#it's more like...my gender feels a little more complex and broad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

batmanisagatewaydrug · 2 years

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Hey. I have a genuine question about trans people, if thats ok? I promise I'm not trying to be transphobic when I ask this, but I am very tired and google isnt making much sense. I know that, in a very broad sense, a trans person is someone who doesn't identify with their gender. But in this case what is the difference between gender and sex? Up until now I've understood sex as female/male/intersex and gender as man/woman/nb, is that wrong? I offer you a jar full of the Void as a thanks for your time

hi anon,

I really appreciate that you sent this question, because it feels like a very well-meaning case of "and at this point I'm too afraid to ask" and I'm always happy to be a space that addresses questions that might be hard to bring up anywhere else. let's do our best to get you a satisfying answer!

so first off, we need to do a little work on your understanding of trans people.

actually... hmm. okay, first, we need to talk about gender and make sure that we're on the same page. while past decades used "gender" pretty much interchangeably with "biological sex/genitalia" (and some people still do use gender that way - think of gender reveal parties, for instance) many modern discourses understand gender as something largely or entirely separate from one's reproductive organs, instead using "gender" to refer to a complex cocktail of societal factors that includes their self-perception, personal presentation, expectations of others and society at large, and the degree to which they feel they do or don't fit into feminine/masculine binaries.

here, let me keep it real simple. this is the definition of gender that we use for my 4th through 6th grade classes: "a person's feeling or sense, in their mind or heart, of whether they are a boy or girl, man or woman, a combination of both, or neither."

obviously not a perfectly all-encompassing definition because a.) I doubt there's any definition of gender that could make everyone on god's green earth happy and b.) it's written for people who are more concerned with Warriors Cats than queer theory, but it's as good a starting point as any. for this discussion, at least, gender is referring to an internal sense of self rather than anything about one's physical body.

okay, NOW we can return to your understanding of trans folks as "someone who doesn't identify with their gender." it would be much much more accurate to say that the majority of trans people don't identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. we live in a society(TM) where brand new babies generally either get popped out of the womb and promptly assigned either male/boy/blue blanket or female/girl/pink blanket (hence the terms AMAB and AFAB - assigned male at birth and assigned female at birth, respectively) on the basis of their genitalia, and both categories tend to come with a heap of expectations no matter how hard the parents try, because we are all a bunch of fish swimming in centuries of silly made up rules about how boys and girls should behave and that's difficult to circumnavigate entirely unless you raise your sweet gender neutral infant alone in a bugout bunker somewhere in the woods.

(worth mentioning at this point, since you already mentioned intersex people and we're going to get there eventually: babies who are born with genitals that are perfectly healthy but don't fall neatly into either the "penis" or "vagina" category frequently have their genitals surgically altered very soon after birth, frequently without the parents' knowledge or consent, to make those infants fall more neatly into one of those boxes. this is done on the assumption that those infants will live easier lives if they are more easily able to be sorted into one of to genital-based binary genders. many intersex adults and advocacy groups consider this to be a Very Bad decision, which I wholeheartedly agree with.)

okay, so, trans people. "transgender" is a very broad category which can encompass many different kinds of people, but the general unifying factor is that trans folks took a gander at the gender they were assigned at birth and said "hmm I think not, actually." some transition from male to female or female to male, some invent a jazzy brand new gender, some jettison the whole concept altogether, some can occasionally fuck with the gender they were assigned at birth but only every other month and on the full moon. point being, most trans people are actually, like, fine with their gender, it just happens to be different than the gender that their parents/doctors/society tried to give them when they were born.

that can be a lot to understand, but here's the most important part: when someone tells you what their gender is, assume that they're the expert. not their parents/doctors/society. them. they know who they are and what they want to be, and the least the rest of us can do is use the terminology/name/pronouns/etc that they would prefer.

hopefully by this point the difference between gender and sex/genitalia is pretty obvious - your "sex" or genitals are but one of many features on your inescapable human meatsuit, and your gender is a complicated internal vortex. absolutely any person of any gender identity can have any sort of genitalia, and could feel any kind of way about it. that's generally not going to be any of your business, unless you are a particular trans person's a.) healthcare provider or b.) sexual partner.

now, about those female/male/intersex and man/woman/nonbinary triptychs - I would love to problematize those, if I could take another moment of your time.

right off the bat, I would recommend unlearning the urge to classify any genitals as "male" or "female." for better or worse, those are words that are extremely tied to gender, and most trans men, for instance, won't love being told they have "female genitalia" (especially if they've gone to all the trouble of getting phalloplasty, oof), most nonbinary people don't want to be told they have the genitals of any gender they don't identify with, etc. sex educators and healthcare provider like myself have been doing a tremendous amount of work in recent years to neutralize our language and make it more inclusive, so that rather than needlessly gendering someone's genitalia we can just talk about body parts as they are. if you need to refer to a group it's fine to say, for instance, "people with ovaries" or "people with prostates." strongly encourage that, good stuff.

also: while we should absolutely recognize that there is more diversity in genitalia than the two most widely known penis and vagina configurations, classifying intersex conditions as their own discrete third category is something I would be careful about. first off, the term "intersex" encompasses several different conditions, so referring to someone's genitalia as "intersex" doesn't really convey anything useful about their body parts - especially since some intersex conditions only impact chromosomes and cause no particularly noticeable difference in the genitals, which could look exactly like those of a perisex person (perisex = not intersex) and thus be indistinguishable from "male" or "female" genitalia.

there's as much diversity of gender among intersex people as any other population - there are trans intersex people, cis intersex people, nonbinary intersex people, and so on. as with any other group, the best to talk about their body parts is without presumption and using whatever language they'd prefer, rather than assuming you know how it ought to be classified.

treating "nonbinary" as a stable third gender category likewise has issues - what being nonbinary actually means and looks like can vary WILDLY between the people who fall into that category. many people who find the existing gender binary stifling, harmful, oppressive, or otherwise not very fun actively rebuke the idea of that sort of neat classification, and are actively disheartened by the idea of all of their effort to challenge that binary resulting in the creation of a trinary with a third category that's exactly as rigidly defined as the other two. some of us - hi, it's me - want nothing more than to exist in an ambiguous space beyond easy categorization.

tl;dr while it's great and necessary to acknowledge that bodies and people can't all be put neatly into two opposite boxes, the answer isn't necessarily to conceptualize a new, third box to plunk all of the outliers into.

I appreciate the jar of Void, which my cat will probably be knocking over shortly, and I hope this clarifies things for you.

#sex edventures 2022

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verai-marcel · 3 years

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Serendipitous Meetings (Arthur x GN!Reader, Modern AU, 18+)

Summary: You foolishly didn’t mark where you parked in the huge parking structure, and spend some time looking for your car. You run into a fellow who did the same thing, and things get ridiculously serendipitous from there.

Author’s Notes: How many tropes can I shove into this fic? Let’s face it, I just wanted to have Arthur fuck like the manly man that he is. Also going for gender neutral as much as possible, so all my readers who want a piece of Arthur can have him.

Tags: Arthur x GN!Reader, smut, light D/s tones, size kink, light spanking, neck grabbing, rough sex, dirty talk, modern AU

AO3 Link is here, li’l darlin’.

Word Count: 3764

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"Shit."

You let out a long suffering sigh as you looked around the packed parking structure. In your rush to meet your friends, you had forgotten to take a photo of where you parked. Now you stared at the large expanse of cars, racking your brain for at least a slight memory of how you got to the venue entrance from your car.

Sticking your hand into your pocket, you gripped your phone for a moment before letting it go. You had already shooed your friends away, insisting you had parked nearby and could get to your spot no problem. Swallowing your pride, you started to search the rows for the off-white bucket of bolts you dared to call your car.

After searching one floor, you trudged up the stairs to the next one, stopping a few steps past the landing to gaze upon the hundreds of cars before you. You faintly heard another set of steps coming down the stairwell, but you were so mired in your own despair that you didn't pay the sound any mind.

"Shit," said a gravelly voice next to you.

Glancing over, a very broad set of shoulders filled your view. Your eyes flicked over the red and black flannel shirt and blue jeans, with an almost hilariously large belt buckle. Then you looked up.

Oh no. He was gorgeous, in a rugged, manly-man sort of way. That chiseled jaw, the five o’clock shadow, that thick neck… he was the kind of man who could probably pick you up and throw you over his shoulder with ease. You were so busy staring at him in tired awe that he finally noticed you.

A pair of turquoise eyes met yours. "Sorry," the man said. "Can't find my truck."

It took you half a second to remember to respond. Then you gave him an empathic half-grin. "I can't find my car either."

He pointed upstairs. "What's yer car look like? Maybe I saw it up there."

You shook your head. "It's just a generic off-white Toyota Corolla."

The man shrugged. "Oh. Well, sorry darlin', there's a bunch of those up there."

You sighed, lamenting the fact that your car was one of the most popular cars out on the road these days. You also secretly enjoyed him calling you darling with that accent of his. He sounded like he had just stepped out of a spaghetti western.

"Maybe I saw your truck downstairs, if it stands out," you said, trying to be helpful.

"It's a blue Chevy pick-up. Really old, like one o' them classic trucks, 'cept it ain't been cleaned up like the ones you see in a car show."

Your memory flashed with the image of a dirty blue truck in your apartment complex's garage. You stifled a laugh at the thought. You had always wondered who drove the old thing, since you had never seen its owner.

"Nope, I didn't see a truck like that downstairs," you told him.

"Oh. Well, guess we better start lookin'," he said. He looked at you for a moment, opened his mouth, then closed it again.

You waited.

“Maybe,” he finally said, “maybe we could look together? For a bit. Keep each other company.”

“Okay,” you said easily. Part of your brain screamed that it could be really easy for him to just pull you into his car, but you dismissed the voice in your head. He seemed alright; you had a good feeling about this guy.

The two of you took off towards the left side of the structure. Putting your remote under your chin and hoping it would actually increase its range, you hit the button on occasion.

“Uh, what’re you doin’?” he asked, pointing at your remote.

“Oh, I read about this online, someone figured out that you can use your own head as an antenna, or something like that.”

The man raised an eyebrow, but eventually just nodded. “Huh, I guess that makes sense.”

You shrugged. “Haven’t tested it before this, so I’m hoping it actually works.”

The two of you wandered further and further towards the center when finally you heard that familiar beep.

*BEEP BEEP*

He chuckled. “Guess it works.”

You had never been so happy to hear that annoying little buzzer of a horn. You took off at a jog without waiting for the man, going towards where you had heard the sound, and as you turned a corner, you spotted it.

It was the big, old, blue truck from your apartment complex.

No way, you thought. There is no way. Maybe it's a similar truck.

Going back, you saw the man wandering around, still searching.

"Hey Mister!" you yelled.

He turned towards you.

You excitedly pointed towards the truck. "This yours?"

He started walking to you, and as he came closer, you could see the smile on his face and felt your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," he said, stopping in front of you. "Where’s your car?"

You grinned and hit your unlock button. The little off-white sedan next to his truck let out a little beep, the lights coming on.

"Wish I had one of those," he said wistfully. "Sure woulda made my life easier." He looked at you with a small smirk as he opened the door to his truck. "But then I wouldn’t have met you. Thanks fer your help, angel."

You smiled, feeling your cheeks warm from his comment. "No problem." You struggled to find anything else to say, feeling pathetically desperate to hear him speak more. "Have a good night," you finally said.

"You too," he said, his voice a little lower, a little more breathy as he hauled himself into his truck and closed the door. Now that you had a pretty good feeling that he was a decent guy and not a creep, you half-wished he really would pull you into his truck and have his way with you.

Shaking the lewd thought from your head, you got into your car and set up your phone to listen to a podcast as you drove home. You eased your way out of the garage, through the local roads, and onto the freeway. For the next thirty minutes, you would spot the same blue truck out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes you’d pass him, sometimes he’d pass you.

Maybe it’s a different blue truck, you tried to convince yourself.

You couldn’t convince yourself any further when you pulled into your apartment complex right behind him. He parked at his usual spot, three away from yours. Climbing out of your car, you saw him walk towards you.

“You followin’ me?” he asked gruffly, though the grin on his face clearly showed his amusement at the coincidence.

