#HABIT you are so pathetic. all that power and you can’t even change yourself. weak little man breaking under the weight of boredom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hongism · 3 years

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mists of celeste ➻ 33.5

➻ pairing for this interim: seonghwa x hongjoong ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, fluff ➻ word count: 4.0k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

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✧✧✧ act four ➻ part 8.5

“You need rest too, Seonghwa.”

Said lieutenant lets his eyes flutter open at the sound of the voice, and he shifts to glance back at the person who just entered the room. It’s Jongho rather than Yunho for once; the damn healer won’t quit popping in to chastise Seonghwa for his less than stellar sleeping habits, but the lieutenant could not care less to be frank. If it’s for his captain, he would do whatever it takes no matter the sacrifice.

“Did you just come back from visiting Yeosang?” Seonghwa inquires instead of addressing the issue at hand. He pulls back a bit from Hongjoong’s bedside, knees scraping hard on the floor in a way that should burn, but his legs have long since gone somewhat numb. It’s a pointless pursuit really because Jongho already saw him pressed so close to Hongjoong’s side with both hands clasped over one of his captain’s clammy and cold ones. Still, it offers at least a bit of peace of mind to turn away and look at someone who is both conscious and responsive.

“I did, yeah.”

“And? How is he today?”

Jongho sways his head from side to side for a moment. Seonghwa doesn’t need to be a genius to understand what that means, but it does help in deciphering the lingering emotion behind Jongho’s red eyes.

“That bad?”

“I wish I could say he was better today but… nightmares.” Jongho inhales sharply. Perhaps Seonghwa should be the one tending to Yeosang’s mental state, but there is a bit of hesitance there because he feels quite a bit of failure himself when he looks at the Elitist. Once upon a time, he had sworn on pain of death that he would take care of Wooyoung and help keep him safe. He failed beautifully at doing even that simple task. Just as he failed you in his promises to keep you safe. As well as the endless promises he gave to Hongjoong about protecting him from harm.

Maybe that is the one thing Seonghwa is doomed to fail at time and time again without cease.

Still, this burden is a lot to put on Jongho’s shoulders, especially as a Berserker and especially since he lost someone himself.

“And you? Are you having nightmares as well?”

“Bold of you to assume that I’m even sleeping,” Jongho quips in response without a drop of hesitation. It stabs a deep gash into Seonghwa’s heart, one the emanates off his shoulders in waves. No doubt Jongho can feel that pain, but he doesn’t let his features shift in the slightest. “But no, I’m not having nightmares. Mingi is… I trust him. I know what he’s capable of and how much he’s willing to fight not only for himself but also for the crew. He is stronger than he knows, and his protective instincts are stronger than the bloodthirsty ones. He will keep them safe, and he’ll keep himself safe in the process. I’ve been sleeping on the couch in Yeosang’s room to help when he wakes up from the nightmares. Hard to sleep when he can barely go ten minutes without having bad dreams.”

“Ah,” Seonghwa exhales, and he needs no further explanation than that.

It is something Jongho used to do for San as well: stay in the young man’s room not long after the mutiny happened because the trauma and horrifying memories that the event resurfaced for San were nearly too much to bear. Jongho stayed in there for several months just to keep the man sane through the night. Seonghwa has never been on the receiving end of Jongho’s comfort, but he has seen the impact of it. Allowing someone to come so close to your heart and trauma is a special thing already, but having someone feel everything you feel while going through those traumatic memories is far more intimate. Despite his all too keen ability to help the crew through moments of emotional turmoil, Jongho rarely remembers to look after himself as well. He still absorbs those negative and overwhelming feelings, but he conceals the pains that he is left with as not to worry anyone. Seonghwa has watched the boy grow up — he knows him well enough to pick the pieces of his cracked shell away and see what’s underneath.

“You ought to sleep here tonight.” It isn’t an offer or something to be considered. Seonghwa might phrase it as one, but the command is in his tone and on his lips. “I’ll sleep in Yeosang’s room in case he wakes up from nightmares.”

“Seonghwa—”

“It is not up for discussion, Jongho.”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” the Berserker argues, leveling Seonghwa with a pointed glare. “I’ll ask Yunho to sleep in there tonight, if that’s what will make you feel better. But Hongjoong… Captain could wake up at any minute, and if your face isn’t the first he sees—”

“That’s enough, Jongho.” Seonghwa doesn’t quite like the implication behind that comment. There are too many emotions tied to it, too many past memories that should stay buried in that, and Seonghwa has to swallow to push the growing lump in his throat down. “That will work fine, as long as you give yourself a night off to actually rest.”

“We didn’t leave these empty cots in here for no reason,” Jongho tries again. “At least try to sleep some tonight, if nothing else. We need everyone at high alert for whatever is to come out of this shady ass Spectre and the recovery mission.”

“Okay… okay, I’ll rest too,” Seonghwa relents. Jongho has a point, but the Berserker has always been both quick with his wits and on his feet. Perhaps if Hongjoong doesn’t awaken then —

That thought comes out of the blue, intrudes on his mind, and leaves him choked. Seonghwa clasps a shaky hand over his mouth as a gasp slips out. There is no hiding the sudden wave of emotions that washes over him, not with Jongho in the room, and the Berserker rushes forward to meet Seonghwa on the floor. His knees hit the wood so roughly that it hurts Seonghwa’s ears.

The easiest thing to do would be to get rid of the weak link and ascend to power.

Seonghwa can’t help but slam the heel of his hand down roughly on his temple. It is enough to drive that maddening voice in his head away for now, although moderately concerning to the man kneeling across from him. These thoughts come too easily these days; without Hongjoong there to keep him grounded with constant reminders, Seonghwa finds his hold on the thin thread losing strength with each passing second. Maybe that’s why he can’t truly rest, because he is in the same boat as Yeosang in terms of nightmares.

“Seonghwa…” Jongho’s voice holds warning in it, but the older man pushes that concern to the side and fixes his gaze on the young Berserker.

“I’m okay.”

“You know you can’t lie to me.”

“Yes, but I also know that there is nothing you can do for me, Jongho,” Seonghwa murmurs the words through a smile, and Jongho’s gaze turns almost melancholic.

“I could take it away,” he says, daring to look the lieutenant in the eye.

“Hongjoong gave you orders not to do that.”

“I’ve done it for San in the past. I… did it for Y/N once without her knowing too.”

“That was different, Jongho.” Seonghwa pushes a new resolution into his stare, hoping that it will be enough to dissuade the man. “The emotional and mental pain it would cause you is not something we need right now. Do not think to do it to me now, and certainly do not think to do it to Yeosang either.”

Jongho shakes his head a bit.

“Yeosang will be okay. I trust that. As awful as the nightmares are, it eases a bit to see Wooyoung even for a few seconds in his dreams. You on the other hand…”

Is he weak in Jongho’s eyes? Is that it? Seonghwa lets his gaze drop to the floor, then quickly pushes himself up to his full height. His legs are a bit wobbly at first thanks to how long he had been kneeling before Hongjoong’s cot, but he manages not to make a fool of himself and fall over on the spot.

“I’m perfectly okay, and I will be even better when Hongjoong wakes up. Now please go get some rest.” Jongho exhales a deep sigh but doesn’t fight the lieutenant’s words. Just as he is turning on his heel to leave the room though, a new thought flashes across Seonghwa’s mind, and he calls out after Jongho to stop him. “Also, Jongho — if you could please check in with Y/N, just to see how she is? I think… I think the combination of seeing a person from her past and the stress of the others being gone is weighing on her more than she claims.”

“Of course. I was going to head over there regardless.”

If the relief shows on Seonghwa’s features, Jongho decides not to comment on it and leaves without any further ado. Seonghwa doesn’t turn back to look at Hongjoong’s reclining body until the door snaps shut behind Jongho. The silence that returns is thick and palpable, almost choking the lieutenant with its strength. He weaves around the side of the empty cot beside Hongjoong’s and nudges it carefully forward until the bed lies directly beside where his captain lies. Yunho will surely make his rounds again later, but Seonghwa cannot find it in him to care, even if his actions are grossly pathetic and pitiful on many levels. He doesn’t want to think about how sad it must look to see the renowned Lieutenant of Death stooping so low as to lie beside his captain simply because he cannot handle this prolonged unconsciousness. He isn’t sure there has ever been a period of time like this before where Hongjoong was absent in such a way, not since before Seonghwa met him at least.

Seonghwa slips onto the cold and empty cot, tugging the blanket atop back so he can situate himself underneath, and once he’s fully reclined, he dares to let himself look over Hongjoong’s features.

Relaxed and calm for once. Too often does he see the man with brows knit together in concern and worry. This is a welcome change, even if it comes with having to see scratches and bruises on Hongjoong’s otherwise flawless visage.

Seonghwa twists onto his side and faces the man before stretching a hesitant hand out to comb Hongjoong’s unkempt hair down.

Get rid of the weak link.

There goes that nagging voice again. Seonghwa has to remind himself that it isn’t him necessarily; rather it is the result of amassing rumors and things people have made him out to be over the years.

Hongjoong is many things, but weak is not and could never be one of them.

People call Seonghwa the Lieutenant of Death for a reason, and sometimes he lets himself be consumed by their words and beliefs. According to Hongjoong, that is what caused that little voice to rise and gain power in Seonghwa’s mind. The lieutenant has found himself thinking about the initial conversation that happened well over a year ago more and more these past few days. It is that same memory that comes over him and lives in his dreams when his eyelids finally droop. Seonghwa falls asleep with his hand falling to rest over the steady rise and fall of Hongjoong’s chest, right over where his heart beats on and on beneath the confines of his body.

