Primal Urges
Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides
Pairings: hints of Prinxiety
Warnings: prospective cannabilism, temporary character death
Summary: Virgil specifically remembers dying, and yet he still lives. Now with a hankering for people meat.
__________________________________________
Virgil didnt crave human flesh before he died.
He craved lots of things in life: pasta, oreos, midnight reruns of Friends, mental stability. Ya know, healthy normal things.
Then again, taste buds do change every seven years. And people, canonically, do taste like beef. So what's more irrisitible than the American Dream?
Burgers. The American dream is burgers.
Big juicy burgers just begging to be ripped into with teeth. Burgers that would splatter bloody goodness. Rare burgers that would slide down his throat in a warm heady rush. Something raw to fill the emptiness within his gut that growled its demands to be sated.
Yes, normal healthy cravings.
That's why Virgil found himself sitting there downing a bottle of bourbon. He tried in vain to push away memories of his recent death experience while waiting for the intense urge of NOM NOM to subside.
"How long does this usually take?" Virgil asked, looking inside the empty bottle as if he might find more.
The bartender looked askance at the other two empty bottles sitting beside Virgil. "The alcohol poisoning you mean? Just how long have you been here?"
Virgil blinked at the handsome man before him decked out from head to toe in black. That was his kind of man. "Oh, maybe it did work. I don't remember seeing you back there."
"My shift just started," said the man, and 'Roman' said the name tag on his pristine black polo shirt. He had that face on his face like he was trying to smile, just how the relentless years of customer service taught you, but was failing completely. The farthest he got was moderately bewildered mixed with borderline awe.
"Hm, nice," Virgil said, because really there was nothing else to say. Especially when all Virgil's brain could scream at him for the moment was, Look at that arm! Bite it, rawr!
Virgil shook his head. Damn primal needs.
"Maybe I should switch to tequila," he grumbled.
"Maybe you wanna slow down," Roman advised. "You've had enough to down an elephant. Look, you've even spilt some on yourself."
Virgil looked down obligingly and couldn't help but laugh at the stain on his own shirt. "Oh that. Yeah that's not my drink, it's blood."
Roman's stance didnt change but his eyes were definitely more focused. Virgil wondered if he imagined the sound of a heartbeat speeding up.
Primal brain said, Fresh meat fears us. Fresh meat shall be tasty. *insert evil laugh here*
To clarify, Virgil raised a hand to stop the bartender from calling for help. "Don't worry, it's my blood."
Virgil did not think the clarification helped much. He should try again.
"Listen," Virgil lowered his voice a little, as much as you can in a bar and still be heard. He leaned forward a bit but the bartender most certainly did not. "I died this morning. It's been a really weird day."
"Ah," Roman nodded slowly, and at least his heartbeat slowed marginally. He even chanced a curve of the lips. "Far be it from me to question coping mechanisms. Normally I might ask if you're sure you don't need medical assistance, but you appear abnormally...fine, all things considered."
"You look pretty tasty yourself," Virgil purred and promptly slapped a hand over his mouth.
Did all of his self control die as well? Sheesh. Someone end him properly, please.
It's not like you weren't thinking it, Primal Brain supplied helpfully.
Luckily for all of Virgil's sanity, Roman took the compliment in stride. He laughed, "Well, clean clothes do go a long way."
"I meant to get changed before, I swear, I just..."
"Weird day," Roman finished for him. He nodded politely and smiled in a way that made Virgil want to eat his face off. Literally.
"You should probably go help other customers," Virgil word-vomited. "Or get me more bourbon. Or tequila. Or hell, wine if it'll do anything for me. Maybe everclear."
Roman chuckled again, "I'll make my rounds, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut you off dear. Even if you seem sober enough, the evidence suggests otherwise."
Adding insult to injury, Roman slipped him a glass of water before he left. Virgil watched the liquid settle to stillness in the clear cup and felt absolutely no desire to drink it.
We want blood. Blood! Primal Brain roared inside him.
Virgil put his head in his hands and wondered how he got into this mess.