“I can’t believe we live in the same complex,” you muttered, still in shock that you had never seen this handsome man before. “How long have you lived here?”

“Oh, ‘bout two years now.”

“Shit,” you thought to yourself.

“Why’re you cursin’?”

Oh crap. You said that out loud. “I, uh, um,” you stammered.

He quietly watched you, letting you stew in your own embarrassment, an amused grin on his face. The bastard was enjoying watching you squirm!

Feeling your face heat up, you blurted out the truth.

“We could’ve known each other sooner!”

It was an unfortunate tick in your personality that you had never managed to get rid of, and now, watching his eyes widen at your embarrassing remark, you wished the sidewalk would just open up and swallow you whole. But since that wasn’t going to happen, you opted to turn around and stalk away.

“Hey now, wait, you can’t just say that and leave,” the man said, jogging to catch up to you. When you wouldn’t stop walking, he swerved in front of you, forcing you to stop mere millimeters from him. You noticed how big he was, how little you were in comparison. You weren’t a small person by any means, he was just… large.

“Why’re you runnin’ away, darlin’?” he asked, his voice hushed as if he was trying to calm a wild animal. Perhaps with the way you acted, you seemed that way to him.

You took a deep breath, accidentally inhaling his scent, a mix of pine trees and a subtle hint of campfire smoke and musk that made you want to bury your face in his chest and stay there. Desire shot straight between your legs, reminding you that it had been a long time since you’d been with anyone. Letting out a shaky breath, you made the poor choice of looking up at him.

You were blinded by his kind smile and seduced by his deep voice. “Do you want to know me?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, I do,” you answered immediately.

He pointed to his apartment. “I live there. Want to share some whiskey?"

You paused. He was a stranger.

A stranger with beautiful eyes and the sweetest smile you had ever seen.

You followed him willingly into his den.

***

You blinked after he turned on the lights. When your vision cleared, your expectations were, fortunately, not met at all.

You had expected a bachelor pad with junk everywhere and clothing on the floor. What you saw was a clean and neat living room with a simple couch and a TV on top of a small entertainment center that held a few blu-rays and a blu-ray player. The short table in front of the couch had a plate on it, a smudge of ketchup and some crumbs on it, and a glass with a little bit of water left.

The man went to pick up after himself, putting the dirty dishes in the sink before going to his pantry. His kitchen looked pretty bare, except for the dried herbs, tied up in bunches under his cabinets.

While he shuffled around bottles, you went to sit on his couch, but not before pausing for a moment to look through the door to his bedroom. He had a bed that looked big and comfy, his sheets somewhat askew but otherwise in place. Didn’t look like there were any clothes or boxes lying around anywhere. So either the man was tidy, or he didn’t own a lot of things.

“Curious li’l one, ain’tcha?” he chuckled behind you.

Spinning around, you could only give him a sheepish grin. “Yup, sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

He smiled and gave you a tumbler of amber liquid with a giant sphere of ice. “Curiosity like that could get you in trouble one day,” he said mysteriously, gesturing towards the couch.

You raised an eyebrow, but sat down anyway. You took a sip of the ice cold whiskey, enjoying its slow burn down your throat. It was smooth and sweet. “This is fantastic, what is it?”

“It’s a blackberry flavored whiskey,” he replied as he settled himself on the couch, a little closer to you than you had expected. “I thought you might like it.”

“Oh?” You leaned in a little closer. “And why is that?”

“Somethin’ a li’l sweet fer a li’l sweetheart,” he said with a grin. He knew he was being schmaltzy, but you didn’t care. You were eating up his words, spoken with that deep rumble that went right between your legs.

You continued to sip and make small talk with him until your ice had melted and the late night had become the witching hour. But he didn’t seem to mind, and you wanted to stay.

“You got a bit o’ whiskey here,” he said as he leaned in and reached for the corner of your lips, his thumb catching the drop that had escaped your last sip. You flicked out your tongue to catch him, and your eyes met. A heartbeat passed. The whiskey gave you strength.

Taking his hand in yours, you surged forward and kissed his lips, tasting whiskey and his woodsy scent. A low moan came from deep within him, but he did not reach for you. His hands gripped the cushions as he let you take the lead, climbing into his lap and wrapping your arms around him, your fingers kneading his broad shoulders. You kissed the breath from him, desperate to feel him against you.

When you finally broke away for air, you stared at his eyes, now filled with lust and longing, and realized you didn’t even know his name.

He came to the same conclusion. “What’s yer name, darlin’?”

You told him.

He nodded and repeated your name. It sounded so good when he said it. “Feels nice to say it out loud,” he said. “I’m Arthur,” he added as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tenderly. “How far do you want to go?”

“All the way,” you said, grinding your hips against his groin, making him take a shuddered breath.

Without a word, he picked you up and carried you to his big, comfy bed. He dropped you unceremoniously and took off his shirt.

He was ripped. He was built like a man who had worked all his life in a physical job, carrying & lifting. With his tall stature, his broad shoulders, and his huge arms, he made you feel small.

You had never been more aroused in your whole life.

Your body was ready to be thoroughly fucked by this man, and you hadn’t even taken your clothes off yet. You watched hungrily as he undid his belt and dropped his jeans & boxers, your eyes taking in his size. He wasn’t even at full mast yet, and you already wondered if you’d be able to take him all in.

“Your turn, darlin’.”

Taken out of your trance, you took off your clothes as he watched. You started at a normal pace, but when you saw him take himself in his hand and stroke himself while watching you with a lustful gaze, you slowed down, making an attempt to tease him. Already topless, you lay back on the bed and lifted your legs up, sliding your pants upwards. Slowly, you exposed your ass to him, winking salaciously.

He stroked himself a little faster. A soft moan escaped his lips. “Darlin’, yer makin’ it real hard fer me to stay in control here.”

You glanced down at him. “I can see it’s real hard,” you said with a playful smirk.

“Oh, yer goin’ ta get it now,” he said, his grin becoming predatory as he climbed onto the bed. Grabbing the rest of your clothes, he pulled them from you, flinging them over his shoulder before flipping you onto your belly. He gripped your ass and squeezed hard before giving you a firm spank.

“Ooh!” you yelped.

“You want more?” he asked as his hand soothed over his mark.

You could tell he was asking for permission. Turning back to him, you gave him your best pouty face. “Does Sir think I need more?”

Arthur looked immensely pleased with your response. “I think so,” he said, his voice deepening with a thread of command that turned you on beyond belief. He straddled your legs and rested one hand on the curve of your ass. “I told you, curiosity would get you in trouble.”

He spanked you hard once more. “That’s fer sneakin’ glances into my room,” he said. He gave you three more swipes, each in slightly different areas so you wouldn’t get too sore. Then he grabbed your ass with both hands and massaged your muscles, spreading you open as he thrust his cock along the cleft of your rear.

“Yer so obedient, sweetheart,” he murmured as his hips rocked, his eyes fluttering shut for a few moments. Then with his strong grip, he manhandled you onto your back, wrapping his big hands around you and pulling you into his arms. He cradled you for a sweet, gentle moment before rolling you around like you were as light as a pillow before setting you back down onto the mattress. He leaned over you as he reached for the nightstand, pulling out a condom. You watched him slip it on, but he didn’t move to enter you. Instead, he reached down and began to stroke you as he loomed above, watching your reactions.

You moaned and writhed under his deliberate exploration. His hands traveled languidly along every inch of you. When he found a sensitive area that elicited a soft noise of pleasure from you, he lingered, making you whimper and lean into his touch. He finally touched you lower, where you longed for his attention, but to your frustration he continued his study at the same leisurely pace. Soon his strokes became faster and he pressed harder against you. His eyes nearly glowed as he watched you lift your hips towards his hands, imploring him for more. Using his new knowledge to his advantage, he brought you to the brink and then shifted his touch elsewhere, making you cool off before working you back up again until you were going insane with need.

“Please, please Arthur, I need to come,” you begged.

He only smiled as he slipped a finger inside of you. He slowly worked you open enough for two of his fingers, then three. Soon he was dragging you to the edge again, and you hadn’t even had his cock. You were feeling like you were being denied the thing you wanted most.

“Arthur,” you whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Louder, darlin’.”

“I want your cock!”

“And what do you want me to do with it?”

“Fuck me!”

“Say it again. All of it.”

“Fuck me with your cock!”

His smile was wolfish, satisfied that he had heard you beg for your desire. Pressing the head of his shaft against your opening, he pushed, easing his way inside of you.

You were right. He was big, long, and oh so thick. He stretched you deliciously, and you keened softly as he took you, claimed you, made you his in the most carnal of ways. He reached up and slipped his hand under your head, gripping your hair at the base and pulling slightly.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. I want to see you while I’m takin’ you,” he murmured.

You couldn’t look away from him. His look was intense, as if he commanded your entire being, your body his to use for his pleasure. And you willingly gave it to him, letting him sheathe his entire length inside of you. He held you still while your body adjusted to his claim, watching you with an almost proud expression.

“Good li’l darlin’,” he said as he leaned over. He kissed you gently on the lips, then on the forehead, and as if he was overcome with affection for you, peppered kisses along the curve of your cheek and down your neck.

“I’m goin’ to fuck you now,” he whispered into your ear. “You tell me to slow if it’s too much for ya, alright?”

You nodded, sure that whatever he was about to do to you, you could handle it.

He lifted himself up onto his forearms, his hands framing your face. “You look so damn cute,” he murmured before his hips slowly pulled back. “So fuckable.”

Arthur slammed his cock deep inside of you with one forceful stroke. He immediately looked down at you when you let out a cry of surprise. He waited, quietly checking in.

“More,” you whispered.

You thought you saw relief cross his features before he gave you a teasing smirk. “Ask me nicely and I just might give it to ya.”

“Please sir,” you begged, “I need more.”

Arthur gave you a single nod before rocking his hips, building you up slowly, his gaze nearly burning a hole into you with their intensity. As your body stretched and accommodated him, you clawed at his arms, greedily clamoring for him to speed up. He let out a feral growl before wrapping a big, rough hand around your neck, his other hand gripping your leg and spreading you wider for him.

"You think you can take more, darlin'?"

You looked up at him and smiled a challenge.

He began a ferocious pace, angling himself to take you as deep as he could go. All you could focus on was the impact of his body against yours, his thick shaft filling you over and over, unrelenting as a tidal wave.

Soon he let go of your neck so he could sit up and grip your hips with both of his hands. He was fucking the breath out of you with each hard thrust, the sound of his hips slamming against yours filling the room with a lewd rhythm, intertwined with your breathy cries and his low moans of pleasure.

He reached down and stroked you, his touch rough and vigorous, matching the way he was ravaging you in a haze of lust. You could feel yourself sprinting towards that delicious finish line. The end was in sight as your hips jerked wildly, your legs wrapping around Arthur as he thrust even harder and deeper than before.

"Come fer me," he murmured. "I want to feel you lose yerself around my cock."

You screamed as his words broke the dam that was holding back a torrent of pleasure, your climax tearing through your body at breakneck speed. Your legs stiffened, your toes curled, and your fingers dug into his very muscled biceps as you came harder than you ever had. You shook with aftershocks as Arthur continued to thrust, his hands letting go of your hips as he fell upon his forearms, caging you in as he chased his pleasure.

"Fuck sweetheart, I'm comin'," he moaned before he buried his head into the crook of your neck. He gave three more erratic thrusts, then nearly crushed you with his weight as he pressed his hips against yours, keeping himself inside of you for as long as he could.

A breathless moment passed, the two of you trying to catch that elusive breath. Arthur rolled off of you, quickly gathering you into his arms as he tumbled onto his side.

"Goddamn," he finally muttered. "Wasn't expectin' to have such good company."

You turned in his arms so you could see the wide grin on his face. "For once, I'm glad I got lost in the parking lot."

He kissed your forehead. "Me too, darlin'. But let's make sure we don't get lost again." He found your hands under the covers, brought them up to his lips, and kissed your fingertips.

"After all, I only just found you, my li'l darlin'."

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End Notes: Been a while, and of course, all of my pent-up lust just came streaming out of me in a flurry of words and phrases. Hope it’s still hot enough for you, my lovely readers!

#arthur morgan #arthur x reader #arthur x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #nsft #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #writing #lemon fanfic #fanfic

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korodere · 3 years

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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.

#nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #komahina #kamukoma #headcanons #my headcanons #kota.txt

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Dᴏꜱᴄᴇɴᴅᴏ Dɪꜱᴄɪᴍᴜꜱ

The reader tries to paint the Colossal Titan from memory, and Bertholdt seems to know more than most people.

Requested: no.

Word Count: 2092

Docendo Discimus is a Latin proverb meaning "by teaching, we learn." It is perhaps derived from Seneca the Younger, who says in his Letters to Lucilius: Homines dum docent discunt., meaning "Men learn when they teach”.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The human body is home to somewhere between six hundred and eight hundred muscles. There are two hundred and six bones, seventy-eight organs, one hundred thousand miles of veins, and roughly ten pints of blood. Every individual cell has a purpose, important and needed for the body to continue to function.

Assuming the anatomy of a titan was the same to that of the average person’s, the Colossal Titan should be easier to render than this. You’d sketched the face of muscle and teeth over a hundred times by this point, and each one of them seemed to draw further away from realism than you liked.

Sure, it was arguable that the Colossal just didn’t have the same anatomy in his face as the average human. But then there should’ve been more factors in his face that shouldn’t have worked.

For example, the monster didn’t possess a muscle called the orbicularis. You could remember that specifically from the time you and your fellow cadets had gotten a bit too close for comfort. But based on the lack of orbicularis, he shouldn’t have been able to blink. And yet, he had. There was also a strange muscle in his temporal region with horizontal fibers, that couldn’t have simply been his temporal. It doesn't seem to have any particular function, either.

God damn it. It’s appearance should’ve been the one thing about this bastard to make sense, but instead it had confused you just as much as the rest of it. Never mind how smart you were. If you couldn’t solve this simple turned complex mystery, why hold out hope for studying anatomy when the world would return to normalcy?

In your frustration, you slam the paintbrush back into your cup of water. A stain of red clouds erupts in the liquid at once, angry from how direct the solid hits the surface. In front of you, the canvas shines with the new layer of red paint. Beside it is a coat of salmon, also fresh and lined with the titan’s muscles.

“So stupid,” you hiss, half to yourself. You grab your cadet corps jacket, shrugging it on swiftly before crossing your arms and stepping back.

It was supposed to be a gift for Eren. He knew you were something of a painter and had once jokingly asked you to make a dart board for him. The moment you conceived this idea, you knew it had to be a stroke of genius. But you wanted to get it right, and for that, the artist and realist inside of you seemed to be punished for it.

Was it something with the eyes? No, it was definitely the anatomy of the titan overall. “For fucks sake,” you wave off finally, turning on your heel to walk away for a while. But when you turn around, you’re face to chest with one so broad you nearly stumble back.

The figure tenses up immediately. You tilt your head up to see who it is, recognizing the nervous, kaleidoscope eyes of your comrade. Bertholdt, you’re sure his name is. You haven’t talked too many times, but you’ve seen him in your circle of friends. There’s a memory in your brain of asking your bunkmate, Annie, about why Bertholdt would hang around someone so upstanding and obnoxious as Reiner, but you can’t recall her specific answer.

“O-oh, Y/N!” Bertholdt nearly wheezes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand so close.”

“It’s fine,” you mutter, rubbing the side of your head as you step away. “What are you doing here?”

Yes, what was he doing here? A little closeted off room by the girl barracks? And aside from that, how does someone as tall as he even sneak his way inside? It’s suspicious, to say the least.

“I was just-” Bertholdt stares down at you, sweat already beginning to form on his face. Oh, goddess. How is he to get out of this one? If Reiner was with him, he could just lie his way out of it. But now, looking down at your apathetic, borderline tired, frustrated face, he knows he’s never had much luck with girls. Especially not pretty girls like you.

His gaze shifts to behind you. There, on a perfectly square parchment of thick paper, is a rough sketch of a long face without any skin. It seems to be all muscle, labeled and detailed. Half the sheet is colored in with pinks, browns, and scarlets, with the other half marked with insane little scribbled patterns that remind him of words.

You’re still waiting for an answer. He sees your steady, patient eyes and your balled fists by your hips, and Bertholdt wonders if you already know. “I saw you bring in those cans of paint, and I guess I got curious.”

“Oh,” you reply flatly. “Yeah. That.”

“It’s um...” Compliment her. Compliment her painting. “It’s a nice painting. What’s it supposed to be of?”

“The Colossal Titan,” you tell him as you rub the back of your neck. Then you turn on your side so you can view your art, immediately narrowing your eyes in disgust at it. “It’s not my best.”

Bertholdt’s words come out a bit louder than he intended. “Actually, I think it’s really, really great, Y/N!”

You turn back to meet Bertholdt’s nervous, almost quivering eyes. You certainly wouldn’t call yourself an expert on the male gender, but this tall bastard was exactly the stereotype of someone who wasn’t an expert on the female gender. It was almost funny. No, it was almost ironic.

“I just mean that... it’s really good. It’s easy to see that you have heaps of talent,” the brunette reiterates, seemingly calmer this time.

What a nice thing to say to someone.

“That’s not really my point though,” you borderline sigh. “The point is that no matter what I seem to do to him, it doesn’t seem realistic does it?”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertholdt questions, his eyebrows furrowing. That’s right, he wouldn’t be able to squint without his orbicularis. Something your art model was currently lacking.

Do you even bother to explain it to him? It’s not like either of you are close, or like he’d exactly understand what you were saying to him anyway. But where was the harm, really?

You walk back towards the parchment, with Bertholdt just a few steps behind.

“See this area?” you ask, gesturing to the Colossal Titan’s eye area. “There's a muscle here that’s supposed to let people close their eyes. But the colossal titan doesn’t have that.”

“W-why is that?”

You shrug. “Damned if I know. But doesn’t it look wrong on him?”

Bertholdt observes the painting. He sees all the details, all the time you’ve put into it. While you are right about the image and the titan’s strange features, it’s now that Bertholdt realizes just how intelligent you really are. Unlike other people, you actually knew things. If he were an enemy, he might be starting to feel threatened right about now. Ironic indeed.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the boy says shyly. “Why does it have to be perfect, though?”

Good question.

“No real reason,” you tell him, trying to hide the hint of smile. “I guess it’s just how it is. Eren is the one who asked for this.”

“O-oh... you mean like a...”

Your eyes flit back to Bertholdt. “Like a what?”

Bertholdt can feel the sullen wave of anxiety wash over him. He hadn’t meant to let the stray thoughts fall from his lips, but now he can’t take it back. Now what does he say? “I just mean, is it a gift or something like that?”

“Sure.”

Were you and Eren...?

“I might be able to help you with it,” Bertholdt stutters, again, louder than he’d intended. He’s lucky at least one of you is level headed during this interaction.

“How so? Do you paint?”

“No, but I think I might know some things about the Colossal that you don’t,” Bertholdt offers. His right arm reaches behind to rub at his sweaty neck. In that instant, you can see that the boy has an almost identical structure to that of your subject. You’d have to note that the tall boy would make a brilliant model for something like this.

“Like what?” you question. “Could you give me some feedback on my piece then?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were going to find out.

Bertholdt pretends to be in deep thought for a minute, knitting his dark eyebrows together. His green, blue eyes sweep over the picture, watching the slick settle. “Well, you’re right about the muscle around the eye. I’d take that out, but maybe place the shadow of it?”

“The shadow?”

“The outline. And maybe make his eyes more glossy than this. Titan’s have a second set of eyelids.”

You don’t have time to question him further. Bertholdt continues the onslaught of information.

“I think you should also make some of these areas here a bit lighter,” he says, pointing to the side of the Colossal’s face. “From the steam and the high body temperature, it would get a bit smoky.”

“Yeah,” you begin slowly, watching the shine in Bertholdt’s previously nervous eyes. “I hadn’t considered that.”

The lanky male in front of you lets his lips curl into a sheepish smile, closing his eyes as his fingers thread themselves between his hair. “I doubt most people do, so you’re not really in the wrong.”

“How do you know so much?” you ask. “You’ve been quiet with everyone up until now. Do the higher ups even know all this?”

“I mean, they’d have to right? I guess I just took a lot of notes in class.”

You hadn’t remembered your professor mentioning most of these things during your Titan Studies period. But maybe it wasn’t really worth questioning him over. Maybe Bertholdt was just more observant than you had ever really considered. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Your eyes are fixated on him. Bertholdt was kind of cute, actually. His eyes are both big and slim, with pale green orbs. His skin was always a bit illuminated with a nervous sweat, and he was incredibly mild mannered. But maybe that was actually a good thing compared to all the boys in camp who seemed to lack any conception of manners. Pouty, chapped lips, a gentle smile, messy dark hair. He seems like someone reliable. Kind. Trustworthy.

“Yeah,” you say again, breaking eye contact. “So, are there any other suggestions you have for me?”

Bertholdt is still for a moment, thinking it over. “No, other than don’t think so hard about it, probably.”

“You two sort of have a similar face,” you say, staring at the muscled beast you’d attempted to replicate. “Maybe you should pose for me sometime.”

Bertholdt tenses.

“I’m only joking,” you assure. Bertholdt’s broad shoulders fall as he relaxes, and a soft exhale leaves from between his lips. “But I would like it if you’d let me model after you.”

“Me?” Bertholdt stutters, shocked. “You mean you’d want to really paint me?”

“‘Course,” you say, nonchalant as always. “You’ve got one of those faces.”

Bertholdt smiles naturally. Soft, but noticeable. You return it after a few seconds, feeling your previous frustration and anger at the piece begin to wander away.

“I should get back to work,” you say as you turn around. Bertholdt watches you unclip the parchment from your sturdy easel, place it on the stone floor, and grab another paper from a pile.

“Y-you’re starting again?”

“Of course,” you say. Your dominant hand laces around a piece of charcoal, preparing to drag it across the page. In one swift and scratchy motion, an onyx line appears at the top of the paper.

Bertholdt’s cheeks dust pink from behind you. He’s about to offer if you want him to pose for you so you can memorize what’s underneath his shy skin, but he stays quiet. Instead, Bertholdt is happy that he even got to speak to you in the first place. He wanders out of the room with butterflies in his stomach, and guilt in his heart.

And you, with your eyes narrow, basing the monster that ruined your life off the boy who had just helped you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I didn’t proof read this. I feel like I’ve just been cranking stuff out lately. someone remind me to go back and edit thank you

#bertholdt x reader #bertholdt imagines #bertholdt hoover x reader #bertholdt fubar x reader #bertholdt fubar imagines #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #aot x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin masterlist #aot masterlist

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Tedious Joys - Chapter 2 -

- Ao3 link -

“If you want A-Jue at this time of day, he’ll be at the training field,” Lao Nie said, standing up and immediately striding off in that direction. “Oh, and Qiren, I will warn you – he has his mother’s height.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes as he followed behind. “That’s helpful information,” he remarked. “Right up until you recall that I have never had the pleasure of meeting his mother –”

He stopped talking and stared.

“I didn’t think a further explanation was necessary,” Lao Nie said. He wasn’t quite at the level of sniggering into his sleeve, but he certainly had a shit-eating grin. Lao Nie was not a short man by any standard, although he was squatter, more muscular and more broad-shouldered than the tall and slender Lan sect – and yet…

“He’s under ten,” Lan Qiren checked, and Lao Nie nodded. “You’re sure.”

“I was present at the birth myself, and have cared for him ever since. And before you ask, I may be busy with my duties as sect leader, but I still feel like I would have noticed someone swapping him out for a child several years older.”

Lan Qiren squinted out at the training field, where a child (and it was a child, given the amount of baby fat in his cheeks, even if the overall size was more what he’d expect of a teenager) was happily dismembering a training dummy with an especially fearsome-looking saber under the tolerant supervisory gaze of the training master.

“Lao Nie,” Lan Qiren finally said. “About that first wife of yours…you would tell me if she were an actual giant – or a goddess –”

Lao Nie laughed and patted him on the back. He did not answer the question.

“A-Jue! Come here!” he shouted, and Nie Mingjue – demonstrating excellent discipline – completed his strike before turning around and trotting over to his father. “Say hello to Teacher Lan.”