…

“Do you… do you ever get that voice in your head? The inhumane one who can only be cruel?” Seonghwa asks, tone shaky and unsteady as he presents the question to Hongjoong. The young captain stands across the room with hands trailing over his shelves in search of one book in particular, but Seonghwa’s question stops him in his tracks.

“Yes. Always. More often than not, I listen to it. Kim Hongjoong is not the Scourge of the Black Sea. They are two separate entities — one is merely a captain trying to do what he can for his crew. The other is a monster, cold and heartless who does not know the meaning of mercy or kindness. He kills for sport because it’s fun, easy, ruthless. It’s what he is good at. He works towards a revenge that can never be achieved.”

“That’s not true, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa insists through a slight sigh. He lets his weight fall onto the edge of Hongjoong’s desk, arms coming up to cross over his chest in a way that is meant to chastise his captain, but the other man barely spares him a glance.

“No, but it is what people believe me to be. And if I cave in to their desires and believe them for even a second, then that nasty voice in my head wins. I will be all those things and more. But most of all, I will lose everything I have worked towards all these years. I will lose all the care I have for this crew, the passion and determination I have for my goal, the sheer will to keep on living. The Scourge of the Black Sea has no need for anything of those things, but Kim Hongjoong does. I have to remind myself of that every single day to keep from losing my mind.”

“That’s all it takes?” Seonghwa’s tone holds a certain suspension of disbelief to it.

“Are you Park Seonghwa or are you my Lieutenant of Death?”

“I am yours. Whatever that entails.”

That catches Hongjoong a bit off-guard, and the man actually sputters and fumbles with his next words upon hearing Seonghwa’s quick-spoken statement. He recovers just as quickly though, not leaving any further cracks in his composure, and steps closer to where Seonghwa leans against the desk.

“Allow me to rephrase that question then.” Hongjoong keeps moving forward until there is minimal space left between their bodies, and Seonghwa tries not to be haughty in the way he has to look down to meet his captain’s gaze. “Are you merely what others make you out to be? Or is the Seonghwa who stands in front of me now more than that? More than a bloodthirsty and heartless grunt who cannot think for himself. A failed soldier who is only good at following orders. Someone so cruel that even death itself would turn his back in shame because of the destruction you leave in your wake. Is that the Seonghwa I know?”

“Never,” Seonghwa whispers into the space between them. Hongjoong squints a little and presses ever closer. The elder of the two can feel the other’s breath panting hard against his own lips, and the sensation sends chills down his spine and leaves goosebumps to trail over his arms.

“Never,” Hongjoong echoes through a small smile. “Because my Park Seonghwa is one who is kind and compassionate. A person who loves without fail or error, forgives with too much ease, cares for others more than he cares for himself. Cherishes the loyal and spurns the betrayers. Looks for the good in others yet is quickest to judge himself in times of distress. My Park Seonghwa gives… and gives without even thinking to stop something for himself, and should he ever do what is necessary for his own good, he calls it selfish desire. So no, you are not my Lieutenant of Death. And as long as you remember that, remember why you are not and can never be that entity — that monster who resides deep in your heart and soul — that voice will never win. It will never take over. You will never be what they make you out to be.”

“I cannot remember that without you, Joong,” Seonghwa murmurs. Perhaps he lets too much emotion slip into his tone or he is overstepping his boundaries in their little hierarchy. Hongjoong doesn’t chastise him or ridicule him for the words, though.

“And luckily for you, we spend nearly every minute together. I will — I’ll remind you of it however often you need me to.” Hongjoong draws his lower lip between his teeth and chews at the skin a few times. “I trust you to remind me that I am more than my failures, as you have done so every day since the mutiny.”

The mutiny. They don’t discuss that event. It is too raw, too emotional, too sensitive for Hongjoong. How long has it been now? Three months? Two? Most definitely two, maybe less. It isn’t that Seonghwa doesn’t understand why it is a touchy subject — he merely learned early on not to grow too attached to people in his life. He supposes he is making a mockery of that lesson as he looks deep into Hongjoong’s dark eyes and regards the man with so much care and affection.

Hongjoong begins to drop his chin, but Seonghwa is quicker, hands stretching out to cup the man’s face just under his jaw. He isn’t sure why exactly he does that; something comes over him and causes him to reach out. Hongjoong blinks back at him with wide eyes. The lights in the room reflect off those dark orbs and make Seonghwa see stars in them.

Seonghwa doesn’t realize that his jaw is hanging open until his mouth goes dry, and he chokes on a parched throat as he tries to swallow around nothing. Hongjoong pushes the flat of his hand to Seonghwa’s chest. For a moment, the older man thinks he is trying to push him away and he starts to withdraw his hands, but the Hongjoong pushes ever closer until his knees push between Seonghwa’s.

“You were the first to trust me. The first to join me. The only one who didn’t look down on me. You didn’t treat me like a slave, didn’t amount me to being a former slave, nor did you judge me when you learned of my true class. You, Park Seonghwa, who had nothing in life but a will to live, gave me everything. I may not be able to give you the same in return, but I don’t take that sacrifice lightly.” Seonghwa’s jaw stutters as he tries to come up with the right words to say. All his mind can do is repeat ‘I’m not him, I never will be, I cannot be what he was, I cannot replace him’.

“I’m not Jin,” he says without thinking, and that causes Hongjoong to draw back all of a sudden. Seonghwa’s hands slip away from his face. He draws back so much that the space between their bodies is suddenly infinite, and Seonghwa regrets speaking so fucking much that the sensation nearly cripples him. “Hongjoong, that’s not — I didn’t mean—”

“Perhaps I have done something wrong along the way if you truly believe that is all I would amount you to,” Hongjoong bites out, cutting off the apology on Seonghwa’s lips. “I do not think you to be a replacement of any kind. Yes, Jin and I had a special relationship, we were close, I trusted him. But you, Seonghwa, you have always been more. I told you that when I asked you to be my Lieutenant. You asked why I chose you over him and maybe it is just as simple as the fact that I trust you.”

Hongjoong heaves a deep breath and shifts to blink at the ceiling. Seonghwa gnaws on the inside of his cheek with shame burning his neck and face. When Hongjoong speaks again, he draws closer to Seonghwa once more, this time with more haste and force. He grips Seonghwa’s chin harshly between his fingers, squeezing the skin so hard that it stings a bit. Seonghwa doesn’t dare to move under the captain’s touch though; he lets Hongjoong yank him down to be eye level and stares back without blinking.

“You are treasure, Seonghwa. You have always been a treasure to me, since long before I ever learned that you’re a Siren. Before you, I had nothing to live for or protect except a desperate need for revenge.” Hongjoong’s eyes glisten now. Seonghwa can’t recall even a single instance where he saw the man cry, not even in the aftermath of the mutiny, and that shatters his resolve more than anything else. “I came to want to protect you. And as the crew grew, you taught me to care for them as well, to protect them and cherish them. Jin never taught me that, you did. My Park Seonghwa, my lieutenant, my treasure.”

Seonghwa can’t help himself. He brushes the pads of his fingers over Hongjoong’s cheek as though to merely confirm that the man is real and standing before him. Before he can blink, Hongjoong twists his neck and presses a soft kiss to those lingering fingers. Seonghwa finds himself stunned into a frozen state. The man before him keeps kissing along the length of his fingers, his free hand pulling up to interlock their fingers when he reaches the bend of Seonghwa’s wrist. It is certainly not their first kiss — they shared many fumbling and awkward and meaningless attempts at kisses in their early years along with several small drunken pecks that were given merely as comfort and nothing more. They never had much emotion tied to them, not any romantic ones in the very least. Some went just like this, some were ghosting touches on the head or nose or cheek or even on the lips, few and far between but they certainly added up over the years.

Hongjoong pulls Seonghwa down the rest of the way. When their lips collide, the taste is salty and wet on Seonghwa’s tongue, but he doesn’t stop to think about that. Instead, he throws his arms about Hongjoong’s waist and pulls him to his chest as though to kiss the tears away just like this. Seonghwa hates to say that this one feels different because it could just be something meant to comfort each other now. It could only be different because Hongjoong cries against him now, hands dropping to fumble and grasp at Seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he tries to lessen the already minimal space between their bodies.

They have to pull apart because Hongjoong sobs into Seonghwa’s mouth, and the latter detaches their lips so they can catch their breath. Rather than hiding his face, Hongjoong blinks furiously against the tears and stares Seonghwa directly in the eye without shame or insecurity.

“You once swore to stay by my side for eternity. I never answered you then but I will now, and I won’t ask you to stay or demand that you do that. Whether I live or die, however this journey ends, whether we succeed or fail, I will do it with you no matter what. We do this together or not at all. Whatever together means — should it be as simple as you being on the crew and not caring for me in the slightest, or with you at my side like this.”

God, that hurts so much. It burns Seonghwa’s chest and leaves him with a deep gash that festers and boils over. He can’t bring himself to say anything in response. He knows his own tears are ready to spill down the balls of his cheeks, so rather than making them fall faster by trying to speak, he merely tugs Hongjoong back to him and seals their lips together once more.

