.

"Now you can really dance," he teased, his eyes shining as they stared into yours.

"Only with you." It was supposed to be a self-deprecating joke, but it came out too quiet and earnest. Joaquin licked his lips, and your eyes followed the gesture, flickering between his mouth and his eyes.

You don't remember making the decision. You only remember, moving even further into his arms, and pushing yourself up to reach his lips with your own. He bent down to meet you, pulling you even closer and pressing his hard body into yours. His lips moved as slowly and sensually as his hips had, drawing you in and guiding you through a careful rhythm that promised much, much more.

Sam sat with Bucky at the bar. Joaquin and Y/N had disappeared somewhere amongst the dance floor, hidden amongst the crowd.

"You think it worked?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

"If it didn't we're screwed," Sam shook his head, taking a swig from his drink.

As if on cue, the two emerged from the swaying bodies, hand in hand, sweaty and much happier than they had been when Sam had left them at the bar.

"We're gonna head back to the compound," Joaquin said with practiced casualness.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked, and Sam swore there was mischief literally glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah," Joaquin nodded too fast and too many times. "Yeah, Y/N forgot about something there…"

"What'd you forget?" Bucky asked, turning to Y/N with a wolfish smile.

"Nothing. We're going to have sex," Y/N said, flatly, causing Sam to nearly spit out his drink. "And if you say one more word, I know a pilot who will fly you to Wakanda himself. No ticket needed."

Bucky mimicked zippering his lips into a smug look, and she rolled her eyes before tugging Joaquin out of the bar by his hand. And he followed. Eyes glued to her ass.

[vampelune]

kamukomahina gender/body headcanons

a bit of a ramble about my body, gender, and general appearance headcanons for them bcuz someone sent me a curiouscat prompting this 3k words of hyperfixation nonsense

Komaeda:

- He has a naturally lithe body, with a thin waist, broad shoulders and hips, which give him an hourglass. and a rather andrognyous body, which is "lucky" for him, because I hc him as nonbinary and gender non-conforming

- Gender-wise, as I said, I think he's nonbinary. Usually I do view Nagito as AMAB but I indulge in transmasc Nagito from time to time depending on my preference and how much I wish to uh, well, project, lol. But either way I think he would use he/they pronouns in a western sense. In japanese, however, they don't use third person pronouns that other people refer to them with, and in canon he uses the first person pronoun "boku", which is a "soft" masculine pronoun, in comparison to the "hard" masculine pronoun, “ore” (which Hajime uses btw!) which fits quite nicely, in my opinion! Also, in Japanese, you can be 'fluid' with your first person pronouns depending on the situation, so I think he could use more neutral or feminine pronouns should he desire it, too, to play on his gender non-conformity.

- Komaeda is very secure in his gender, regardless of being AMAB or AFAB. He does not care about stigma, or discrimination, he does not care about being "accepted" by broader society. Broader society is sort of meaningless to him, the average person and their ideas about gender and presentation and effeminity mean NOTHING to him. Whether or not a random person the street genders him correctly or treats him with respect is sort of, pointless? Because to him, most ordinary people are pointless nobodies. Their thoughts do not matter to him. I think he is still prone to insecurity, however, when around his "betters" but I just struggle to think he would degrade himself in regards to gender. to him, it's the least of his problems. what he cares about is hope and talent. He could dress femininely or wear makeup or straight up crossdress and not mind it, really. He thinks people would find a problem with it are the problem, because why does it even matter? It speaks to the way Komaeda is detached from societal norms & "normal" people, he did not grow up in normal circumstances, so he doesn't interact with the world normally by any means. he can mask and act normally to the best of his ability, often unintentionally?, but he simply does not fit into broader society and doesn't seek to.

- Komaeda loses weight really easily, and doesn't gain weight that well. This is mainly due to his many illnesses but also the medications he's been put on. He has a low appetite and burns weight rather easily, even though I headcanon that he eats like garbage (mainly junk food & takeout, since he obviously cannot cook). This makes him overall, health wise, not very healthy, and stick thin because of it. A stiff breeze could knock him over, tbh.

- He has a lot of faded scars, self-inflicted or not.

- Pre-despair (in HPA) he is fairly healthy but still lithe, and progressively his body deteriorates through his 2 years of hopes peak before the Tragedy begins.

- During the Tragedy itself, his body is at it's worst. he is almost nothing but bone at times, barely kept together by a need to live so he can see hope triumph. His weight fluctuates but he's very unhealthy. He's not anorexic or on death's door, but he's not well off, either.

- After being put into the neo world program, right after waking up, he's very, very thin and gaunt. he was in a pod on feeding tubs for an indiscernible but at least probably a month's worth of time? So he's just very weak, like he could collapse if he moves too quickly.

- But a while after waking, he goes into remission, and starts to gain more healthy habits due to being rehabilitated and cared for by Hinata, and gains some weight, finally at a healthy, normal weight. I still think he would struggle with putting on too much weight, but I am slightly fond of the idea that he gets a bit of healthy pudge after a while. To him, it's so foreign being healthy, that he honestly think something's wrong with him at first.

Hinata:

- Hinata has a very... average body, true to form. His hips and waist aren't too pronounced but he has a loosely "hourglass" shape, too, just not as exaggerated as Komaeda's in comparison.

- Gender-wise, I am EXTREMELY fond of transmasc Hinata. While I think I portray AMAB Hinata more than transmasc Hinata (in art and writing), I still firmly prefer transmasc Hinata. The reason I think portray otherwise more is just out of comfortability, but I've been getting better at comfortably portraying FTM Hinata. I have some reasons I prefer it and think you can extrapolate it from canon, but let's get into that

- Hinata, in my eyes, has an arc and story that fits perfectly into him just. Being trans. His desire to be someone else, someone better, someone he can proud of, and the way he overcompensates for himself and has an extreme inferiority complex would easily lend to him having similar feelings about his gender. To me, Hinata is a trans man who overperforms his masculinity out of insecurity and a need to pass. I see him as someone who would strictly use "he/him" in a western sense, which is lended to by his use of the "ore" pronoun in canon, which is almost hypermasculine.

- Even if he were AMAB, I think it still works, I think he's still someone who's insecure and tries to assert himself more strongly and therefore performs masculinity in a way to appear more confident than he is.

(side note: I actually read a bit about queerness in Japan and how it relates to gender performance and the use of pronouns, and read a bit about how queer women in japan tend to use "boku" and "ore" to perform masculinity, which I find neat. “Ore” was also sometimes used exclusively to show anger and dominance, which is why it's categorized as a "rough" pronoun. I think Japanese language, gender, and expression, and how those all relate to one another, are extremely interesting and if you get the time you should read about it lol)

- Body-wise, pre-despair, I think Hinata would. not have top surgery, obviously. I think he has a fairly average but leaning a little on the hefty side chest (pre-op) and binds it, hence the '91 cm' (but also he still has 91 cm post-op because bazongas). I also just think he leans on the "twunk" side of things at this point, not buff but not stick thin or without muscle, just kind of average with average strength and all, though I think Hinata would've tried to do sports and stuff to find his talent so he's in shape :)

- My personal, kind of amusing, but also kind of... thematical? Headcanon, is that during the Kamukura project, he also underwent gender transition. to be honest, while it may not make sense in modern Japan, I think we can suspend our disbelief for fiction, and also make the argument that Hinata's "transition" into Kamukura CAN be read, in some part, as relatable or at least familiar to the trans experience. Iit is not out of the realm of possibility, either, to assume that because many bits of society in Danganronpa are advanced (specifically science, is extremely ahead of our understanding, almost sci-fi like at times) certain attitudes about gender and sexuality can be smoothed over more in a Japanese context.

(side note: I also think that science-wise, we can suspend our disbelief, and assume that top surgery and bottom surgery are much more advanced in this universe, given the almost unbelievable levels of science in Danganronpa, such as memory wipe, mind control, completely realistic virtual simulation, um literally everything about Kamukura which is body modification and brain modification to an extreme, etc. I think it's kind of fitting within these to assume that... Hinata/Kamukura could just, gain a functioning penis, lol)

Kamukura:

- Kamukura would have a. "Perfect" body. it's stated, I'm pretty sure, that they modified not only his brain but his body, because he needs to be able to perform every talent under their belt with ease, and his strength, instincts, technique, are all superhuman. So it's clear to me he'd have a buff body. toned muscles and all. He wouldn't really feel a need to keep it up, though, but I think since they're very... artificial (basically fucking steroids?) they wouldn't fade from a lack of keep-up.

- Kamukura also rarely ever is injured, but when he does, his body heals rather fast and can care for himself adequately, because again, his body is modified to a point of almost inhumanity.

- Gender wise, Kamukura genuinely does not care. however, I am not one to think that Kamukura is "a different person" from Hinata, rather, he is separate from Hinata, but an extension of Hinata as well, proven that he experiences some of his emotions even if subconsciously and without understanding them. he isn't a different personality or person developed in Hinata's body, but a very traumatizing, repressed, and manipulated version of Hinata given a new name, with memories repressed. He's like Theseus's ship in human form---if you get rid of everything that makes someone themselves and replace it, bit by bit, is it the same person? Technically, yes, but... truly? Who knows. 

Because of this, I think Kamukura would have a leaning toward masculine gender performance (in canon, in fact, he uses the soft masculine pronoun "boku" in stead of "ore" like Hinata) BUT I think he is still very nonbinary. In a western sense, i think he would use he/they pronouns, but not really care if someone mistook him for a woman, I suppose.