“Teacher Lan,” Nie Mingjue said obediently, saluting properly like every small child introduced to a stranger, and then looked up. A smile suddenly spread over his face. “Oh, Teacher Lan! Fighting without permission is prohibited!”

Lan Qiren choked and Lao Nie burst out laughing.

“That was seven years ago,” Lan Qiren protested, and Lao Nie only howled more. “You were an infant. How do you even remember that?”

“It was interesting!” Nie Mingjue beamed. “You said that every word in the rule is like a principle – even if you have the rule, you have to agree on what it means. What counts as fighting, what counts as permission, what counts as prohibited…I use it lots!”

“He has a good memory,” Lao Nie said, wiping his eyes. “You should hear how many profanities he’s learned.”

“I would rather not,” Lan Qiren said hastily, because Nie Mingjue looked on the verge of volunteering to recite them. “Nie Mingjue, can you show me around?”

“Of course, Teacher Lan! Let me just put Baxia away first; I’m not allowed to carry her outside the training field yet. Unless there’s an accident, of course.”

Lan Qiren did not ask. As a sect leader who did not share a border with Qishan Wen, he didn’t think he had the right.

“Take your time,” he said, putting his hands behind his back and watching as Nie Mingjue ran away.

“Would it help to have me there?” Lao Nie asked, and nodded when Lan Qiren shook his head. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Lan Qiren did not put forward any requests, curious to see where Nie Mingjue would take him, and was reluctantly charmed by the fact that their first destination was the nursery, where several pudgy toddlers of indeterminable age were sleeping.

“My baby brother,” Nie Mingjue explained, very seriously, inadvertently driving home that the fact that he was as tall as Lan Qiren’s elbow didn’t make him any older than he was. “He’s little.”

Lan Qiren couldn’t even tell which one of the indiscriminate toddlers wrapped in blankets was meant to be Nie Huaisang, but he nodded, and Nie Mingjue led him onwards, initially mostly silent with belated shyness but eventually coaxed into chattering.

In the evening, he returned to Lao Nie’s study.

“Well?” Lao Nie asked, face creased into the scowl he had on more often than not, despite being widely considered one of the more even-tempered Nie. “What do you think?”

“I think your son is a bright and enthusiastic boy,” Lan Qiren said. “With a remarkable sense of justice and morality that will serve him well, although maybe not so much in terms of politics. He’s very…straightforward.”

“Yes, well, I’m still holding out hope on A-Sang for the tact,” Lao Nie said. “That wasn’t my question and you know it.”

Lan Qiren tried to collect his thoughts. “I don’t think you’ve damaged him for life,” he finally said, and Lao Nie’s shoulders relaxed in a sudden exhalation of what was probably months of increasing stress. “I do think he would benefit from understanding a little bit more about what’s happening to him.”

“But he’s so young.”

“I know. Normally, I wouldn’t introduce the subject of his own mortality at this level of complexity this early – although I assume it’s hard for him to miss the concept entirely, given the political situation –” Lao Nie winced in acknowledgment. “– but I don’t think you have much of a choice. You’re not the only one who noticed the saber spirit.”

Lao Nie frowned, then understood, and frowned even deeper. “He’s noticed it?”

“I got him talking on the subject of his saber,” Lan Qiren said. “He regards it in the same manner as other children his age would an imaginary friend. It’s female, apparently.”

Based on the description, Baxia also had what he would, in one of his students, term a personality. He supposed it was possible that Nie Mingjue was just projecting the parts of himself that weren’t quite fit for company, since surely no one could be that earnest, and yet, based on what Lao Nie had told him…

Lao Nie groaned and put his hand to his head. “Jiwei didn’t develop a sense of gender for years,” he grumbled, and Lan Qiren was moderately certain that he hadn’t intended to admit that out loud. “This is ridiculous. I want him to live a good life, Qiren. A long one, insofar as that’s possible for our sect.”

“I’ll try to do some research,” Lan Qiren said. “In the meantime, could he be convinced to cultivate something else in addition to a saber? Music, perhaps?”

“You’re welcome to try. He’s practically tone-deaf.”

“Perhaps arrays, then, or talismans,” Lan Qiren said. “It would do him some good to find another thing to pour all that energy of his into.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lao Nie allowed. “And I appreciate any research you’re able to do, though of course there are limitations on your time – and what we can allow to be taken out of the Unclean Realm.”

Lan Qiren waved a hand. “It’s nothing. I enjoy keeping busy, and the subject is fascinating. Have you considered that regular visits by me might draw attention?”

Attention from within their sects they could handle, but they were both sect leaders – or acting sect leader, in Lan Qiren’s case – and their actions could never truly be wholly their own.

“I have a plan for that,” Lao Nie said. “It’ll work better if you don’t know about it, though.”

Lan Qiren hated plans like that.

“Very well,” he said, aware that he sounded like he was sulking. “If you must.”

“Could I send him to you next year?” Lao Nie asked, and Lan Qiren forgot his grumpiness to gape at him. “I wouldn’t impose this year, naturally, since you must already have a curriculum planned. But next year…”

“If you send him, that will be making a statement,” Lan Qiren said.

A statement about what, exactly, he did not know, but there was a major difference between being the sort of teacher that was respected enough to teach the sect heirs of some small, out-of-the-way sects and being entrusted with the childhood education of the heir to a Great Sect. Even if Nie Mingjue learned nothing, which seemed unlikely given his earnest performance from earlier, the other small sects would immediately want to follow suit, as if to rub off some of the same luck for themselves – he would be flooded with applicants.

His sect elders were going to hate it.

Although it wasn’t exactly against any of the rules…

“That’s why I’m asking your permission.” Lao Nie grinned at him, his teeth flashing white under his nearly trimmed beard. “Also, while you’re our guest here – you did plan to stay at least a week or two, right? Good, good. I will insist upon you joining me for some night-hunts.”

“Lao Nie…”

“I’ve explained to you how my sect cultivates our sabers. Are you really saying that you can judge that without seeing it happening?”

“You know perfectly well that I’m a weak fighter,” Lan Qiren said, even though that was a very good point, and one he probably would have insisted on himself sooner or later. “I don’t want to slow you down.”

“You never have,” Lao Nie said right to his face – the Nie sect did not discourage all lying, the scoundrels. “I’m serious! You’re not the fastest, no, but you’re perceptive, analytical, and creative. The insights I gain from hunting by your side are long-term gains, making me faster and more efficient in the future.”

“You’re flattering me,” Lan Qiren said suspiciously.

“I am not. The first time we went on a night-hunt together, you stopped by the river to rest and told me about how the flowers growing there were unique because they absorbed spiritual energy but not resentful energy on account of being too close to flowing water; three years later, I used that fact to find a gigantic nest of ghosts and demonic creatures that were using it as camouflage. They’d killed nearly a dozen villagers by that point and no one else could find them, but I did.”

Lan Qiren felt his ears heating up. “…that’s a coincidence.”

“Do you really want me to start naming other examples?”

“I would rather you showed me your library,” Lan Qiren said. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. He was probably blushing. No one else ever teased him the way Lao Nie did, except maybe Cangse Sanren. He was suddenly hit by a nostalgic desire to see her again. “At once, if you please. And also…”

He trailed off.

“Why the hesitation?” Lao Nie asked. “Do you really think there’s anything I would deny you, as long as you find a way to help my son?”

Lan Qiren cleared his throat. “It would be helpful if I could examine a more mature saber spirit that has already bonded to a human master. Your Jiwei, for instance.”

As he expected, Lao Nie scowled at the suggestion of someone else examining his spiritual weapon – and his saber spirit, no less – but after a few moments he collected himself and nodded, albeit begrudgingly. “I’ll leave her with you,” he said. “Be careful when you examine her – she doesn’t like to be touched by anyone but me.”

Lao Nie’s warning turned out to be both true, untrue, and an understatement of frankly shocking proportions.

During the course of Lan Qiren’s investigations into the subject of the Nie sect sabers over the next few months, and thereafter, he determined that the best, if not only, way to deal with Jiwei was to act as though he were handling a particularly vicious and single-minded dog.

Jiwei, it seemed, liked to bite.

If one treated her like a normal saber – an inert piece of metal – she would appear completely quiescent right up until there would be an abrupt and inexplicable accident, clattering off the table with the blade curving straight at clothing and flesh, and only very quick reflexes could prevent disaster. If one attempted to utilize spiritual energy with her, it would be even worse: she would pull as much as she could and feed back nothing, spiteful and ruthless.

A vicious creature, too quick to judge, loyal only to her master, who she loved.

A bit like Lao Nie, in fact. Lan Qiren did not delude himself into mistaking Lao Nie’s passion for righteousness – Nie Mingjue was righteous, a serious child that was always wondering what was right, while Lao Nie was more inclined towards brutal, even callous, practicality that focused on what benefited him and his sect. He would do good, of course, but he could not be forced into it; he had his pride, his temper, and sometimes he erred too much in favor of those over even common sense.

But despite all his rough edges, he did truly love his friends.

He dragged Lan Qiren all over Qinghe whenever he visited, on night-hunts and to resolve minor conflicts, the sort of thing any normal traveling cultivator might do; he showed him the small towns and the hidden cities that Lan Qiren would not have seen on any normal visit, and asked him to play songs for his little family. Nie Huaisang was enraptured by the music, Nie Mingjue largely indifferent – Lao Nie had not been wrong to call him practically tone-deaf – and Lao Nie beaming all the while, even if Lan Qiren suspected that his eldest son’s lack of musical appreciation had largely come from him.

He even, after a stray comment, managed to track down Cangse Sanren, who brought her husband and son to the Unclean Realm and left them in Nie Mingjue’s earnest care while she sat with the two of them, drinking liquor as if it were water to the point that even Lao Nie refused to compete with her – when his protests were eventually overridden, Lan Qiren (who drank tea, of course) was roped in to be their long-suffering judge.

It was a good night.

“Is that another thing I took from you?” He Kexin unexpectedly asked Lan Qiren a week after Lao Nie had publicly announced that he would be sending Nie Mingjue to the Cloud Recesses for Lan Qiren’s classes. The ensuing hubbub, as Lan Qiren expected, had been enormous, and he’d braced himself to discuss nothing else for months, although he hadn’t really expected her to mention it.

The Cloud Recesses separated men and women, and He Kexin had borne two sons; they were old enough by now to live primarily with the men rather than the women, and so they had entered Lan Qiren’s care. He brought them to visit her once a month, and came himself like clockwork every two weeks in between to update her as to their progress, his eyes fixed firmly above her head as he narrated the report as if he were a junior returning from a night-hunt. It was not her fault that his brother had fallen in love with her and ruined Lan Qiren’s life, but it had been her decision to murder a man that had served as the trigger for the situation; Lan Qiren was meticulous about his duty to her as his sister-in-law, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or her.

By this point, she was moderately good at respecting that. In the beginning, she’d cursed him viciously every time he came to see her, especially after he’d provided her with definitive proof of her former friend’s lies and machinations. Later, she’d tried flirting with him out of what he could only assume was boredom or perhaps a willful misunderstanding as to why he still visited, assuming that he had perfidious motivations or shared his brother’s taste in women instead of suffering from an overdeveloped sense of responsibility for his brother’s misdeeds. It had taken him several months and, eventually, an explicit offer to even notice, and he’d nearly broken his neck fleeing from the scene.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he said, still looking above her head instead of at her face. He Kexin had A-Huan’s smile and A-Zhan’s eyes, he knew that, but if he could scrub all of her other features from his mind, he would.

“Sect Leader Nie,” she said, and it was so odd to hear someone refer to Lao Nie by his formal title outside of a political situation or deliberate insult – even Wen Ruohan habitually called him Lao Nie by now, and as far as Lan Qiren could tell, they despised each other – that Lan Qiren’s eyes actually dropped to meet hers. “If you weren’t sect leader, you could’ve married him.”

Lan Qiren choked on air. “Do you think of nothing but sex all day?” he spat out, his cheeks going red. “We are friends.”

“I don’t have much else to think of,” He Kexin said, and he glared as if to communicate whose fault is that and maybe in your next life you won’t solve your problems with murder. “I heard you’ve been spending a lot of time with him, and now he’s sending his son to your care. It’s suggestive.”

“Talking behind the backs of others is forbidden,” Lan Qiren reminded her, and she shrugged. “Do I need to discipline your servants?”