✧✧✧ a/n: hi :3 surprise :3 guess who :3 seongjoong time :3 insight time :3 hints and bread crumb trail throughout :3 im playing but fr there are hints there are insights there are emotions and lots of serious talk and i’ve been wanting to write another piece on seongjoong for the longest time so i’m glad this idea came to me and i am even MORE glad that it turned out the way it did! fr this hiatus has been too good to me, i’ve never been more proud of my work than i am now!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @2504-life @lil7bluedragon @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @vampire-jimin @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @felixity @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

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Spiritual Spotlight: Hanspur, the Water Rat (and Ashkaelae)

Chaotic Neutral God of Rivers, River Travel, and Smugglers

Domains: Chaos, Death, Travel, Water Subdomains: Exploration, Murder, Rivers, Trade

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 58~63

Obedience: With the assistance of another priest of Hanspur or by yourself, simulate the act of drowning. You can do this by fully submerging yourself in a body of water, exhaling all of your breath, and painfully inhaling water instead of air. Alternatively, you can lie on your back with your head at a lower elevation than your legs while water is slowly poured on your face and up your nose. If you choose the latter method, you must cover your face with a cloth while the water is poured. When you conclude this simulated drowning, contemplate your life and how your goals coincide with the teachings of Hanspur and the Six River Freedoms. Benefit: You gain a +4 sacred or profane bonus on Survival checks attempted while on or near rivers.

Just reading this makes my sinuses burn and my lungs itch, and not just because it’s springtime and I have allergies! As anyone who’s ever been in a body of water large enough to slap their face with a wave can attest to, inhaling large amounts of water sucks. While this Obedience requires only one wet breath, some... well, some pretty severe complications can arise from it, if your DM ponders even slightly what doing this to yourself every day would do. Dry drowning and secondary drowning are both real dangers from brief immersion, let alone concentrated efforts at simulating one of the worst fates someone can experience (I say this a lot but basically anything that deprives you of air is pretty terrible). The ‘simulation’ will likely only last a few seconds while the rest of the hour is spent recovering from your experience and meditating, but even that may not be enough to offset the fluid likely building up in your lungs. Priests of Hanspur must sound atrocious, coughing themselves ragged every day! No wonder it’s recommended your ritual is overseen by another priest, either, because they’d likely be skilled in helping you manage your symptoms.

Dangers of daily drownings aside, keeping up with the demands of this ritual is pretty easy so long as you’re somewhere with easy access to water. In Hanspur’s homelands, the River Kingdoms, this is pathetically simple! Everywhere else? It’s a lot harder! While I do appreciate that there’s a secondary ritual you can do if total immersion is impossible, but what happens if you’re stuck somewhere with no easy water access? Your waterskins won’t carry you for very long, even if you pilfer them from your party as well. Better invest in a Decanter of Endless Water! Or do something ridiculous like fill the party’s Bag of Holding up so you can just hop in and out whenever you need to.

That benefit is also the weakest I’ve seen in a long time, granting a bonus to only a single skill type and only while near rivers. Survival checks aren’t even all that commonly made, unless your DM is kind enough to let you use Survival to navigate with river rafts rather than Profession or Ride checks. Hanspur really doesn’t want his faithful straying too far from the River Kingdoms, which is only further exacerbated by how his Boons work, so if you’re not the type to linger near rivers you may just want to skip him entirely.

Boons are gathered slowly, typically obtained when a given character has 12, 16, and 20 hit dice. Unlike fiend-worshipers, servants of the Eldest, and devoted of the Empyreal Lords, characters worshiping Neutral gods do not have catch-all classes… but Neutral-aligned characters can enter the Evangelist, Sentinel, and Exalted Prestige Classes earlier than Evil characters, classing in as early as level 6 (they need +5 BAB, 5 ranks in a single skill, or the ability to cast lvl 3 spells); entered ASAP, one can gain the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14.

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EVANGELIST

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Boon 1: River Sage. Gain Hydraulic Push 3/day, River Whip 2/day, or Hydraulic Torrent 1/day.

Hydraulic Push and Hydraulic Torrent live in the same niche of “giant water spouts what push stuff around,” with Torrent being obviously an order of magnitude more powerful than Push. While Push has a range of Close and can target only a single creature or square, Torrent is a 60ft line that Bull Rushes or attempts to destroy everything it encounters, so it really depends on if you’re thinking you’ll need three small streams or one really, really big one. Notably, Torrent can Bull Rush targets of any size, unrestricted by the limits of your pathetic frame, while Push contains no such limiter removal and thus likely means you can only blast creatures up to a size larger than you.

Also of note, Torrent attempts to shatter everything it comes into contact with until it runs into something or someone it cannot destroy or push past. The Strength score the Torrent uses is equal to your caster level plus your casting ability modifier, meaning it will start out barely stronger than you are but will eventually be able to punch holes in iron and shatter stone. Hell, with a lucky roll, it may be able to do that anyway. Your choice on which two to take wholly depends on if you want to push three Medium critters around or launch one Colossal one.

What? River Whip? I don’t see any spell like that here! Lets move on! (alright alright; i just don’t like it. it’s good as an emergency weapon but more or less anything else is better in any scenario)

Boon 2: River Scion. As a free action you can breathe underwater, as if affected by Water Breathing, for a number of hours per day equal to the number of Hit Dice you possess. These hours need not be used consecutively, but must be used in 1-hour increments.

A disappointingly weak Boon. Really, what else is there to see or say? If you need to go underwater, this ability is great and has zero downsides. If you don’t, this Boon doesn’t exist. It’s a very binary Boon that relies on your environment, which means that if you’re overjoyed if you’ve remained in the River Kingdoms, but in a desert or jungle or mountain peak, you’re going to be extremely disappointed upon hitting level 11.

Boon 3: River’s Embodiment. 1/day as a standard action, you can transform yourself into a Huge water elemental, as per Elemental Body IV. You can stay in this form for 1 minute per Hit Die you possess, and can dismiss this effect as a free action.

Finally, a transformation ability that doesn’t suck! What does suck is that this is a level 7 spell being granted to you 1/day, when other Boons are equivalent to level 9 spells in power. Hanspur could have at least given you a little bonus on top of it, or made it 2/day, but it’s hard to complain about the force you become under Elemental Body IV. You become immune to bleed, critical hits, Sneak Attacks, and on top of it all get insurmountable DR 5, and the stack of stats you get? Mmmm-mm! Chef’s kiss!

+6 AC, +8 Con, +4 Str, all for the price of -2 Dex (more than made up for with the +AC). And, of course, a swim speed and the power to collapse yourself into a destructive Vortex, but those are only useful if you’re in water, while the rest of the stat buffs are far more universally useful. You’re not exactly the destructive and terrifying Fire Elemental or the deceptively sneaky Earth Elemental, but a wall of surging water can still wreak all manner of havoc on your enemies, your new dual slams able to smash ships (and bones) to pieces, and since Water Elementals are capable of speech and gesture, you can merely bask in your new tank stats while still casting spells.

There’s also the much more amusing but niche use of transforming while already polymorphed by a hostile effect, as having a new polymorph effect used on you while you’re already changed can end the first automatically.

While I wish the effect was usable more often, or at least broken into 1-minute increments, I can’t call it a bad Boon by any means.

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EXALTED

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Boon 1: River Guide. Gain Obscuring Mist 3/day, Haunting Mists2/day, or Aqueous Orb 1/day.

I love the name of this ability because two of the three spells do the opposite of guiding people. Now I’m a big fan of Obscuring Mist; it’s a simple staple in my list for almost every caster I make just because of how versatile it is! But now that I know there’s an alternative, it may have competition. Both Obscuring Mist and Haunting Mists do roughly the same thing, but one could argue that Haunting Mists does it better; in addition to granting concealment and shutting off an enemy’s eyes, it deals 1d2 Wisdom damage and shakes up anyone starting their turn inside the mist... But as a Figment spell with the Fear descriptor, there are a great many creatures immune to its unique power, and True Seeing allows one to see through it perfectly, whereas Obscuring Mist remains impenetrable to the apex predator of the Illusion school.

While it cannot be dispelled by wind or motion like a tangible fog, it’s important to note that there’s no way to protect specific creatures from the sanity-damaging effects of Haunting Mists, and its casting distance of 20ft and 20ft spread means that you will likely always be caught in its radius. The range means using it offensively is painfully limited, unless you want to cast it from invisibility after sneaking into the middle of an enemy formation, which... you probably, definitely don’t want to make a habit of.

It’s great for covering your retreat, but not your advance or setup like the normal Mist is.

Aqueous Orb is a good choice if your party is getting screwed over by the mist more than the enemy, creating a big ol’ 10ft ball of water that intercepts and engulfs anything that moves into it, or which it moves into. It deals 2d6 nonlethal damage whenever it rams into a creature and a further 2d6 to everything it has engulfed each round, but the damage isn’t so much the main draw as the fact it’s a massive, roving Sphere of Grappling, snaring and drowning any creature it manages to get ahold of if they fail the Reflex save. It’s a fun little spell that’s great for mopping up and controlling minions, especially ones you don’t actually want to kill, and even at its worst it can become a makeshift barrier in a narrow hallway since there’s no written way to actually move through it beyond wasting 2, 3, or more rounds by slamming into it and swimming through to the other side while your party books it in the other direction.

Boon 2: River Traveler. As a free action, you can grant yourself and any allies within 30 feet of you a swim speed of 60 feet. This effect lasts for 1 round per Hit Die you possess or until you dismiss it as a free action, whichever comes first. Your allies must remain within 30 feet of you or lose this benefit. In addition, you gain a +2 profane or sacred bonus on saves against spells with the Water descriptor.