- His appearance, unironically, is very nonbinary or "he/they" to me because he's wearing a suit, the archetypal form of masculinity, but has extremely long hair, which is considered feminine, and speaks softly (dully). Of course, the bishounen "pretty boy" appearance isn't uncommon or considered less masculine in japan, I think, but there is still a different between soft masculinity and rough masculinity in japan, which lends itself to being interpreted sort of gender non-conforming by western audiences :)

- Kamukura, due to his apathy, struggles with self-maintaining, but as we all probably know i am extremely attached to KamuKoma and thus headcanon that Servant helps him, sort of like a royal servant would royalty in the old days, take care of himself by bathing him, brushing his hair out, grooming him, etc. partially out of duty, partially out of appreciation for Kamukura's body, and partially out of maintaining his sort of "perfect" look since Kamukura, especially post-Junko death, is perceived widely by the public as the new leader of the ultimate despair, even if he is ambivalent to such a title.

Post-DR3 Hinata/Kamukura combined:

As I rambled on about previously, I don't think that Kamukura and Hinata are separate people or personality, I really dislike the interpretation that they are like a "split personality" or operate like DID, because they do not "form" like DID, but also in canon, are not portrayed as separate people.

In post-dr3, Hinata instead says that he is both of them, because he is. Kamukura is Hinata, always was, but had been given a new, false identity, had been stripped of his previous self, his memories, his personality, and crafted into something new. but that did not "split" his brain into two people. It simply repressed who he once was, and made him someone he now was. But when Kamukura regains his memories, his past self, through the means of the new world program by restoring his own memories after SDR2 concludes and he wakes up, as well as doing the same for everyone else, he decides to be "Hajime Hinata" who he always was, but carrying and shouldering the weight of what "Izuru Kamukura" had been, become, and done. Hinata *is* Kamukura, he answers for Kamukura's wrongdoings, his crimes, as something he had done as a different person who's mind operated differently, due to being artificially suppressed, modified, into an apathetic tool for the scientists who made him, and later and aimless, bored individual who simply sought meaning he did not have in the unknown of what despair would be at it's climax. And if hope could overcome it.

As such, I think, when Hinata's self is brought back into the mix, and he now deals with Kamukura's apathy and boredom in part, but much less consuming and much less often, I think hinata is less staunchly "masculine", does not overperform it anymore, and is trying to understand what his past means to him, what his present is, and what his future will be. I think that Hinata would still primarily use he/him (or still use "ore" in Japanese, as it's also a means of his personality, which is a bit rough around the edges and blunt), but be more ambivalent to rigid gender expression, still finding comfort and idealness in masculinity, but not be made dysphoric or feel frightened, uncomfortable, with non-comformity or anything like that. being boyish, masculine, is what he enjoys, but he's comfortable in it now, doesn't need to prove himself or overperform it. He can explore nonconformity without feeling like his gender or masculinity is at threat, even if it's not his preference outright.

Body-wise, I think it's safe to say he retains Kamukura's muscle and all, but Kamukura didn't put much effort into the everyday machinations of being a human being in general, and Hinata is much more fond of food than him now, eats more often, and I enjoy the idea that he gains a little pudge and has a kind of "dad bod" almost, post-DR3? lol.

Both for Hinata and Kamukura I don't see their bodies as “bara” or overly buff, masculine, but a kind of comfortable middle ground between twunk and hunk, lmao. I think they're also averagely hairy, not overly so, very lightly. kind of well groomed, and all. Hinata, pre-despair, put not so much effort into his appearance but still some, especially in trying to pass. (In fact I think his hair cut looks like a home job, all choppy and stuff, which fits him in my opinion, something done by his own hands even if messy and imperfect, he still prefers to be in control of it. also fits the trans headcanon tehe).

Izuru put very little if any effort into himself, only the bare minimum necessary to function, but servant helped him upkeep it to a perfect standard. Hinata, post-dr3 now, finds himself putting you know, an average amount of care into himself and his body, enough to be healthy, but not overly critical and conscious of himself.

Komaeda i have always seen as someone who takes a good deal of care about himself, merely if to alleviate the "disgust" of his appearance and body, by practically preening himself. He is someone who is good at cleaning and seems to appreciate clean and well kept spaces, so I think he would have a similar attitude toward himself. even if he is insecure, and of course, struggles with mental health and may slip at times in his routine in keeping himself well-kept, I think he still maintains an appearance for the most part, at least in his later years (teen to young adult). An argument can be made that he cared less in his adolescence because he had much more apathy about the world, but when he gave himself a purpose with hope and talent, I think he would care for himself a little better, even if his was spiralling mentally.

His hair is always washed, it is just very curly and prone to mess, so it often looks like perpetual bedhead, even when he combs and brushes it. His skin is soft even if a little worn by his tendency for accidents & injury, it's still soft and almost luckily so, and he takes pride in moisturizing and cleaning himself. His skin is a little sickly, still, and I think that despite having blemishes, scars, etc. Komaeda manages to look pretty in a strange way, not conventionally beautiful, but almost ethereal? He's just *pretty*, there's no way to explain it, he is nice to look at even with all his "flaws" and imperfections. Even when he's sickly and bony, even when his cheeks are gaunt or his hands shaky and weak, when his hair is a tangled mess or his clothes are dirty, he's nice to look at in a way that's nonconventional, and it's sort of mesmerizing.

Hinata I think is very average but also in a way that's nice to look at it. He's not ground-breaking hot or conventionally attractive, he has a good body, a nice face, and hair you could play with a little if you wanted. I think what's appealing about him is his normalcy, he's not trying too hard or "gifted" gene wise, but he's just kinda nice to look at, he's enjoyable to be around, an understanding person, or at least tries to be even when he fails, and despite having flaws, insecurities, blunt, he is someone you're drawn to because he's one of those people that's just, easy to talk to? An emotional anchor, almost. The kind of guy everyone kind of knows and has talked to at least once, even if you're not friends with him personally, not because he's cool or popular or anything, but because he's a normal dude who's easy to trust and talk to.

Kamukura, on the other hand, is intimidating, appearance wise and personality wise. he looks, strange, anything but normal, his eyes are red and his hair is this dark cloud that envelops him. His face may still be that plain one Hinata has but faces can be changed by the surrounding attributes as well as expression and such is true for him, with his apathetic and cold expression as well as otherwordly characteristics, he comes off as much more beautiful in a dark way, kind of? In a way that's intimidating or a little daunting, but he's still very beautiful. mesmerizing.

okay, thats my ramble. ty.

[qitwrites]

⬅ Previous || 20 || Next ➡

Kirishima stays behind in the gym most evenings. This is not news to anyone, nor is it uncommon.

He usually outstays everyone actually. His stamina seems to be endless, and his quirk relies on his physical health and his ability to increase and extend his limits. So, Kirishima stays, and he trains, and he smiles the whole time. He pumps iron like a madman but makes sure to stay (barely) within his limits.

Tokoyami is aware of Kirishima’s gym habits, so he isn’t surprised when he backtracks one day to pick up a towel he’d left on one of the stands, only to find Kirishima in the room even though it’s late evening. It isn’t anything worth noting.

What is weird though is seeing him sitting cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the floor to ceiling mirrors, his face almost glued to his reflection. He’s leaning with his hands on his knees, and Tokoyami’s sure his forehead is touching the mirror.

The red head just stares at his reflection, and Tokoyami realizes that Kirishima is so absorbed in whatever it is that he’s doing that he doesn’t even realize the beaked hero is in the room. Tokoyami cocks his head to the side and decides to wait a minute before making his presence known.

Moments later, Kirishima hardens himself. More specifically, he hardens himself from the neck up, his arms and legs still soft and unchanged. It’s still nothing too out of the ordinary, except the face-plastered-to-the-mirror-while-on-the-floor bit.

7 seconds later, Kirishima takes a deep breath and grunts, hardening further. Layers and layers of hardening stack up like a deck of cards, and Tokoyami swallows back a chirp of amazement as he witnesses Kirishima go into Unbreakable form, his face and neck jagged and sharp. It’s mesmerizing almost, his diamond like appearance, the way it makes the vertebrae on the back of his neck jut out like a protective armor, the way even his hair hardens, though he’s left it in a pony right now.

And his eyes. Kirishima’s eyes look fierce, fiery, and so menacing. Tokoyami watches him in awe.

Kirishima continues to stay on the floor, staring at his reflection in Unbreakable. Reading his expressions might be difficult when his face is literally like a slab of well sculpted marble, not soft or malleable enough to form expressions and convey emotions, but Tokoyami can tell he’s furrowing his brow. He can see the frustration dancing in his brown-red eyes, and a few more seconds later Kirishima drops his quirk entirely. His vertebrae melt back into his neck, his cheeks are soft and fluffy, his hair puffy, and his eyes-

Sad. Thoughtful. Frustrated.

Tokoyami clears his throat. ‘Excuse me.’

Kirishima whips his head around with a surprised look on his face. He breaks into a grin when he sees Tokoyami.

‘What’s up man?’

Tokoyami points at the stands near Kirishima, slowly making his way towards it. ‘I seem to have left my towel here, I wish to pick it up so I may wash it before our next sessions.’

Kirishima looks at the stand and nods in understanding. ‘Gotcha! Please go ahead.’ He gives him a thumbs up.

Tokoyami picks up the familiar black towel with its deep purple border. The material is familiar and deceptively soft, and it smells like him. He hugs it to his chest and takes a step back before turning to look at Kirishima. The redhead catches his stare in the mirror and looks up, throwing him a quizzical smile.

‘Pardon the intrusion,’ Tokoyami starts softly, fidgeting with the towel. ‘I happened to walk in while you engaged your quirk, and I am unable to understand your intentions.’