“It’s news, not gossip,” she said. “And no, these ones are fine. No one’s playing any tricks.”

There had been an incident early on, where a few of the servants assigned to care for He Kexin had mistaken her confinement for abandonment; they had not expected Lan Qiren to grimly continue visiting as he would have done if she had been his sister-in-law in the normal course of things, nor to listen when she complained. He had of course taken all necessary measures to have the offenders harshly disciplined and expelled, replaced with servants of good character and sufficient intelligence to keep her company without seeking to take advantage, and there had been no new incidents since.

Her punishment was confinement, not torment. No matter what Lan Qiren felt about her, she would receive exactly that – neither more nor less.

“Is it Cangse Sanren, then?” she asked, propping her head up on her chin. “You fell in love with her, and then she married another man…”

“Sometimes people are just friends,” he said, irritated. “Why must I be in love with anyone?”

He Kexin shrugged. “Don’t you want to marry, one day? Have children of your own, rather than always reporting back to me on mine?”

“I’m acting sect leader,” Lan Qiren said tightly. “A marriage, much less children, would give rise to accusations that I was seeking to usurp my brother’s place or my nephews’ inheritance.”

“So it is another thing I’ve done,” she said, looking down at her hands. They were clenched tightly into fists, her knuckles white; sometimes Lan Qiren thought she wanted to punch him as a means of venting her feelings, and sometimes he didn’t even blame her for it. “I had only been thinking about it in the sense that you couldn’t leave, but you can’t even bring anyone back.”

“I don’t especially want to, anyway,” he said, because it was true. Even if she was right, that even his right to marry freely had been taken from him, it didn’t mean that she had the right to use it as a whip on her own back. If Lan Qiren couldn’t bring himself to obey the rule about not holding grudges, he could at least follow the ones about being generous and easy on others. “I haven’t found the right person.”

“And it’s really not Lao Nie?” He Kexin asked. “You go to visit him often, and for longer periods, than you go anywhere else, and A-Huan says you look happy whenever you’re going to go.”

Lan Qiren shrugged. He was happy to go. He enjoyed Lao Nie’s company, and the research, even when Lao Nie was too busy for him personally, and Lao Nie’s role as an allied sect leader meant that Lan Qiren had more latitude in arranging such visits than he did to other places.

“…A-Zhan says that your hands are white when you return.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes dropped to his arms, where there was in fact some white peeking out from beneath his sleeves – white bandages on his left wrist and the two smallest fingers on his right hand, this time, from the latest incident in which Jiwei had tried to slash him, but it was barely a nick in comparison with previous instances; he thought that it was a sign that they might be getting somewhere.

A moment later, he realized the implications of her statement and glared at her. “You’re not seriously asking if Lao Nie is abusing me? Weren’t you asking about my marriage prospects with him only a moment ago?”

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” she said dryly. “And the Nie temper is well known.”

“It’s from research,” Lan Qiren said. “I dropped a saber and I knocked over the table on to my other hand when trying to dodge.”

“I believe you,” she said, lips twitching. “If only because you would’ve come up with a more dignified excuse if it was a lie.”

“I don’t actually have to explain myself to you,” he said, reminding himself as much as her. “Is there anything else you want to know about your sons?”

“No,” she said. “But I’d like my husband to visit me again, if you can arrange it.”

He nodded stiffly.

“You know,” she said, playing idly with her sleeves. “If you never marry, I’ll be the closest thing you ever have to a wife? You manage my house, you raise my children, and you even provide me with services in bed, albeit indirectly.”

Do not succumb to rage, Lan Qiren thought to himself, and left without another word.

(Later, when Cangse Sanren next visited the Cloud Recesses, her husband taking A-Huan on a ride on their donkey with A-Zhan and A-Ying tucked into the saddlebags, she listened to him stammer through the whole humiliating story and gnashed her teeth on his behalf. “Don’t listen to her,” she told him. “By that standard, the rabbits she likes to raise are her concubines.”)

His simmering anger made his next session with Jiwei flow more easily, almost as if the saber spirit empathized with his rage – or perhaps it was simply that she found it more familiar, more reminiscent of the temper of her true master, and therefore less objectionable. He was attempting to draw out some part of her anger through music and store it into a jade pendant: his theory was that the eventual qi deviations of the Nie sect leaders resulted from a lack of balance with the resentful energy utilized by the saber spirit – the negative emotions streaming in through the saber, strengthening it, but having no means of cleansing beyond outbursts of temper.

It had been the way Nie Mingjue spoke of his saber spirit as if she were his friend that had given him the idea. Many in the Nie sect treated their sabers with both reverence and fear, as if the spirits were vicious creatures they had only temporarily tamed and which would one day turn upon them, but Jiwei was passionately loyal to Lao Nie, and Baxia to Nie Mingjue. Perhaps it was his inheritance as a Lan showing, or merely his own experience with his brother, but Lan Qiren simply could not understand how anything that loved so unstintingly, so unreservedly, could ever bring themself to intentionally bring about their beloved one’s destruction.

Even a dog would refuse to bite a master it loved unless it had gone mad.

Therefore, he concluded, it was not merely the human wielder but the saber itself that deviated in their cultivation. Lao Nie had once said in an aside that it was unclear what came first, the Nie sect tempers or the saber spirit-incited outbursts, and although he had meant it as a joke, Lan Qiren thought there was some merit to the question. Rage served a valuable purpose for humans, acting as a warning sign that something was wrong, that something was unacceptable, rejection and protection all at once, but rage that could not be excised would turn rancid and sour, like a poisoned wound. Sabers were cultivated by their masters and resembled them – they were filled with human rage, intensified by their cultivation of resentful energy, but unlike a human they could not shout or hit something or vent in any way other than through hunting.

No wonder Jiwei was so content after a night-hunt; no wonder Nie sect cultivators got irritable when they hadn’t had time to cultivate their sabers or fight evil or just get out and do something. But with limited venting opportunities (humans could not fight evil all the time), the sabers would fall into obsession, infected by the very same resentful energy that they excised when they hunted – their bloodlust simultaneously sated and inflamed – and as their power grew, and their true opponents grew fewer, they would become insatiable and, eventually, unbalanced. Demonic cultivation was abhorred by the cultivation world because it opened the door to obsession and fixation, and the most common way that demonic cultivators died, if not executed by the world, was through a backlash of their own power. Obsession was by its nature rigid, and that was the sole weakness of the saber: they had to be rigid, but never too rigid, or else they would become brittle, would break.

Deviation.

It was a very interesting theory, even if Lao Nie’s eyes glazed over whenever Lan Qiren tried to explain. Lan Qiren didn’t take offense: Lao Nie had always been an exceptionally practical man, more interested in results than theories, actions rather than thoughts.

“Aren’t you disappointed?” Lan Qiren asked him at one point, abrupt as he always seemed to be about such things. “That I haven’t gotten anywhere?”

Lao Nie looked surprised. “What do you mean? You have a valid theory, you’ve tried all sorts of things.”

“I haven’t succeeded.”

Lao Nie laughed. “My friend, this is a problem that has stymied my sect for generations. Did you really think you’d be able to solve it in three weeks?”

Lan Qiren scowled. “It’s been closer to three years.”

“You’ve made progress,” Lao Nie said confidently. “A-Jue has as solid a foundation as I could hope for, and all those conversations you have with him about the nature of ethics and morality have had an excellent effect on his saber.”

“Has it?” Lan Qiren asked, skeptical. Even the Nie sect experts agreed that Baxia was unusually vicious for a saber, powerful enough to frighten wild yao simply with her presence – Nie Mingjue’s cultivation remained shockingly fast, and even Lan Qiren, who had only a few years understanding of the saber spirits, could recognize the effects of it.

“It has,” Lao Nie said firmly. “He doesn’t fear her, and she loves him all the more for it, backs him like none other; no other saber of his generation will so much as waver out of line with Baxia behind them. As for the rest…ah, Qiren, if you can figure out a way to stymie the saber spirit even a little – give him even another decade – I’ll be satisfied. Don’t worry about it.”

Lan Qiren huffed and returned to trying to transfer spiritual energy from Jiwei to the pendant.

“Besides, all this time spent on the project has had at least one good effect,” Lao Nie added, putting his hand on Lan Qiren’s shoulder as he played. “I get the pleasure of your company.”

Lan Qiren’s attention was fixed on his playing, but the hand was warm on his shoulder. “That hardly seems so much of a benefit,” he said absently.

“You underestimate yourself. Do you know, outside of my sect, I think you’re my best friend?”

Only years of training allowed Lan Qiren’s fingers to continue to move smoothly over the guqin strings when his heart seized in his chest, warm and hot and squished and painful and pleasurable at the same time.

He did not allow himself to ask “Really?” like a small child, insecure and uncertain, did not permit himself to say “even above my brother”, did not say anything at all.

“Thank you,” he finally said, stiff and wooden. “I…you as well.”

#mdzs #lan qiren #sect leader nie #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #tedious joys

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blackvelvetwriteson · 3 years

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋

( ~ Villain Kirishima Eijirou x Kidnapped Hero-Turned-Villain Gender Neutral Reader Insert ~ )

━━━━━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

GENRE: Smut and Fluffy Fluff!

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUT! This time it’s pretty intense. God complex, drugs usage/mention, abuse, biting/marking, dubcon, cumflation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, degradation, blood play. There’s also some angst if you look hard enough.

SUMMARY: REQUESTED!! Requested by: @itzmekuka “𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘢 𝘒𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘟 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘝𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘥𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘗𝘳𝘰-𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘺 ( 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 ✨👄🍆💦) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 _ 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘵 ~𝘶𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘢”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Ah! This was actually so fun for me to write and I’m absolutely SO sorry if this is so intense. I read it over and over and over and it even bordered a little intense for me as an author. If this made you uncomfortable, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE let me know and I’ll write a different version that’s not so intense! I’m also VERY sorry it took so long, Tumblr didn’t want to show me that you sent me a request!

WORD COUNT: 6548

| 𝘉𝘕𝘏𝘈 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘝𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘵 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 |

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

The city around you was crumbling; the one you swore to protect as a pro hero. You were one of the better knowns sitting at the impressive spot of rank 5. That’s why everybody was relying on you, everybody that was successfully evacuated eyes were locked on the news trying to see if you’d escape safely or save their precious city. The scent of charred tree bark and burning trees filled your nose as you ran; that is what you had to do at this point. It was only you on the scene against Shigaraki who’d gone crazy, Dabi, and Toga. Dabi, in his usual fashion had his dead, icy eyes fixated on you, alternating his hands in his pockets as he torrented wave after wave of melting blue flames in front of him, off to the side, giving no time for breath, no time for anybody that could’ve been alive to escape. Some of the flames licked your body, some of your hero costume burned off, your skin burning as blood ran down the tender scalded bits. Keep running.

That’s all that was on your mind, your head spinning as you inhaled ash and the thick smoke of the area around you, stumbling as your adrenaline started to give up on you. Why were they after you? They all seemed so focused on you, all of them from the start beelining it towards you the second their feet hit the ground. Your eyes started to flutter and you found it hard to stay awake, Toga appearing from the trees with a hellish smile on her face as she fought trying to lure you back into the inferno. You lazily tried to dodge every time she swung her knife, dealing a few weak hits that at least made her a little disorientated, palming her ribcage making her cry out, but in return, she plunged one of her blades deep in your forearm, her crazed smile flitting to the flood of blood running down your arm.

“Arigato gozaimasu (Y/N)- Chan~” She giggled as you tried to fight her off. “Maybe we can become goooood good good good friends!” She licked her lips as she drooled, crushing your forearms into the ground with her feet. “You’re being the hero you WANT to be, to me,” she said as she admired the capsule full of blood. You tried moving your head to stay awake, the soot coating your lungs not helping. Your body started to feel tingly and you couldn’t help but to try to fight even after Toga had hopped off into hiding. “She’s all yours~” Is all you heard; it was Toga for sure, but you didn’t know who she was talking to. Your vision was hazy now, your body feeling heavy like you were chained to the floor. You saw a familiar… Almost… Figure towering over you with hungry bright red eyes, his tongue running over his sharp pearly white teeth. From where you were right now, it was an intimidating sight, you tried to squirm and get away, turning on your stomach, crawling helplessly, shivers running up your spine as you heard the sadistic chortle that was brewing in the anonymous figure’s chest.