See, this should have been added to River Scion as a bonus. River Scion and River Traveler feel like they could have combined into a single Boon to make something decent, but as it is they both fall into the same niche: Solves the encounter they’re meant to solve, useless otherwise. This ability is noteworthy for having no restrictions about how many times it can be used, essentially letting you switch swimming off and on at will. The fact it doesn’t take an action is incredibly important, because using the massive 60ft swim speed the ability grants actually removes the bonus, as getting further than 30ft from you makes it fizzle.

I don’t really understand why it would grant 60ft of movespeed if they’re restricted to a 30ft bubble, nor do I understand the purpose of the bubble in the first place. It makes exploration a slog, and escape scenarios more finicky than they should be. Since it can be activated whenever you need to as a free action, the duration feels unneeded. There’s so much about this ability that conflicts with itself that it bugs me too much to say much in the way of positives. The +2 to saves vs Water spells is a fun little ribbon, though most Water spells tend to be harmless utility spells rather than ones you’d need to make a save against.

Boon 3: River’s Depths. 1/day as a standard action, you can cause one creature within 30 feet to begin drowning, filling its lungs with water. The target of this ability can attempt a Fortitude save (DC = 10 + 1/2 your HD + your Wis mod) to negate the effect. If the target succeeds, it is staggered for 1 round. If it fails, the target immediately begins to suffocate. On the target’s next turn, it falls unconscious and is reduced to 0 hit points. One round later, the target drops to –1 hit points and is dying. One round after that, the target dies. Each round, the target can attempt a Fortitude save to end the effect. This ability affects only living creatures that must breathe and cannot breathe underwater. This is a curse effect.

Now this one’s just insulting, being a technically weaker version of a level 5 spell, Suffocation. It’s weaker in four ways: 1) It fails against creatures which are amphibious which, if you’re in the River Kingdoms, is many. 2) It’s curse effect, which can mean some creatures are resistant or immune to it. 3) It has a 30ft range, unlike Suffocation’s range of Close (25ft + 5ft/level). And, finally, 4) Just ONE successful save ends the effect entirely, while Suffocation continues to torment and stagger the victim for 3 rounds until its effects finally expire.

It’s hard to ignore fact that it’s a basically a Save-Or-Die with excellent DC scaling, but I can’t get over it being weaker than an existing level 5 spell! ... Granted, Suffocation could probably get away with being bumped an extra level or two higher given how frighteningly effective it is at shutting down any creature who needs to breathe even if they succeed their save. I’m probably slamming down too hard on an ability that, again, is a Save-Or-Die at best and an unavoidable stagger at worst (good for making some emergency repairs against a powerful full-attacker), and for extra fun can be used without any components involved, so you can just drop it on someone out of the blue and they’ll have no idea who just tried to kill them. While I am disappointed it doesn’t meet the power of other Boons, it’s undeniably effective against a large portion of the creatures you’ll be fighting, even at 1/day.

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SENTINEL

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Boon 1: River Warden. Gain Wave Shield 3/day, Masterwork Transformation 2/day, or Quench 1/day.

Wave Shield is one of those rare spells that are amazing to have, but not especially good to prepare or to waste a precious Spells Known slot on. It’s an immediate action spell that grants insurmountable DR and Fire Resistance equal to half your caster level in response to a single incoming attack, which isn’t stupendous at low levels but is a generous equivalent to immediate, on-demand temporary HP as you get higher and higher level. If a creature relies on a lot of little hits rather than a few big ones, blocking even one of them can save you in the long run, and if your DR cancels out the damage from a poisoned or diseased attack, all the better!

It’s not an especially strong spell given how it only works once before fading away, but it’s better than the other two options by a country mile. Masterwork Transformation is something you’ll rarely need more than a few times in a campaign before masterwork items fall into your laps (or you can simply buy them), and by the time you gain this ability it will likely no longer matter. That being said, if you’re in a low-wealth campaign or have been forced to scavenge for your gear, Masterwork Transformation will save you THOUSANDS of gp over the course of your life, because as a spell-like, the material components are ignored and thus you can slowly upgrade your entire party’s armaments for free. Given its ability to affect a generous 50 pieces of ammunition per casting as well means the Ranger and Gunslinger will adore you, and you can work in tandem with a mystic craftsman (PC or otherwise) to get all of your favorite gear enchanted without discarding your precious family heirloom sword for that masterwork one you looted.

Not to mention the simple joy in taking all the gear off a bandit clan, Masterworking all of it, and selling it for a tidy profit.

Compared to the combat utility of Wave Shield and noncombat utility of Masterwork Transformation, it’s hard to make a case for Quench, which falls into the category of ‘niche spell’ like Water Breathing and Water Walking in that it will instantly solve a handful of scenarios and be utterly useless in the rest. Yes, you may need to put out a forest fire or stop a building you’re in from burning to a crisp, but you’ll have to decide if it’s worth giving up three emergency DR 4/-- and Fire Resistance 4 bandages... as the martial-focused Sentinel. If you plan on fighting a fire that day or encountering a magic item that can generate fires (which Quench shuts off for 1d4 hours) and no one else in your party bothered learning Quench, by all means, but as the Sentinel having the DR is probably better in most cases.

Boon 2: River Champion. 3/day as a standard action, you can sculpt water into the form of a melee weapon that you are proficient with. You must have enough water to form the weapon, an amount equal to the weapon’s normal weight. Once formed, the weapon behaves as a weapon of its type with an enhancement bonus of +1, which increases by 1 for every 5 additional HD you have beyond 5 (max +4). This weapon deals double damage to creatures with the Fire subtype. The weapon dissolves into ordinary water after a number of rounds equal to your HD or as soon as it leaves your hand, whichever happens first.

Boons which call weapons to your hand are alright in cases where your signature weapon has been taken from you, and by the time you receive this ability you will have a signature weapon, but such times tend to come few and far between. This one also has the additional caveat that you don’t actually create the weapon from nowhere, there must already be water around to make it, at least enough water to match the weapon’s typical weight. The good news is that a gallon of water weighs about 8 pounds, and a trident--Hanspur’s holy weapon--weighs only 4, with most other weapons barely ever approaching 10, so you can reasonably carry around an emergency weapon in a waterskin or in your backpack... And you know, now that I think about it, it’s kind of cool to be able to turn a glass of water into a dagger.

But when will you need to? How often do you find yourself bereft of a usable weapon often enough to need an emergency armament like this? I can see the niche in front of me, making a new weapon as-needed against creatures whose DR makes them difficult to damage with your normal gear or taking advantage of that delicious little tidbit about doing double-damage to fire-based creatures, but they take your whole standard action to make and last for only a single combat (if that), and you can’t even shuffle around the +1 bonuses for additional effects!

Don’t get me wrong, it’s by no means bad (unless you’re both in a waterless area and haven’t filled your waterskin), especially at 3/day, but I can’t help but wonder when you’d actually need it at level 11+ when you likely already have a primary weapon and several backups.

Boon 3: River’s Renewal. When completely submerged in water, you gain Fast Healing 2. You can recover a total number of hit points equal to twice your HD in this manner each day. At 20 HD, if you fall below 0 hit points and your body is fully submerged in a river, you automatically stabilize.

As a final Boon, I wish the Fast Healing had a higher threshold than just 28 points a day (+2 per level). In combat it likely won’t matter, and while out of combat it’s a decent amount of healing, usually enough to spare a couple spell slots from your healers or some potions, it’s just not all that impressive for a third and final Boon. Sentinels are the only followers of Hanspur who don’t get some method to easily navigate the seas, so taking advantage of this Boon to its fullest extent relies on an outside method of gaining water breathing or a swim speed.

Funnily enough, you can carry around a Bag of Holding filled with water and use it as a recuperative pod in case you don’t have access to a deep puddle, which is dubiously useful but not entirely terrible. HOWEVER, the little addition at the end is also a kick in the teeth; why does that only happen at level 20? Why can’t that be a base part of the Boon? It’s just insul--Wait, it only works if you’re submerged in a river, too? You can’t stabilize with some good old pond water? The mighty ocean? Can’t take a dip in a bathtub to stop bleeding out? Come on, Hanspur!!! Be a little more generous to your worshipers!

I dunno, maybe I’m underselling the out-of-combat healing this Boon offers, but it just doesn’t feel worth it to put up with the Water Rat for your entire adventuring career just for an extra 1/8th of an HP bar.

You can read more about him here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Neutrality Notes #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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aalapdavjekar · 3 years

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8 Lessons from Vipassana

2010 was a peculiar year. It was the year in which I found the great fortune of stumbling upon a book about the bizarre incidents and experiences of an Australian girl voyaging through the Indian subcontinent. The book — a 21st century rewrite of the lore of the hippie trail, offered little towards cerebral surprises, but made for a curious viewing of the life of someone who was brave (or foolish) enough to have gone through all the trouble that she did for the experiences she sought.

The author chronicled days spent discovering religion and spiritual heaven while avoiding hell — nosy neighbours, opportunistic rickshaw-wallas, and the odd would-be rapist. She portrays an all too familiar India — the world’s spiritual shopping mall serving food-poisoning on Tuesdays, vehicular accidents every Friday, and frightening latrines as a daily course. Not all of her pages carried so much drama, but they laid out a rough sketch of the trials and tribulations of the average foreigner in attempting to make sense of the country.

The smallest chapter in the book spoke to me the most. There was a tiny passage that depicted the joy and punishing solitude of the type rarely considered as thrill — monastic rituals, austere and rigorous routines, distress and hardship — it seemed a bit too much for anyone, let alone a solo adventurer. And yet, it seemed like just about the only thing she really enjoyed during her trip.

