#this is pretty self-indulgent writing ill be honest

[gainingfiction]

Heavily Used

Summary: This is a bit experimental (or weird), and maybe a bit predictable, but I had fun writing it. This is a story about an important relationship in a fat guy’s life, and the risk of taking things for granted. It’s also a story about coping (or not coping) with change.

Hope you enjoy!

~

I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I can only handle so much. It’s one thing to be taken for granted, that’s something we all have to live with. It’s just the total lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness that I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. I swear, one of these days, I’m just gonna snap and call it quits.

A little bit about me: I’m stylish, polished, and pretty easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself. Born in Poland, but my background is Swedish—I’m European, at heart. The name is Anders, but no one actually calls me that. I’m not super high-maintenance, once you figure me out, but everyone needs a little attention from time to time. Some tending.

Especially living with Max.

I’ve known Max for a while, and he’s not a bad guy. He can be a little rough sometimes, and maybe a little careless, but it doesn’t come from a bad place. I think it’s just a lack of self-awareness. And let’s be honest, that’s a common problem among pretty-boy jocks.

The trouble with Max is that he’s not the pretty-boy I once knew. He’s changed… he’s grown. I mean, he’s literally grown. Grown by about a hundred pounds, if I had to guess, and counting. Over the course of our time together, I’ve gotten pretty familiar with his ass, and I’ll admit, it’s a great one. But, boy, he’s got a lot more ass for me to handle these days.

It’s not insurmountable, not yet at least. But I’m worried it’s getting there.

It started out simply enough, the innocent midnight snacks and occasional takeout treats. No problem, right? Twunks can afford to indulge a little, especially a hot commodity like Max. But then, you get comfortable. You settle into a routine, you let yourself go. That’s the thing about creatures of beauty: one minute you’re the hottest guy in town, trim and toned, with a golden tan and handsome face and perfect, silky hair. The sort of guy who only seems to exist in a Hollywood version of reality. But then, inevitably, something happens. Sometimes tastes change, or maybe you’re the one doing the changing.

I won’t deny, I’m not in the same shape I was when I entered Max’s life for the first time. Any long-term relationship comes with the normal wear-and-tear. Max, though, has taken it to a whole new level.

The little snacks become big snacks. The extra meals go from “occasional” to “frequent” to “everyday”. Gluttony takes over. A 32-inch waist becomes a 36-inch waist becomes a 40-inch waist; size-small shirts are discarded in the back of the closet, soon joined by ill-fitting mediums, and then by larges, stretched out of shape by a gut that won’t stop getting bigger. Max used to flit around the apartment like a bird; now he lumbers like an elephant, heavy footfalls and a slow, waddling gait. His own warning system—you can hear him coming.

On paper, I know I should be trying to help lighten the load. And it’s not like I’m totally unappreciated; there are days when he comes home from work, legs tired and arms loaded down with takeout, and I can tell he’s genuinely happy to have me. But it doesn’t last long. Once dinner’s over, I’m back to being ignored while he sits on the couch, gorging himself in front of the TV, until he comes around again to stuff his face at the next meal. Which, to be fair, is pretty often these days.

It sounds cruel, the way I talk about his escalating weight, his increasingly-indecent greed. I’m not trying to be mean. I just wish he’d consider how it might affect me. I have to live with him, and he’s starting to cramp my style. But it’s not like I can say anything. I just have to sit there in silence, while he eats and eats, grows and grows, piling on pound after excess pound. And the way he eats, moaning and licking and slurping… it’s downright pornographic.

250 starts to feel like a lowball as the months go by. He’s pushing me to my limits without even realizing it. I’ve never had to deal with a guy this fat before, a guy whose big, round bubble butt would hang over the side of even the most substantial chair. And I, personally, am not “substantial”. I’m pretty thin; it’s just how I was made. I thought Max was made that way, too.

I start trying to make my frustration known, but like I said, I can’t just come right out and say something. So I try a little subtlety; a small groan every now and then when he throws himself down at the dinner table for another round of hedonism. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He just keeps upping the ante.

And upping just about everything else: his pants size, his portion sizes, the size of his monster-truck ass and thunder thighs. They press together whenever he sits down, now, lard against blubber. Not like in the old days when his legs were lithe and lean. His moobs bulge against every tank top, his pudgy arms pack his sleeves, his love handles blossom over the top of every waistband like ripening tropical fruit.

In occasional moments of self-pity, I hazard a guess: how much does my man weigh now? 275 pounds? 300? Is he even trying to do something about it? Clearly not. He never works out anymore, unless you count working up a sweat over a third (or fourth, or fifth) slice of cheesecake. I honestly wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, just to spite me. Or test me. But I know that’s crazy—like I said, sometimes I truly doubt he even thinks about what it’s like for me.

But the problem is getting harder to ignore; he really throws his weight around these days. He heaves himself up off the couch. He rests a hand on the front of his bulging belly, barely restrained by some poor, threadbare top, back arching forward from the strain of it all (he’s not a tall guy, which makes his increasingly S-shaped silhouette even more pronounced). He trudges from the living room to the kitchen and drops himself in front of the table like an anvil. When he sits down, his ass, spilling out of some indecent pair of jean shorts, spreads out like lava blanketing some hapless Roman hamlet.

Some nights, I strain underneath him, feeling absolutely crushed by his sheer weight, boundless mass bearing down on me with the force of gravity. How big is he now? I wonder, as I listen to him moan and groan with pleasure. 325? 350? Could he really have gained over 200 pounds? How could he not realize what he’s doing to himself—what he’s doing to me?

He’s just so oblivious. I don’t even recognize him anymore. I’ve been starting to make noises about how uncomfortable I am, how much I’m struggling with his extra weight. But, as always, it falls on deaf ears. His tight little butt has become a pair of vast, ponderous globes, his abs and lats and obliques are encased in a spare tire that belongs on an 18-wheeler, his tits bulge out and dangle towards his armpits. And he just. Keeps. Going. 

Keeps eating. Keeps gaining. Keeps expanding.

Things reach a boiling point before dinner one night. I can see him piling up the table, unboxing some outrageous quantity of food for his secret nightly mukbang. Well, secret except for the consequences, which anyone with eyes could notice. “There’s a man who likes his food” would be such a trite, vapid observation that it doesn’t even need saying. He doesn’t just “like” his food, he lives for his food. Food is practically a part of Max’s identity at this point.

He’s starting to lower his colossal ass to sit, and I can tell this is it. Tonight’s the night. Fuck it, I’m done. He’s well past 350 pounds, and that’s too much weight for me to handle.

Maybe he’ll appreciate me more when I’m not around. Hejdå, Max, it was nice knowing you! At least, it used to be.

~

Max sat on the floor, rolls of fat still wobbling from the jarring motion of his fall. His chair had been complaining for a while now—squeaking and groaning every time he sat down—but he hadn’t expected it to actually break. What a load of bullshit! He wasn’t even that fat!

He looked around at the splintered wood, soreness radiating across his ass—and not in a fun, post-fucking kind of way. At least his buttocks were nicely-padded. When he was bony, a slip on the ice hurt like all hell.

He was glad he was alone, or this would have been super embarrassing. At least no one was around to see him smash that chair like a pro-wrestler in a grudge match. He knew he’d been overdoing it, but this wasn’t his fault. How could it be, surely he wasn’t that big? Just a little out of shape, in need of a few good workouts to shed some winter weight. It was just the cheap IKEA furniture he bought.

With a grunt, he started the process of heaving his monumental form to a stand. As he started to gather his momentum, he glanced at the ruined seat and frowned. He actually liked that chair. It was pretty comfortable.

At least, it used to be.

(Author’s Note: don’t forget to rotate your dining chairs!)

[asclexe]

* if u want me to boost ur fundraiser i’m making a masterpost rn and i really apologize for not answering your ask, i see and hear you!!! i physically cannot donate to you because i am a minor and i do not make money, but i will spread the word.

slightly more concise intro post bc i am a yapper + some stuff changed💥

flash/blink warning 4 the blinkies!

haiiii :3 i go bye cameron which is very nicknameable so have fun with that. also call me whatever 🔥🔥

gender-wise i’m a trans agender/nonbinary freak albeit masc leaning thing so for pronouns i’d say are they/them mainly, but i also like he/him n it/its! feel free to use either!! 😛

aromantic asexual aplatonic lesbian faggot thing. i think girls r pretty 😍

minor!!!!!!!!! im ageless online 4 my safety so B cool :3

star sign leo, personality type intj, white :\, i live in america so expect yeehaws and occasional politics, and im an atheist :3 also left-handed (i never shut up about this)! probably not neurotypical but i haven’t been diagnosed with anything yet. i might be depressed but im in school so idrc about that rn.

interest wise, im pathetically multifandom and i reblog a lot of house md because that’s my fyp, but i also enjoy doctor who (only on s5 lol), good omens (FUCK NEIL GAIMAN FUCK HIM FUCK HIM), warrior cats (on arc 5 and no intention of reading more), dungeon meshi, six feet under (s1 still lol), yellowjackets, fnaf, thg, a series of unfortunate events, doogie howser md, moral orel (s2) and soso many many more.. (i watch a lot of shows. i’m watching hannibal next!) digesting the saw franchise atm

for uhh music i listen to mainly tally hall/miracle musical, will wood, lemon demon, weezer, the smashing pumpkins, queen, destroy boys, chappell roan, dazey n the scouts, mitski, slipknot n mindless self indulgence n ayesha erotica n deftones n nickel creek (MONA!1!1!1!!!) + wayy more i love music

im also a theater kid! beware.

i enjoy mundane shit like writing, drawing, cooking, baking, reading and listening to music and watching tv and then carpe diem crap like kleptomania, theater, staying up past my bedtime, hiking/outdoors shit, being alone, doing crazy shit and having fun and

i run @ask-the-ducklings and @ppth-obgyn-dept-head-real for my house md oc and i’m 1/2 of @meanwhile-on-the-road :3

ughh sum things you should know be4 you follow or follow/unfollow or moot/unmoot me/boundaries

i am a very morbid (i think abt death literally all the time. lol), negative, cynical person and i always have been and i will not absorb those positive vibes. im a hater. im also opinionated like everyone else and im obviously going to have bad takes. B nice. sometimes the fun and joyous whimsy comes out.

i use a lot of profanity and i say the one slur i can reclaim.

i will not go to therapy or get help. i’ve been in therapy and it does not help me and i do not like it. i do not want help. i’m fine. please do not tell me “go to therapy u need it” because i do not need it

i say “im going to kill myself” a lot and these are all fruitless, meaningless statements. i am not committing suicide yet, and when i do, you’ll have long forgotten me. hopefully.

pls tell me if i say something offensive or wrong or are overcrossing your boundaries, im sorry, im bound to make mistakes or misjudge a post.

i do not tag my reblogs with the media or characters, only little comments. i also do not spoiler tag my posts. i try to trigger tag things when i can but if you want something trigger tagged pls lmk!!

i do not have a dni, because the block button (which i use pretty often ill be honest) is easier, so instead i’d say go away bigots and zionists and pedos/zoos because your fucking lame and nsfw/kink blogs and most people over 21 (unless im comfortable with it) because i’m a minor.

despite all of this, i am very friendly and will probably want to talk to you!! i luv my mutuals!

i use #asclexeposting for all original and #i think i hauve covid for lesbian blogging and #cam touches grass for irl stuff and also sum more but those are most important :3

trying to figure out my ao3 situation but im on pinterest and discord under assclexe if you wanna hmu (B cool) and roblox as asclexe and my airbuds

old man doctor yaoi summer

house md oc

old intro

shoutout to @crow-king-ash for being my first mutual and @boabel for being one of my hg ogs, and being literally awesome sauced person ever @sillyhyperfixator for being soso cool and running the hilson blog with me and sharing our braincell

and @finleyssock and @living-d3ad-thing @luvrscut for being my irls :3

and all my other awesome mewtuals of which i have too many to tag but i love you all!!

art by @pingunaa :33

blinkies made in the blinkie cafe

the rest is assorted, most from pinterest?