“Where are you going, (Y/N)?! You know you can’t escape me,” he snorted as he walked towards you. Your body froze at the familiar voice that carried so much bass you were rattled to your core. “Ooh, you remember now, huh?!” He chuckled as he grabbed the back of your head and he pushed your face into the ground, standing over you as he stared at you with a ravenous expression. “All of this is for YOU, (Y/N),” he growled as he ran his fingers through your hair, yanking your head back, tears filling your eyes as you yelped out and looked at your destroyed city. “What kinda hero are you, (Y/N)? They’re supposed to depend on you but you ran… Just like that day…. You ran away from me,” he hummed in a sot of annoyed remembrance. “I NEEDED YOU, AND YOU RAN,” he yelled as he yanked your head back, turning you onto your back again so that you could look up at him looming over you. “Now I have this ugly ass scar… Right over my nose… And down my arm… Do you see it? Hm? Maybe we should get some more LIGHT in here so we CAN see it, right?” His eyes were crazed, you didn’t know him anymore- hell, you thought he’d died! At least you could sort of live with that- kind of. You shook your head, unable to speak, your tongue heavy. “HEY DABI,” he called out with a soft laugh. “GET OVER HERE, WE NEED SOME LIGHT!” He waited a moment hearing no response, slow footsteps approaching before suddenly stopping, a sudden wave of heat blanketing your body as you flinched, some of the stray embers singeing your hair. You winced as he held you down, able to see his scars that he was talking about. You were going to attempt speaking, but you couldn’t, his hand wrapped around your neck, palming your airway only allowing you to let out choked cries. “See it now, (Y/N)?… I know you do… And even after all of that- how you fucking left me and then told everybody I died; that’s cold, (Y/N)… But I still can’t help but to love you, yknow… Even though you let me get kidnapped…. Beat up… And then told everyone I died but I mean come on baby,” he laughed darkly as he looked over at Dabi. “That was probably the best thing you coulda did because this is the best thing that has ever happened in my life! Well… Aside from catching you again… Even if you’re choking… But I don’t want to hurt you, no! Of course not! Actually, I say we CELEBRATE, right? A momentous occasion where I was risen from the dead! And now YOU’RE gonna have your dance with the Devil… Whether you like it or fucking not,” he smirked down at you. “So resilient… I’m surprised you’re still awake! Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad… I LOVE YOU after all… After everything, after all is said and done. I haven’t lost my chivalry, I’m just the most chivalrous VILLAIN instead of a hero because I realized how fucking fake all of you are… Only getting faker the higher up in rank you climb and for what? All you ever did was run so how the FUCK are you at number five? I don’t know… Maybe the same reason that All Might was number one for a decade or two by lying,” he sneered as he giggled and he picked you up, letting your feet dangle in the air. This was it, you thought, the moment you were going to die. “You never were the model hero… And I still have faith in you… So… Eh.. We’ll deal with that when the moment comes… But no matter what, HERO, you’re going to love me back,” he growled as he pulled you closer, pressing a rough kiss into your lips, biting your lip so hard it’d started to bleed. You let out a strangled squeak, your body going limp and feeling warm. Somehow you felt an odd sense of comfort feeling him kiss you, feeling his teeth gnaw at your lip, feeling his tongue explore your mouth. You’d let yourself go and gave him the moan he wanted to hear so bad. “You like that baby,” he whispered against your lips with a gravelly giggle. “Yeah you do… You’re gonna get more of that where we’re going…. Don’t make too much noise now,” he laughed as he set you down and punched you HARD in the face causing you to pass out. He caught your limp body and draped you over his shoulder nodding in Dabi’s direction signaling that he got what he came for and they could go back to base.

—

To the best of your knowledge, not too much time had passed since you’d been taken and you woke up in a daze, your whole body numb and trembling. You groaned softly, swaying from side to side, chained with your arms crossed over your body, chained to your ankles, then further restrained to the floor with a brace around your arms to make sure you didn’t slump over. You were unaware of where you were and who was by you, the soft voices sounding distant until your hair was snatched back again and you opened your eyes fully. “Wake up, Pebble,” you heard his gravelly voice in your ear as you came to, the harsh slaps to your cheeks not necessarily helping your cause. You allowed your eyes to focus on the man in front of you. You didn’t know if it was just you or whatever drugs they’d pumped you full of in your time in the dank room, but he looked almost angelic as he loomed over you. You, of course, already loved him and thought he was the best thing ever when you went to school together, but now… So many years later… His black/brown roots of his hair were starting to show, gradienting into the iconic red you’d grown accustomed to. Since his hair had spent so long getting tamed, his mane was full with fluffy spikes- some drooping, some not, going every which way on his head in such a way that made him look that much better- practically blanketing his broad shoulders, his sharp eyes staring condescendingly down at you. He was wearing a suit shirt that was a satiny red and was just begging to burst from his muscular body, seemingly freshly ironed black jeans to match along with black and red boots… And… Fingerless gloves. He licked over his sharp teeth as he noticed you checking him out and he let out a hollow laugh. “Like whatcha see? Hm? Am I still the manliest you’ve ever laid eyes on,” he laughed as he watched you squirm, his hand only twisting in your hair causing you to cry out. “Well?! ANSWER ME,” he growled out before planting a harsh slap across your face causing you to jolt against your restraints. Tears immediately pricked your eyes as you looked up at him.

“K-Kirishima,” you whispered out weakly, your throat parched from before, a cold sweat having broken out on your body. “H-How long have I been here…” Your eyes frighted rolling back into your head, the drugs having gotten to you a little more causing you to wince. Honestly, you felt like you were going to throw up, but you couldn’t help but to keep your eyes on him.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” he hummed as he stood up and paced the dimly lit room in front of you. “What a shame… Oh well, I mean it’s more fun for me- that I get to have… With you… My adorable little slave…” He looked over at you with a side eye and he smirked a little, huffing a small laugh through his nostrils before swaying his head to get his bangs out of his face. “You’re a fool to challenge a god,” he said lowly. “Especially one as… Well.. The best one. Myself…”

A god? Who the hell was talking to you right now? This definitely wasn’t Kirishima Eijiro… Not the one you met all of those years ago at UA… Not the one you were training to become a hero with. Who the fuck was this? You ignored that one pang that struck you that told you it was kind of hot that he thought of himself that way. You shook your head and hissed softly at the surge of pain that shot through your body. “I’m not your s-sla-“ mid sentence, you were interrupted with a slap that made you cry out again, your body broken, bruised, bloody, and sore… Your lungs were sore, everything was sore. You could barely even stay awake. He kneeled in front of you and tilted your chin tenderly so that he could admire the tears rolling down your face but also the nice bruises he left you.

“You are EXACTLY what I say you are… You’re the stupid pitiful hero that let yourself get caught by a dangerous man like myself, baby,” he said softly, practically straddling your lap as he fed you another gently, loving kiss. He didn’t bite your lip, he didn’t even pull away quickly. He pushed a soft hum into your lips as he trembled and allowed his hand to go to the wall next to your head. “You liked that… Didn’t you,” he murmured against your lips drunkenly, his eyes halfway open gazing into yours, and suddenly a pang of lust and… Adoration surged your body. You didn’t even know that you nodded until you saw his reaction. “Yeaaahh… I know you did… They all usually do,” he teased, just to get a rise out of you. And it worked. He popped his knuckles as he stood up and he popped his neck too, spinning on his heel as he picked up a small remote. “Let’s play the quiet game baby,” he said as he pressed on the remote, your legs trembling as you tried to grasp what happened. It was a vibrator lodged deep inside of you, of course, and your legs had started trying to give out. You also heard metal clinking together as Kirishima removed his belt, a big metal red R in the middle of it. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he smirked at you as he undid your restraints to the floor and he led you over to a chair, pushing you to fall into it. You were bent over the seat and he just admired the sight, you could hear the heavy breathing behind you accompanied by the small growls as you tried to stay awake long enough to know what was going on.

“You… Are gonna be bent over…. L-Like that,” he said with the occasional shaky breath, his own bulge forming and pressing against his jeans just seeing you bent over the chair so helplessly, your uneven breathing escaping into the air around the two of you. “And I’m gonna control this toy however I damn well please,” he said as he upped the level on the vibrator. “I put it in when you were sleeping! I figured you wouldn’t mind,” he said as he walked around so that you could see him, his bulge and all. “And… While I’m controlling this, you’re not gonna say anything, make a single noise, or even so much as breathe the wrong way or…” He showed off his sleek leather belt with a soft laugh. “You see this beautiful ‘R’ right in the middle here? It’s gonna brand that sweet ass of yours… And I’ll take pictures and videos and show EVERYBODY just who you belong to… Little hero slut,” he spat as he tugged your hair back to make you look up at him again. “Do you understand me,” he growled as he slapped your ass with his hardened hand. You whimpered softly and watched as his arrogant stare became smug as he stood up and he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his muscular, veiny forearms. You couldn’t help but to shake your ass in anticipation. He let out a low groan and he bit his lip as he watched you squirm and shake for him. At this point, he figured it was just the drugs that were pumped into you kicking in again, but to you it was much more than that. You liked him even when y’all went to school together, and that only intensified once you both became pro heroes. Then he fell off of the face of the earth and it was told that he died in action. This was your first day back in work since then and this is what happened? He was alive? And.. He had you in his grasp. You were scared to lose him again, and you wanted him to know how much he meant to you… But the drugs also made your body feel heavy and it made your mind hazy how just his words had an effect on you. You caught the glint of that pretty metallic red ‘R’ on his belt and you couldn’t help but to drool over him. He noticed how your eyes were fixated on his bulge and he smirked a little with a soft grunt, his fingers tactfully unzipping his pants as he tilted his head and licked over his sharp teeth again.

“Oh I forgot how much of a needy slut you were,” he whispered softly as he let out another soft laugh. “You want to suck my cock don’t you? Yeah I know you do,” he said softly, slowly pulling his cock from his jeans, stroking it as he used his other hand to force your head back. “Open up,” he growled, slapping you before forcing himself inside of your mouth. Instantly, you teared up both from the hard hit he dealt but also from how quickly he filled your mouth and all of those sweet groans he was letting out for you. You whined as you felt him slowly thrusting his hips into your mouth, forcing himself down your throat more and more. “Oh fuck,” he gasped out quietly, starting to move the chair a little as he pushed your head into him harder and faster, slowly starting to find his rhythm. “Y-Yeah,” he whispered softly as he upped the level of the vibrator making your legs give out right under you. “I know it’s big, but you don’t have to show it all on your face,” he slurred out as he twisted his hand in your hair again making you whimper and whine as you choked on his cock, your face drenched with soot and your tears as you let him use your throat as his fleshlight. “Deeper,” he moaned out as his back arched. “Take me deeper!” He smacked your ass with his belt and he moaned at the sounds, the sound of the leather hitting your skin, that big red R in the middle smacking against your ass bruising it, that choked moan you let out as he sucked in a sharp breath. “Choke on it, choke… Ch-Choke… On… It,” he whimpered out as tears pricked his own eyes. “F-FUCK! Who would’ve thought you were so good at s-sucking d-dick,” he moaned out as he lolled his head to one side, staring down at you with a soft smile; a ray of sweet light breaking through that rough exterior of his that came with being a villain. He gently caressed your face, his thumb swiping your warm tears before he forced himself further into your throat, watching the bulge form and then disappear again. “Suck it harder! S-Suck it l-like it’s your fucking god, (Y/N),” he growled as he forced you as deep as he could go, holding you down on his cock, feeling you choke on it, taking in all of your gags, watching as you drooled, feeling as you squirmed and tried to suck up all of the saliva you could.

