#tw torture reference

[nocontextadrianpimento]

When I was in that Uzbek prison, choking on my own blood because my face was being beaten in, I realised... Life is funny.

[parjiljehavey]

@ninjacat1515 @requiemofamemory @cheshire0824 @capitanarmandosalazar @piratesangel

The room erupted after Rodrigo spoke. Carlos had stood up and his chair screeched, Lesaro was snarling his facade gone, and Armando slammed a fist on the table, pointing at the human in accusation. Marisol had gone wide-eyed and was staring at the human man in shock. 

“¡Silencio!“ The room quieted after Pilar roared. She took a breath and pointed at Rodrigo. 

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” 

“I had no choice, senora! He-” 

“Non, no, no. You had every choice. You had every reason to cease all business with Chastain from the very beginning. What did he offer you to begin with? A share of the profit?” 

At the guilty silence, Pilar clicked her tongue in disgust. “Your greed has brought your downfall upon you and your family, and I will do nothing to prevent it, Rodrigo.” Pilar stood and bid them goodnight. “Again, Dona, I will give you any assistance that you need to find this Frenchman.” She left the cottage and they heard the coach leave.

Armando frowned and shared a look with Marisol. She nodded and he said something so quiet and fast that the humans’ couldn’t hear him. “Where is the Frenchman?” Lesaro barked out an order.

“I don’t know where he is!” Moss and Santos came into the house and flanked Rodrigo. Moss was grinning and Santos had a gleam in his eye. Carlos walked over to the door and barred it. Lesaro got up and drew the curtains closed. 

“Nonsense,” Marisol said, standing from her seat. “You do business with him, you take a cut of the profit to line your own pockets, and you know that he is working with both pirates and slayers. Now, again, where is he?” 

“Do not lie, amigo.” Carlos chimed in, leaning back against the door with his arms crossed. 

Lesaro spoke up, “And do not remain silent.” 

Moss hissed, “Or do. It’ll make it fun for us.” Santos snickered. 

Rodrigo opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide as he frantically looked around the room for either escape or help. The vampires would give him neither. Silence held for several moments. 

“Cat got your tongue, hombre?” Santos laughed at his captain’s jest, clapping the human on the shoulder. He jumped. Marisol and Armando exchanged another look. She nodded again, lips set in a firm line.

“I take that as a ‘yes’.” At Armando’s nod, Moss set to work while Santos held the human down. 

Later in the night, while Lesaro and Carlos returned to the Maria and Moss and Santos disposed of the body, Armando stood in the small room given to him. He looked out at the hill and the sea that lay before it. The night was dark, and there was no moon. Salinas had talked in the end, but for his deception and his willing dealings with pirates and slayers, they had ended his existence. 

The Frenchman was further north on the coast. He wouldn’t tell how far inland the man was, and so scouting was in order. Armando would take over this part of the investigation, and Marisol would collect further leads on this group of slayers.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.” She said softly. Armando hadn’t even heard her knock or enter. She approached the window and gazed out the dark night and the sea. 

Armando snorted. “Shakespeare?” 

“I’m surprised you know it.” Marisol teased. Armando snorted again, only not out of humor this time. She frowned. And then she sighed. 

“What Salinas said about slayers being involved is bothering you.” It was not a question; she just knew. How she did, Armando did not know. Maybe it was a woman’s intuition or maybe it was simply just how she was. She placed her hand on his shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze that made him simply want to lean against her and seek shelter. 

Now he understood why Carlos wrote so furiously whenever the Maria was at sea; why he would send a bundle of six to ten letters meant solely for his hermana. His sister was an anchor, a safe harbor. Marisol was the calm eye of a storm; She understood and gave the safety net of support. 

Now she offered Armando that safety. Her hand squeezed his shoulder again and he felt her begin to step away. 

“Quédate conmigo.” 

Marisol stopped and turned towards him. She placed her hand on his shoulder again. Armando covered hers’ with one of his own. 

“Por favor, quédate.” 

El Matador Del Mar was a proud man. But, he was still a man. Marisol understood that; her first husband, Antonio her greatest friend, had married her simply because he had wanted companionship in his final years. The wars and time he had spent in the New World had taken its toll on him when he was young and had made life difficult as he approached the end.  

And with this threat of slayers working with the French man.. Marisol resolved herself to do what she could as she could as she was needed, as she was now. 

“Si,” 

[mywingsareonwheels]

Neurodiversity and Marvel’s supersoldiers

As someone with sensory processing problems I keep wondering how sensory processing works for Marvel’s supersoldiers. We know that their senses are heightened; do their brains adapt, or do they too sometimes experience sound or visual clutters as painful or itchy; struggle to individuate speech from background noises; get overwhelmed by certain smells or textures?

I think about Steve chasing after Richard Armitage’s character just after the murder of Erskine, barefoot, in shock, and minutes following the most dramatic physical transformation of any supersoldier. Suddenly with an entirely different body from the one he grew up with, sensorily as well as in so many other respects.

And Steve does adjust, at least somewhat, fast. And we know that, e.g., his vestibular sense does not overwhelm him given that he can cope with any number of wild physical escapades (in contrast to his problems with rides at Coney Island when he was a kid). That doesn’t mean that he never runs into any problems with vision and sound and smell, especially. And most especially after he wakes up in a new century that is so much louder and brighter than the 1940s. Do the tight t-shirts give him something he now needs in terms of texture and pressure? Does he need to recover after missions with an eyemask and noise-cancelling headphones (and if so, who actually encouraged him to do just that rather than self-neglecting yet again...)? 

And that’s Steve. What about Bucky and Isaiah, each given the serum without consent, and then put through their respective hells following that? We assume (rightly I’m sure) that the version of the serum Bucky had was inferior to Steve’s (because Zola just isn’t as good a scientist as Erskine), and might lead to far more sensory problems. I can imagine him struggling with this during his time with the Howling Commandos, still unaware of what’s been done to him and noticing any number of sensory Things along with his increased strength and healing ability. Trying to keep it secret from Steve and everybody else. Confused and scared, wincing at shadows. I can imagine, all too easily, that HYDRA would make use not only of the Winter Soldier’s sensory strengths but also his sensory vulnerabilities and difficulties.

Do we ever find out who created the serum Isaiah received? My assumption is that it’s based on Zola’s due to the project that leads to Zola working for (and infiltrating) SHIELD, but I may be missing something here. If I’m right, I can imagine that Isaiah had much the same problem as Bucky, and that both still do.

Nagel’s serum (as in tfatws) appears to be one of the best and to make relatively little difference to the body except in terms of increasing its power. I’m not sure that we ever learn about any sensory effects that it has on Karli, John, etc., but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any.

Anyway. I think this may be a fic prompt for fellow neurodiverse fic writers, if anyone wants it. :-)

[nocontextadrianpimento]

Alright, I like it, don't tell me, surprise me! Ooh this is gonna be fun!

[nocontextadrianpimento]

Damn, man! You got something really sick you wanna do, huh?

[nocontextadrianpimento]

*gets punched in the face multiple times* I DESERVE THIS!

[nocontextadrianpimento]

Easy. Just take one of their guys and beat them to a pulp in front of them.

[nocontextadrianpimento]

You can punch me, kick me, pull my hair...