[sweettoothvn]

Hellooo!!!

Could you write some red flags about the LI? (if they have any)

Thx uu *gives the creator warn food to give them energy✧)

Andre:

Can be possessive of his partner (it depends on who they're around to be honest.)

Too Oblivious/Naive when it comes to people flirting with him (it can get him in some trouble on accident)

Would you consider his gun obsession a red flag? Depends on your viewpoint on guns tbh.

Casey:

Doesn't look out for himself and tries to prioritize others over himself. (he's not mentally okay)

Considering his Bhaavana abilities, sometimes he tries to take people's negative emotions and put them onto himself. He thinks he's helping when he's probably not.

Also too naive and overly trusting. May mistake mysterious pills on the table for candy. Please monitor him.

Chrys:

Stubborn. She won't leave your side if you want to be alone and you clearly aren't okay. This can be seen as endearing, but some people need to be left alone when they're not in a good mindset and she doesn't understand she's doing more harm than good.

Reckless and carless. Sometimes, her little pranks or practical jokes can go wrong. You could see before the plan even went through that it wouldn't end well, but Chrys doesn't get that not everyone likes pranks. It will take her a while to understand that.

David:

God complex. He thinks he's above everyone he meets, and it's quite rare that he views someone as his equal. This complex stems from some childhood trauma and his intense insecurities.

Sadistic. He's sadistic in that he likes seeing other people fail when they are explicitly in his way. People are just pawns to him.

Substance abuse. He's not a true alcoholic where he can't function 'normally' without alcohol- but he does tend to abuse alcohol when he can or when it's present.

Eddie:

Reckless. He doesn't seem to have much self-preservation either and gets into many dangerous situations or frequently creates dangerous situations.

Ill-tempered. It doesn't take much to get his gears grinding. He's a ticking time bomb and lacks restraint.

Violent. He doesn't like to settle disputes with words. Fists are his immediate go to.

Kieran:

Narcissistic. Self-love is important, but there's such thing as too much. He believes everyone should love him, he's so great after all!

Insecure. Now, of course, his narcissism is more like a shield to hide all of his insecurities that he bottles up. He's pretty easy to manipulate because of them.

Ill-tempered. Similar to Eddie, he also gets offended quite easily. However, words are his first before fists. He wants to see his 'opponent' writhe and squirm as he points out all their flaws and shrink into themselves. That will teach them for messing with him.

Noble:

Possessive. In Gilvan culture, it's common for Gilvans to be possessive and overly protective of their partners. However, that's only acceptable within that community, and Noble doesn't tend to date within that circle.

Obsessive. Once something catches his interest, he believes it's destiny for him to indulge in that interest. Which is usually a person. He is a strong believer in fate.

Substance abuse. Besides having a smoking problem, he tends to abuse any sort of drug he can get his hands on. He wants to know what they'll do to him and how fucked up he'll get. It's sort of thrilling to him. He doesn't truly value his life either, so if his lifespan is shortened because of it, he doesn't care.

Zach:

Pushover. He's pretty easy to sway into doing things he doesn't want to. And no, he will not stand up for himself. He will however stand up for others.

Insecure. He doesn't see himself as a person, probably because he hasn't been treated like one for so long.

Substance abuse. Of course, it's not as severe as David or Noble, but he does have a smoking problem like Kieran. Their father introduced it to them when they were younger.

[thefandomenchantress]

what's ur favorite aspect of xanvid, acevid, xanace(? if that's their ship name), and the three of them together?

(Warning: TW For discussion of EDs, as well as the fact this is at least a little self-indulgent)

This is such a fun question heh heh heh! I’m gonna have a lot of fun with this one. (Thanks for asking me, by the way).

…

Xanvid:

I know this isn’t too deep or anything, but making ‘Xander is a huge simp for David’ jokes is one of my favorite pastimes while writing these two. I think it’s very funny.

I’ll be completely honest, at first I only shipped Xanvid because I knew most of the fandom did. Mostly because I somehow forgot this scene happened:

And that scene is the one that probably adds the most substance to their relationship, so forgetting about it took away what is probably one of the most important aspects. That being that Xander actually tries to treat David like a person, not a product or a celebrity.

I think Xander and David would probably be good at hyping each other up when they’re down, or providing each other comfort when they’re sad. Seeing as Xander has experience with grief I don’t think he’d push too hard for David to be happy all the time, which is pretty vital.

Acevid:

The more silly aspect I like is the banter. Ace is always great for fun banter because he never shuts up and doesn’t hesitate to state his opinions, at least most of the time. So most characters can have an entertaining back-and-forth with him.

But post-personality-reveal David in particular is fun for me to write, since he acts like such a smug little bastard. His above-average way with words can pretty much make Ace do what ever he wants (or at least in the beginning, when Ace can’t detect his trickery), and usually what he wants is to fluster Ace as much as possible.

But I guess a more serious one would be why I started shipping them in the first place. Both David and Ace’s careers have merged with the rest of their life in one way or another, and in very unpleasant ways. Both are the only two to show distain for their talents in some capacity, (excluding Teruko and sort of Rose, who doesn’t exactly hate her talent as much as she hates that she got caught and is in debt).

Whit says he didn’t share David’s secret because he doesn’t want to ruin David’s career, and when he phrases it like that it seems stupid, but considering the fact David basically built a whole new personality he’s been crafting for years and is the only thing he lets people see, you slowly realize that ruining his career essentially destroys his life. His image has been his primary concern for so long and now it’s forever tarnished. Which does make his sudden move to get everyone killed make a bit more sense, since perhaps David believes his life is essentially over anyway. Without his image and by extension his career, what is he left with?

And something similar could be said for Ace. Being a jockey is dangerous enough as it is, but with the brittle bones that come with an eating disorder like anorexia (which is what I assume Ace has, though I may be wrong), this risk of injury or even death only increases. In fact the mortality rate of anorexia alone is higher than most mental illnesses. So it’s fair to say that despite his fear of death and things that could hurt him in general, Ace is putting himself in a lot of danger to preserve his career as a jockey. His constant trips to the gym seem to indicate his works out a lot to maintain his weight as well. Despite the fact he hates horse-riding, he is risking his life to keep competing. And since he just got outed for having an eating disorder by Veronika, presumably on (inter?)national television, I’d say there’s a very high chance that he won’t be allowed to race again. So not only has his career been thrown away, but what he has dedicated his life to.

This rant is all to say I think that they could relate to each other in this way, and thus understand what the other is going through. They could help each other figure out where to go from here, and that kind of thing.

(This one ended up being really long, whoops…)

Xanace:

I’ve never written anything of just the two of them before, but I still like them as a pairing. Probably because rivals to lovers is one of my favorite things ever (Hence my love of Teruvid).

My favorite silly aspect is probably that the height difference is very funny to me. Xander’s 6’0 and Ace is 5’5 and I can just imagine them doing this thing:

Where the taller person easily holds back the shorter one, who is trying and failing to attack them (Hope you like my stick figure art haha).

Honestly part of the reason why I’ve never written something with just them is because I’m still trying to figure out why they work together. Xander doesn’t have much patience for Ace’s antics, so having them get along would most likely require Ace to tone it down long enough for them to have a heartfelt moment.

I think once they managed to have a bit of an understanding of each other, however, it’d be fun to see Ace of all people have to talk Xander out of getting in fights. Ace may threaten to fight people, but he won’t. Xander, however, has no qualms about being in a fight if he thinks it necessary. And seeing Ace, who has the habit of saying ‘you wanna fight!?’ to people he barely knows, having to stop him would be funny. Because even if Ace won’t admit it he cares about Xander’s well-being and in a fight he’s bound to get hurt.

Xanacevid:

Hmm…I guess I just feel like they kinda balance each other out, y’know? Xander and Ace’s more hotheaded and reckless tendencies can be balanced out by David’s more generally calm demeanor. Ace and David’s pessimism can be balanced out by Xander’s more cheery yet realistic outlook. David and Xander’s lovey-dovey approach is balanced out by Ace being a grumpy tsundere. I’m not great at putting it into words, they just kinda work. To me, at least.

…

Yaaaay I finished! Sorry this took me so long, I had trouble putting into words exactly what I liked about these ships. But thanks for asking I really love talking about stuff like this!!! <3

[chaoticgremlinbrainspace]

For the character rating: Yosuke Hanamura Go crazy :)

ok ok ok so basically I sent you a buncha Yosuke Hanamura stuff lmao bc I misunderstood how the thing works but this will be so awesome and evil >:)

How I feel about this character I feel a lot of things about this fucking goober I relate to him a lot in the ways he interacts with others and just his generally low self esteem lmao. I rotate him in my mind a lot. currently playing the game to dissect him for myself lol. hes got an interesting character that can get exploded fairly easily, though I feel like this applies to almost every character in existence, I know im not even in the top 100 most unwell about Yosuke Hanamura or even persona 4 but I really like it alot. I want to make an insanely self indulgent power point about Yosuke Hanamura to show to my friends lol. hes just really relatable to me especially me as a younger guy. and hell even now I find myself in him lol. its a bit cringe but I am free as they say. I do have a tendency to project on characters a bit so it might be a bit of that lol...but hes just really neat to me his whole deal is interesting.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I really like the Yosuke Hanamura/p4 protagonist ship which is yeah. I also just really enjoy their dynamic tbh. they have each others backs through thick and thin, like even not as a romantic thing tbh I just really enjoy them being goofy teens together this applies to all their friends btw. the thing with shipping is im pretty open to what ever as long as its fun and not like weird bad. I like weird good stuff (like crack pairings, or fun rare pairs). i also have a tendency to latch onto a pairing I think is neat, which yah. it's Yosuke/p4 protagonist for me njofwreg. its fun to explore that I think. uh thumbs up I guess I dont know how to explain myself 💀