“Oh hell yeah,” he whimpered out as he shuddered. “Oh fuck fuck fuck,” he whined as he smacked your ass with the belt again. You felt like you were about to pass out and your eyes rolled back into your head before you whined softly as he pulled his cock out of your mouth. “Do you like the taste of your god’s precum,” he growled as he stroked himself slowly. “I know you do,” he whined as he forced himself into your mouth again, and you looked up at him with soft whimpers of protest. “I KNOW YOU DO,” he whimpered as he smacked your ass with that belt again, watching the R brand itself into your skin. He felt you tighten up and he pulled your head back into him, bottoming out inside of your mouth again as his eyes crossed. “F-Fuuucckk,” he whimpered out quietly as he threw his head back. “I-I’M YOUR F-FUCKING GOD,” he moaned out as he tried not to cum so quick. “S-Suck it l-like- O-Oh fuck,” he groaned out as he caressed the back of your head before filling your mouth and throat with his cum. He curled his fingers into your hair and pushed you down on him more, his eyes rolling back into his head as his hips jolted and he orgasmed, his whole body tense as he panted, trying to catch his breath. “D-Don’t… L-Let a s-single… F-Fucking… Drop… Out,” he said shakily, slowly pulling out of your mouth, your gaze locked on him and how perfect he looked in this state of ecstasy. You watched the cum and saliva that was left on his cock drip to the ground as he reeled and brought himself back, looking down at you smirking at your dazed fucked out expression. “Oh baby,” he whispered softly as he kneeled in front of you, tilting your chin up a little. “You… Cute little thing,” he said with a small, sweet smile- even softer than the one he gave you before. You looked up at him and made soft chittering noises as you accepted the soft act and you tried to reach out to him but couldn’t.

“I wanna see it in your mouth,” he said softly as he squished your cheeks and watched some of the cum drip down your face. “Open wide… Show me how you take the cum of a fucking god,” he whispered harshly as you opened your mouth for him and stuck your tongue out. He grunted and closed his eyes as he tried to keep himself from getting too turned on again and he let out a shaky breath. “You really are a needy hero whore,” he said with a smirk, running his fingers through your hair, smiling at all of the cum dripping down your face. “You dirty… Filthy hero slut…” He stood up and snapped his belt with a soft growl and he hummed softly. “Fuck… This feels so good… I know what you want,” he said as he strolled behind you. “Tell me how bad you fucking want it,” he said as he slapped the belt across your ass again with a condescending laugh watching you spasm on the chair, unable to move. “Ah… You and those useless legs.. Can’t even hold you up- now you’ll have bruised knees. What a shame,” he teased as he struck you again.

“P-PLEASE,” you cried as you sniffed back tears, trying to arch your back just squirming against the chair. “I-I w-wanna f-feel you I-inside,” you whimper out as you let your head hang. “P-Please! F-Fuck me p-please,” you whined as your eyes burned with tears. “I want to feel y-you d-deep inside… Please!” You wanted to look back at him but your body wouldn’t let you. You heard him shuffle behind you, hoping that you’d be able to feel him inside of you, but you felt his large, warm hand caressing your inner thighs instead and you fell weaker as your breath stopped.

“Aw… What nice begging you did… But it looks like someone came without asking,” he growled as he stood up again, giving you a half second to breathe before he dealt another harsh slap, ‘R’s bruised into your skin. He gave a breathy groan and he stretched his arms out as he looked down at your bruised skin. “Looks like you’re getting punished… It wouldn’t be manly of me otherwise,” he said with a soft sigh, adjusting his shirt before dealing you slap after slap, blow after blow, soft groans and giggles of content punctuating each and every single one. “Oh yeah,” he whispered softly as he smirked. “Tell me how much you love it when I spank that sexy ass of yours,” he commanded as he shuddered. At this point, you were too out of it to speak, not being able to muster up more than soft mewls. He couldn’t help but to smirk as he suddenly shoved his cock inside of you, your eyes widening as you felt your insides conform to his shape.

“K-KIRI-“ you were cut off by your own pants and moans before feeing his fingers in your mouth. He bottomed out inside of you, already, and of course, there was a little bit of blood because of how sudden it was. He watched on with soft growls, slipping a hardened hand under the shirt to your hero costume that was already ripped. A small tug made quick work of the shirt, your back completely exposed to him. He let out soft whines as you constricted around him, subtly grinding your hips after you got over the pain of him suddenly rutting inside of you. You sucked on his fingers with soft mewls, drooling more, practically dumb from every single ounce of attention he payed you.

“Yeah,” he whispered softly as he lowered his lips against the skin of your lower back, taking in your scent, his eyes closing as he bit his lip, placing soft kisses on your lower back. Your eyes crossed as you tried arching your back into him. “Suck my fingers just like that,” he whispered, smiling as he watched the goosebumps run like waves over your skin. He continued to feed you soft kisses against your back, taking his time as he travelled up, his hands wandering over your body slowly, his hold commanding but still soft. If he wanted you to move, you did, and honestly you were fine with it. “Stop moving,” he commanded as he closed his eye, licking over the spots he kissed too. His warm tongue made you slick with precum, loving how warm he made you feel. You couldn’t do anything but moan around his fingers as he forced you to cockwarm him. He made sure to take extra care of you, gently working his way up your body as his hands followed and massaged every inch of you resting at your waist as he made it to your neck. It sounded like he was having trouble breathing, giving you short deep thrusts as he kissed at your neck. “O-Oh fuck you’re so tight,” he slurred out drunkenly as he closed his eyes. “F-Fuck fuck fuck…” He licked along your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth, still teasing you as the drugs made you almost pass out as well as how your insides conformed to the shape of his cock. “Just like that,” he whispered against your skin as he nibbled the sides of your neck. “Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you,” he commanded again, slapping your ass hard with his hand this time. It made you jolt and you let out a choked moan, sucking harder on his fingers with tears still running down your face. “Only good slaves get what they ask for,” he growled and you still felt the vibrator pulsating inside of you making you light headed. You drooled around his fingers as you gave him soft mewls and he only laughed at how fucked out you were already.

“Too much already? I haven’t even done anything to you yet,” he slurred out in your ear with a delighted grin. It felt like he was pulling out to give you some time to breathe, but he instantly snapped his hips back up into you with a loud moan, his teeth digging into the nape of your neck as you yelped out weakly. The hurt was accompanied by intense pleasure that made you quiver all the way down to your core, the condescending laughs and growls that followed making you light headed almost seeing stars. “Take it,” he moaned out as he kissed the bite in the nape of your neck which was now covered in beads of blood.

“K-Kiri-“ you choked out as you crossed your eyes. “P-Please! ’S t-too much,” you whine as you tremble and convulse on the chair under him, happily smushed into his body. “P-Please! S-Stop,” you whimpered out weakly, but he was still pounding deep inside of you, one of his large hands palming your neck from behind, his fingers crushing your trachea so you only let out choked cries and whimpers, your legs practically numb.

“Sorry! Dirty little h-hero sluts d-don’t get to say no!” He used his free hand to dig into your skin making you bleed more. “The h-harder I choke you, the more you t-tighten around me! W-What if the public knew what a whore for villain cock you were, hm? And you’re s-supposed to be a hero,” he scoffed as his bruising grip tightened around your neck, making your tongue loll out of your mouth as your eyes crossed and you struggled to stay awake. With each thrust he seemed like he was getting rougher, you were unable to move, you couldn’t even moan anymore, you were left with your labored breathing unable to fight it anymore, not being able to stick through his death grip he had on your neck. It seemed like one harsh movement of his thumb would break your neck, but you had no more resolve to fight it. “F-Fuck yeah! Ah fuck my cock,” he groaned out as he let your neck go feeling you fall limp under him. He let you stay passed out as he abused your hole how he wanted to, his smirk only growing as his tongue pushed out of his mouth, drooling as he drove himself crazy using you how he wished. “F-Fuck! Fuck I’m gonna c-cum s-so fucking hard,” he growled, digging his fingers into the bruised, tender bite mark, your blood smearing over his hand. He couldn’t help but to lick his hand clean, his gaze locked on your limp body as he thrashed you about, but he wanted you to be awake when he filled you up.

He gave you a harsh, wet slap and pulled your hair back, smirking at all of the bruises on your body that was for him. “R-RISE AND SHINE,” he growled as he slapped your ass harshly as he threw his head back and let out a loud laugh, crushing his chuckles with a growl as he forced your head to one side, licking up your neck until he made it to your ear, his stern tone making you wake up a little more. “I said wake. Up. Slut,” he whispered as he bit his lip. “I won’t ask nicely next time,” he growled as he pulled you down on his cock more. “F-FUCK,” He groaned out as he ducked his arm under one of yours, his arm pressing against your chest, easily pulling you up so that your back was rested against his toned chest, forcing you to bounce on him, forcing you to take him balls deep inside. “Oh this f-feels s-so m-much b-better,” he moaned in your ear with a soft growl, his nails digging into your skin marking you, watching the beads of blood roll down your body as he continued to rail into you, his own moans breathless. You were halfway awake as you clenched around him and let your arms fall helplessly still unable to move on your own. He whispered in your ear right before he came inside of you.

“O-Oh f-fuck,” he gasped as he kissed the side of your neck gently before growling into your ear. “Y-Yeah you like that huh? Hm?” He slapped your ass hard, his nails digging into your tender thigh. His hand forced your legs open as he nipped at you, scratched at you, growled into you, his face red, his body coated in sweat. “Yeah you do,” he whispered softly. “Y-You l-like it when a-a m-man takes control, huh? Hm? Yeah you do,” he growled as he forced your face into a nearby wall, grinding hard into him as his legs seemingly took up a mind of their own. “That’s WHY I b-became a villain baby,” he said with a smirk as he kissed up and down your neck, smiling as he admired your tears on your blood and sweat drenched body. “You like it when someone ca-can fucking take control of you like this! Fuck you like a dumb slut against the wall!” He growled as he kissed up the back of your neck. “You’re so fucking dumb right now baby,” he whispered with a soft giggle. “D-Drooling over villain cock… The cock of a fucking king!” He pushed your hips against the wall with a loud groan, his fingers going deeper into your mouth, grabbing your tongue, watching your saliva run down your face. “You’re so pretty like this! MY fucking toy,” he growled as he closed his eyes, slowing down a little as he nipped your ear. “Oh fuck I’m gonna cum right inside of that tight hole of yours,” he mumbled in your ear. “But I’m gonna make you milk me… Slowly… Gently,” he said as he took a deep breath, gently brushing your hair out of the way, kissing the side of your head as he smiled a little.

“You like this,” he whispered as he dealt you slow, deep, hard thrusts that were definitely more comfortable as he blushed and let out soft sultry moans, his hands gently guiding your hips into his and then away from his. He held you against him lovingly, groaning needily as he massaged over your marks, his hands covered in your blood. “Make me cum… Make me cum baby,” he whimpered as he kissed the side of your head, down your neck, your ear, then on your neck and shoulder, punctuating every single thrust of his hips with a soft groan. “I love you,” he mumbled to you softly, his body tensing as he edged himself closer and closer to cumming. “I-I love you,” he whispered, sounding like he was about to cry. “I-I always have,” he whimpered quietly as he thrusted hard into you, nipping into your soft, supple neck. “C-Cum with me because you’re m-mine! Mine! F-Fucking mine,” he whined as he he rolled his body into yours. “I’m the only one that c-can fill you up the right way! I’m the one that can fuck you the right way! T-The only one w-with c-cock big enough to satisfy you! The only one that can take control of you t-the right way!” He growled before pulling you onto him hard, filling you with his warm, sticky cum. He dug his nails into your skin as he watched your cum mix with his after it left a bulge in your stomach. “Oh fuck yeah,” he whispered softly as he slowly came down from his high as he watched the bulge he pushed into your stomach because of his cum. He trembled feeling his cum mixed with yours running down his leg. He hugged you close, hiding his face behind your shoulder, tears from his own overstimulation soaking his face, his breathing shaky as he slowly released you from his hold. Immediately, you slumped against the wall, Kirishima’s arms being the only thing holding you up. You trembled and whimpered softly, not even able to turn your head, barely even able to open your mouth.