That was my introduction to Vipassana. That first memory is still fresh: the desire to confront this awkward specimen of a situation for myself, only because, at the time, it seemed so bizarre. To my ignorant mind, I could not have comprehended the result of ten long days (and nights), sitting around without the utterance of a single syllable. If nothing else, it would just be yet another substance: to taste, chew on, spit out, and rave about having conquered yet another mountain of sensory input; spin it all into a tall tale of profundity and wisdom.

Thankfully, the taste was sweet. To me, this became pretty important. It felt like a gigantic discovery and I often found myself proselytizing like a broken record for days after the first course. I eventually stopped for being seen as a bit of a nuisance, however, my fascination with the practice only grew with time. In those ten short days, I had experienced a deep, resounding change from within. As difficult as the journey had been, I only knew I had to keep going.

That was all ten years ago. 2010 was peculiar, but a dozen Vipassana courses later, life only became weirder.

It’s the stark contrast that gets you; the juxtaposition of life inside a course, and then witnessing the world outside. It is hard to illustrate and is not really the point of this post, but I mention it only because I’d like to warn you that many of the lessons I’ve learnt are all experiential truths. Simply engaging the intellect is not enough. You can’t describe the taste of salt to someone who has never experienced it before, and you can’t learn to swim simply by reading about it.

With that said, understand that even though I have been practicing for a while, it does not mean I have achieved any form of mastery over my practice. I still consider this as the just the first step in a very long path. I share these insights, all of which have broadened and enriched my understanding of not only myself, but of all-encompassing experience existence in itself. My only hope is to encourage you to sit down and focus on your breath.

1. Relaxing meditation is more like aggressive deconditioning…

The mind is a big ball of accumulated, tightly-knotted habits. Habits are not merely mundane proclivities like picking your nose, or a preference for K-pop. Habits are the set of all unconscious tendencies, picked up over the course of one’s life and through generations past, resulting in present thought, action, or both. Natural instincts such as the struggle to survive and the urge for sexual gratification are among the densest of elements residing within the mental landscape.

Mental forces are easiest to imagine when you think of them as analogous to Newton’s Third Law: each action has an equal and opposite reaction. As the mind sees, the mind does. Cause and effect. Through millions of years of evolution, the mind has been shaped to recognize and react to patterns. Certain emotions may result in specific thoughts. Certain thoughts may result in specific behaviours.

When you sit down to practice Vipassana, you essentially train yourself to observe the mind without reacting. The process may not seem like much but, with time, the simple act of observation decreases the rigidity and impulsiveness of the mind. Gradually, the simple act of watching it unravel before you, unveiling its knots until they loosen and eventually fade away, brings about a significant change. This does not mean that after ten days of meditation you will deprogram your mind and achieve liberation. It is a very gradual process. Believe me. Even after all these years, I’ve only scratched the surface and, so far, I’ve managed to adopt a slightly better diet. But I have better focus, more clarity of thought, less anxiety, and things that used to drive me crazy don’t annoy me as much anymore.

Meditation will change your brain. Thoughts included.

2. You are your mind’s weak, pathetic slave.

At any given time, you have very little conscious ability to overrule your genetic programming, emotional state, and natural surroundings (many have even argued that there is no such thing as conscious control and free will is an illusion, but that is a discussion for another time). The goal of meditation is to break free from the mind’s thrall: it’s patterns of thought. That’s the liberation that meditators keep referring to time and again.

If you find it hard to believe how little control you have over your mind, try to focus continuously on the breath just for a few minutes and notice the amount of thoughts that manage to pop up. You’ll quickly see how easily the mind is carried away. It’ll drift away, either to the future, or to the past. Bringing it back and keeping it in the present is a constant, seemingly endless struggle.

Our toxic addiction to our own thoughts creates the biggest hurdle. Over the course of our lives, we have been conditioned by our parents, school, society, even language, to think a certain way. Like the words we associate with objects to learn the alphabet in kindergarten, we continuously associate abstractions — words — to ideas; to the way things work. Our names for objects, people, places, feelings, situations, etc. are just names. They are concepts that are formed in the mind. In other words, our brain holds maps to reality which are drawn and redrawn over the course of our lives. But the map is not the territory, yet we are constantly under the delusion that the map is real.

Our fascination and attachment to our artificial concepts of what is real, important, and urgent is what hinders progress— the practice is essentially training the mind not to identify with one’s thoughts. In other words, to heal trauma, you need to learn to dissociate with the feeling which triggers the trauma. Trauma comes in many shapes. It may take the form of the stories that we forge for ourselves to make sense of who we are. The story we tell ourselves turns into the very bondage that keeps us in indefinite servitude to the mind.

The mind is a slippery serpent, as dangerous when untamed as it is powerful when mastered. Most beginners often find it frustrating how difficult it is to ‘control’ their minds. But therein lies the effort. It is a skill to be cultivated like any other. Exasperation and the desire to stop is a natural byproduct of the conditioning described earlier. There is an inertia to progress that needs to be continuously overcome. With time, it gets easier.

Meditation is simply a tool to harness and rein in the unruly mind.

3. Everything is connected. Every action has a consequence, and it matters.

This can be argued as a simple scientific principle. Richard Feynman in his lecture, “The Relation of Physics to Other Sciences,” describes the artificial divisions we create, forming a myriad of distinct models of understanding to comprehend and explain to ourselves aspects of the same reality. Brian Cox takes it even further.

My understanding leans towards the philosophical side, but bear with me. Most religions and spiritual traditions preach purity of mind, speech, and deed. Whether through scripture or ritual, they teach compassion, loving kindness, mercy and wisdom. I’ve realized that there’s more to this than mere morality.

To greatly simplify this, let’s imagine the world as a closed, finite system — something like a small swimming pool. Any kind of movement results in ripples that gradually extend across the body of water, affecting everything in their path. Eventually, given enough time, those ripples will bounce right back to whence they came. Sooner or later, your actions will meet their maker. But don’t mistake this as a need to be nice out of selfish necessity. The picture is bigger than this.

The world, much like our hypothetical swimming pool, is a melting pot of events resulting from simultaneous interactions causing countless, spontaneous consequences. It’s a chain reaction and an ocean of chaos, with the ebb and flow of individual currents that mingle, coalesce and form waves, crashing into one another to give us the great churning of the wheel that Buddhists speak of, and the agitation that we are almost too familiar with.

The turbulence, in essence, is the mind being washed away with the tide, engulfed and drowned in the vicissitudes of a constantly changing life. To remain steadfast and solid in such stormy waters would require nothing short of supreme mastery in the art of mindfulness. A cornerstone of such an endeavour requires the cultivation of a conscious effort to sustain complete awareness and acceptance for the present moment.

When one remains vigilant of thought, speech, and deed, and acquires a resolute and unwavering focus, then all the torment the ocean can muster will be but powerless against this tranquil state of mind. But even beyond that, tranquility will give way to reflection, understanding, and empathy. In other words, when you respond to anger with love, you cast water over the fire.

With practice, each action undertaken will arrive with more effort, more purpose and consideration. That is the delicate insight to be gained — that every action, every moment, every breath is sacred. Every bit of conscious presence is a gift to be treasured.

4. Nothing matters as much as you think it does…

Vipassana meditation is an exercise in cultivating insight through self-observation. You watch your breath and the sensations across your body as they arise and pass away, each time acknowledging their transient and impermanent nature. That, you come to realize, is the truth of all reality.

You realize that suffering is a form of mental attachment, not to any external object, but to the sensation that object has on your mind. This attachment is sometimes so subtle and imperceptible that it is impossible to witness it without a mind that is steady and calm. These attachments are what cause dukkha or suffering. Attachments are not limited to sensations that feel good. Any sensation that makes you feel like had more of it or less of it — desire and aversion — is attachment. The mind runs after pleasure, runs from fear and pain. These are attachments and they are a hindrance to the practice.

As you grow into your practice, you will gradually slip out of your old patterns of thought, replacing them with a more open, willing, and fluid presence of mind. What once bothered you may gradually dissolve into nothingness. What once seemed as part of you, possessed you, caused emotional havoc when you didn’t get what you wanted, might simply vanish from existence. No, you won’t turn into an emotionless robot. No it won’t make you give up everything in life, turn into a vagrant and move to the beach, unless you already desired those things. Meditation will only help sort out what you really want.

Practice will help you detach yourself from your thoughts until you realize that your thoughts are not you. Feelings come, feelings go. They are impermanent, and they don’t matter. All it requires is time and the simple act of observation.

5. You are not an experiential bubble.

For many beginners trying to embrace the many forms of mindfulness, one of the toughest obstacles to overcome is doubt. It may be doubt in oneself, doubt in the practice, doubt in one’s teacher, and so on. But it’s a natural response to something new, especially to those completely unfamiliar with these types of practices. Imparting trust is a transactional habit. Unless one is certain of attainable benefits and can measure their worth, they may find an unwillingness to take even the first step.

Couple a doubtful mind with the myriad of mental encounters one may face during meditation and the result might just kill the desire for practice. People have reported everything from swirling lights, out-of-body experiences, synesthesia, to demons. This is not unusual. Meditation is a gateway into the unconscious — a surgical procedure as S.N. Goenka, the person who brought the teaching of Vipassana back to India, describes. Through the process of Sankharupekkha (observing mental formations with equanimity), the practitioner encounters dormant impurities in the unconscious that rise to the surface of the mind, and manifest themselves as physical phenomenon.

Juxtaposed with modern-day culture, the meditative experience stands out like a sore thumb, often causing its students great confusion and mistrust in the very quality of what they are learning. It doesn’t help that the ideas and general philosophy presented by spiritual traditions are outright antithetical to “western” schools of thought.