My non-romantic OTP for this character

im a silly goober and I like seeing the entire investigation team interacting with each other, I like it when they get to hang out. like sure they end up being lil shits to each other sometimes but its not like actively malicious, its like play fighting to me...im still reading the manga and playing the games so im excited to see more interactions between everyone lol. I do like it when fanfics explore different dynamics between the gang it's fun. I feel like im talking in circles lmao. but I will say Yosuke and Chie fighting can be funny reminds me of my younger siblings mauling each other to death lol. Yosuke and Teddie are a goofy duo, rip Yosuke, he tends to be the butt of the joke. Yosuke and the portages relationship is always fun regardless of if its a ship or not lol...I wish I was bettering at remembering things im drawing a blank even though I had more to say dang it.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I dont know if I even really have an unpopular opinion about this guy? ill be honest most of my thoughts about him come out sounding like growling and barking bc words aren't real lol. I just think hes neat... i dont really talk to other people about him who are also into persona 4 that often, one person told me they call him "poor straight Yosuke" lmao. I dont know it's an unpopular opinion to read him through the lens of a closeted individual? I usually only hang out in a small space and do my own thing, with some other people's stuff I like because I think it makes sense...ourgh I'm kinda bad at this </3 writing things down in a cohesive manner...im sorry ya'll 💀

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

I would like to be gay with him when I am playing the game lol. like even just the option to do so. I do not trust Atlus with it tho lol...outside of that? I would like to see him as an older person and what hes been up to. where hes going. I wanna see his charater arc progress lol. I guess more Yosuke. same really goes for the cast, I just have a slight bigger soft spot for Yosuke.

the overall rating is

I make animatics about him in my mind at work/10

I hope this wasn't too bad/cringe fjnoemnowf im really bad at just putting my thoughts and feelings out there in regards to anything. i hope it is satisfactory 👍

[gatheryourships]

So, because @gunslingerorchid asked, here's a post about my self-insert Tav, Rosenna.

-

I’ll be honest I don’t have a whole lot about her fleshed out. And even trying to write this up for you, so much got changed and rewritten a number of times, and even this response is a complete start over from the very long and honestly confused lore bit I wrote.

Basically what I wrote for the fake BG3 intro post I reblogged on here is pretty much all I got, lmao. But I’ll try to give some more info, as much as I got nailed down right now. Maybe some more that’s not so concrete yet either.

Um, so. Rosenna is an only child, born and raised by a farmer and his wife (last name undetermined) in a little hamlet (also name undetermined) located along the Chionthar river a little ways down from Baldur’s Gate.

Right around that little nook maybe, where the red dot is. I still haven’t decided which side of the river it’s on. But around that area. So that’s it’s between the Fields of the Dead and the Woods of Sharp Teeth.

Rose (for short) lived a nice, little life with her parents. Helped her mom with house chores and what not as commoner daughters do. Also helped her dad a little with the farm - probably a bit less common for daughter to do, but eh. She likes helping and only doing house chores drove her crazy. And it’s something different so she was fine with it, despite getting a little dirty sometimes because of it. Also it was spending time with dad, so… That’s nice. xD

From a young age, Rose had been immersed with stories about heroes. Not necessarily intentionally mind you. Just parents telling their kid stories, censored versions of course. And from there, as she grew up, just got into reading stories about heroes herself.

And between having a good, kind, caring heart and just being a feisty, determined woman who only wants to do right she naturally felt an inclination towards such a life.

However… her mother had another plans for her. Not out of ill-will, just normal life plans that a commoner daughter would typically live. Help her mother until she (Rose) found someone to marry, which her parents were starting to push that onto her, except Rose didn’t have much interest in that. (Yet, anyways. Hero thing first, romance later possibly, ya know.)

What Rose did have an interest in was going to the docks and rubbing shoulders with people who came from Baldur’s Gate and even elsewhere afar, wanting to hear real stories of adventures and journeys from real people that they’ve had, especially recently.

Now it’s here where I’m unsure whether to spin it off as how she picked up some sense of handling a sword. One way is that because going to the docks and rubbing shoulders with strangers is obviously a terrible, dangerous thing to do and her father (and mother) become worried for her and so her father (who’s also maybe part of the citizen militia for the little hamlet - no standing army) decides to teach her (in secret/aka behind mom’s back) so she stops trying to go to the docks (and possibly end up kidnapped or worse one day). Fun, nice, gets interaction with her dad. But like, I just realized it’s the same as the other self-insert for another character I like/liked. So, since I’m already doing that plotline with another character, I’ll probably go with the second option then lmao.

The other one was an idea I had before but was unsure about it (then not now) where she does meet someone from the docks. Not a romantic interest, but thankfully a friendly and honorably decent person. He obviously realized that she’s young (20s, since I didn’t mention that before) and a bit starry-eyed, but she means well and was looking for more in her life, more than this little hamlet could give her. He befriended her and indulged her in giving her stories of his travels and interesting little adventures and happenings he found himself in every time he came into town (only ever stopping by, as did anyone else whoever found themselves at the docks there). Eventually, he himself buys her a sword and trains her how to use it.

From there to BG3 events however… One day it’s too much. Rose’s reckless immaturity has become too much for her mother. So Rose and her mother got in an argument. Her mother had not been oblivious to Rose and her love of heroes, but had hoped that Rose would grow out of it as she got older (she didn’t, it only grew stronger). And enough was enough. It was time to be a grown woman, look for a partner, and settle down and become not just a wife but mother herself. To say Rose was unhappy about this would be a completely understatement. After a yelling match with her mother, Rose quickly packed some things (including her stashed away secret sword) and left home. She got on the first ship to Baldur’s Gate and that was that.

For a year, Rose tried her best there. She got jobs. But they weren’t great. Didn’t pay great. By the end of it, things were… pretty bleak, mentally speaking for Rose. (In my playlist, as confused as it is with this summarization of character, I literally have The Parting Glass (Walking Dead version) followed by the instrumental version of I Want to Live from BG3. I think that says plenty.)

The next morning as she’s going about town is when the mindflayers come and she gets unfortunately (or technically speaking, quite fortunately) snatched up. (Only way to become a hero is go on a crazy adventure right? 😉)

[passingtimediary]

Waving to be waved back, loving to be loved back

I've been thinking I’d be happier as a ghost. Whether this shows a love towards humanity or a hatred of it, I’m not sure. I love things. I love people, animals, art, music, nature, so on and so forth, and I do want to continue perceiving these things, I just don’t want to be perceived back, I guess. I crave attention from babies and animals only, i. the least Omg i’m the main characterrrr way crouching down for a street cat or waving at a baby on the bus can genuinely bring me to tears. Plus the moments I want to be seen and validated by peers are short-lived; the way the want manifests itself is often regretted (deleted stories, outfit changes, unsent messages). I want to do things without extrinsic motivators of acceptance so that I can feel honest and understand my true values, but it feels as if the only way to separate my actions from their responses is by not having responses at all, for my actions to be invisible. I feel like I don’t know myself and I can’t tell if I would still give money to the unhoused if I was invisible or I would buy presents for my friends if they didn’t know they were from me, although I guess part of what makes these gestures ‘kind’ is the noticed transaction between humans. I would like to think I’d still do all the things I do now anyways.

Maybeeee life is just a series of that game sweet or sour, standing on a bridge waving at truck drivers for the singular aim that they’ll wave back. Am I writing this blog to be read? Surely I am, although I know no one will, so I guess I’m not. ? Any sense of seemingly pure self-indulgence I have seems to be strung along by subconscious capitalist urges anyways but whaaaatever that’s a tangent waiting to be written. My friend Wren and I were talking about this and he laughed and said that I clearly don’t love to be loved back in the way I never wave to be waved back. I thought about this and he’s simultaneously absolutely right and absolutely wrong. He’s right in the sense that yes, I would say Haiiiii to a literal trash can if it was cute enough. I wave to inanimates knowing full well I’m not going to get a wave back, but that’s exactly it. I’m drawn to what cannot and will not respond. So. Fear of rejection whatever blah blah blah boohoo. You get the gist. I think I tend to show love to those who can’t reciprocate it the most and then avoid showing love to those who I feel it from. I feel anxious when people like me, romantically or not, and lowkey avoid it at all costs - another point to the ‘Why I should become a ghost’ list. I don’t even believe in ghosts lol. Maybe I don’t want to believe in myself 2.

Alongside wishing I were a ghost I’ve been thinking about single-parenting; romanticising pretty much the hardest thing ever, as I tend to do. I imagine my single-parent self and my only-child son (probably called Nico or something) going to the beach, doing homework together, raising him to be ‘one of the good ones’ even though that never works out. Whether my inability to imagine a happy nuclear (lesbian ver.) family is a product of my child-of-divorce upbringing or my potential aromanticism I’m, again, not sure. My own kid being the only person I can truly impact is both terrifying and all I want. Like it’s the only way Ill feel like i’ve done something perfect. Not now of course. Also only wanting one child in itself is selfish like while it’s partially about money and effort, some part of me wants to raise another loner and also siblings are annoying af to be around What who said that? Anyways who wants to be my sperm donor or surrogate? 🤲🏼

[tots-n-chocs]

‘Acrophobia’

Fandom: Venom (movie 2018)

Ship: Symbrock (Eddie/Venom)

Tags: Fluff, Stargazing, These losers are adorable but their banter is hilarious too, Venom tries to work on Eddie’s fear of heights, He goes about it all wrong, But maybe it works out OK in the end, Symbiote cuddles.

AO3 Link: [Here!]

(My other Symbrock fic: ‘Skin-Deep’)

(Please leave a kudos or a comment on the AO3 version if you enjoyed it <3 thanks! Happy Valentines!)

------------

The stars had never seemed so bright, so close, so... beautiful. Despite the racing of his heart and the shaking in his legs, that much Eddie could admit. But still...

“I- uh- I don’t see why you think that exposing me to heights is gonna get rid of my fear. It’s one of those... those kinds of ‘so you don’t die’ fears. Evolutionary. Y’know?” Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as a cold, fierce gust of wind blew straight through his thin sleeping t-shirt. He shivered more violently, trying to will his legs to move backwards, but Venom had locked them in place at the edge of the building.

I thought this was called Exposure Therapy, a reply rumbled into his mind, with something almost like an internal huff, so you’d learn to ignore your broken human evolution and remember that I would never let you die.

That’s not really how it works! Eddie tried to yell internally, his throat closed with fear.

Venom’s irritation at the situation buzzed in the back of Eddie’s head. Sometimes it was easy to forget that everything the symbiote had learned of humanity was from his previous hosts at the lab, Eddie himself, or the terrible television he watched while Eddie slept. Even when he grasped a concept, he sometimes didn't fully appreciate that there was a deeper meaning, social constructs to consider, or that what applied to one human may not apply to another. He was getting better, but it was so much for an alien to learn in such a short amount of time that he occasionally fucked up. Like right now.