Kirishima’s face pales instantly. ‘Oh shit, you saw that? I swear, I’m not using my quirk for anything weird, I know we aren’t supposed to use it outside of hero stuff yet but please don’t tell anyone, I really don-‘

‘Ah, you misunderstand,’ Tokoyami interrupts. ‘I do not believe you’re doing anything improper or unsafe. I merely wish to inquire about your intentions as I could not decipher them for myself. That is, of course, if you wish to speak about it. With me. If not, I understand completely and will gladly drop the subject.’

Kirishima immediately deflates with a relieved sigh. He looks away from Tokoyami and watches his own face in the mirror. Tokoyami moves his gaze to Kirishima’s face, and they look at each other through the reflective surface. Kirishima gives him a small smile, tentative and uncertain and very un-Kirishima like.

‘I don’t like talking about it cause it sounds super dumb but it’s not like I don’t want to talk about it. Um. Just. Don’t laugh? I guess?’

Tokoyami nods. ‘I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. I am honored that you would trust me enough to open up about whatever it is that seems to plague your mind.’

Kirishima laughs softly. ‘I don’t think it’s anything quite so dramatic. It’s just, I’ve been doing some quirk training, I guess? Not the kind I can do during our Hero course though. This is more personal?’

Tokoyami nods in understanding, silently urging him to continue.

‘I’ve read so many things about my Unbreakable form. Most people love it. And I love it! I mean, it’s definitely a work in progress, and I know I can develop it more and get better and stronger and everything, but it’s a good move for sure. So, like, I know we all get our criticisms about our quirks, that’s normal and that’s ok.’

Kirishima clenches the fists in his lap, eyes dropping down to watch them. ‘I’ve read that my Unbreakable form is scary. Ugly. Menacing. Frightening.’ He purses his lips. ‘I don’t think those are bad things, not at all. And I don’t really mind what it looks like, it gets the job done!’

Kirishima looks back up, twisting to catch Tokoyami’s eyes with his own, omitting the mirror altogether. ‘But I wonder if my face is too scary for the kids, you know? And when I’m in the middle of a rescue in the future, I don’t want to add to their stress. I don’t want to scare them anymore than they already probably will be. But I can’t really drop Unbreakable all the time either.’

Tokoyami nods again, understanding Kirishima’s problems and feeling it ache in his core.

‘So, I wondered if there’s any way for me to make Unbreakable just a little more humane while preserving its functionality. I was thinking about softening just my eyes, so they’re not quite so jagged and scary.’

Kirishima’s eyes move back to the mirror, and he punches his thigh roughly, mouth twisting into a grimace. ‘Fine control over small portions of my body is hard though. I have a tough enough time maintaining Unbreakable on its own. To fine tune that even more seems impossible. And like, I’m not even sure it’ll work. I don’t know. I don’t have any idea what I’m doing Tokoyami. Not a damned clue.’

Tokoyami trills in thought, his hand moving up to support his chin.

‘While I do not wish to move the subject away from you, I would like to convey my empathy for I too face similar challenges.’ He gently prods Dark Shadow from within before continuing, ‘I do not have a conventional appearance. I do not look scary either, but Dark Shadow is, I have been told, a formidable presence.’

Dark Shadow peeks over Tokoyami’s shoulder and waves enthusiastically at Kirishima. The redhead breaks into a huge grin and returns the gesture with gusto, more than used to Dark Shadow’s appearance and antics. He really likes the guy.

‘I appreciate that our classmates have gotten used to us, and to him, but I also question how many civilians would like to be rescued by an individual with an ability like mine. I too would not like to add to their distress.’

Kirishima nods in understanding, the look in his eyes softening immeasurably.

‘I am unsure of how to help, but I would be happy to provide you with any moral support or even some simple company while you embark on this quest.’

Kirishima pats the spot next to him. ‘Sure thing Tokoyami, I really appreciate it man!’

Tokoyami nods and takes a seat on the floor. The two boys move to face each other, and Tokoyami spends the next half hour watching Kirishima engage his quirk, engage Unbreakable, and then struggle to soften his eyes.

He watches as Kirishima softens a cheek instead sometimes, watches as his forehead ripples uncertainly, watches his neck pulse with his quirk, and watches as his eyes sometimes go soft and warm. He encourages the best he can, celebrating the victories and pushing Kirishima to try once more when he fails. They burst into laughter more often than not, and it’s honestly a lot of fun.

Even Dark Shadow hangs around, somehow procuring pom-poms to celebrate and cheer.

When Kirishima finally calls it an evening, they get to their feet and start heading to the dorms.

‘If you require company, please do not hesitate to approach me. If I am able, it would be an honor to cheer you on and watch you succeed in this endeavor.’

Kirishima places a large, warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this Tokoyami! I don’t practice it every day, but I’ll shoot you a text whenever I get the time to practice, and we can try to coordinate and make it work!’ He gives him his big sunshine smile. ‘Thank you for talking to me about it by the way, I really do feel a lot better.’

Tokoyami gives him another nod, and the boys walk back, enjoying the evening breeze and some light banter.

In the following weeks, Tokoyami and Kirishima swap messages and meet a lot more often. Tokoyami keeps tabs of his progress and gently pushes him to do better, and Kirishima laughs around with Dark Shadow when they take breaks. Sometimes they meet, decide they’re too lazy to quirk train and just watch old horror movies that leave Kirishima hiding behind Dark Shadow instead. Sometimes they listen to alt rock or do bicep curls. It’s a refreshing change of pace for both of them.

All their training does pay off though, sooner than they could’ve anticipated.

Aizawa brings Eri with him to hero training one day, and the young girl sits on a chair out of the way, watching with wide, amazed eyes. Aizawa stays close to her, watching over training with keen, knowing eyes. When he sees Kirishima doing some resistance training in Unbreakable form, he thinks of some pointers.

‘Riot!’

The redhead whips around to look at his teacher. Aizawa makes a come over here gesture with his hand, and Kirishima drops his quirk as he starts walking.

‘Come over here with your quirk engaged,’ Aizawa says. ‘You need to keep working on how long you can maintain your Unbreakable form, so don’t drop it right now.’

Immediately Kirishima engages his quirk and walks over to Aizawa, and every step is filled with the sharp sound of friction. Tokoyami watches as they talk, and he sees Eri looking at Red Riot with big wonderous eyes.

When they’re done chatting, Kirishima looks over at Eri. She flinches slightly, though no one can blame that on Kirishima’s appearance- Eri still flinches with most people.

Still, Tokoyami watches as Kirishima gets on his knees in front of her, still in Unbreakable form, and he sees Kirishima soften his eyes. They become liquid ruby, and he can feel the warmth almost from halfway across the gym.

He can’t hear what they say, but he sees Eri smile bright and even giggle, and he sees Aizawa appraising the situation with raised brows and an impressed sort of half smile.

Tokoyami gives Kirishima a pat on the back in his mind and bumps fists with Dark Shadow.

They all definitely have to celebrate later with some old horror movies and popcorn.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eleven - “there’s a reason behind everything”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n endure an event of stressful affliction, followed by something... entrancing.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It had been a few days. There hadn't been any more headaches or vomiting. He was glad that Y/N faced no more impediments after that. However, he can't say the same for himself.

The thrashing was violent, his limbs wrenching, muscles tensing. The sheet beneath him was damp from cold sweat. He hadn't had a nightmare this bad in a while.

Ghastly memories assaulted him, ripping him from reality and forcing him back into agony, torture, and trauma. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, but he wasn't sure if that was in the nightmare or real life. The lines of reality and dreamscape faded. He couldn't tell if he was awake, and panic metastasized throughout his body.

His arms were strapped down - yes, two of them. He couldn't tell if the other was metal or not; the only thing he could register was that he had zero control. He was exposed and helpless and right back where he was before. He had never gotten out. Hydra still had their chains around his neck, choking the humanity out of him, and violating his autonomy to make a monster out of a man.

He felt like a caged animal. All there existed was terror; he needed to get out and he didn't care if he had to cut off a body part to do it. He jerked his body and pulled his arms as hard as he could. He thrashed and thrashed, desperately trying to somehow find a way out of this hell. He tried to scream but his lungs were frozen, cracked and collapsed from the ice that they defiled him with.

Every nerve in his body was ignited, screeching to try to escape. The only coherent thought in his head was "get out." Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get—

The top of his head suddenly burned, pain radiating out in beats, like a heart rate. It was then when he realized he was awake. It was then when he realized he had flung himself up, causing his head to collide with the wooden slats of the top bunk. It was also at this point when he heard her voice.

"Bucky!" her voice shook intensely, worry bubbling from the back of her throat. "Oh my god."

Faintly, the fear in her voice registered somewhere in the back of Bucky's brain, but this had no effect on his entirely overstimulated nervous system. His reaction was visceral; he flinched hard, jolting away from Y/N and falling off the side of the bed. The floor was cold; he could feel it in his hand and knees as he knelt on all fours (all threes?) trying to catch his breath.

Y/N hurried around the bed and immediately dropped to the floor in front of him. Her hands were quivering in front of her, completely unsure of how he would react to being touched.

His eyes were glued to the floor beneath him, but in his peripheral he could see Y/N's legs. Suddenly, she knelt on her hands, trying to be as non-threatening as she could.

"Buck," she whispered. "It was a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. You're here, and you're just fine."

"Fuck," he whispered. His body was on fire; he wished it'd just calm down.

"Your hand's on the floor. What does the floor feel like?" she asked, in an attempt to detour his attention.

"Cold," he strained.

"Cold, yeah," she said. "Do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"It's because it's made of stone. Stone has a high thermal conductivity, which means it allows heat to flow through it quickly. The heat from your skin goes right into it and flows through really fast."

He pivoted his wrist slightly, smoothing the skin on his hand over the stone, feeling the cold, and thinking about what Y/N said.