Concepts such as avidya, anicca, dukkha, shunyata, samsara and nirvana are like salt. These are concepts that are almost impossible to understand through mere language—one must personally taste them. They are often horribly misconstrued and usually thrown out, replaced by a far shallower understanding that barely skims the surface of the teaching, conflating meditation with stress reduction and labour productivity. After all, these are the values our industrial societies can easily relate to.

We often make it harder on ourselves by letting our experiences fester. Remember to talk about them, discuss them, debate their true essence, and let them be out in the open. Let these ideas, however alien, achieve coherence and solidity. Give them a better chance to struggle and survive. There are many people out there experiencing the same reality, watching the same movie, feeling the same thing. The emotional outlet, especially when you are starting out in this practice is immensely valuable. It’s a small thing but it matters.

After my first ten-day Vipassana course came to a close, as the new students could finally open their mouths and start speaking with each other about their ten days spent in silence, we could all see the benefits this strange new thing had given us. I was in a room full of fifty-odd people that seemed to have had a similar experience in the course as I did. They all seemed calmer than on the first day, happier for having made it through; in the process, they had visibly changed. That’s what brought forth trust in the system; not only because it seemed to work across a diverse set of people, but because it made me realize that we are all in the same boat.

6. Compassion takes practice.

There is no absolute right or wrong. Understanding which is which requires not only context but patience. An impulsive and ignorant mind does not have the capacity to form correct judgement. An angry and intolerant person cannot be trusted to make rational and thoughtful decisions. Why do you need to develop proper judgement? The simplest possible answer: to progress in your practice. Hence, while Vipassana may bring insight, on the last day of each course, students are taught a slightly different type of meditation.

Metta, meaning ‘loving-kindness’, is a type of meditation that involves concentrating on directing love towards ourselves and others, even those (especially those) who may have hurt us. A daily practice of metta has its benefits, but most significant of all, is the way it complements insight meditation and brings out lasting, positive changes in mind and body.

The feeling is hard to describe, but all I can say is that (at the risk of sounding cliched), through the course of one’s life, pain is an inevitability, but suffering through the pain is a choice. With regular practice in metta, instead of being swept away by one’s emotions, one learns to consciously bring awareness to the suffering being experienced and replace it with compassionate and loving thoughts. Suffering is simply a negative reaction of the mind to any form of pain. With practice, mental aversion to pain gradually fades. Like mental ointment, compassion can heal the deepest of wounds.

But compassion takes practice. Think of it as learning a new language. Even if you have no prior experience reading the script or pronouncing the words, with time, you might just achieve fluency.

Compassion towards all beings, regardless of the situation, is an important goal for anyone serious about walking the path. When you emanate a constant stream of loving thoughts without ever missing a beat, then you might definitely consider yourself having changed for the better.

7. It’s all just glorified play.

By the time children reach the age of 3 or 4, their ego begins to form a cohesive identity — a map of themselves: I am this, I like that, I want to be so and so. Whether through nature or nurture, the child learns to take on a role for themselves depending on what the situation may bring: during interactions with their parents, with other children, and with society in general.

From an early age, children are engaged in play. Their games may be diverse, but are usually a form of role-playing: tea parties, dollhouses, make-believe — simulations of the adult world, to test its boundaries and see how things react. Fueled by curiosity and the joy of discovery, they rehearse and solidify their understanding of their surroundings, finding their place in the greater familial and societal picture, and simultaneously strengthen their masks of identity.

The masks we carry, birthed from the ego, may be necessary for our survival, but they are simply roles — the games we continue to play even as adults, with ourselves and with others. When the student of Vipassana comes to notice their own desires and attachments to the world, the identity of the self is often seen as the greatest attachment. It is the great epic; the story of ourselves that we’re so engrossed in writing and reciting— and madly in love with.

This story never ends. It lies permanently in the state of becoming: I am like this, I like that, I want to be so and so. The attachment to a false idea of oneself is the most difficult thing to witness and understand. It is the biggest delusion of the mind, and the greatest hindrance to one’s liberation from samsara — the endless cycle of birth and death. Whether you choose to believe that is unimportant, but recognising one’s tendencies to cling to one’s beliefs, one’s masks and identity, is a crucial process towards self-discovery and insight.

Recognising the mind for what it is — a constant stream of consciousness always in flux — will bring you a step closer to deciphering it.

8. You Know Nothing.

I know nothing. For knowing involves being certain, but if everything is impermanent and things are constantly in flux, then nothing can be certain.

To understand how truly inept we are at comprehending reality, consider the incredibly narrow spectrum of perception our brains provide. Our sensory organs: the eyes, ears, nose, tongue and skin offer only a slice of all the information that they come into contact with.

The eyes, for example, see only a thin slice of the electromagnetic spectrum, which we call visible light. Similarly, our hearing is restricted to frequencies of sound that fall between 20 Hz and 20 kHz. In the same way, we carry only a limited cognitive capability and intelligence.

It’s a humbling thought. At the very least, reminding oneself of the fragility of one’s understanding is a way to minimize cognitive bias. Further, since no one knows anything, knowing you know nothing will actually put you a step ahead of most people.

“I am wiser than this human being. For probably neither of us knows anything noble and good, but he supposes he knows something when he does not know, while I, just as I do not know, do not even suppose that I do. I am likely to be a little bit wiser than he in this very thing: that whatever I do not know, I do not even suppose I know.” — Plato’s Apology of Socrates

Similarly, from the Dhammapada:

“A fool who knows his foolishness is wise at least to that extent, but a fool who thinks himself wise is a fool indeed.”

Lastly, Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese Zen Master calls the state of knowing nothing the “beginner’s mind,” the constant prerequisite for progressing in one’s practice:

“The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner’s mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” — from Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

May all beings be happy.

#meditation #vipassana #insight #zen #buddhism #philosophy #wisdom

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

AHHHH! CAN I REQUEST YANDERE TANJIRO FINDS A DEMON BUT HE WANTS TO KEEP IT AND CARE FOR IT EVEN THO IT TRIES TO KILL HIM CONSTANTLY?

So many requests for Tanjirou this round, and I can’t say I’m disappointed. He would have such a *soft spot* for sympathetic Demons, even if his first instinct is to behead them.

TW: Cannibalism, Metal Abuse, Physical Violence (Graphic), and Starvation.

Hunt. Kill. Eat.

You didn’t mind your inhumanity. It was a waning trait in your kind, anxiety and cowardice making the others hesitant to accept their limitations, but you’d never been anything but thankful for the change. Muzan had blessed you, Muzan had saved you, gifted you with enough power to defend yourself and freed you from the chains who called themselves your family. You supposed having to prey on the human race was a hard price to pay, for some, but you’d never counted yourself part of that majority.

After all, what had humanity ever done for you?

You were the predator you were meant to be for years, decades. It wasn’t easy, but you handled every slayer sent your way with a desperate grace, using your Blood Art as much as you were able to. That was more difficult for you, nails and teeth being your preferred weapons, but a blade never so much as grazed your neck, not until he wandered into your territory.

Hunt. Injure. Run.

You didn’t care about killing Tanjirou, not by the time you were close enough to realize how insane the Water Pillar really was. He never tried to behead you, not after deciding you’d live to see the sunrise. No, instead you were subjected to a blade lodged in your ankle, too many bruises on your body to count, your fangs carved out when he failed to find a gag that you couldn’t tear through. He was faster than anyone you’d ever fought before, stronger, you didn’t know why you thought you’d ever had a chance. When you tried to scratch his lungs out of his chest, your talons were ripped out as easily as thorns, leaving you helpless and disarmed in the hold of your captor until they healed.

There was nothing stopping him from touching you, from pinning you against the forest floor and combing the leaves out of your hair, shaking his head as he looked over the rags of your kimono, cupping your cheeks and looking at you like you were a fucking doll. Like you were someone who should be thankful for his help.

The way he talked was even worse. He told you all about his plans, as he dragged you along, the night covering up all those terrible confessions. Rambling, complimenting you, going on about how lonely his work is or how big his future family is going to be or how beautiful you are (for a demon, of course). It wasn’t better when you finally reached the destination, a cottage tucked into the peak of an isolated mountain. You hated how thin the air was, how you could hardly see the moon, how small the cabin turned out to be. But Tanjirou didn’t seem to share your feelings, laughing as he explained how perfect this would be for the two of you.

Escape. Hunt. Eat.

You weren’t allowed to use your hands, from that point onward.

Tanjirou made sure you didn’t have to, accommodating for the metal encasement by trying to do everything for you, whether that meant bathing you or holding any object you wished to move or feeding you by hand, a habit he’d never really agreed with. It’d taken weeks of begging and bargaining to convince him you had to eat, even if it was only blood. Human food tasted like ash, and you didn’t want to live off nothing until he saw fit to put you out of your misery. He’d encourage you to sleep for days at a time, holding you to his chest when you doubted his methods. He said his sister survived solely off of rest, that she could heal any wound she had with a few hours of sleep.

He didn’t take it kindly when you tried to tell him you weren’t his sister, either.

You tried to run away so many times, and once, you did manage to get out. Tanjirou was away on a mission, and you were left to chew at your wrists and weaken your restraints until you broke through. You knew you should have fled, fought off your hunger, and ran until your legs were too weak to carry you, but the night was young and the nearest village looked so, so appetizing. You tried to stay away from children, young girls, targets that still clung to life, but you were already ripping into the teenage farmer before you had a chance to think about who you were devouring. You were still covered in his blood when Tanjirou found you.