Eddie swallowed thickly and opened his eyes a crack, feeling his stomach clench at the sight of the lights of cars moving around like tiny glowing insects far, far below him. At least Venom had taken them to a roof so high up that nobody would be able to see him standing there on the edge. He didn’t know how he’d have explained ‘no, I don’t want to kill myself, but my symbiote partner who lives inside me thought he could cure my phobia by making me experience my fear in the middle of the night’ to the police.

Is that not a good enough explanation? The deep voice was almost apologetic in tone, and Eddie felt a slightly guilty shifting feeling below his chest. I thought this would help. The show I watched on fears said this would help, Eddie.

His legs moved on their own, retreating him back into the middle of the roof and he let out a relieved breath.

Venom moving his limbs was a sensation he was gradually getting used to; it felt like when he’d wake up with a numb arm because he’d slept on it funny, and he’d move it around to get the blood flowing back into it again, even though he couldn’t feel the sensation itself. (He’d given the same explanation to Anne once when she’d asked how it felt when Venom piloted his body without covering him, but judging by her expression it wasn’t a particularly good analogy.)

Wrong train track again Eddie.

Eddie made an impatient shushing sound, fighting a sudden smile, the familiar jab and reaction from them both tapping into something comfortable and stable that helped to push his pulse-racing fear away. He'd tried to explain the phrase ‘train of thought’ to Venom one lazy afternoon after getting annoyed at himself for letting his mind wonder while he should have been working. Venom had since taken to pointing out when Eddie’s thoughts were ‘on the wrong train track’ – not quite the correct use of the phrase, but he knew what he meant. Didn’t mean he appreciated his easily distracted nature being pointed out all the time.

Eddie shook his head, returning to his symbiote’s confusion.

“I mean, if your fear is- like- spiders or something, I’ve heard that holding them can help, but I don’t think waking up in the middle of the night standing on the edge of a building is quite the same, V.” His voice still ringed with a note of fear, but now that he was away from the ledge, he was feeling considerably calmer.

No reply came, but a guilty shifting fluttered in his chest that made Eddie feel like he’d swallowed butterflies. He coughed lightly in an involuntary response to try and ease the strange sensation and placed his palm over his heart. “The thought was there,” he conceded softly.

Quiet.

Oh, Venom was definitely feeling bad.

Something heavy sat in Eddie’s gut.

He sighed and slowly lowered himself onto the middle of the concrete roof so that he was lying flat on his back, like he did when he was meditating.

What are you doing? Don’t you want to go back?

“Well, yeah, but I figured since we're here now anyway and the sky is so clear we could do a bit of star-gazing or something,” he said sincerely, laying his hands on his stomach. ���Besides, I can’t see how high up we are from here. I’ll just pretend we’re on the ground.”

Hm, Venom didn’t sound convinced, you’ve never been interested in stars before. Why would you want to look at them now?

He considered this for a moment before replying with a soft, “Compromise.”

No, he didn’t really want to be high above the city at who-knows-how-late-o’clock, but there they were anyway. The memory of the appreciation and peace Venom had felt when they’d been on top of the network building when they’d first met hummed back to him in echoes. ‘Your world is not so ugly after all’ he’d admitted softly. To an alien that lived amongst the vastness of the universe, heights really must be no big deal. If anything, Venom seemed to like them, especially when it showed off the lights of San Francisco glinting through the darkness like a universe at his feet.

Eddie knew his fear must seem so confusing and unnecessary, especially when it went against everything Venom kept on telling him about catching him and never letting him get hurt. He didn’t want Venom to think that his fear was a result of a lack of trust. He knew his partner would never, ever let him fall without catching him – he had Eddie’s infinite and unshakable trust. But something that ran so deep was hard to just switch off.

A low hum of understanding made the hairs on Eddie’s arms stand on end and he smiled goofily at the sky, letting out a breath of air that was nearly a laugh. Every time they truly came to an understanding with each other it felt like their heart was too big for their chest, pumping life and love love love around their body. Although they were a ‘we’ more than they were ‘Eddie or Venom’ they were still two individual souls in one body – they were bound to disagree and misunderstand each other. They’d had vastly different experiences in life to shape them into who they were. But when those souls were in synchrony with each other, it felt so amazing and so natural that Eddie wondered how he’d ever felt any kind of closeness with a human being.

“You should have just asked, V. Never mind what the TV said. I think that stuff’s bad for you, I should sell it and just buy you a load of books or something.”

The vibrations from Venom’s rumbling laughter ran all the way through Eddie, right into his toes. Empty threats, Eddie. We know how much you love the reruns of your ‘Gilmore Girls’.

Eddie sighed dramatically, though he couldn’t quite push away the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Damn, you got me there. Fine. The TV stays.”

No matter how many times you re-watch it, Lorelai and Luke still won’t get married.

“Oh, owch, you really went there?! Straight for the jugular, man, why would you say that?” Eddie groaned loudly, though he could barely hear himself over laughter so low and continuous it was practically a purr. “I thought we would have this romantic look at the stars together, why would you hurt me in this way.”

“Would never hurt you Eddie.” Venom’s voice was right below his ear, close enough to feel the light touch of teeth against his skin. “We can be romantic.”

Eddie hadn’t even noticed how cold the concrete had been through the thin material of the shirt he slept in until the gritty hard coolness against his back was replaced with something considerably more comfortable, as his whole body was lifted slightly to accommodate the solid, yet strangely soft, warm and impossibly broad chest of Venom. Two thick, huge arms gently wrapped around his middle so that he was now lying on Venom’s chest, encased in his arms. Safe. Loved. Treasured.

Teeth nipped gently at his ear again and Eddie sighed contentedly, letting his whole body relax into the embrace.

It was nice to be physically close like this, plus it took away all the chill of the night-time wind.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Venom was so comfy, and Eddie could feel both his own happiness and a warm, happy glow that wasn’t his. He thought that being able to vaguely grasp Venom’s feelings was a little bit like an ‘emotional echo’. Something that did and didn’t belong to him; the pleasure of being held and the pleasure of doing the holding.

“Your Earth stars are very boring,” Venom declared, making Eddie open his eyes – he’d nearly fallen asleep.

“What?”

“They only shine with a few colours through your toxic atmosphere. And they’re so small.”

Eddie resisted the urge to laugh, always amused by how much Venom resented Earth’s oxygen just because he couldn’t breathe it, and he frowned playfully. “Hey, you leave our stars alone. They do a good job.” He paused and lines creased his forehead as he considered something else the symbiote had said. “Wait…. Stars are only one colour, right? What do you mean, they only shine with a ‘few’?”

“Like this.”

Eddie blinked and yelped. He would probably have fallen off Venom if his strong arms hadn’t been holding him tightly. The sky had been pretty before – distant stars shining with a white light – but now it was absolutely glorious. Greens and pinks sparkled in an ocean of shifting blues, and they were everywhere, the sky was full of them, even thought they were still very distant and very tiny. It was like looking straight into a galaxy from a movie. “Shit,” Eddie breathed in awe, “how…?”

“Made your eyes like mine,” Venom rumbled gently beside Eddie’s ear. It made him shiver and he could feel the toothy grin in response.

“Wow.” Eddie tilted his head a little, his cheek pressing into Venom’s. “Love you, V,” he whispered.

The reply vibrated in his mind, through his whole being, I love you too, Eddie. Always.

He smiled and laughed as Venom’s very wet tongue slid across his chin and up his cheek. “Ew, V!” He squirmed, but Venom only held him tighter, his claws pin-points of pressure at his sides. Amusement bounced between them in their emotional echo space again.

Once Venom’s tongue had retreated, leaving a trail of drool drying on his skin (again), there was a pause while Eddie enjoyed lying in Venom’s arms, and looking at stars he could never even have imagined, until he said, “That cluster of stars looks like a dog. With a wonky leg.”

“Mmm.”

“Seriously? Does everything make you hungry?”

“Those stars look like a lung.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Eddie laughed.

“Hungry, Eddie.”

“Ok, ok, let’s go home.”

With another blink his vision returned to normal. Venom squeezed him even tighter and then retreated under his skin, using tendrils to push Eddie upright gently to his feet.

Without Venom’s bulk holding him close Eddie shivered as the wind cut through his thin clothing again, until black seeped out of his skin and hugged his torso, shielding him from the cold. Whether he was in a humanoid shape or not, the warmth he felt in his chest was the same.

Shall I get us down? Or are we using the lift?

Eddie ran a hand over the shifting, liquid like mass covering him as he glanced back up at the sky. It was starting to look a little lighter on the horizon, was the sun going to rise soon? They needed to get back. He bit his lip as he considered something crazy. His whole body was still thrumming with happiness and contentment.

“Y’know what… maybe your exposure therapy worked… I think I’m going to do what you said last time,” Eddie began.

There was a spike of glee across their bond, and Venom’s form rippled beneath his hand. Last time?

“Yeah. When we were up like this before you said ‘jump’.” Eddie took a huge breath and ran towards the edge of the building, pushing all thoughts of heights and falling and death out of his mind and just let trust and love fill him. “Catch me!” he yelled into the rushing wind as his foot shoved him off the roof, leaping into the void of nothing but air.

Always.

[prettyboykatsuki]

thank you to everyone who decided to read my shinso fic and left nice tags. im too overwhelmed to respond to each one but ive been crying like a silly little baby over it (probably bc of period brain) so thank you so so much. ill be back online n answering asks after i make breakfast 

[moon-kn1ght]

matt murdock headcanons

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader rating: first three are gen/orange & lemon-y deep below the cut a/n: oh my god these are so self-indulgent. they're very much based on my experiences living in nyc but they are CUTE (and get spicy). slight warning for catholic things (and breeding k1nk).

Contrary to his personality, Matt orders his coffee light and sweet. It’s always from the same sidewalk cart a block north of his apartment, on the way to the office. Even if he’s not coming from his apartment, he’ll make the detour to hold this habit.

The man who runs the cart? He calls Matt his “favorite blind man.” Foggy once started to explain to this man that that isn’t appropriate to say, but Matt shut him down – “I like being peoples’ favorite” he whispered with his signature smirk

Matt is a foodie. New York born and bred has made him have particular takes when it comes to food. He won’t have pastrami from about 48th Street. Best bagels? 52nd & 9th. There’s a phenomenal dim sum place he brings you to off of 59th near the piers — the first time he takes you, it’s in the early hours of the morning and the only other patrons are dock workers having a meal before they head to work. For undisclosed reasons, you and Matt have not gone to bed yet but you certainly have worked up an appetite. You swear that the dumpling soup could cure and all illnesses and the nǎihuáng bāo is probably the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Matt, meanwhile, seems to eat his body weight in sesame balls filled with red bean paste and mango pudding. You realize, Matt has got a sweet tooth.

Matt loves to make you beg. He’ll tie you up and tease you incessantly — all to get you pleading and begging for exactly what he already wants to do to you.