“I m-meant what I said,” he said after awhile, slowly dusting your upper back with soft kisses, his hands hardened only halfway, massaging your back to help ease your pain a little. “I really do love you… But after it was expressed that I died in action… I couldn’t come back out… Hero work- well I wasn’t cut out for it,” he said as he pulled his pants back on, adjusting himself except having his messy hair. “This… This was the thing that made the most sense… This was the only way to get back to you,” he said sweetly as he took a deep breath and he bit his lip, picking you up with a soft grunt. “Cmere baby,” he said softly as he sat on the ground, cradling you in his lap, pulling your head against his chest. “Shh.. I know it hurts… I’m so sorry for hurting you… Calling you mean things- that wasn’t manly of me,” he said as he gently stroked your face. “I don’t actually think you’re a slut… or a whore… or… something like that. I was a little too intense,” he whispered softly as he kissed the crown of your head. “You mean everything to me. I already lost you once… I don’t want to lose you ever again…” He tilted your head up gently and he caught your gaze. He smiled and kissed the tip of your nose and he shook his head slowly. “… Please be mine,” he said softly. “I-I don’t care about social status or labels or anything! I don’t care if I’m a fucking villain and you’re a hero… And I wouldn’t care vice versa… I-I just…” He teared up and he looked away, biting his lip as he tried not to get too emotional. You reached up gently and weakly, your arm trembling as your fingers met his hot skin and you slowly stroked his face.

“Hey,” you whimpered hoarsely. “I’m all d-drugged up or whatever… But please believe me when I say that… I love you too… I always do… I mean have… Ugh,” you lolled your head back only to have Kirishima’s hand gently lift your head up gently and rest it against your chest again. “S-Since high school,” you squeaked before hiding into him taking in his scent. “I love you, Kirishima,” you whispered softly as you shook your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he stood up again, whimpering softly at how sensitive he was from how fast and hard he was moving. “Oh fuck,” he whispered softly, covering you up. “Let me run a nice bath for you… You can wear some of my clothes afterwards… I think Mr. Compress actually made some food, so you’ll eat good… But… Please,” he practically begged, his hand cupping your face as his glistening keen eyes stared into your sleepy ones. “Please don’t leave me again,” he whimpered as he hugged into you, kissing your shoulder gently.

“I won’t,” you smiled weakly at him, trying not to fall asleep again. “I don’t want to,” you reassured, running your fingers through his smooth, messy, fiery red hair. “I’m yours… I’m all yours… I l-love you Kirishima Eijiro,” you whispered before laying limp in his arms, the drugs catching up with you as you fell asleep.

He looked down at you with the most protective stare and he smiled sweetly at you, standing in the middle of the corridor to stare at you. His smile was lazy and sleepy as he stared at you. “I’m so happy that you’re finally mine… Finally… I’ll take such good care of you… It’s the manliest thing for me to do,” he whispered softly, gently kissing your forehead with a soft wispy giggle.

#Requested writes #kirishima #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x you #villain kirishima #villain au #villain!Kirishima #Kirishima smut #black velvet x bnha #black velvet x community #kirishima imagine #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima bnha #mha kirishima #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #long fic

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coldtomyflash · 3 years

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I've seen your speech pattern analysis on Flash characters. I was wondering if you had any advice on how to create speech patterns for OC characters?

oh heck this is one of the coolest questions i’ve ever received.

i’m gonna try not to go overboard/overwhelming and just give a bit of advice, and then if you want more details please come back and follow up!

There’s a few things to think about up front with character voices / speech patterns. The biggest and most obvious is language and cultural background. The second is personality. The third is personal history. Fourth, briefly, is gender. And the final one I’d say is idiosyncrasies to avoid ‘same voice’.

Culture and Group Dynamics

Depending on the setting, there’s a decent chance you’ll be writing characters from different cultural backgrounds. Even if you’re focusing on a single culture, there will be subcultures. Even if you’re focusing on a single narrow group of people, there will be age and generational differences.

Think about where your character is from. If it’s a fantasy world, that’s still (and even more, in some ways) important. What country, what ethnicity, what mother tongue? Did they grow up urban or rural? High socio-economic status or working class? What sort of educational background and peer group did they have growing up (and presently) and how does that factor into their vocabulary and mannerisms, if at all.

All of these can influence how people talk. There are regional accents and different modes of speaking to signal your group membership. There is code-switching across groups, for those who have had to learn multiple linguistics codes to survive and thrive in society.

How much slang does this group and therefor this character use? What references (modern, outddated, topical, etc) do the rely on? What kind of references (pop culture, music, academic, etc)? What colloquialisms and proverbs do they say? Are these the same or different to their characters, even within the same culture, subculture, or group, and is it because they’re from a different place/sub-group or because of their idiosyncrasies?

You can use these to help your reader get to know more about your character’s background without having to spell it all out directly. Speech patterns and style are a great way to show instead of tell when it comes to details that are hard to drop in organically in other ways.

An important caveat: don’t write a bilingual character who switches languages in speech unless you’re ready to do a bit of research on that. In AATJS I did an absolutely horrific job of this because I was thinking more about fronting the fact that character was Italian rather than thinking through how people actually talk, and it came out exotifying and embarrassing. It’s important to make sure that the way you use language to bring in a character’s cultural and/or ethnic background feels authentic and manifests is a way that respects that language and its users. You can write a character with a complex cultural history without using multiple languages if you’re unprepared to do research and talk to bilingual speakers.

Personality

Probably the most salient thing in a writer’s mind when they’re trying to write character voices: is this the funny character? the serious one? the brainy one? etc.

Don’t overuse stereotypes and archetypes for creating speech patterns (or characters in general) if you’re trying to make a rounded, 3-dimensional character. Instead, go about three levels deeper.

Think about whether they’re introverted or extraverted, whether they are neurotypical or neurodivergent, whether they are introspective enough to express their own emotions clearly or whether they stumble when asked why they did a particular thing or feel a particular way (most people don’t or can’t clearly articulate exactly why they did something or how they feel, and come at things a bit sideways to circle around their motives and interior realities when pressed to make them external and concretely verbal).

Is this character calm, is their voice soothing, do they speak slowly? Are they excitable and loud and is their speech free-flowing? Are they angry? Do they swear? Do they use references for humour or are they more into puns? Do they laugh at their own jokes? Do they talk with their hands?

This character has social anxiety: how does that manifest in her speech? Does she clam up and get very quiet when she gets nervous, or does she go rapidfire and a little too loud (does she process by turning in or by distracting herself by turning outward)? Does she get very careful and deliberate in choosing her words (is she a bit high-strung?)? Ask yourself which fits best with the other elements of her personality and what you want the reader to know/interpret about her.

This character is incredibly smart and a bit awkward: how does that manifest in their speech? Do they tend to use 5-dollar words, or do they expend a lot of energy choosing their words more carefully (how considerate are they to their audience when speaking and does that influence their speech)? Do they stumble over their words and explaining things, or are they good at making points with clear language learned from a lifetime of tutoring and helping others?

This character is the bff, who tries hard to make sure everyone else is happy first: how does that manifest in his speech? How does he switch between his happy-mask versus his more authentic self, and what changes in tone, word-choice, and inflection come in when he does?

Personal History

I’m only drawing a distinction between this and personality (archetype, really) so that I can draw attention to ways to add simultaneously unique and shared layers to characters that are distinct but related to group dynamics.

Here’s sort of what I mean: the level of education of a mother (or primary caregiver) of an infant can determine that infant’s vocabulary size. While we can break down all the ‘why is that’ layers to this, the one I want to point is to the simple truth that the more education a person does, the more specialized language they end up learning over time. This doesn’t have to be formal education though -- the more you learn about something and the more you read and access new knowledges and perspective, the more and more words you learn, and then if you start using those words, they trickle down to those close to you.

So.

What’s your character’s educational background? Is it the same as their friends who you are also writing? Is the same as their family’s? How does this character’s family influence their speech? Are they formal, informal, warm, authoritative?

If you’re writing siblings, they’ll have some shared things! But also some very different ones! Me and my sister talk nothing alike in terms of vocabulary, but a lot alike in terms of mannerisms whenever we spend a bit of time together!

If your characters grew up around each other, they’ll have a lot of the same references. People from the same cities or regions will have things specific to that region, either due to sub-culture effects or because of local references.

The city of Calgary, Canada for instance has the Plus15 which are a connected pedway system between the buildings in downtown, so named because they are 15feet above the ground. Drive 3 hours north to the city of Edmonton, and you have an underground pedway just called the pedways, no special name. Go a few provinces east to Toronto and their underground pedway system downtown is called PATH. These are all known to locals and part of the vernacular, but are opaque to people outside those cities. And the whole idea of them is probably opaque to people who aren’t from super cold cities that don’t require building-connecting pedway systems for pedestrians to get around high-density areas like downtown (or university campuses) without going out into the cold.

Friends, families, and groups are like that too. In-jokes, shared histories, speaking in references. What are your characters’ relationships to each other and how does that history influence the way they approach talking to each other?

Gender

I don’t want to spend too much time on this one because ugh, gender. What even is it?

But like it or not, it has an impact on our speech patterns. There are cultural and societal norms in how men and women are likely to speak, and breaking those norms will be noticed regardless of whether you’re trans, enby, queer, or not. There are norms that people who are queer may fall into as well, sometimes without even noticing at first. A lot of these aren’t about word choice per se but instead about mannerisms and tone and body language, but some overlap or are specific to language.

Speaking in broad generalizations here, women use more emotional language and tend to speak with more hesitancies/qualifications. So more “i think, i feel” and less “it is”. More conversations that front emotions and dig deeper into those, with longer sentences to explain in detail. The obvious caveat is that personality matters more (i.e., is this a person who likes to talk about their emotions in detail or not) but it is something to consider because there will be general but subtle differences that you can use to help further distinguish your characters’ voices.

Sidenote: this can also be exacerbated by different cultural backgrounds and languages (a simple example is Japanese which has different words for “I” depending on your gender as well as your personality, familiarity with the other persons in the conversation, and situational appropriateness, so interesting ways that gender and social expectations intersect in language).

Anyway this isn’t typically a huge problem except that I’ve found that a lot of writers have a tendency to overgeneralize the speech patterns that fit with their ascribed gender due to early-life socialization, or conversely to overgeneralize patterns that fit with their gender identity (when not cis) either due to heavily identifying with their gender identity’s speech model (or sometimes possibly due to a knee-jerk sort of backlash). I say this as an enby who both struggles with it and notices it and tries to edit and correct for it.

I could get into all sorts of examples of ways this can lead to voice issues, but in general i think the point here is to make sure you’re writing any given character in view of that character’s personality and history, with gender only as a modifier for how some of these might come out in subtle ways but which can be important to help tell us about your character (and if you’re writing queer characters, it’s all the more important to consider how their relationship with gender and socialization might impact which speech models and styles they identify more with).

Idiosyncrasies

So, you’ve got a character. You’ve got their personality and history down. You know how they manifest in their speech. And you’re still getting some ‘same voice’ issues.

People really are unique snowflakes. Let that be reflected in their speech.

This person uses contractions differently than that one. This one says “ain’t” and that one says “isn’t.”

This person makes Simpsons references and that one doesn’t like Simpsons, and makes Brooklyn Nine Nine references instead. That other one doesn’t use referential humour much at all. This one loves old movies and hasn’t seen any of the new stuff so they make references all the time but no one ever notices.

This one loves the word “excoriate” and that one doesn’t even know what it means because what the hell, who uses the word excoriate?

This one talks about food a lot, it overlaps with their interests. This one uses metaphors. This one grunts in response. This one exclaims. This one says “like” and that one hates it. That one refers to themselves in third person. This other one uses reflective language an usual amount (e.g., “love me some candy”). This other one keeps misusing the word inconceivable and that one speaks almost without contractions but still comes off as more charming and humorous while correcting him.

I have an aunt who says “girl” or “girlfriend” a fuck-ton and she has been my whole life and I don’t know why because none of her sisters do, but she does and it annoys me so much the way she says it. I swear a lot when I’m feeling casual despite never ever doing it in a professional or even slightly-less-than-relaxed space, so the idiosyncrasy of comfort levels has a massive impact on my vocabulary in ways which, I promise, almost no one who meets me first in a professional space expect.

Let your characters be individuals and try to make them as unique as possible without overdoing it, or over-relying on a single verbal tendency or habit.

And ... that’s all I’ve got for now. Completely failed at being concise. I meant to give like 2-3 bullet points or examples for each, not paragraphs, but here we are. That’s one of my verbal tendencies: long flowing verbosity :)

Hope this helps!

#speech patterns #speech analysis #phyn writes #writing advice #writing #OC's #writing reference #didn't edit so apologies for typos i'm sure i'll come back at some point #Anonymous

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