21 notes
·
View notes
it's silly but the biggest reason why im not into t yet is bc im so afraid of losing my hair. do you have any solutions/tips for it?
first of all, i don’t think it’s silly — it’s natural to be worried when hair loss is talked about by so many people as like…one of the worst results of aging for men. listening to my dad talk about how much he hates balding definitely did not make me feel particularly good about the knowledge that i may very well be joining him someday. i’m not saying the fear is right, because i don’t think hair loss is something awful that we should avoid at all costs, but it’s an understandable fear given the beauty standards we’re working with, and it’s one that a lot of us (myself included) feel.
one thing that’s helped me is just…paying more attention to the guys that i interact with on a daily basis. i’ve learned two things from it: 1) hair loss is super fucking common. i’d say it’s much harder to find an adult man who isn’t balding at all than it is to find one who’s completely bald. and 2) if you forget everything you’ve been told about how bad hair loss is, you’ll realize that quite frankly, every single one of those guys looks totally fucking fine. it doesn’t ruin their appearance and make them ugly, it looks totally natural and isn’t really even something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it. we put so much weight on it but it’s really just not that big of a deal. i’ll hear my parents talk shit about men in my family who are losing their hair when i didn’t even notice a difference last time i saw them. it’s one of those things (like so many other appearance-related things) that you really only notice at all because you’ve been taught that you’re supposed to care about it.
this isn’t something i’ve done personally, but if you really want to desensitize yourself to the idea of it, embrace the time-honored queer tradition of just shaving your whole damn head! find out what you’d look like without hair, find out how you feel about it and what you can do that makes you feel good about your appearance without hair, test the waters while it’s still a temporary change and not something permanent. that way, it won’t feel like this big scary unknown, and you’ll actually have a frame of reference for your feelings about how you look without hair rather than accepting the societal assumption that you’ll inevitably hate it. if you don’t want to actually shave your head, you could also just fuck around with bald filters or photoshop and see what happens.
oh, and if you’re attracted to men, keep an eye out for guys who are bald or balding and also hot as fuck. in my experience, there’s no insecurity or potential future insecurity that being gay for other men hasn’t helped me with. just off the top of my head, i can think of a couple actors who i think are absolutely fucking gorgeous who have helped me get over my fears about losing my hair. despite what our anti-aging-obsessed world might want you to think, there is no such thing as a physical feature that automatically makes someone less attractive, and while making attractiveness less of a priority in your life is good, it can’t hurt to also give yourself some proof that actually, you might lose your hair and look hot as hell doing it.
basically, entertain the possibility that it won’t be a bad thing at all! whether that’s just because it turns out to be a neutral thing for you or because you end up actually liking it, it’s not an inherently bad thing. i’ve ended up liking a lot of things that were “supposed to” be bad effects of t — i love the weight i’ve gained and the new shape it gives my body, i get a lot of gender euphoria from the fact that my acne is now on parts of my face that i saw a lot of guys in high school get it and i’m not complaining about the scars i get from it either because i’ve always liked the added texture that acne scars give my skin, and so on. i think there’s a lot of joy to be had in the changes we’re taught to fear, once we look past that conditioning and actually explore how we feel about it.
but if it’s something you really don’t want and you just want to improve your chances of not having to deal with it, it’s not like there’s nothing you can do! products like finasteride (oral) and minoxidil (usually topical but i think there might also be oral versions) are pretty commonly used among trans guys, for the purpose of avoiding hair loss and for other reasons, and there are plenty of other anti-hair loss products out there (though i don’t know how effective any one of them might be). if it’s a big enough deal for you, you can just decide that you’ll go off of t if/when you start noticing signs of it, since no longer having higher t levels would stop the process in its tracks. and if you don’t find prevention options that work for you so it ends up happening, you can always explore different hair styles (judging by the pattern of hair loss i see in my family, i suspect that keeping my hair long would make it less obvious if i started losing mine), find your preferred method of covering it when you don’t feel good about it (personally i love a good beanie generally and would probably wear them a lot more if i didn’t have hair to worry about because my main complaint is the way they press my hair onto my neck), or just shave it all off if you don’t like the look of the partial balding but don’t mind a shaved head. the point being — you have options!