Well, you know and he knows it: Matt has an impressive cock. It’s quite notable in its length and oh god yes, it does make a difference. One thing that particularly strikes his fancy is that when he’s buried inside you, he can place his hand on your lower abdomen and feel the bulge of his cock filling your insides. And holy fuck, does that drive him absolutely feral.

Matt and you haven’t really talked about the future [re: starting a family]. But Matt has thought about it — he isn’t sure what to call it or how to bring it up, but he really really wants to put a baby in you. It started because of Mass. Oh yes, everything ties back to that good, good Catholic trauma. It was the Wednesday evening YA Mass at St. Patrick’s — you had dragged him across town because some friends of yours were going to it and let’s be honest it’s a pretty Cathedral so that can make even a painfully boring Mass better. It’s January and the Epiphany has just ended, so back in normal time which means no high hopes for the Homily. But oh my, the Homily did end up being something to write home about — Father went on and on about how everyone in the room needed to get married and have lots of Catholic babies and you almost died trying to hold back your laughs. Matt, on the other hand, seemed tenser than usual. He practically dragged you the five (long) blocks back over to his apartment and with even fewer words than usual, had you caged up against the window buried deep inside your folds. You could feel his lips moving, speaking silent pleas against the skin of your neck but you couldn’t decipher what he was saying.

[vampelune]

kamukomahina gender/body headcanons

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

Komaeda:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hinata:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kamukura:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Post-DR3 Hinata/Kamukura combined:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

okay, thats my ramble. ty.

[thekisforkeats]

Ooh jm + shy kiss for the prompts?

Ohhh good one! I had to think about this a little and actually wrote up a bunch that didn't quite work at first. But! Here it is!

Set somewhere in the first few minutes of 160, in those weeks between arriving at the safehouse and Hazel Rutter. Featuring autistic Martin trying to navigate social situations because that is evidently what I write now.

(Incidentally the term "weak ties" was coined by a Stanford researcher in 1973. Link to the relevant paper. Credit where due, and all.)

(No beta no edits we die like archive assistants.)

.

.

.

It takes Martin a week to convince Jon to come down into the village with him.

If he's being honest with himself--and he's trying very hard to be honest with himself these days, so he can identify any Lonely-type thoughts--he really just wants to show off his boyfriend to the nice lady at the little shop in the village where he's been picking up essentials.

Martin is a naturally friendly person, or maybe a naturally personable person. This was not always the case; he had to practice a great deal to memorize all the scripts to smooth social interactions that other people seem to navigate without thinking about it at all. It can be horribly exhausting, just going to the shops. It's one of the reasons the Lonely appealed to him; how much easier to just move through life without having to recite all those canned lines?

Now that he's out of its grip, he's come to realize how much those interactions matter. He's been reading a lot on the internet about depression and social interaction, about social circles, and one thing that caught his eye is the idea of "weak ties," those people we're not exactly friends with, but who we see on a regular basis and who help us feel connected to a larger community. People who don't really know us and yet know something about us that helps us feel seen. The bus driver who gives you a familiar nod every morning. the barista who's prepping your order as soon as he notices you in line, the shop lady who tries to keep your favorite tea in stock.

So Martin is trying to cultivate those relationships, to feel part of a wider community, rather than just relying on Jon. He thinks that maybe if he'd had more of that, before, if he'd tried harder to go through the world being seen, he might have handled Jon's coma and his mother's death in some kind of healthier manner.

Maybe not, of course, but he's going to use any tool he can to keep the Lonely at bay.

At any rate, even beyond being very good at social scripts, Martin does genuinely like people, he's a good listener, for an autistic guy he's practically a social butterfly. And Elspeth is a nice lady, maybe mid-40's, the kind of person who runs a shop because she actually likes interacting with a stream of customers on a regular basis. So she's just the sort of person for Martin to practice his "weak tie" skills.

Because, naturally, one of the key benefits of "weak ties" is that they are the sort of people you get to be public about your relationship with when none of your closer friends are around.

Yeah, no, all of the above is just flimsy justification, if Martin's being really honest with himself. He's just madly in love and wants literally everyone within a 500-mile radius to know.

That morning, Martin makes a big show of how badly he wants to spend time with Jon, no really, but he really does have to go down into the village.

"We're out of tea!"

"I don't think we have anything for dinner!"

"But I really want to keep listening to you talk about Scottish history!"

And so on.

Jon gives him a tolerantly amused look, and Martin flushes. Is he that transparent, or is Jon just that good at reading him?

"I suppose I can go into the village with you, Martin," he says, eyes glittering. "Since you're so terribly interested in the House of Stuart. I'd hate to leave you wondering what happened to James II."

Martin would feel guilty, but he can tell Jon is pleased to be "indulging" him, and it's not like Martin hasn't been listening to Jon infodump about whatever random facts Beholding's been given him all week.

They hold hands all the way down into the village, and it's nice, to walk through the place and be seen, together. It's comfortable. They'd held hands on walks before, long ago in London, before the Unknowing, but back then they hadn't been sure what they were, hadn't managed to broach the delicate barrier between "friends" and "something else." Now, they're "boyfriends," and Martin keeps finding himself wanting to go up to each person he sees on the street and shout, "This is my boyfriend, Jonathan Sims!!"

By the time they reach Elspeth's shop, he's feeling a little giddy.

He pushes open the door and the little bell rings, and Elspeth looks up from behind the counter and smiles. "Martin!" she says, and Martin's whole body warms in a very pleasant manner, that this woman he's only known a week remembers him. "Oh, and this must be the elusive Jon." She gives them one of those teasing smiles people give to new couples, glittering eyes and amusement at the silly things people do when they're in limerence.

"Yes," Martin says, and suddenly the words stick in his throat. "Yes, this is... is... umm..." Oh, why has he suddenly frozen like a deer in headlights? Why can't he remember the right words?

"Jonathan Sims," Jon says smoothly, stepping forward to offer the woman his hand. "And yes, I'm Martin's boyfriend."

It occurs to Martin, all at once, that neither of them have said that out loud to anyone else. No wonder he's frozen up.

Elspeth glances at the burn scars on Jon's hand only briefly, then smiles--and it's a genuine smile, not one of those pitying ones people sometimes put on when they see scars like that--and shakes said hand. "Pleased to meet you," she replies. "Elspeth Douglas." She has the Highland accent, but softened; she spent her 20's and 30's in London, she's said, and came back to take over the family store when her father fell ill. The similarity might be part of why Martin likes her--that and the fact that it seems that helping her sickened parent improved her life.

"Ahh, yes. The not-so-elusive Elspeth." Jon actually flashes a grin, which Martin finds remarkable. Since when is Jon... friendly? Well, maybe he's trying for Martin's sake. If so, Martin very much appreciates the effort.

The woman behind the counter laughs, and says, "How can I help you?"

"Oh," Martin manages, his brain catching up and letting his mouth work again, "we're just here for tea and things."

"Of course," Elspeth says. "I'll be here when you're ready."

They turn away, to go deeper into the aisles.

"She seems nice," Jon says almost absently. "Shame about her fa--" He pauses, and frowns. Shakes his head, looking irritated. "You didn't tell me about that," he grumbles.

"No, I didn't. But thank you for trying to keep it in," Martin says.

Jon sighs, lowering his voice. "It's becoming harder and harder to separate what I've learned on my own from what Beholding gives me. How much of my thoughts are mine anymore? Did I actually memorize all those facts about the House of Stuart, or am I getting the... mental Wikipedia page, as it were?"

"Seems like a thing you'd know," Martin comments offhandedly. He's focused on figuring out what kind of rice to buy. He wants to try his hand at sticky rice, which really should have calrose, but Jon likes jasmine rice. Do they get both?

He doesn't want to think about Beholding, and how much of it is Jon anymore. He prefers just thinking about it as something like a smartphone app Jon can use without having to actually have a phone in front of him. He does not want to think about how much of his boyfriend has been potentially consumed by some kind of eldritch thing that feeds on fear.

He really doesn't want to think about the idea that maybe soon, Jon won't even need rice anymore, and will just live off statements, no matter how much he jokes about his partner's "eating habits."

Jon has been talking as Martin's been staring at the rice, but Martin hasn't heard any of it. He's brought back to himself by a squeeze of Jon's hand in his.

"Hey," Jon says softly. "You okay?"

In Jon's voice, Martin hears all the concern that Martin himself has been feeling. He forces himself to look at Jon, and sees bright green eyes staring out of a deep brown face. He realizes he's gotten used to the color of Jon's eyes; before the coma, Jon's eyes were brown, like a deep carnelian, and so large and dark sometimes Martin thought he could fall right into them and be happy drowning there. Now they're green, bright and disarming, and Martin's pretty sure this is why Jon still wears glasses he no longer needs, to hide those strange eyes behind plastic lenses.

Those eyes are looking up at him intensely now, and Jon's brow is furrowed, and his mouth is pulled into a frown in a way that highlights one of the worm scars near his lip, and all of it is adorable, but it's also disconcerting for the contrast between the softness of his voice and the intensity of his expression.

Is Jon as afraid of losing Martin to Forsaken as Martin is of losing Jon to Beholding?

Martin frowns at him for a moment, then sighs. "I just..." He has to look away, back to the bags of rice. "I just... don't like thinking about that. Beholding, and... all of it. I just... I just wish..."

"You wish we could be normal." Jon's tone is still soft, and filled only with love and no sort of guilt or self-recrimination.

"Yeah," Martin says, still staring at the rice.

There's a hesitation, and then Jon says, softly and slowly, "You know... normal people deal with these sort of difficult things, too. There's so much out there that can hurt people... the things we deal with, they're weirder than most of the rest of it, but..."

"Yeah, I know, Jon, I just..." Martin hunches his shoulders. "Don't want to lose you again," he finally mumbles.

Jon hesitates a moment, and then he leans in to give Martin a soft kiss on the cheek.

Martin flushes bright red--Elspeth's right there!--and turns to stare at Jon. "W-what... what was... that for?!"

Jon, too, is blushing. "I just... ah... I just... wanted you to know that... that I'm... here. You haven't... lost me. Or anything."

"Oh," Martin says. "Well. Thank you."

There's a moment where they just look at each other, and then Jon blurts, "...Can I kiss you again? It's just, I haven't all morning, and I really sort of wanted to spend the morning cuddling, but you wanted to come down to the shops..."

"Here?!" Martin stares at him.

"We can go behind the shelves if you like," Jon says, blushing furiously.

For some reason, this makes Martin giggle, and then he leans down to brush his lips to Jon's. Softly, shyly, as if they haven't been kissing each other all week, because he really is terribly aware of the fact that there are other people around.

"Tell you what," Martin says as he pulls back, surprisingly breathless despite how short the contact of their lips was, "let's finish up the shopping and then we can cuddle all afternoon."