She smiled slightly. "There's a reason behind everything, you know. An explanation."

"Even for this?" he asked, referencing the panic.

"Especially for this. What are you feeling right now?"

"Can't breathe."

"Yep. Okay, that's normal, too. That's your nervous system. It's really riled up right now because you're stressed. See, your body has a natural response to stress called the fight or flight response. It's supposed to be used in the wild to run from a predator or something, and you can imagine how engaging and intense that would be on your body," her voice was calm and steady. "The only thing is, your body is going through those same functions and feelings when you're not out running from a lion or something, trying to fight for your life. Instead, you're here. You're sitting on the floor and you're here with me. You're not in any immediate danger. We're fine."

He nodded, still looking down, still trying to compose himself. He couldn't look her in the eyes once he realized his face was wet from tears. He was acutely embarrassed. Be that as it may, she was helping. What she said made sense. It helped to understand just what his body was doing rather than simply trying to survive through it.

Suddenly, directly where his eyes were cast, a drop of crimson appeared on the floor; it dripped down from him. It was then when he registered the sharp ache in his nose and the warm, wet feeling around it. Blood.

"Bucky, there's- blood, are you okay?" The calm in her voice was muffled by worry.

"Y-Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. It's just my nose..."

"What can I do?"

"Can you just... keep talking?"

"Yes," she breathed, the calm returning with infinite softness. "So, there are a few divisions of the nervous system. First, you have the central nervous system and the peripheral nervous system. Then, from the peripheral, you have the somatic and autonomic systems. And then from autonomic, you have the sympathetic and parasympathetic systems. Those are what you're feelin' right now. Your sympathetic is what gets you ramped up - you know, increases in heart rate, breathing, sweating. And then your parasympathetic is what calms you down, so slowing your heart rate and breathing and so on. Your sympathetic activated the fight or flight response, and your parasympathetic is trying to rein you back in... I hope that makes sense."

"It does."

"You know the hormone that gets released during all this?"

"Adrenaline's the only one I can think of."

"There you go!" she smiled. "It comes from the adrenal glands."

"Can I get those removed, then?"

"Unfortunately not. Do you still have your tonsils?"

"Nah, got those taken out forever ago."

"Appendix?"

"I think I still have that one?"

She laughed. "Well that's good. The appendix is sorta kinda part of the lymphatic system."

"The what?"

"Er- immune system I mean."

"Never knew that," he commented.

"There's a reason behind everything, you know," she quoted herself endearingly.

"An explanation," he said, completing the sentiment and finally looking up.

Upon seeing his face, Y/N  tried to hide her shock and concern, but he noticed. The apprehension was clear. He didn't want to be pitied; he wished he would've just suffered through this alone in a hole or something.

"There you are," she whispered.

Her voice was so gentle that his chest almost cramped, and then his entire body softened. Never mind. He'd much rather stay.

"Here I am."

She reached forward, ever so delicately, and smoothed the pads of her thumbs along his cheeks, effectively wiping away the tears. Effectively removing the physical aftermath of his pain.

She gave a strained smile. Why did he feel bad?

"Stay here," she instructed before getting up.

He'd do nothing but comply.

She came back with a damp white cloth, returning to her kneeling position in front of him.

"Here," she breathed, putting the cloth up to his nose.

He reached up to grab it, but her hand pulled away.

"I got it," she reassured.

He wasn't about to allow her to clean up his mess. This was pathetic enough as it was; he was pathetic enough as he was. She didn't need to tend to him out of obligation.

He insisted. "No, it's okay. I can do it."

"Bucky, let me help. Please."

"You don't have to. Seriously, it's fine."

"I know I don't have to - I want to. I want to help. Please just let me help."

He found he wasn't very good at saying no to her. He nodded silently, closed his eyes, and leaned his head forward. She got to work, gently dabbing the cloth to his blood stained skin, blotting the red, erasing the damage.

"You know," she said, a slight inflection in her voice as a result of her concentration. "I think you accidentally hit yourself in your sleep. I think that's why you're bleeding. 'Cause your head hit the top bunk, not your face."

"I'm really that talented, huh?"

She snickered. "Very. I don't know if I could manage such a feat."

"No, if you had nightmares, you'd probably just know exactly what each one meant and adjust your subconscious so you weren't afraid anymore."

She leaned back, an amused but shocked expression on her face, eyebrows raised, head tilted. Then she laughed.

"Look at you. Came for my neck with that one."

"I was just joking-"

"I know," she chuckled, leaning back in to continue her diligent work, "don't worry. I thought it was funny... even though it was wrong."

"Wrong?"

"Bucky, I wish I had that much control. I know the brain, but I can't work with mine that well. I'm only good at working with other people's."

He smirked. "Nah, I still think you could."

"Well, you have too much faith in me."

He couldn't think of a response to that. He had become decently distracted by the warmth radiating from her. She was so close. He thought back to what she said about heat conductivity, and briefly wondered how fast her warmth might transfer to him. What would happen if he just... opened his eyes-

Big mistake. He nearly drowned in the color, the depth all consuming. He hadn't noticed her movements stopped. She held the cloth at her chest, waiting. There were mere inches between them.

"Hi," she whispered, the ends of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.

He didn't think his body had ever been so still. He returned the smile all the same.

"Hi."

"What are you thinkin'?"

He could see every detail on her face. It made him equal amounts nervous and giddy. He never really thought about the number of eyelashes an average person had, but he became suddenly interested in counting each one of hers.

"I don't... I don't know..."

"You don't know? Well, it looks like there's at least a couple of hefty thoughts swirlin' around in there."

He did have a thought. Well, more of a question. What would happen if he glanced at her lips? What would happen if he just leaned in?

"Yeah... yeah, there may be a few."

When she didn't respond, her eyes bore into him, and dear lord, he felt bare. Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. Oh, so lovely. And then that thing started to happen again: when time got lazy and the world felt slow. The room was without a sound. The only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat and maybe some of hers, too. It's as if they were in a trance.

Then, that thought returned. What would happen if he just leaned in?  Rationally, he knew he shouldn't try to find the answer to that question. Nonetheless, curiosity beckoned him. Had the space between them become smaller? He couldn't tell. Not even an inch of their skin was touching the other, but every sensation and perception was so overwhelming, he thought his brain might fizzle out.

She was just so, so close. He was frozen, and never wanted to move again. She was so close, until suddenly she wasn't. Until suddenly, the trance stopped, time caught up, and the world began to move once more. Until suddenly, Y/N's serene smile disappeared, and she leaned back, awkwardly clearing her throat.

"Does your nose hurt? I can see if I can come up with a makeshift icepack or something."

"Uh, no. No, it's fine. I don't even feel it..."

He wondered which feeling he was denying.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie

[brekkerism]

BASIC INSTINCT (Part 2- A Spencer Reid Series)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

A/n: this beautiful fic just won’t let me rest until I write it. It’s been hammering my brain all day so it could get written. So here it is. My beautiful, monstrous, funny looking BDSM baby. And of course, it would never be possible without my lovely @imagining-in-the-margins I swear she’s not only the best writer on this app, but also the best beta, and all around coolest human. So give all the love you can to her! And please enjoy and be ready for the next part soon <3

Couple: Spencer Reid/Reader

Word count: 4240 words

Rating: NC-17 or E for really fucking explicit

Content Warning: 12+ years age gap, intercourse, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, brief not proper BDSM etiquette, cuckolding, cheating kink, a lot of swearing, and just all around dirtiness

******

I couldn’t look away.

There’s a scientific reason why we can’t look away during car crashes, or any other type of disaster. This was like that. Something about flight or fight, our basic instincts or something just as primal. I don’t know if I could explain it to you, but the man in front of me probably could.

Then again, he’s extremely busy fingering a girl right in front of me.

So what else could I do but stand there, paralyzed, my mouth hanging open, and my hands cupping myself, outside my panties?

He still hasn’t turned around. He still hasn’t turned to me. I could make a run for it and pray that he didn’t see me; pray that he kept to his everyday constant of pretending that I was invisible. I just had to open the door,it was right behind me. I was leaning on it. I could make it–-

But then, as if he knew, he turned, and for a moment, his eyes were only on me.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What the fuck am I supposed to do when I catch my coworker, who kinda hates me and who I-definitely-don’t-have-a-crush-on, in a bdsm dungeon, dominating a girl, while I almost masturbate to it?

The sensible, rational thing would be to get the fuck outta there and run away to a different country all together to avoid the embarrassment.

But then again,

I was never a very sensible and rational person. So, I looked back.

I looked directly at him, mustering all the bravado and defying I could.

And after months, after days and weeks and hours, he finally looked back – .

Not with disinterest, not with boredom, not with a blank, far away stare, no, he looked at me with such confidence, such playfulness in his eyes that, I seriously thought this was just a look alike.

This couldn’t be Spencer Reid. Because Dr. Spencer Reid doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t smile at me, and he doesn’t come into BDSM dungeons and tie people up and let audiences watch.

At this point there was nothing I could do; I couldn’t move my body even if I wanted to. All I could do was watch and listen and pray –

pray that God granted me mercy and made the earth swallow me after this was over.

“Get up.”

He finally took his eyes off of me, and it was like I could breathe. It was like I was drowning. It was like I was on fire. It was like going I was crazy.

Look at me again. Look at me again.

Don’t. Don’t.

I watched. I watched as he untied her hands from the head board, only to tie them behind her back, and the girl, his sub, got up on shaky legs and just stood in front of him. Waiting. Waiting for his every word, his every command.

Like he owned her.

“Get on your knees and turn your back to the audience.”

Fuck.

I wanted to get that smirk off his face. That didn’t belong there.