Eat. Eat. Eat.

He hadn’t fed you, since then.

It was the only thing you thought about, anymore. You wouldn’t die, you knew that, but it felt like you were about to collapse at any moment. You tried to choke him out with your restraints on a daily basis, biting at him every week and throwing yourself against the door until your arms broke at least once a month. But, Tanjirou never wavered. He acted like he was meant to take care of you, dressing you up in clothes that were more decorative than practical and never letting you take a step and treating you like you wanted to be there. He smiled all the while, you’d really never seen him frown.

The only time he seemed to falter was when your aggression faded, shriveling into embers and suffocating under your desire to keep yourself alive. You would cling to him for hours, as much as you were able to, letting him get as close as he wanted to you or initiating the sickening brand of affection he seemed to love. He must’ve thought it was pathetic. When you coaxed him into taking your gag out, all you ever managed to spit out was pleas for something, even if it was just the taste of his skin. It felt like offering yourself up, submitting, but you didn’t care. Even if you had to beg on your hands and knees, you didn’t care.

All you wanted to do was eat, and every kiss was another chance to tear into those grinning, tempting lips of his.

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degenerate-yandere · 4 years

Text

Damon & Ray Headcanons

Woo boy this took awhile to get through, but here it is! Some general Headcanons for my boys to lay some groundwork, I plan on doing some fics for them very soon.

Ray has some double-ups from a previous post, simply because I wanted this to be the comprehensive post with all their information in one spot, if that makes sense.

Anyway I hope y’all enjoy! This was partly for the beautiful @ramwrites who wanted some Damon content, and who am I to deny the Queen’s request.

Picrews used: Damon, Ray.

TW: Abuse, kidnapping, yandere, violence, implied murder, drugging, non-consensual touching, stalking, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour

Damon:

Attraction + Pursuit

Disgust - an ample word to describe Damon’s initial reaction to these newfound emotions that threaten the fortitude of his petrified heart. Every time you cause his breath to hitch in his throat, he’s reminded of just how damn vulnerable you make him; a highly unwelcomed source of insecurity. If Damon hates one thing, it’s being undermined.

As a result of his mounting insecurity, it can be expected that his infatuation, at first, manifests as resentment. Damon will be especially cruel to you - intimidation, bullying, and public degradation are all outlets of his internal frustration. You’ll think he hates you, and maybe a part of him does. He doesn’t feel guilty, no; this is all your fault, you’re the one who makes him feel this way - It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.

This torment is short-lived however. It’ll come as an epiphany as he towers over you, looking down at your comparatively fragile form. You are pathetic, but more importantly, he isn’t. Damon’s bigger and stronger than you, so what’s stopping him from simply making you his? He’s quick to surmise that he’s entitled to you. All this stems from Damon’s immense ego; an inflated sense of superiority, and a fragile one at that.

As far Damon’s concerned, you need him as much as he needs you. First-hand experience has shown him just how weak and defenseless you are. You need him to keep you safe. He’ll protect you, he likes to keep what’s his intact - unknowing to the fact he’s the exact thing you need to be protected from.

It’ll give you whiplash how fast Damon’s demeanor seems to change. You’ll be lucky to receive a grumbled apology for his past actions. He’ll loom above you nigh constantly, glaring daggers at any who’d approach you. His intimidating presence is enough on its own to isolate you.

It’s important to note Damon’s utter lack of experience. Sure, he’s had numerous flings in the past, but this - this is different. Romance is an alien concept, and courtship is an incomprehensible endeavor. But he tries - he makes an effort to lower his gravelly voice, relaxing his body language and resisting the urge to belittle you. He’ll bring you odd gifts and trinkets, shoving them into your hands with no explanation other than a grunt. You doubt they were acquired through wholesome means. Damon will grumble compliments, ones that, when accompanied with his threatening voice and vulgar verbiage, are often perceived as thinly-veiled threats. He tries, he really does - but his patience is easily waned.

Any inquiries you raise about his insistence on shadowing you are met with a scoff and a disingenuous insult;

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart.”

No matter how many times you ask him, his answer will always be the same - nonchalant and unsatisfactory.

He’ll grow tired if you continue to fear him or try to avoid him. You should be grateful. Damon will resort to threats and manipulation to force you to accept his advances.

Anyone he deems a threat, whether that be individuals he believes might harm you, partners, exes, or even people who simply stare at you too long, will all meet a similar fate - broken, bloodied, and barely recognizable. He likes to take pictures of his hard work, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride as he looks through them. Maybe he’d show you one day, to let you know just how grateful you should be that he’s keeping you safe. There’s a wicked glee he derives from pummeling people for your sake.

Kidnapping is an inevitability; the urge to protect you from those who’d dare to take you away from him, and his selfish desire to own you, will make that decision a definite one.

It’ll be easy - cornering you in some isolated spot late at night, caging you against his built body as he tells you just how long he’s been waiting for this. He’ll overpower you with his abundant brute strength, remarking that the more you struggle, the rougher he’ll be - a promise he makes well on. It’s hard to deny his joy of having you struggle against him, completely at his mercy. It serves as an omen of the life that awaits you.

Post-kidnapping + Punishment

Damon’s captivity is stern and demanding. There is no ’grace period’, no time allocated to allow you to grow somewhat accustomed with the nightmare you’ve been thrust into.

His expectations, as demeaning as they are, are made evident from the beginning. You are to accept his affections, no matter how forceful or rough. You will show him ample appreciation for protecting you, an act which he considers merciful.

Damon is quick to ‘correct your mistakes’, and ensures you never make them again. There’s no restraint, no mercy - but he likes it when you beg anyway.

Punishments are cruel and severe; Taunting you as he holds the cindering end of his cigarette inches above your skin, allowing you to feel the heat emanating from it as you beg and plead - cut short as he presses it against your flesh. Isolation, food deprivation, impassioned beatings - all serving as painful reprimands.

Behind his anger and frustration lies an undeniable sadistic enthusiasm as he punishes you. Damon loves putting you in your place, he adores holding immense power over you.

Bite marks litter your body, purple patches coat your neck - Damon’s constant, little ‘reminders’ to show you who you belong to. His affection is equally barbaric; his touches leave bruises, his kisses result in bloodied, swollen lips.

Don’t squirm when he forces you onto his lap to place kisses along your shoulder, don’t cry when he tightly embraces you in bed, and maybe he’ll be gentle.

His ego is a possible source of exploitation - worship him, tell him how big and strong he is, confess your adoration, and he may just let his guard down.

If you ever consider escape, pray he never finds you. Damon will yank you by the hair as he tells you just how much you’ve fucked up. A series of harsh punishments follow, to ingrain the fact that you belong to him, that you can never escape him. There’s no painkillers, no warning or care as he begins applying painful pressure to your legs. He’ll ensure you can’t run from him again.

Non-Yandere Headcanons

Damon found work as a bouncer for a few years, until he was abruptly fired for hospitalizing a rowdy client. As a result, he’s resorted to… less than ethical means of income.

Damon’s birthday is on March 27th, though he isn’t one to celebrate it.

You bet this dude has a motorcycle, and he treats it like his child.

Damon is built like an absolute tank - a brick wall of raw, hard power. He’s proud of his stature.

He tastes, and often smells, like booze and cigarettes - indicative of his poor habits.

Ray:

Attraction + Pursuit

Ray’s infatuation, a product of a seemingly inconsequential interaction, is quick to fester into enraptured obsession. He’ll form an emotional dependency, a suffocating need, toward the poor soul he’s latched onto.

He’ll find a desire to satiate his growing obsession, to satisfy the numerous questions about you that weigh constantly on his mind. He can’t approach you directly, the very thought makes his heart threaten to leap from his chest. Instead, he’ll opt to stalk you, just so he can learn everything about you. He’ll become acquainted with your place of residence, rifling through your belongings - perhaps even taking some to keep for himself. You could’ve sworn you had more pairs of underwear.

The more he finds out about you, the more ultimately enamoured he becomes. Ray can’t stop thinking about you. That’s when the drawings begin. They start as idle sketches, cute doodles accompanied by scribbled love-hearts. It isn’t long before Ray is struck with grander inspiration, your likeness becoming a mainstake in his manga. He draws panels upon panels of his love-sick longing; taking you on the romantic dates you deserve, heartfelt confessions of love which reek of shoujo cliche, tender kisses and gentle touches. They line the walls of his room, accompanied by the various photographs he’s taken of you - for reference, of course.

That isn’t the extent of his collection, however. Ray keeps a private stash; the outlet for his more salacious desires. He feels somewhat bad about drawing your perfect form in such disgusting, compromising scenarios, but his filthy needs overpower his consideration.

Ray’s rationality, as middling as it is, only erodes as his obsession grows more unrestrained. He’ll be increasingly emboldened, sending you love letters and anonymous text messages with such detail that they establish…. troubling implications.

His gnawing need for you only grows further. It keeps him up at night, his fingers shakely caressing your clothes desperately hoping it’ll bring him comfort. He wants to rip his hair out sometimes - he just wants to touch you, he wants to love you, he needs you more than anything.

Ray isn’t a violent man, but if anyone threatens his one-sided relationship with you, well - he can’t let that happen. A baseball bat, and the lovestruck conviction to swing it, work wonders at remeding his problems. He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone, he frantically tells himself as he washes the blood from his hands.

He eventually reaches the conclusion that he has to take you. The very thought of you being swept away, abandoning him, is enough to make his decision a certainty. Ray assures himself that it’s what’s best for you - he can take care of you, keep you safe and secure.