Jon smiles up at him. "Promise?" The smile widens. "You're not going to drag me around to introduce me to every villager individually?"

"I was not--!" Martin glares at him, but now Jon's smile has become one of those shit-eating grins he gets sometimes, and Martin can't stay mad at him at all.

"You knew," he accuses, but there's no heat in it.

"I had a hunch," Jon says, humming. "I didn't want to spoil your fun, though."

Martin rolls his eyes, and then reaches out to take Jon's hand again. "Well, then, we'd better get to it. Jasmine or calrose? Rice, I mean."

"Both, I think," Jon says. "I find myself very much desiring normality of late, and rice is a terribly normal sort of thing."

[judjira]

omg thank you for the detailed explanation 🥰 but to be very honest with you... i know absolutely nothing about theater or acting techniques or pretty much any of the things your aus are going to be based off of 😭 BUTTT, i am super excited that you have all these things in the works. i will read anything you write honestly (even if it makes me cry). i think i’m most excited about the magic school au and apartment au at the moment lol. anything hogwarts like i am down. but also dahyun in a band and dahyun as a genie is just ❤️

for your other plot bunnies, are we gonna get some domestic datzu? and in the saidahmo terminal illness/enemies to lover i really hope nobody dies 😭

here’s sending you some positive writing vibes. hope you’re feeling extra inspired to finish off pretentious first lol.

dont worry, i too know nothing about any of the things im writing about HAHA jk a lot of the stuff i write is abt things im interested in, so a lot of it turns out to be self indulgent fics that only make sense to me HAHA

im glad ur lookin forward to them tho ! im also rly lookin forward to the magic school au its gonna be great ! id tell u what im updating next but even i dont know the answer to that question HAHA

thank u for ur support ! i gratefully receive ur writing vibes bc goddamn i just wanna finish pretentious wahaha

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

what is your opinion on infjs being told they're "fake" or not a "real infj"? some of them say you're a high Fi if you feel bad about being invalidated about something you identify with. is that so? i've found the infj subreddit to be especially toxic. i've been trying to find out my real mbti since two years. my first test (16p) said infj but i didn't really care about mbti much back then (4 years ago). after some serious and heartbreaking events i decided to search for who i am. i took tests like keys2cognition, sarkinorva, mistypeinvestigator etc. recently and they type me as intj, istj, infp and infj. i did a bit of reasearch and infj seems the closest to who i am (although i do wish i was an istj or intj instead but i'm pretty sure i'm not). someone else also said to me "why do you want to be an infj? they're so over romanticised! you're an Si dom because of the way you lay down all the details and tell how you reached the conclusion." the answer is, i don't want to be an infj. for the longest time i thought i would be an intj but i'm not as efficiency driven as any intj i've ever encountered (one of my closest friends is an intj too). what drives me is just having a strong purpose to do things. when i have a vision to hold on to i can go all in and even though i have trouble following my plans, i love planning and try to follow them as best as i can but they're still always much less realistic compared to my intj friend's plans. my relationship with Fe has been complicated. i remember kindness being a strong theme in my life since i turned 13 and it went on till i turned 16. at 16 some tough things happened and i think i turned sort of rebellious and disrespectful (i think the tests i took around that time told me i'm an infp). i was also high on sensory indulgence to escape my responsibilities because i felt overwhelmed and hyperactive without it which indicates an inferior Se? this one especially makes me feel like i'm an INXJ but idk i'm relatively new to cognitive functions. all of this went on for 2-3 years. i'm still healing and i still don't feel like myself which is also the very reason i'm so into mbti rn.

also, are Ni doms incapable of laying down the important details (considering that that person said it's an Si dom thing)? i feel like if i don't lay them down, the next person wouldn't understand what i'm trying to say and the conversation would turn unfruitful and frustrating.

anyways, i was kind of sure that i was an infj at first but all this invalidation and toxicity really forced me to question myself and keep researching. i hope i'm not biased like everyone accuses all the people who claim to be an isfj to be. i'm considering learning about the cognitive functions after i'm done with my finals. also, if you can provide me some tips for typing myself in a way that i can avoid getting mistyped, it'll be really helpful. thank you!! <3

It is very difficult to follow this, to be honest, but I'll do my best. With all that said: I try not to type based solely on writing style, and I am not a mental health professional in any capacity, but let's just say I strongly recommend looking into high Ne, and also possibly ADHD.

First: It sounds from what you've said as though you may have experienced some trauma. Again, I am not a mental health professional, and I don't know your life, but I would advise working with someone who is trained in that kind of thing. If you're already doing that and you're doing MBTI in your free time, then continue; if you're not, please stop and seek that out. MBTI is explicitly not designed to cover mental illness or trauma behaviors in any meaningful way nor do I believe it will help anyone heal from trauma or treat mental illness and it would be irresponsible for me to say otherwise. MBTI will not help you find yourself. It is a way of better understanding yourself after you've already developed a decent sense of self.

If you're continuing on, and I acknowledge we're dealing with the honor system here:

Second: tests suck. They rely you to take what is already a highly subjective self-assessment and then further warp it to fit discrete parameters in order to spit out an easy answer. keys2cognition is among the better ones in that it attempts to provide you with your functional stack, but even then, for example, it's not unheard of for an INTJ in their late teens to score high on Ni, Si, Ne, Te, and Ti and and get some kind of incoherent "maybe IxTJ, maybe ENTP" answer. You should indeed learn about the cognitive functions when you are done with your finals.

Third: If you have not studied the cognitive functions, let go of the idea that your friend is an INTJ. Maybe they are. Maybe they're not. If they're mistyped, and you try to base your typing off them, you're going to mistype.

Fourth: There is no way to avoid getting mistyped altogether. If you will be uncomfortable with the idea of possibly getting the wrong answer and having to revise it in the future, MBTI is probably not a good system for you to focus on. It is not the only path to self-discovery and you are under no obligation to use it. Given that you mention finals and the last age you state here is 16, I in fact want to stress that I would be surprised if you don't mistype.

To answer the one specific MBTI function question here, Ni doms can provide details to other people because this is a learned skill and if you're aware of needing to do this, you can. I would not use this as a typing tool in isolation.

So in summary: if you're not working with a mental health professional and that is at all possible for you...do that. Stop trying to type yourself based on your friends. I don't know if you're an INFJ but people on Reddit are assholes regardless of type and that site should be nuked from fucking orbit. Tests are mostly bad. Study the functions when you have the opportunity and keep in mind MBTI will not fix the vast majority of your problems, and that mistyping is fine as long as you keep an open mind and acknowledge that you might be mistyped.

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

Honesty is the best policy.

She’s odd.

And that’s rich coming from him.

She’s weird in a soft homely way. In the way she speaks kindly but firm, always minding her own business, but pretty aware of everything is happening inside her little apartment.

He watches her taking notes, reading something in her laptop, fully concentrated. A bunch of colored highlights and sticky notes spreading in the study her study space, in a corner of her room.

It’s funny how after an hour or so she melts in the chair and begins to cry quietly hiding her face on her hands.

Five minutes later the alarm goes off, she stands up, washes her face and resumes her task.

What the fuck?

It’s not like he cares for her or what she feels, but that little display is so fucking weird, it caught his attention, so he asks.

“why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” She says with a serene smile painted in her face.

“Liar. you were crying like...five minutes ago.”

I don’t appreciate liars. He thinks briefly.

“oh, that…I always cry when I study.”

“…why?” he’s completely confused at her explanation because it doesn’t match her tranquil face.

“because I’m stressed and I’m finding difficult to understand this topic, I grow desperate. So, I cry.”

He looks at her like she grew another head.

“…you cry when you are stressed?”

“When I’m college stressed, yes. I mean…college does that to you, to everybody. Half of my class is on anxiolytics.”

“are you on anxiolytics?” he asks more and more confused.

She laughs lighthearted.

“no, I don’t have the money to pay for a psychiatrist. But I manage…Tons of coffee and programed crying while I study does it good for me.”

Tomura looks at her puzzled. He rarely thought about what it is to be twenty something and have a normal life. This is not what he had in mind.

She keeps taking notes in complete silence, a picture of a nasty fracture with some screws attached on her screen, but she seems pretty okay with the gory part of her task.

“Why did you want to become a doctor?” he interrupts her again.

“hmmm…I guess I wanted to save people.”

“like a hero?” He asks, snarling the word.

“maybe, I think my concept of heroes might be different from yours.” She states keeping her eyes glued to the screen.

“how so?” he eyes her, suspicious.

“I think that hero es a very big word, like doctor. People call physicians doctors, but the true meaning is someone who has a PHD.”

“and…?”

“and you have these “heroes” who go saving the day because is their profession, but the true meaning of the word doesn’t have anything to do with agencies and schools. A hero is someone who helps others but does it by incarnating important traits for the ones he saves.”

“Traits?”

“yes, traits. Like…I can be saved for a so-called hero, but if he’s not kind in the meanwhile, I wouldn’t think of it as much as heroic. That’s why anyone can be a hero to someone else, and at the same time not all heroes are heroes for everybody. It’s the same for villains.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it depends on your own morals and needs. You could kill a man tomorrow and people would say you are a monster, and then find out he was violent to his wife and children, and somehow now you are a little boy’s hero because you freed him from his monstrous father.”

“You think evil is in the eye of the beholder?”

“Not evil perse, there are things that are just wrong, but I think villainy and heroics are a matter of perspective.”

He waits before asking the next.

“and what’s your perspective?”

She brushes off the answer like is nothing. Like his heart is not pounding heavily inside his cage, fixed in her expression trying to grasp any lie in her statement.

“It has to do with politics, to be honest. I think right now, a very specific part of heroes is being super idolized. The ones who fight are treated like royalty by the government, paying them with our taxes, when that money could be used for rehab, hospitals or mental illness treatment. You see, thieves and murderers are not a factor, but a product of lack of opportunities. Monsters are made, not born. Of course, there are evil people, psychopaths and all that, but they are a minority. So, we pay Endeavor tons of money for him to fight with some random criminal every week, meanwhile children are starving in the streets, then those same children turn to violence and crime and who’s fault is that? But it’s okay, we can always pay some random dude in a leotard to beat the shit out of them. I mean, I had the opportunity of an education that will allow me to live pretty well-off tomorrow, but how many people has that? I cannot ask a person who grew up in a violent environment, poverty or homeless to be well adjusted, because morals are a luxury when you are hungry, and there are so many ways to starve a child. Not only food, but guidance, care, and love, but you cannot measure it in numbers, so no one cares.”

He looks at her aghast. Something warm feeling the hole in his chest.

She looks so pretty when she talks like this. Full of resolve, her brilliance shining through her clear opinions.

“do you hate heroes?” he asks full of something akin to hope.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Shigaraki, but no. I don’t hate them. If anything, I feel sorry for them, because they have this massive impossible task of trying to save everyone, which is simply not accomplishable, meanwhile society keeps rolling over everything wrong like it’s not everybody’s business. I mean, it’s not Hawks or Endeavor, even All might’s obligation to care for the poor, the ill and the abandoned. That’s what’s the government is for.”