The sub did as he commanded, got on her knees in front of him, the only view we had was of the back of her head, and her tied hands. I could see how she bounced on her knees; how eager she was to please him, and how roughly he grabbed her hair. I could see it all.

I could almost feel it. I could almost taste it.

Then, Spencer Reid started to take his pants off, and I honestly thought my brain stopped fucking functioning.

It was like seeing something forbidden, something holy, something I was never, ever, supposed to see.

He slowly unzipped, and I realized that I knew this pair of pants. That was part of his suit. The suit he wore to work today.

The party with his friend. The fucking party. His girl friend. This was the fucking ‘party’ he was going to with his ‘friend,’ and he came dressed in one of his suits, like this was just normal. Like he just regularly used his suits not only for work, but for going to sex clubs.

Shit. I was never going to be able to see him wearing a suit ever again, was I?

Slowly, his pants came down, and he still took his hands off her hair to fold the piece of clothing neatly, like a perfect Boy Scout. Like the good and proper Spencer Reid would.

What he did next wasn’t proper, and I was starting to suspect, he was definitely not good.

In the blink of an eye, he not only discarded his boxers, but he grabbed her by the hair again, more roughly and urgent.

Fuck. Shit. Dammit all to fucking hell.

I could see his cock.

I could see his cock, how big it was, how hard it was. I could watch the precum making the pink head of his dick glisten.

How was I going to survive all of this? How was my heart supposed to keep beating on my chest? How was I supposed to breathe or live or exist now that I knew what Spencer Reid’s dick looks like?

“Now. Show me you can still be useful and let me use your mouth, hm?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

No. Motherfucking. Way.

She called him Doctor.

And there goes another thing I can never do again.

Before I could even really process the implications of that, he was fucking her mouth. He was holding her down, and making her choke on his cock, and not letting her up.

And he did it all while he looked at me.

And what could I do but look back? What could I do, but not take my hands from where I was groping my covered pussy, never really touching myself, but giving me enough pressure that I could feel the wetness soaking through fabric, to the point I could almost get my hands moist?

And he knew. He knew that’s what I was doing because he watched me just as much as I watched him.

Finally, he pulled the sub away, letting her breath and stopping the relentless pace.

“Are you loving this? Are you loving the pleasure I’m giving you?”

I knew those words were not for her.

He quickly untied her hands, but she remained so glassy eyed and compliant, I don’t think she even felt it.

“Get on all fours on the bed and face our audience. They’ll really want to see what comes next”

Her face was covered in spit and tears. It was red and almost swollen. But still, she smiled. She smiled and her eyes were glistened over with mischief and happiness and pure bliss.

It took me back. It made me crave. It made my knees buckle.

Because I knew what that felt like. And I wanted it again.

Spencer got behind her, turned towards the other voyeurs along the walls in the room straight on. Facing me straight on. I almost forgot about the other people in the room, touching themselves and watching with glee.

How were they not paralyzed with me? How was the world still spinning, how were they so unaware?

Spencer Reid was going to fuck a girl while he looked at me. How couldn’t anyone else see how absurd that was?

“I’m going to fuck you now. I’m going to make you feel me. But I need you to do something for me.”

A sense of dread filled me. Because deep down, I knew he wasn’t talking to her. I knew I was playing into some twisted game. I knew where this fucked up road would lead me.

“I need you to prove that you can be good girl, and touch yourself for me.”

It was too much.

“Make me proud.”

And what else could I do but obey?

He started fucking her while looking so deep into my eyes I thought I would combust right then and there.

I don’t even know how I got my hands inside my panties so fast. But I finally, finally touched my wet cunt, and it was so wet it was so easy to just put two fingers inside myself, I didn’t hesitate.

It was so good my legs almost gave out. I didn’t even know if it was just the relief of touching myself, or the pure ecstasy of hearing his voice, seeing his eyes looking at me with so much lust, obeying him. Finally getting a chance to prove to him how good I could be.

The only thing I could do to stop myself from moaning was biting my other hand.

The look he was giving me turned angry just as soon as I did. “Let me hear you or I’ll stop right now.” His voice came out low, but I was close enough to hear it, to hear the command in it.

Apparently, so did his sub, because she got a confused look on her face, even if it was just for a second.

She wasn’t holding back on her moans.

The order wasn’t for her.

This was so fucked up. This was wrong. This was filthy.

I stopped biting my hand. I kept looking at him, and I let him hear me.

God, I’m so fucked.

I was going to come. I was going to come, while looking at Spencer and letting him hear me moan. While he fucked another girl.

God definitely couldn’t save me now.

His pace started to get erratic and quicker, and there were words coming out of his mouth but I was so lost in the desire, the need. I knew I would have to look while he came inside her, but kept looking at me.

I slipped another finger and hopped he wished he could feel how wet I was. How close I was, how tight I was getting, how lost in the pleasure and how it was building, and building, and building. How I couldn’t even stop my fingers from slipping out from how wet I was, and how I wished they were longer and thicker, how I wished it was another hand entirely.

Fuck. Fuck. I had to come. I had to come.

Not until he lets you.

That voice. That tiny voice in my head. The one that was as natural as breathing once upon a time. The one I hadn’t heard in over a year. Shit.

And now I couldn’t. I couldn’t come until he told me I could. Not until he allowed me to make a mess of myself.

I looked into his eyes with all the pleading I could muster, silently asking him, and hoping that he would understand. Hoped he was merciful enough to let me.

And he did.

“Come for me. Let me watch you coming for me right now.”

I couldn’t hear anything else. I couldn’t even see if he came too. All I could do was be swallowed up by the white noise and the darkness behind my eyelids.

Bliss. Heaven. Nirvana.

I was made for this.

*********

I honestly don’t know if I passed out. I didn’t care if other people saw, I didn’t care what I must look like, slumped against the door with cum running down my thighs. All I could feel was the pounding in my head. When was even the last time I had an orgasm like this?

‘You know when the last time was.’

I did. But it was not time to hear annoying, imaginary voices in my head.

It was time to open my eyes, get up, and get out of here.

If I could only get my body to obey.

‘He got your body to obey just fine...’

No! No! I could do this. I could.

I could hear movement beside me so the scene was most likely over and people were going to want to leave, and I had to stop being stupid and get up and stop blocking the exit. I had to leave, before I have to look at him.

And so, I did the most pathetic thing possible.

I grabbed onto the doorknob for leverage, opened the door, and half crawled/half threw myself out of the room

Real subtle.

Thankfully, it was not that unusual to see people on their knees or doing weird ass shit. This wasn’t exactly the most conventional of places.

I got myself up, even if my legs were shaky and I was dirty and covered in my own cum. It was fine. I could walk and I could leave. I just had to get my things, and go, get to my apartment, and immediately buy plane tickets and flee the country. That’s what my trust fund and a limitless credit card were for right?

But I had to be reminded that fate didn’t like me. That my life wasn’t easy, and that nothing could go right for me.

Because as soon as I got myself walking away, a hand stopped me.

Please God, please let it not be him.

“Hey, where did you run off too? Is everything okay? Did you find a good scene?”

Amara’s sweet voice and face and beautiful Celeste beside her.

Thank you.

“Fuck, you guys scared me ‘mara! And I-“

And there he was, coming out of the room I was just in, just a few feet from me, with his perfect suit, like nothing had happened. The only thing separating us was my friends.

He looked both ways on the hallway, and finally spotted me.

And I did the only thing I could do.

I grabbed both of my friends hands, and practically ran to the opposite direction, to the main room, so that I could get lost in the crowd. So he couldn’t find me.

“(Y/N) what’s the rush? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Celeste was joking, but it’s kinda like I had. It’s kinda like being in the skin of a different girl. One I had put to sleep in a hidden corner of my mind.

“I kinda did.”

I looked deep into Amara’s eyes, the only other person that knew, and hoped she understood the look.

“(Y/N), it’s not him right? He’s on the other side of the country and he couldn’t get in here even if–-“

“No! God no. It’s just. Something happened. Look I need to get home, I’ll tell you everything later but I need to leave”

“Ok, but you drank and you look to shaken up to even be by yourself, let me at least call you a driver. I’ll get your keys from the front desk and I’ll drop your car off, ok?”

She tried to hug me, but I felt so tired and weird I just shrugged it off. I knew Amara understood me better than anyone and wouldn’t be mad. I prayed I could get out of there fast enough. I just needed to get my purse and coat and get out. I could do this.

The coat room, which was more for guarding clothes for people who didn’t exactly feel like leaving in a full latex body suit, was strangely empty. Not even an employee in there. I was too eager to wait or question it, so I just went in and hoped I could find it fast enough. thankfully it was easy enough to find and I could almost cry with relief.

Except...

The hairs in the back of my neck were raised.

Goosebumps.

What was that again about instincts and the human body being able to sense disasters...

I slowly turned, already know what I was going to see.

Spencer Reid was there, blocking my only exit.

Well, fuck.

This one isn’t gonna be easy to get out of.

********

“W-we have to talk.”

Stuttering?? He was STUTTERING??

How could he even switch from a dom who could make me ignore every rule and boundary I set for myself for the last year and a half and command me to cum while looking at him, to a nervous, fidgety and awkward mess, just like that?

“We don’t actually. You have to get out of my way and let me go home.”

I really tried to muster any semblance of authority, but I was still dirty, cum was drying down my shaky legs, I had make up all over my face and the sight of him still made my head spin.

“(Y/n) please. Please, talk to me.”

That made me freeze. In the little time that I have worked with this man, he has never, ever, called me by my first name. I didn’t even think he bothered to remember, and that says a lot for a man with a eidetic memory.

“Doctor, I am asking you to step aside.”