at the end of the day, whether you go on t or not, you’re going to see your body change as you age in ways that aren’t always going to be attractive to others or aesthetically pleasing to you. that’s just the reality of having a body. even if you never went on t, you’d get older and you might see your hair thin out even if you don’t bald, you’ll see your skin start to wrinkle and sag in places that used to be smooth, your metabolism might slow or your body fat might start to gather in new places; hell, you might lose your hair for a totally different reason and end up in the same place but without the benefits of having been on t that whole time. life is full of bodily changes like that. transphobes will fearmonger about the permanent changes of testosterone all day long but the truth is, there is no escaping permanent bodily changes. whether or not you go on t, your body now isn’t the same as it will be in 1 or 5 or 10 or 20 or 50 years, just like it isn’t the same as it was at any point in your life before now. our bodies are never supposed to stop growing and aging and changing throughout our lives. there’s no guaranteeing that we’ll love every single change our bodies go through, but that’s okay! there are so many things in life that are more important than the way our bodies look. even if you go on t and lose your hair and don’t like how it looks, your life won’t be ruined; plenty of other things will bring you joy and more than make up for the insecurities.
just think about the gender euphoria and relief from dysphoria that t could give you. would losing your hair be bad enough to outweigh all of that? or is it just the pressure of a society that decided balding is bad that’s making you fear one single change despite how much joy you could have if you let that fear go? only you can decide if going on t is worth the potential downsides for you, but i suspect that for most of us, the benefits of going on t far outweigh the possibility of side effects like hair loss happening down the line.
908 notes
·
View notes
fem!reader // age gap; bakugou is in his early 30s, reader is in her 20s.
bakugou gives me “get off my lawn!” vibes.
i imagine him gardening in front of his new home in a quiet little neighbourhood that he’s moved into after a particular scandal — the idea recommended as a solution to easing his temper in one of his anger management classes that his friends had somehow managed to convince him to go to — when his wrath comes face to face with you for the very first time.
he’s kneeling in front of the little garden that’s situated underneath his living room window as he digs his hands into the soil, no gloves, and with dirt pushing underneath his fingernails so deep that he’ll only be able to scrub it out when he finally heads inside to take a shower later.
so, he’s tending to the small patch of soil. with his brow furrowed and his teeth repeatedly sinking into the inside of his cheek, the temporarily-retired pro hero is visibly trying so hard to not crumple the flowers that he’s spent ages fighting to keep alive in their little pots ever since the day his stupid therapist had instructed him to buy the seeds, put them on the windowsill, take care of them, and watch them grow just like the calmness and the ‘zen’ in him is supposed to, or whatever the fuck.
and sure enough, the little fuckers actually grew. they grew so big actually, that he now has to complete yet another pesky task, consisting of finding them a new spot where they can fully flourish before they can get the chance to overtake his entire window, bed, room, even him, perhaps.
grumbling under his breath, the raging blond feels somewhat proud as he stares at his little creations. i mean, who knew he had it in him? a proper green thumb; attached to the explosive, otherwise oftentimes murderous palm of katsuki fucking bakugou!
and speaking of murderous: the look on katsuki’s face is a near perfect example of the word as he goes to place the first plant into the little hole that he’s just finished digging up. with his crimson eyes dangerously narrowed, he watches intently how the petals bend, as well as the leaves, whilst he picks up the poor flower and starts transfering it from pot to soil.
luckily, neither break or tear under his thick fingers. he’s being gentle and delicate for a change — adjectives people would never describe him with at first glance, nor after getting to know him a little bit better. no, he’s a grump through and through, and the focus in his head is so high now, in fact, that it even causes a wrinkle to etch itself deep into the middle of his forehead, accentuating the previous statement even further.