He licks his lips absentminded, thinking about her words for a moment. The great difference between them plainly obvious to him now.

She’s partial, compassionated and well adjusted to the model despite everything she knows. So, she works with what she has. Meanwhile he is an absolutist, he knows that. He doesn’t have in him the nerve to do anything in half. That’s why he hates and craves destruction as the only meaning to achieve his goal. As an outcast, he knows he’s every bit the monster society make him be and they all will pay for the life he didn’t got the chance to have.

Still, he takes what she offers as he always does. Her knowledge now saved like some advice, a confirmation of everything he wants to destroy.

A smile stretches across his face, his ruby eyes memorizing the curve or her cheeks.

Pretty when she smiles. He thinks, a self-indulgent thought he will allow for now.

“what?” she asks suddenly nervous, color rising to her ears out of the blue.

“you know what? You could be a wonderful villain.” He tells her smiling truly amused.

“oh” she smiles back “you have no idea.”

Chapter 7

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die, Chapter 9

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 9)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Logan tries to find another memory, and comes back with something bigger. Virgil opens up to Remus. More facts about the night of Logan's arrest come to light.

And Janus is definitely out to kill the necromancer--but Roman learns something unexpected when he discovers this plan.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), Moceit (Patton/Janus) and future Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: ...so I felt bad about the cliffhanger. >.> XD

Also, I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the words 'pari' and 'geni' were gender neutral terms I created for this world for Logan's parents. They're twisted up with Latin roots for 'parent' or 'creator' because his folks are nonbinary.

Extra apologies for this one because no beta and I just got eager and wrote this in one day. Send help. XD

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1033, A.A.

The first thing Logan noticed when he woke was the heat. Even with all the little luxuries he earned as a well behaved prisoner, he never woke up warm.

The memories were slow to trickle back to him through the haze of sleep, gentle rain splashing against the surface of his mind.

The assassination. The Green Man. The new quarters, his first private shower in ten years—soft spun cotton lounge clothes instead of the rough, drab, ill fitting uniform of the dungeon's prisoners.

Gentle fingers filled with strength laced securely through his. Strong arms, warm skin...

Logan opened his eyes, and found himself with his face tucked against the curve of a neck. Lifting his head with great reluctance, he found himself faced with a sleeping Roman.

The beauty of it nearly stopped his heart.

Loss had stripped some light from his features, worn them around the edges and haunted his eyes, but in repose his features were smooth and unburdened. He looked younger, surreal in his serene perfection. Something about the act of watching Roman sleep felt important...precious, even familiar...

Roman stirred then, and Logan acted without thinking, reaching out to smooth his fingers through Roman's hair. It was soft against his fingers, warm and silken and he repeated the gesture just for the pleasure of feeling it.

“...'lo?...”

“Hello, Roman.”

Roman hummed, and the arm Logan only just realized was wrapped around his shoulders tightened, pulling him closer against Roman's side.

“Lo.” he murmured, more confidently this time as he opened bright green eyes. “You're here.”

“It appears I fell asleep after our discussion. Apologies.” Logan replied, but could put no real conviction into the words. Something inside him...ached in a beautiful way he couldn't give words to. He didn't know what it meant...

For just a split second, his vision blurred, and Roman was younger, smaller, dark hair lightened by too much time in the sun...

...Logan's mind grew fuzzy again, but not with sleep. He recognized the feeling now, the haze of magic that let him reconnect to Virgil, to a fragment of his past...

The Loom of Memory. Roman spoke about it last night, telling his stories about them as friends—as kindred spirits.

“Logan?...”

Logan shifted to lay on his back, reaching for Roman's hand.

“Virgil restored one of my memories through a piece of personal magic I embedded in an object of power.” he explained, speech slurring just a little as his eyes grew heavier. “If...you took part in a ritual to give me...my power...”

“The Warping.” Roman murmured, rolling on his side. Gripping Logan's fingers tight, he looked down into Logan's face. Something about it tugged at the back of Logan's chest, something that was pulling him back into darkness again.

He could fight the pull. He did not try.

Gripping Roman's hand tight, Logan let his eyes shut.

“Hold on...do not let go.”

As he sank, Logan distantly felt warm lips brush his forehead.

“I never have. I never will.”

********** ...threads. Everywhere, itching, brushing, bothersome. This time, he pulled away from them, just a little. He flexed his fingers, and the shuttle was there, secure in his grip.

He tried to concentrate on seeing it this time. Pulling back, stepping away.

…there.

The loom was massive, the warp glowing softly with a gentle radiance that begged to be touched. Running his fingers over it, Logan sighed with pleasure—warm and whisper soft beneath his fingers, spreading through his hand and up his arm to settle in the core of his being....but loose.

The warp was too loose. Just a little tension was needed for a neat, tight weave.

Logan reached out to try and tighten the warp, but...something was wrong.

“...Logan?”

Who's there?

“Logan, it's me.”

...oh. I...

“Do you need help?”

I—I think so. I don't understand what's happening.

“It's okay—to be honest, I didn't understand then and I still don't. Just take what you need.”

I'll be careful this time.

“Don't worry about it. Just...don't leave me.”

I promise. In fact...will you stay?

“Stay? I...is that all right?”

I do not know—but there's only one way to find out. Help me, if you can.

He tugged gently at the thread—this time, it came smooth and easy. It was hard to do still—simply because it was so distracting, the ecstasy of handling it, letting the warp slide through his fingers and tug sweetly as he secured it to the loom—

When he was done, when it was ready...Logan set to work.

********** 1023, A.A.

Logan was so warm and so comfortable, he never wanted to wake up...but he knew he had to, for some reason.

Opening his eyes with a yawn, he turned his head—then grinned when he realized that Roman stayed.

There was something about seeing him in Logan's bedroom that felt secret and special: Roman, his Roman, with his face half buried in Logan's pillow and mouth slightly open as he slept. It wasn't a pretty sight: he drooled just a little, and he was laying on Logan, one arm and one leg thrown across his body, something he usually hated...

But Logan could feel his weight, his warmth. He was messy and heavy and too much...and he was tucked into Logan's bed, his fingers meshed tight through Logan's to rest on Logan's chest. This handsome prince, this good and loving and dangerously earnest boy that wanted with a ferocity that scared and dazzled Logan, eluded palace guard and the king himself just to help him. Just to stay.

Roman was everything good and just and right in the world. However, Roman was also two years older than him, he was royalty—and Logan was Necromata.

Secret and special was all Logan was ever going to get.

Staring into Roman's sleeping face for a few more precious seconds, he tucked the memory away somewhere safe in his mind and his heart before he gently squeezed Roman's hand.

“Roman?”

“Nnnnngh.”

“Roman. It's morning.”

“Nnnngh—guh? What?”

Roman came awake abruptly, and Logan's heart trembled at the muzzy confusion in his face. It made him want confusing, unattainable things, so Logan settled for smiling.

“It's morning. Sunrise—are you still okay?”

Roman nodded with a jaw cracking yawn, further upsetting Logan's already fragile, confusing state of mind by tucking himself forward until their foreheads touched. “Yeah, 'm fine. Remus'll cover for me 'till at least after breakfast. You?”

Unable to stop himself, Logan tucked their joined hands against his chest for a second, sealing the feel of it as deep as he could into his memory as he nodded. “Grandpap won't be back until tomorrow, and Pari lets me skip my morning chores if I'm studying.”

“Which you are, technically.” Roman pointed out with a smile, staring into Logan's eyes.

“Falsehood. I'm laying about in bed.”

Roman seemingly had no answer for that, and didn't respond—but also didn't move.

Logan couldn't bring himself to urge him into action.

“Where did we leave off last night?”

“Hmm?”

“The geneaology. How far did we get?” Roman pressed gently, a laugh in his voice that made Logan's heart tremble again.

Taking a deep breath, Logan managed to pry himself from the sanctuary of his spot tucked into the curve of Roman's body. Sitting up, he reached for the last book they'd been reading through before they gave up their research for sleep.

“We got as far back as King Thomas Cameron IV—the one who married the first Lord and Lady Stewards.” Logan explained, flipping to the right page. “They reorganized the line of succession for same sex and polyfidelitous families within the royal house of Sanders.”

“Right, right...Lady Valerie was the great granddaughter of Sir Edward, fifth cousin of King Thomas Roman I.” Roman mumbled, sitting up to peer at the book in Logan's hands. “Least the stories say.”

Logan fought a swelling of frustration as he flipped ahead a few pages. “Most of these are stories. Stories, lore, and speculation. There's no proof here—and there are a lot of missing records, which I find strange for a royal lineage.”

“Well, Father had some records sealed for privacy.” Roman admitted. “That's how I knew about Sir Edward. He was a mage of some power, but his family withdrew from the monarchy generations ago. They're no longer part of the line of succession, so their presence exists only in the Tomes.”

Logan hesitated, shutting the book in his hands. “The mage's histories? The ones kept at the Royal Academy library?”

“Yep—well, most of them.”

Logan looked at Roman sharply. “What do you mean, most of them?”

Roman's eyes went wide as he froze. Logan's pulse quickened.

“Roman? What do you know?”

Roman looked, for a moment, like he wanted to bolt...but then took a deep breath, gathered Logan's hands in his, and began speaking.

********** 1033, A.A.

Logan's eyes snapped open as the Loom dropped abruptly away, leaving him with an ache in the marrow of his bones and a chill he couldn't quite dispel. As he sat up, warm arms immediately encircled him, tucking him against a wall of fire that eased the chill and soothed the hurt away.

“Logan? Say something—are you all right?”

For a second, Logan just leaned into him and shut his eyes. It wasn't complete, vague and nebulous and full of holes, but a new memory was hanging loose in his head, barely attached. He could almost picture the room, a few snatches of conversation...but the feeling was the only part he was sure of.

Secret and special...good and right...

I loved him.

“Logan, please. What happened?”

Logan pressed his forehead against Roman's collarbone for just one more second, the sweet pulse of longing rippling through his bones, igniting an energy that was alien to him.

I love him.

“I am satisfactory.” he assured Roman, slowly straightening. He reached up to rub his head. “I...slept here last night?”

Roman nodded, his hand settling on Logan's shoulder, warm and heavy. “You don't remember waking up?”

“I...maybe? I was...the Loom.”

“You entered that trance again—you asked for my help, and I gave it. Like I did during your Warping, but this time my hand was glowing—like the last time you were channeling. You wanted to reconstruct a memory, did you succeed?”

Logan nodded, then shook his head.

Books...Grandpap...sun bleached hair, a special and secret cocoon in his childhood bed.

Flinching, Logan fumbled for Roman's hand, ripping it off his shoulder and squeezing hard.

“Roman.”

“I'm here, Starlight—what do you remember?”

“I...don't know. Just—my brother.”