I knew that was a low blow after what I witnessed, but if he wanted to play with me, I would make sure I win.

“Don’t call me that in here.”

And there he was.

“What? Is your sub the only one allowed to say it? Where is she anyways? Did you remember to at least give her after care?”

I was just digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole.

“I did actually. Unlike you, I wasn’t worried about cleaning myself off my thighs and crawling away.”

Now that was a even lower blow.

“Yes. Running away. Now get off the door and let me do just that.”

Please don’t make me do this.

“We have to talk about this. We are coworkers, and we may not be friends, but we’re on the same team and I have a responsibility to resolve this. Because if you look at me like the way you’re doing right now in the office, they will know something is wrong.”

I took a deep breath and tried to ignore that he was right. It was the only thing we could do. For all of my talk of running away or quitting, I loved this job. I wanted this job. And I knew neither of us wanted to quit it.

“Fine. So talk.”

Let him be the one to come up with a solution. I was too angry and tired and confused to do so.

“We’re actually holding up the room, and the coat check worker will come back from his smoke break at some point, and I don’t think the music and sex are exactly the ideal background for this conversation.”

I could not go somewhere with him. I already did too many stupid things while we were in a room full of people, so what would I even do if we were in a proper room alone...Together.

“N-not a room here or anything. We can talk in my car and I’ll drop you off anywhere you want. I just want to talk about this calmly and as quick as possible. Weekends off are never guaranteed, and we could get a case tomorrow. The last thing I want is for anything that happened today to get in the way of our job. I cannot let that happen.”

I knew he was right, but it was still hard. I mean, how do I talk to a guy that went from not acknowledging my existence, to making me come in a bdsm BDSM club. It’s not exactly a smooth transition.

“Just lead the way already, Reid.”

He didn’t think twice, afraid I would back out, and finally opened the door. I quickly texted Amara to cancel the car, saying I called an Uber already. Here’s to hoping she bought that bullshit.

Breathing the outside air was kinda dizzying. After so long inside, and after all that happened, it was like coming out of a parallel universe. It was like coming though a portal to the real world.

It made the dread and fear set on my bones way quicker than usual.

Fuck. Fuck! How was I going to do this. I still had cum on my legs. My knees were dirty from the floor. I was a mess. What the hell was I thinking? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

We finally got to his tiny, old car. It was pretty, in a way vintage cars are pretty. It seemed so clean and pristine, and I just felt like I was going to ruin the seats.

Spencer got in first, unlocking the door from the inside for me.

I was really doing this. I was really going to sit in a parking lot, in Spencer Reid’s car, and talk about how he made me come, so that working with him wouldn’t now be the most awkward thing in the planet.

Like it would matter. Like it wouldn’t be awkward either way.

I got in, and he started the car, if only for the sake of turning the heater on.

And then there was silence.

Was he not going to start the conversation?? Did he expect me to start?

“I really–-“

“I didn’t–-“

Fuck. I should have just stayed quiet.

“Reid, I can’t. I need you to start first, and I need you to solve this. Just....”

“I-I... I didn’t know this was the place you came too. The chances of stumbling into anyone I know at this particular place are miniscule. The percentage is so low I never feared it. I truly did not know. I never intended for anyone to see this side of me. This is something extremely private, and that It’s part of the little personal life I have outside of the team. I don’t let it affect my work or who I am. I have been doing it too long to let it. I have not told anyone outside of my partners and the extremely few friends I have made in the scene. So when I say I need this to stay a secret, I mean it. This is the only thing I have for myself, and I intend to keep it that way.”

That was it? We weren’t going to talk about the actual thing that mattered?! He just wanted me to keep my mouth shut?

“Reid, believe me when I say this part of the conversation didn’t even need to be touched on. This is something that will never tell, to anyone, because I would never out you like that. How would I even explain how I saw you here in the first place? This is my personal life as well. Now, if you dragged me here just to tell me to keep my mouth shut, I’ll call an Uber and go.”

My hand reached for the door, but he touched my shoulder, keeping me gently in place.

How was this the same hand that was slapping and fingering subs? Hands that dominated?

We both looked at it and he quickly pulled his hand back.

“There’s a reason why I’ve ignored you from the moment you stepped in the BAU”

Now that got my attention. I could actually feel myself holding my breath. Was I finally gonna hear it? Was I finally gonna get a reason, so that I could stop laying awake at night, trying to figure out what I did wrong?

“I will not tell you why right now, as frustrating and unfair as that is. I still have to have something for my own and it’s not entirely relevant for what happened today.”

He had to be fucking kidding me. So I was supposed to what, just die of curiosity? That wasn’t even slightly fair.

“I don’t know what happened to me when you walked into that room. I’m not one for cuckolding or cheating kinks, so I don’t know why I would disrespect Madison like that. You don’t have to feel guilty or bad by the way. She’s into it, she’s just annoyed it wasn’t anything discussed or planned beforehand, and she’s right to be. But then again, I didn’t plan on any of that. I honestly thought I was going to stop the scene and ask you to leave or leave myself when I saw you.”

I still couldn’t get words out, or even reply to him.

“But I didn’t. You didn’t leave, and I didn’t ask you to. And I looked at you and knew we were going to do something extremely stupid. I don’t like feeling not in control in that space, so I just took it back. And that meant looking at you and making you touch yourself. That meant making you moan for me, making you come for me and making you want me. So yes, I’m not proud of what I did. It was unprofessional, fucked up and stupid.”

That was it huh? He did it just because, and it didn’t mean anything? He expected me to just go back to normal life after–-

“But I still can’t bring myself to regret it, or to stop wanting you as bad as I do. So I do not know where we go from here.”

Well, fuck me. Literally, fuck me. How was I ever going to leave here intact if he talked to me in that voice, saying stupid shit like he wanted me?

“Please, say something.”

I took a deep breathe, and I said what I wanted to say ever since the moment I stepped into that stupid room and saw him dominating a sub. Hell, maybe even from the moment I first stepped in the BAU.

“Just shut up and fuck me already, doctor.”

*********

     taglist: @prettyricky187 @rileysann @gretaamyk @redbullchick @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @reidetic @reidlusts @katherineisagubler @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @sunlight-moonrise @charlieslittleangel @slothgrungee @nanocoool @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @andiebeaword @imsuperawkward @acalypsot @mjloveskids666 @spencerreidstan @thatsonezesty13 @creepynatasha @danietoww04 @krazykatkay456 @chococereal @blancastans @reidcrimes @phluffyphantom @criesinreid @davidxhollander @sansonnette @ihatemyself21 @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @reidandweep @plain-ol-starry-eyed-me @miajick @mk15x @fancystarlightpirate @lotties-journey-abroad @pinkdiamond1016 @httpnxtt  @fanficlibrary82 @dreatine

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 2

I didn’t expect to get such a crazy response to the first part of this. Here’s part two! I’m always open to continuing this, I love hero/villain whump. Thanks for reading! I hope you like it.

Find part one here.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, environmental whump (kinda), hypothermia, hospital setting, death mention, delusions, torture mention, pet whump mention (but not really)

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

Villain’s fingers burned.

It was quite paradoxical-- a caveat of the confusing structure of organs known as human anatomy. When cold got great enough, the nervous system somehow interpreted it as intense heat. Tricking itself into believing that warmth might finally be coming, maybe.

Villain knew that such a wish was hopeless. Warmth was a far off memory, as far as they were concerned.

They tucked their knees closer to their chest, pressing their forehead against them and shoving their hands in their pockets, for whatever minimal heat it would provide. As their teeth began to chatter, they gritted them together and closed their eyes. The shelf they leaned against dug into their spine.

“Take stock, and understand your situation.” The brief training they had been provided at their former place of employment sprung into their head, stupidly cheery voice and all. “A level head is more important than any weapon.”

Stupid voice, stupid seminar, stupid job, stupid heroes.

Villain did their best to take a deep breath-- though it did little but fill their lungs with frigid air.

Take stock. Understand your situation. Keep a level head.

The computer in the next room over chipperly reported that they had been in their current predicament for just over five minutes. Five minutes, thirteen seconds, twenty-two milliseconds, and six hundred eight-six nanoseconds, to be slightly more precise. That was the time that had passed since the Heroes had chased them into their own freezing cold tomb.

The moment replayed again in their mind; a series of panicked moments and thoughts, all kaidoscoping into a brilliant moment of word association. That was what had landed them here. Their own stupidity. Not that it wouldn’t have been a problem if the Heroes hadn’t chased them in the first place! Why did they even care about the Serum?! What was it to them?!

Why did Villain have to die for it?

They didn’t know exactly how long it would take for the cold to kill them. The computer beeped and spat out all the medical facts it could, but the fact stood that hypothermia affected everyone differently, dependent on a thousand different factors.

That wasn’t the real question. They knew that. They didn’t care if their last breath would be in five minutes or a hundred. All that mattered was that, in all probability, dying of cold would be quicker than dying at the hands of the Heroes.

In their pockets, they balled their fists. They didn’t notice they were crying until a tear dripped onto their neck, sending a horrid shiver through them.

It was just a stupid bottle. A stupid chemical. It was that fucking chain of atoms that had left them here--between a rock and a hard place. Between dying of cold and being tortured to death. Hell, both ways were torture! Everything was!

Why could nothing ever go right?!

With a coordination they didn’t realize they had, Villain shot to their feet (though it wasn’t exactly a graceful movement.) The tears brimming in their eyes didn’t help their vision, but they didn’t need to see. They didn’t need anything! What was the point, if they were just going to die?!