but that grump in him really manages to shine through the moment a football suddenly appears out of nowhere and knocks over one of the pots he’s brought outside only minutes prior.
tink! — a thin little crack appears on one side of the pot, now. bakugou, holding his breath without even realizing it, watches as it spreads through the glazed ceramic. the flower lays limply on the concrete step beside the garden that it’s just been knocked into. it had been his favourite one of the plants, the petals were so pretty and in a gorgeous shade of orange, but he can’t dwell on it; not when the crack is still spreading.
it’s spreading, spreading, spreading. just like the anger that bubbles within him.
tink, tink, crack! — the pot is chipped. a little piece of it crumbles off and falls onto the step.
oh, no. it’s ruined. it’s all ruined and the perfectionist in him is screaming.
and fuck, red fury swoops upon bakugou’s mind like a hawk at that. it’s such a small thing, a mere accident, but he just can’t help it; life’s been hard as of late. with his jaw clenched and all anger management lessons forgotten, he grabs the football and tightens his hold around it with both hands until he can feel the sparks dancing on his palms. until he can feel the warmth start to radiate from them.
the heat makes the synthetic leather hiss. it tingles, from his hands, all over his body. he hasn’t indulged in his quirk in such a long time. it feels good, even if the emotions that now plague and storm his outraged mind are awfully bitter.
and as for rage…
“are you fucking kidding me?!” his voice booms through the air as he pushes up to his full height in one swift, scary movement. “you stupid, brainless brats; how many fuckin’ times have i told you not to play he—”
it’s not often that katsuki stops in his tracks mid-sentence — especially in the midst of such a venomous one, at that — but the moment he whirls around and lays his eyes on you, deadly silence falls.
i mean, how can he not turn quiet? jesus on a cross, there’s a girl standing in front of him now, instead of a kid or an old lady. an actual girl, and she’s fucking gorgeous.
dressed in comfortable shorts, a cute crop top that shows just a sliver of your stomach, and colourful, almost childish flip-flops, your skin looks like it’d be warm to the touch if he were to stroke it. the sunshine that blazes above you on this hot summer’s day, causes sweat to glimmer in a layer so thin on your forehead. it makes the little hairs that frame your pretty face curl because of the way they’re turning damp with salt. makes the side of your neck have a certain sheen to it as well.
bakugou’s head cocks to the side as he assesses you further. sure, it’s hot out, however the heat doesn’t seem to be the main reason as to why you look so appealingly disheveled. after all, you’re inhaling and exhaling fast, and your shoulders are rising and falling even quicker as you seem to be trying to catch your breath.
did you run all the way over here?
“sorry… hi! lemme just… ah… catch my breath for a quick second… gosh.” he blinks at the sound of your voice as you raise your hand in apology before resting both of them onto your knees and bending over at the middle. your demeanor almost seems sheepish when you look up at him from underneath your lashes, still trying to ease your breathing. “i’m so, so, so sorry for your flowers, mister dynamight, sir…! my little brother kicked the football way too hard as we were playing a game he made up, so i just… i, uh, i ran over here to apologize on his behalf, and to… get the ball back.”
katsuki quirks a brow as he lets his gaze fall to the football he still holds in his hands, and for which you’re so clearly asking to get back, now. he knows the kid who you’re referring to as your brother — an especially irritating little menace that’s been sucking his blood through a goddamn straw, with all the pranks he and the group of brats he calls his friends have been initiating on his property as of late.
and sure enough, when he looks over your shoulder, the little shit is nowhere to be found.
the thought of the kid continuously stepping on his nerves for the last few weeks angers him in a flash, making his grip on the football tighten and start to smoulder; it makes smoke spiral in thin lines underneath his fingertips. though, when he lifts his gaze and lets his eyes land on you again — on that stupidly pretty, sweaty face of yours — bakugou surprisingly feels that white-hot rage somewhat disippating bit by bit.
hand to heart, he’s intrigued by you. you don’t seem to mind being in his presence, despite the fact that you seem to know fully well who exactly he is. and if you know that, then you’re surely familiar with the rumours and gossip that never cease to follow a big name like his. as well as the public announcement, talking about his — forced — temporary retirement from the hero business, because of the consistently violent outbursts he had failed to tame over the years.
for fuck’s sake, the dynamight is your neighbour, and you seem to be outright unbothered by it. it’s peculiar as fuck.
and it’s also the reason why the only thing he grunts out now, is, “you’re new.”