“Virgil's not here.”

“I have to find him. Now.”

********** Virgil was going on twenty four hours wide, staring awake, and wasn't enjoying it.

Well...much.

Reluctantly following the crown prince through the lower levels of the castle, he hated to admit that for all his crazy, Prince Remus was kind of a fascinating guy. He was smart, yeah, but—more than that.

He was brilliant, in a way that was frightening. He babbled with barely any coherence, went off on tangents, talked to himself, but there wasn't a single wasted word. He talked about his brother with perfect devotion, discussed violence with absolute reverence, and spoke about death like...

Like he was Necromata. In between the stories he shared during the night—stories about Roman's secrets, three years of carrying on an ilicit friendship with Logan—he went off about Virgil's people with a flawless understanding of who they were and what they were about.

All while revealing, with all his stolen knowledge, that he didn't know jack shit about them. Everything he ever learned was heresay and speculation, but...but through the stories he saw the foundation. Remus was a quintessential outsider, but the respect he showed for the Necromata made Virgil ache inside.

Fuck, Remus actually gave him a little hope for the future.

“This way—this is where I found Roman after it happened.”

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Virgil jogged to catch up with Remus. “We don't have a lot of time, Remus—Logan is supposed to try and resurrect your father this morning.”

“Yeah, yeah—we have an hour, I know.”

“Two.”

“What?”

“Two. The sun will be well above the horizon then—doesn't do anyone any favors to be too prompt when it comes to making sure the Barrier is closed, unless you want to end up with someone else in your father's body.”

Remus glanced at Virgil over his shoulder—then snickered.

“Could be funny.” he decided, ushering Virgil ahead of him. “Through this door—this is where I found Roman the night your brother was arrested.”

“Where was he? I never realized he was anywhere near us when we got caught.” Virgil huffed, shoving the filthy, heavy wooden door open to emerge into a dingy stone tunnel.

“Before this castle had lower levels beneath this one, this was meant to be a sewer.” Remus explained as Virgil took a few more steps into the tunnel. “It's on some early plans for the palace, but hardly anyone remembers it's here. I got nosy when I was six and found it—Roman and I have used this to get in and out of the palace undetected since we were little.”

“He must've told Logan.” Virgil muttered, peering up at the grate overhead. Above him, through the bars he could see scattered straw—the inside of an empty dungeon cell. “That's how he got us in here.”

“You were here that night?”

Virgil turned to face Remus, smiling a little without any humor in it. “He didn't tell you about that, huh?”

Remus shook his head in silence.

Virgil scoffed, turning his gaze upwards again.

“Not all that surprised. Hell, maybe he didn't know I was here, either. I wasn't supposed to be...truth be told, I was always certain that I was the reason Logan got arrested. It's why I tried to get him out.”

“What were you, four years old? What were you doing here, and how could you have been behind it?”

“I was nine.” Virgil replied quietly, unable to tear his gaze from the grate of the cell above him.

“And I was here because a Weaver needs his Spider.”

********** 1023, A.A. The tunnel was absolutely terrifying—dark and wide and squat. Grandpap would have to double over to walk through it, big as he was.

Virgil did not want to be here. He wanted to be home in bed with his blanket, listening to Grandpap's bedtime stories about the Before Times and the wicked king that was slain, plunging their tribe into eternal darkness.

Logan was here, though—and a Spider had to stand with his Weaver. Protecting Logan was his responsibility now, and he couldn't let his big brother down.

“...find the book in the office...”

Voices, up ahead. Echoes carried down towards him, making Virgil flinch hard enough that he stumbled and fell.

Silence. More voices, garbled and echoing...

A hand on his collar, dragging him to his feet.

“Virgil, what in the name of the Seven Hells are you doing here!”

When Virgil landed upright, he came face to face with the shadowed features of his big brother, blue eyes glimmering in the barely there light.

“What are you doing here, Logan?” Virgil shot back. “You snuck out without me! You're 'posed to bring me on important stuff, I'm your 'Pider!”

Logan spun around, as if he were about to address someone—but then froze. His shoulders hunched the way they always did when he forgot to thank the spirits of the ancestors at his altar every morning, nervous and unhappy.

Turning back to Virgil, Logan narrowed his eyes.

“This isn't Weaver stuff, Stormcloud, so you can't tell anyone. Especially not Grandpap.”

“I swear on the 'Pider's Thread, Loganberry.”

Taking a deep breath, Logan nodded. “Okay...okay, you can come. You'll actually be helpful to find...never mind. Just do as I say, and don't ask questions. I can't answer them?”

“Why?”

Logan raised a warning finger at him.

“Don't. Ask. Questions.”

Virgil slammed his mouth shut, but didn't argue as Logan took his hand and led him down the tunnel and into the palace of the king.

********** 1033, A.A.

“What part of the palace did you hit?” Remus asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Not sure. It was dark, I was nine and terrified...I've tried to track it since I enlisted, but haven't had much luck. All I know is it was somewhere in the lower levels 'cause that's how I found the tunnel and got away. Wasn't near the dungeons either, not really—when we got caught, Logan steered me towards a lit, open door. It was some kind of office, and I found an open grate that led me to it.”

Virgil faced Remus again, pointing upwards. “This is under the dungeons, but you said this was where you found Roman after Logan's arrest?”

“Yup.” Remus replied, popping the 'p' sound at the end. “Near the end of this particular tunnel, down here.”

Virgil glanced behind him, in the direction Remus pointed, Turning back to the prince, he jerked his chin in that direction.

“Let's go.”

The pair fell into step beside each other, easily matching pace. Remus was a little taller than Virgil, so he was slowing down to let him keep up. Virgil didn't appreciate it.

He didn't.

“You know, Roman didn't help you get in here. I did.”

Virgil turned sharply towards him. “You're fucking with me.”

“Identical twins? In a poorly lit room, you can't make out the streak and the 'stache, Sweet Cheeks.”

“But...why?”

“Because you were trying to help your brother, and mine couldn't. Help you, that is.”

“Why couldn't he? Why did he admit to doing it?” Virgil asked.

“Did he actually admit to anything last night?” Remus asked with a raised eyebrow.

Virgil opened his mouth...then closed it.

“Not outright, no.” he realized aloud. “But why couldn't he help?”

“Virgil!”

The sound of that voice, echoing off the walls of the tunnel, was a flashback in time. For an instant, Virgil was nine and terrified again, being led into Souls Knew What by his big brother...running for his life and trying not to choke on his sobs, knowing he'd left his big brother to die.

Spinning on his heel, Virgil found himself faced with the sight of the tunnel's end where he and Remus had been heading anyway. The door was open, and Logan stood side by side with the familiar figure of King Roman.

At least, until Logan bolted forward, barreling towards Virgil until he had a death grip on him.

“Unghf! Loganberry, you're...crushing me...”

“He panicked as soon as we got down here.” Roman explained, raising his voice to be heard as he jogged towards them. “He's been off since he woke up earlier. He tried to reconstruct a memory...”

Virgil sighed, wrapping his arms around Logan for a second to give him a comforting squeeze before he shifted to reach for Logan's hand.

“C'mere, Loganberry...lemme help you...”

The moment their fingers meshed, Virgil felt the pull on his consciousness—Logan drawing on his focus, pulling raw thought from his head that sent his awareness of his surroundings spiraling into a pinpoint.

Virgil's eyes slid shut, his head lolling back in familiar fashion—but this time, before the darkness took him, warmth flooded the base of his skull and softened his tumble into oblivion.

********** “Hey—hey! Wake up, Storm!”

“Remus.”

Roman watched his brother stand beside the silent cadet, one hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his head, supporting him as he half sagged where he stood. There was a look in his eyes Roman wasn't sure he'd ever seen before, something like panic...but not quite.

It was familiar...but fuzzy.

Moving to his brother's side, Roman touched his shoulder.

“He's all right, Remus.”

“How do you know?”

“Because this is what familiars do. I've...seen it before.”

Roman blinked, startled by the words that came out of his mouth—but once he said them, he knew it was true. He had seen it before...somewhere among Logan's people, but where?...

“What are you four doing down here?”

Roman looked back towards the direction Remus and Virgil had come from, flinching when he spotted Janus at the end of the tunnel with Patton at his side.

“Lord Janus? Pat—what are you doing here?” he asked, moving towards the pair.

“I came 'cause Janny asked me to.” Patton replied, staring past Roman to where Logan and Virgil stood, deep blue eyes filled with worry. “What's goin' on? Janny?...”

With a sigh, Janus discreetly slid a hand up Patton's spine, only just visible as yellow gloved fingertips appeared near his nape then vanished with a soft whisper of leather on fabric.

“Go, darling. See if you can help.” Janus urged.

Reaching behind him, Roman saw Patton catch the gloved hand and squeeze before he hurried down the tunnel towards the trio of Remus, Logan, and Virgil.

Facing Janus, Roman folded his arms. “You didn't answer my question.”

Janus glanced past Roman, seemingly unable to tear his gaze from Patton for a long moment before he finally managed to set his gaze on Roman.

“I'm an assassin. I'm not supposed to tell you why I do anything, Your Majesty.” Janus pointed out.

“So you're here to kill someone?”

Janus sneered, mouth setting into a thin, tight line.

“If you must know,” he growled quietly, “I came here to kill the necromancer.”

Roman's heart froze, blood running cold.

“No, you're not.”

“Majesty? Get your hands off me. Now.”

Roman blinked, not even realizing that he'd backed Janus up against the nearby wall, and to his shock had a hand wrapped around his scaled throat.

“Give me a reason why I should.” he asked flatly. “You'll have a harder time getting to the necromancer if you have to stop and kill me first.”

“Oh, for the love of—I'm here to kill the necromancer, not your pet prisoner!”

“I...what?”

“The necromancer that assassinated your father and is trying to assassinate you.” Janus spat, finally shaking Roman's grip so he could straighten his cloak.

“I...don't understand.”

Janus finally tugged the clasp of his cloak straight, and when he met Roman's gaze, his own mismatched eyes were filled with something far warmer than any man might expect to see in the eyes of a spy like him.

Janus was looking at him with sympathy.

“Your Majesty...Logan may be one of the Necromata, but he is not a necromancer.” he whispered.

“Of course he is! He--”

“--may have been a necromancer once upon a time, but he isn't any longer. The root of necromancy is memory—with no memory, he should have no magic. No mere necromancer can beat the Cleansing that way, it's impossible.”

“Then...?”

Roman turned away from Janus to stare down the tunnel. He watched Virgil and Logan both slowly come to their senses, Logan opening ice blue eyes as Virgil started to straighten, supported by both Remus and Patton.

Over Virgil's shoulder, Logan's gaze met Roman's, and for just a moment those gemstone eyes flickered with the soft, blue-white light of his magic.

Janus's voice spoke right next to his ear, shaking him to his core.

“Logan is not a necromancer, Your Majesty...he's a Lazari.”