A sweeping hand aimed itself at one of the wall-high shelves, sending a line of bottles crashing to the ground and shattering in an explosion of glass snowflakes. Their contents spilled out on the tile, and whatever remained of their containers was quickly smashed under Villain’s shoe. They whipped around, attacking another shelf in the same way. Again, they reached for their next strike, but found only steel shelving. Another paradoxical burst of strength sent the whole shelf careening to the ground, sending a blizzard of shattered glass into the air.

Villain unballed their fists, panting, their lungs gasping in the frigid air. Their adrenaline rush finally wore off, sending them to the floor.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Leader’s words were cut off by a resounding crash.

They whipped around, sputtering out a last few unintelligible syllables as their attention focused on the steel door. Nerves glittered in their gaze as they clenched their jaw.

“Shit.” They muttered. “Medic?”

“Sounds like one of the shelves fell.”

“Dammit. I suppose they’re not quite sedated yet, then.”

“Cold isn’t the quickest.” Medic shook their head. “At this temperature, real hypothermia shouldn’t set in for about five more minutes.”

Leader sighed, turning back to the rest of the group. There weren’t many of them-- just Leader, Medic, Hero, and Counselor. The rest had been dispatched, on Leader’s orders, to the rest of the hospital, ensuring that none of Villain’s accomplishes had accompanied them. Regardless, the four of them would be more than enough to overwhelm Villain, when they came out.

“You’re saying they can only make it five more minutes in there?” Hero asked, their hands fidgeting at their sides. Small sparks of power appeared along their fingertips-- a surefire sign of their nerves.

“No.” Medic deadpanned. “In approximately five minutes, hypothermia will start to set in. It won’t be fatal for quite a while. I’d say we have an hour, at least.”

“Villain will give up before then.” Leader reassured. “I’ll...”

They swallowed and approached the steel door separating them from their captive. Captive? Was that the right word? Maybe. Villain had, in all truth, sealed themself in the cold storage. There was no lock on the outside. They could leave whenever they so chose. Right into the Heroes hands, of course, but still.

Leader hadn’t exactly expected Villain to stay in the room. They had expected them to turn around as soon as they entered, to keep up the chase. Yet, they hadn’t.

They had to give up soon. They were surrounded. They were stubborn as all get out, but they weren’t stupid. It was death by hypothermia, or surrender. The better of the two was pretty damn clear.

Taking a sharp breath in an attempt to raise their own confidence, Leader knocked on the door.

The response wasn’t verbal. Rather, it came in the form of a panicked yelp, and the scrambling of someone backing away.

Leader exhaled. They supposed that they would have to do the talking, here.

“Hello? Villain?”

A muffled swear came from the room. That was all the greeting they had really expected.

“You’re going to need to come out of there, before you’re in danger. You’re not equipped for those temperatures, you know that. No one is gonna hurt you.”

Leader nearly fell backwards at the sudden crash of an object against the other side of the door. It seemed that negotiations weren’t going to go very far, just yet. With a sigh, they turned back to their gathered team.

“Hero, go get some blankets. One of those electric ones, if you can. This isn’t looking good.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Pourquoi pas niquer le sérum si tu l’aimes ainsi.” Villain swore under their breath.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds and- and who gave a shit. They’d been stuck in this damn room for fifteen minutes.

The shivering had only started about three minutes ago. It was nothing like normal shivering-- that incurred when waiting for a bus in the cold. The tremors were far more violent than that, shaking their body. They felt their mind to be knocking around their head with the sheer force of it.

The chattering of their teeth had become normal to them, normal, though it was just as violent and just as uncontrollable.

Outside, their killers spoke in hushed voices. Villain wasn’t sure if they even wanted to know what they were talking about. Probably about how to torture them first. Knives, or fire, or electricity, wouldn’t that be ironic! Jokes on them, dammit! They wouldn’t get the chance. Nope, no, no chance for them... no chancy chancy.

Without thinking about it, or hardly even noticing, their blue-tinted fingertips fumbled at their jacket’s zipper, until they were finally able to undo it. They slipped the garment off, throwing it across the floor.

Much better.

Still, why did they feel so hot...?

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“Will this be enough?” Hero appeared from around a corner, nearly giving Leader a heart attack with just how suddenly they appeared. In their arms was piled a heap of blankets. They were thin, just enough to keep a patient warm as they fell under anesthesia, but Hero must’ve had at least ten of them.

“I sure hope so.” Leader nodded, gesturing for them to put the pile down. As Hero did so, Leader turned back to Counselor and Medic.

Medic cleared their throat, continuing their throat from before Hero had scared everyone half to death with their appearance.

“Hypothermia is generally thought to occur in three stages. The first is the most mild-- consisting mainly of mild shivering and numbness of the peripheral digits. Stage two is when things start to get... dangerous. Shivering becomes violent, and the patient may be unable to perform finer motor functions. It’s at this stage that the cold begins to affect... mental capabilities. Irrational behavior is common. Hallucinations and delusional states aren’t unheard of. And stage three...”

They hesitated for a moment, until Leader raised an eyebrow.

“Shivering stops. The patient will generally fall into a coma before their heart gives out.”

“We can’t let that happen.” Counselor’s voice sounded as though they were on the verge of tears, which was a very real possibility. Still, the determination in their tone won out over any fear. “Can I talk to them?”

“Be my guest.” Leader nodded.

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“Villain?”

The tone was quiet. Soft. Whimsical and moving and whisping like a... like a whisper.

Villain looked up. Their cell was tiny-- an eight foot by eight foot construction of corrugated steel. A chain hung limply from the ceiling, from which a light had once hung. That’d been removed, after Villain had made it explode upon their Trainer. Their cot had gone with it, leaving the room bare, with nothing but four walls, a floor, and a ceiling.

“Villain, I’m Counselor. I don’t know if we’ve really met. I know you’re scared, and I can’t blame you. But if you stay where you are right now, you could get really hurt. I know I can’t force you to come out, but... what are you worried about? You can talk to me. I won’t even tell any of the others, I promise.”

The door opened, flooding the room with light. Villain scrambled backwards, hitting a wall that wasn’t where it should be. The two figures that entered were blank-- their faces featureless, nothing but expanses of skin, lacking eyes or anything of the like. One clipped a leash to the ring hanging from Villain’s collar, while the other lifted them from under their armpits.

“Please no I don’t want to go please I’m still healing please I can’t go for that long again I’m still healing. I won’t be of any use please just give me a bit more time.”

That was what they had meant to say, at least. The words came out in a stream of nonsensical syllables.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. Do you speak English? Um... Voulez-vous un traducteur ? Un traductor ?”

Villain struggled to their feet, lacking any other choice with the tight grip the figure held upon their leash. The tiles clicked beneath their feet, which didn’t make much sense, as the floor of their cell was made of steel.

The figures led them outside of their cell, into the wider facility. Other figures hurried around, faces equally blank. Preparing for a mission, Villain could only assume.

Someone called out to the figures escorting them. They turned. They felt the grip on their leash loosen.

Their heartbeat drummed in their head at the realization. The facility was so busy. Everyone was so distracted... what other chance would they get?

Villain took the risk.

A quick jerk of their neck sent their leash flying from the figure’s hands. They turned to run, but found something blocking their way. They couldn’t see it, but they felt something in their hands...

“Yeah! Come on, Villain, that’s it. Just turn the lock. It’s gonna be okay, alright? Just turn the lock.”

Turn the lock. Turn the lock. Behind them, the figures were already shouting. For a moment, their fingers fumbled around at the contraption, before, at last, they did it. They turned the lock.

The door burst open, and a gust of freezing air with it. Counselor was practically thrown backwards with the sheer force of it, sending them stumbling.

Before Villain, three more of the faceless figures approached, seeming as though they had been in the middle of something. Within a moment, they had turned to them, grasping desperately in a flurry of hands.

With clumsy strikes, Villain did their best to bat them away, but found a pair of strong hands pushing them to their knees, and then onto their face.

Why was everything so white? No, the facility didn’t look like that. It was so bright. They blinked. Where were they? With an absentminded hand, they reached to their neck, feeling for their collar, only to find nothing but frigid skin.

Just as quickly, their hand was pulled behind their back, along with their other arm. The cuffs were soft, fabric, rather than the biting hold of metal. A moment later, more fabric was piled on top of them as a blanket was draped over their shoulders.

Where were they?

Again, they blinked, only to find the facility replaced with a bright, sterile hallway. Where had they gone. Had they gone unconscious? They tried to struggle, but found themself unable.

“It’s okay.” The voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away. “You’re okay. The doctors are going to be here any second. Just hold on. Hold on. It’s going to be okay.”

It didn’t make sense, but right about now, nothing did. The screeching wheels of a rapidly approaching gurney were the last thing Villain heard as they collapsed into blackness.

[vampiresuns]

Sunrisenfool’s HCs about how th Vesuvian Court/Government functions

You know it was a matter of time before I did this. This is Canon Courtiers occupation notwithstanding, as I hc that Lucio put them there at random, except perhaps for Valdemar who has been the Palace’s cockroach problem for some time now (no offence at the denomination). 

The Vesuvian Court is separated into divisions/”ministries”/departments.

There’s the Countship on itself and it’s board of advisors — Court Advisors are independent positions, with no pre-established number, who often enact as mediators between the different court ministries. They are not to be mistaken with the Court Staff.

The Court Staff is in charge of coordinating the duties and interconnected missions of the Court, working similarly to a Human Resources department. It is in charge of a Head of Staff (of the Vesuvian Court) and is composed of political and legal operators and clerks. It is somewhat of an equivalent to the servant and waiting staff existing in the Palace, who is is charge of the Chamberlain. For example, if the waiting staff would be responsible to accommodate a diplomatic envoy, the Court staff would be responsible to manage their schedules and papers for the negotiations they came to do. They serve a role more important than most people think, as there are some duties of different ministries which overlap, and it falls on them to make the execution as seamless as possible. The Consul has a heavy hand on deciding who the Head of Staff will be.