“i’m sorry?” that surprises you. your brief confusion is evident in the way you straighten, as well as how your own head lightly tilts so that you can look at him properly for the first time ever since you’ve stepped foot on the patch of land he should be calling home.
“you’re new,” he repeats simply, jerking his chin towards your direction and pointing the football at you. “i haven’t seen ya ‘round here before.”
“oh—ohh…” there it is; a wonderful smile appears on your otherwise pouty lips as you smack your forehead in realization. “yeah; that totally makes sense! i came back home just a couple of days ago to spend summer break with my family, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen me around yet.”
summer break. so you must be still in college? it’s not odd that you’re still a student, with a tight body like that, clothes so revealing and scarce, and a face that just screams youth, youth, youth. adding it all together, bakugou catches himself feeling not all that thrown off by the fact that you’re in school, pursuing a degree.
at least you have a goal in life. unlike him, and his stupid gardening.
nevertheless, he gives you a curt nod and tries to tame the flutter of a muscle in his cheek as he hands you back the ball he’d considered melting with his quirk just moments before. he’s still so angry because of the pot.
it held his favourite flower, goddammit.
“you’re new here, too,” you chime as you take the ball from his hands. “i know you weren’t here the last time i came to visit… i’d remember a man like you if he were living across the street from me.”
he isn’t entirely sure if you actually don’t see it, or you simply turn a blind eye towards the dirt and the branding that he’s now burned into the ball with his fingers, but both choices seem just dandy to bakugou as he watches you grin up at him, now. so cutesy.
“moved in a couple of months ago,” he explains briefly, clearing his throat and wiping his hands against his black gym shorts. he has to wash them later anyway; what’s a little bit of sweat and dirt? “been sort of… startin’ over, hah.”
you could call it that, all right.
you give him a knowing look, but don’t say anything about the article that had covered the first page of nearly every newsletter in the country not a while back.
dynamight retires at the young age of 33 after yet another savage misdemeanor! read more below!
no, instead you say, “well, that’s nice. i certainly hope that you’ve adjusted and that our little neighbourhood has been treating you well, mister dynamight, sir.”
that last word… did you say it like that; so softly, almost purring, the first time, too?
“i suppose i did,” he answers, feeling a heat that he can’t blame on the late afternoon sun start to crawl up his neck. it’s not intense enough to make him blush, per se, but it is enough to tint the tips of his ears a light pink. damn, it sure has been a while if a mere tone has got him acting like this.
your smile grows bigger as you notice the faint change of shade. it makes your face beam. “i know it’s quaint compared to the city, but i’m sure you’ll learn to like it.”
he watches you turn so that you can head back to your house, inside of which your menace of a little brother is surely hiding, and he can’t help but eye you up from head to toe again, well, heel. the back of you is just as stunning as your front is, he’s dragging his eyes all over; that is until you whip your head to the side so that you can look at him over your shoulder.
“oh, and mister dynamight?”
“what?” he calls out. you’ve already reached the sidewalk.
“i really am sorry about your flower pot. i’ll buy you a new one, if you’ll let me,” you say, waving. “just don’t be a stranger, yeah?”
katsuki doesn’t answer. he wants to say a million things all at once, to agree, to deny, whatever. to tell you to call him katsuki, or at least bakugou; that he hasn’t been called dynamight in a while and hasn’t felt like him either for a long while, too. to ask you what your name is, because he’s just realized he’s never got it. to try shooting his shot, or just talk, talk, talk because he’s lonely, he’s been feeling oh, so very lonely ever since moving here.
but all he does instead, is raise his hand and wave.
2K notes
·
View notes