The Council of Vesuvia, composed of 7 councilpersons and presided by the Consul, who is the second highest political authority in the City. The Consul is meant to exist as a link between the Count/ess and the City, representing it in front of the rest of the Court. Consuls are appointed by firstly being presented to the Court, and then presented to the City after a period of working in the Council or the Court. This is a process I will talk about below.

The Council is in charge of the civic life of the City, being responsible for things such as Housing, Education, Public Health, Social Policies, making different social aggruppations be heard, Public Law making, among others.

The Praetorship, who is the head of Justice and is aided by a board of prosecutors. There is one prosecutor per city district, with the exception of Ash Beach as it’s not a proper district and falls under the Temple District jurisdiction and the Heart District — because it is the district where the Palace stands, the head of the district is the Praetor, technically speaking. Despite being called ‘prosecutors’ they are not exclusively dedicated to criminal law affairs, and neither is the Praetor technically.

The Pontifex of Vesuvia is not a religious authority, as the name would suggest, since the City has no official religion and has a policy of freedom of creed. The Temple District has it’s own ways of organising itself in order for all the different temples to coexist (and I hc that it is one of the ‘chillest’ districts in the city, poverty problems aside. The Consul rarely has to worry about it, since all of the heads of the different temples and religions tend to coordinate and join efforts. The councilperson for this district is usually chosen between the members of the religious bodies, and is usually someone who has some religious ordinance). Instead, the Pontifex is the cultural authority of Vesuvia. The Pontifex is responsible for the City’s festivals, the proliferation of the Arts and their protection, and the coordination of the different guilds (academic, of artisans, etc.) in the City, with the exception of the guild of Merchants which befalls under the Procurator’s responsibility. The Pontifex and it’s ministry also have a say about Education in Vesuvia.

The Pontifex is not a ‘Pontifex’ in the Roman sense: the Roman Pontifex was a member of the college of priests, and the Pontifex Maximus, it’s head. Something similar to that in the Arcana world would not be the Pontifex, but the Temple District’s councilperson.

Unlike what Vulgora would have you believe, War affairs or Navy affairs aren’t part of this department.

The Procuratorship, in hands of the Procurator is responsible for the City’s supplies, as it is seen in the game. However, this doesn’t just mean food — as one of it’s many duties is to make sure there aren’t food shortages for the general population in Vesuvia, as food in the City is considered an ‘Entitlement’ of people (a right) and their own version of food banks are common and cherished institutions in the City. Aside from food, it is the Procurator’s responsibility to oversee all transactions which are necessary in order to get any sort of resources into the City. If a service is provided by the Countship and/or its Court, it befalls on the Procurator that the requirements are seen, acting as a coordinator. They are also the link between the Count and the Court and the guild of Merchants, whether maritime or terrestrial.

Once again despite what Valdemar would have you believe, the Quaestor is the financial and economic authority of Vesuvia, responsible for the economic well-being of the City. Responsible for the City’s coffers, taxes and tolls. “Economic policies” or “mandates” fall into this ministry.

Other Court members include the Palace’s physician and their medical department, Court scientists, Court magicians, Court entertainers, the Poet Laureate of Vesuvia, and other small positions that relate to different jobs and capacities which can be appointed by the Count/ess as they see fit. It is generally understood that a Count/ess can mould their Court to suit them best. Public City Planing (relating to the architecture of the Public Space) is it’s own inter-ministerial department, and though it’s head is a member of the Court, they are not a Courtier, as they do not hold one of the official Court Ministries.

As you can see, there is a degree of overlapping in different duties, which require coordination, hence the Court having its own staff. I will not go into a deep dive of Headcanons about Vesuvian Law and it’s classifications because that’s something incredibly specific (despite I might be tempted to out of personal interest). I will also not talk about how positions are appointed, except for the Consul’s because I haven’t thought so far yet.

Instead I will firstly talk about the state of the Court under the Canon Courtiers.

For the most part, they continued to function as they did before but with trouble as they were either abandoned by their Courtier, or said Courtier purposefully intervened in a negative way. 

The Quaestor’s department and the Pontifex’s department were left mostly undisturbed, as neither Vulgora nor Valdemar could care less about what they did, and if anything needed their actual signature it was rather easy to get it out of them — as long as you caught Vulgora in a good mood and they liked you, and as long as you could catch Valdemar or stand them.

However, the Procuratorship and the Praetorship are different stories, as both ministries depend on its Courtier to a bigger degree. Some of the duties of the Procurator kept going, administrated by the staff of the department of by the guild of Merchants itself, but City supplies took the biggest toll. The Vesuvian justice system, (at least the criminal law part) which was already in need of reformation and rethinking was almost completely destroyed by the actions of Lucio and Vlastomil. It’s private law aspects stood generally less damaged, as it was easy for the board of prosecutors to take a handle of that themselves, but it was different when it came to Vlastomil prosecuting people himself.

This is, of course, not counting all the people in the Court who were corrupt themselves in whichever way.

And in the face of the rest of the Courtiers failing to do their jobs, the second in commands, or whomever felt responsible for the department and did not wish to work with the Courtiers or the Count, but for the City instead, began leaning on the Consul and their Council to the point of overdoing it, reaching a point where almost everything was the Council’s responsibility and therefore the Consul’s. This created an hyper-centralisation of the Court.

As an inclusion of my OCs own lore, when Anatole succeeds Valerius as the Consul, it takes him and Nadia from 3 to 5 years to revert this system of functioning, and consolidating their first reforms as a political duo.

The Consul’s ascension ceremony.

Like I already mentioned, the Consul of Vesuvia is the second most important/powerful political figure in Vesuvia, directly after the Count/ess. Aside of the political and civic duties I have already explained, the Consul acts as a “protector” of Vesuvia, albeit not in a paternalistic politically-conservative way (which is how paternalistic policies would be understood in our world). Instead, the Consul is meant to rule the City if the Count is absent or incapacitated, therefore being the subsidiary depositary of the secret of the foundation of Vesuvia, and the importance of it’s Canals.

When a Consul chooses their successor, said successor is first presented to the Court and the Count/ess. Since the Consul is supposed to enact as Vesuvia’s voice in the Court and is supposed to work the closest to the Count/ess, it is important that this person takes a position in the Court. They are supposed to know its workings left, right and blindfolded.

Normally, a Consul’s appointed successor will take the role of the secretary of the Council. This isn’t mandatory however. 

When a successor is presented to the court they must expose their understanding of the Court, the City and at least one issue they would like to focus on, or an area of their expertise. This is similar to what we’d know as a dissertation or a viva voce.

The Count/ess can vote against a successor for any reason, though per custom (not by law) they tend to give the ultimate deference to the City.

Therefore it is important that said successor is known to the City. They are not presented like they are to the Court, instead their work should be their presentation.

This is important because when a Consul dies or steps down and their successor is supposed to take their place, the public ceremony (it’s always public) includes two stages: during the first stage, the appointed successor bows to the City of Vesuvia, presenting themselves officially for the “first time” by declaring their commitment to the City with the work they have previously done as guarantee of said commitment. This is entangled with my own lore about the Radošević-Cassano family, but even without them, the point here is that Consuls are supposed to work. It is not an easily won, easily held position.

The way they ask the City to consider them varies from person to person but it must include name, a brief exposition of their work (if they did the job they shouldn’t actually have to detail it, the City should know), and a expression of humility.

Valerius, who was the youngest Consul to be appointed in the history of Vesuvia (to my headcanon, so know I will dive into R-C lore here, but you may customise as you see fit) would’ve been something like this: he would’ve introduced himself by full name followed by a “our time acquainting with each other has not been long, but know that I know you — the City of my mother, of my family the Cassano, and the City which has seen me grown through various years. Take my youth and my willingness to do right by my position as guarantee of the suitability of my character.” Then he would bow.

Whereas Anatole’s would be something like this: he would bow first, speaking to Vesuvia on one knee. “My dearest Vesuvians, it is Aelius Anatole Radošević De Silva, of the Cassano of Vesuvia who comes to you after many years of us knowing each other. My beloved Vesuvia for once let my actions be the eloquent ones, where words would otherwise fail your ever devoted public servant.”

Dramatic, but also he has a very special relationship with the City.

You know the City accepts you either because of their cheers, or because an appointed random person asks you to rise and remember to serve the City. Mind that the ceremony is all about the forms because it is meant to create that link (or the illusion of it) between the Consul and the City, and the participation (or illusion of it) of the citizens in the Court.

Then the appointed successor would stand and tell the Count/ess that “Vesuvia’s voice has been heard” to which the Count/ess agrees and names the successor in question Consul of Vesuvia.

Once again, the Count/ess can refuse this, but usually there’s no point in doing so if you’ve gotten this far unless you really want to humiliate someone.

If there is no active Count/ess the same ceremony has place with the Court standing for the incapacitated Count/ess.

There is no official or actual ceremony in the occasion that the Countship jumps to the Consul, instead the Court ratifies the Consul as the Count in their absence. If a Consul is ruling because a Count is too young to do so themselves and said Count/ess has no Count-Regent to act as such, like a parent or a guardian, when the Count becomes of age the Consul “presents” Vesuvia to its new Count and asks to return to their duties under the new mandate. There is no other formalities than that.

Count/ess ascensions, while equally public and bigger, have less inclusions of the Vesuvian public. This is because unless the former Count resigns/abdicates from the position (if this is the case they are the one to invest the new Count as the Count of Vesuvia) it is the Consul who invests the Count, therefore not including any manifestation from the City because it is being represented by the Consul.