Unlike Damon, Ray goes about his kidnapping with significantly more finesse. He can’t stand the thought of hurting you - he’ll instead opt to slip something in your drink, or ambush you with a strong-smelling rag against your nose.

Post-kidnapping + Punishment

You’ll wake up, gagged and handcuffed to his bedpost; This marks the beginning of your ‘relationship’. He’ll try desperately to tell you he won't hurt you, to convince you that he just wants to help you. His fingers seem magnetised to you, itching and yearning to feel you beneath them. The blazing blush across his face, the bashful grin adorning his lips, and the utterly deranged adoration that speckle his eyes betray just how content he is.

He’ll be quick to show you just how much he loves you; flicking through all his artwork of you, reaffirming that it’s all been for you.

Ray is patient, understanding, but completely overbearing. When he sees how terrified you are he can’t help but coil himself around you and mutter reassurances against your skin - even if he’s the very source of your fear

“It’s okay, everything’s going to be okay. I-I have you now, you d-don’t have to be afraid anymore”.

It won’t take long to realize just how needy he is - his touch-starved skin rarely leaving yours. He relishes in your sweet touch, nuzzling against you as his arms wrap around you, his fingers exploring every inch of your flesh. Whines and groans escape him whenever he’s deprived of your addictive touch.

Ray’s insists on feeding you, sitting you on his lap as he plays video games or draws, pulling you close and burying his nose in your hair as he drifts to sleep. His kisses, as rare as they are without your consent, are sloppy and inexperienced - but laced with such a raw, unrestrained need.

Lives for your praise and validation, outright begging for it. His heart swells at any crumbs he can extrapolate. You stared at his artwork? You must love it! You didn’t flinch away when he kissed you? You must want him just as much as he wants you.

Ray isn’t one for punishments, he couldn’t bring himself to willingly hurt his precious darling. If you grow violent or reckless, he’ll simply pin you down and wait out your little outburst.

But if he ever fears you may leave him, or if you ever manage to escape and he catches you - he has no quarrels about doing anything if it means you can’t escape. The thought of you abandoning him makes him completely unhinged. Ray’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means hurting you. He’ll cry and scream, begging you to tell him why ‘you’re making him do this’.

“Y-You can’t leave me! Don’t you get it?! I-I can’t live without you!”

Non-yandere Headcanons

Ray’s birthday is on October 10th, although he never usually has anyone to celebrate with...

Despite his shut-in nature, Ray likes to remain fit. He frequents the gym at his apartment complex (at night of course; less people). He did martial arts during his teenage years, and reluctantly joined his school’s volleyball team. This results in a lean physique comprised of sinewy, surprisingly strong muscles - all the better to restrain protect his darling.

He makes money from his web manga and commissions, as well as working part time at a videogame store. Has a surprisingly good work ethic.

Survives off the college diet of caffeine and ramen - but he’ll try his damndest to change it if his darling is less than receptive of his refined cuisine.

His hygiene… isn’t the best. He’s a firm believer that a shower can be replaced with spraying oneself with copious amounts of cheap, intoxicatingly strong body spray.

#yandere #yandere x reader #tw abuse #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #oc #ocs #my writing #my ocs #ray #damon #ray x reader #damon x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines

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vikingpoteto · 4 years

Text

problem solver

Read on AO3

______________________

Relationships: GEN. Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne

Summary: Tim's job has always been fixing things up, giving everyone backup, making sure there is a contigency plan for the contigency plan and everything runs smoothly. However, even the best of them ought to grow exhausted and maybe - just maybe - Tim needs to learn that, when you have your family's back, they're willing to return the favor.

________________________

He had had nightmares that felt sweeter than the present.

Even with his arm twisted in a painful lock behind his back and his cheek pressed to the ground, Tim doesn’t feel anything but fatigue. He thinks to himself that it’s been a while since the last time Jason had held him like that, like Tim was the enemy.

Tim doesn’t blame him, though. Even from where he is, he can see Dick kneeling next to Damian’s limp body. It’s a shame that Cass wasn’t around, really, she would’ve been fast enough to stop Tim. Or perhaps Duke, with his powers. But maybe not. They wouldn’t expect Tim to do that, so even the fastest of them wouldn’t have stopped him once he started moving.

There is a puddle of blood on the ground ant that’s an unpleasant sight.

Just that.

Unpleasant.

Damian isn't moving and Tim just wishes he didn’t have to see it.

“ Timothy ,” Jason hisses. When he notices Tim isn’t fighting, he loosens his grip a bit. When Tim still doesn’t move, Jason turns him around abruptly and shakes him by the shoulders. “Tim, what the fuck was that? Who did this to you? Who’s controlling you?”

Right. Of course Jason’s mind would go there. Jay had been out of control before, after all, he still didn’t believe Tim had done such a horrible thing. He should feel good that his brother has that much faith in him, but, again, it feels like nothing.

“It was me,” Tim says, his voice weak. “It was all me. I’m such a failure, aren’t I? But it’s fine. None of this is real.”

Tim had never seen Jason looking so horrified. He likes that about as much as the puddle of blood.

“It’ll be over soon,” Tim assures, and he glances at the giant computer screen. The clock says 00:59. It changes to 01:00. He closes his eyes just as he feels Jason’s hands leaving him.

He opens his eyes again. He’s still in the cave. Jason has retreated several steps and is now staring at Tim like never before, an emotion so intense he doesn’t know how to name. He turns around. Dick is now cradling Damian in his arms, but the boy is still not moving even as his older brother pathetically calls his name.

Tim doesn’t like that either, so closes his eyes again.

He opens his eyes. Nothing’s changed. He stares at the computer. 01:01, says the clock, but Tim isn’t waking up.

“Why am I not waking up?”

No one answers him. He still doesn’t wake up. Dick starts openly sobbing, but Damian doesn’t open his eyes to tell him to stop being a baby. Tim doesn’t wake up and Jason doesn’t approach him again and Tim doesn’t dare look at him, because he’s suddenly aware that Jason looking at him like that hurts a lot. Tim doesn’t wake up, but neither does Damian and he’s slowly realizing he’s the one that’s done that and nothing is happening to change that and that hurts more.

Tim is a problem solver. He had come to the Wayne Manor, joined the BatFamily because he was going to fix things, he was supposed to keep everyone safe-

Tim wakes up. He’s alone on his bed. The phone on the bedside table says it’s 1am, sharp.

On that night, Bruce is awake, as he is most nights. It isn’t his turn to patrol. He could be in his bed now, using the night off to get some rest.

However, as much as he chastises Tim for his (lack of) sleeping habits, Bruce can’t sleep, not even when he isn’t on duty. Especially when he isn’t on duty. He stalls, ignores Dick’s judgemental looks and ends up at the Batcave going over a cold case that might be active again, his eldest on his shoulder. He’ll sleep as soon as Cassandra and Duke come home.

Damian is at the computer reading a police report and Bruce has half a mind to send him to bed - he’s still figuring out the most efficient way to do so - when he hears rushed footsteps.

“DAMIAN!” Tim shouts from the entrance, his voice echoes horribly against the silence.

Bruce lets out a tired sigh, wondering what sort of prank it was this time. He watches as Tim darts down into the cave and makes a beeline to Damian, Bruce and Dick tensing up and getting ready to intervene in a fight as Damian jumps to his feet and stands on guard to… be wrapped tightly into Tim’s arms.

“Drake, what is the meaning of this?” Damian gasps, his voice breaking in his confusion.

Only then Bruce notices Tim’s shoulders are shaking. Tim squeezes his little brother tighter against his chest and lets himself fall to his knees, dragging Damian down a bit.

“Cease this absurd behavior right away!” Damian demands, glancing at Bruce and Dick as though expecting them to do something.

Both of them had been stunned into inaction, however.

“Y-you’re here,” Tim chokes out. Tim is crying. “I thought I- I thought I lost you.”

Damian’s eyes grow wide in utter panic. He finally wraps his tiny arms around the other boy. He again looks at his father in a silent, but clear plea of help.

As usual, Dick is faster to recover. “Timmy?” He calls, approaching his brothers and crouching down by their side. “Timmy, what’s going on?”

Tim simply shakes his head, his face buried into Damian’s chest and his body still trembling. Bruce knows Tim has been through a lot. All of them have. He knows Tim particularly is familiar with loss. Still, Bruce doesn’t remember ever seeing Tim breaking down like that.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpers, “I’m so sorry, Dami, I really thought I- I-”

“You what? What has gotten into you, you energum?”

“I- I thought you were dead,” Tim whispers.

That finally shocks Bruce into moving. One of his children is breaking down in front of him, he has to do something. He joins Dick by kneeling in front of his youngest sons and slowly reaches for Tim’s shoulder.

“Tim, Damian is here. He’s safe. You both are,” he says.

Tim lets out a strangled laughter without any humor and Bruce doesn’t want to hear such a horrible sound ever again. “N-not thanks to me, he isn’t.”

Dick makes as if he’s going to try to pry Tim off of Damian to be able to see his face. Damian glares him down before he can do anything. Dick settles for squeezing his brother’s other shoulder and asking in a soft voice:

“Timmy, can you explain what’s going on? Did you have a nightmare?”

“ God . I wish,” Tim sobs, his voice still muffled into his brother’s chest. “Except I can’t wake up. I never wake up, not for real. Th-this why I don’t like sleeping.”

At loss, Dick turns to Bruce, worry twisting his expression and confusion in his eyes. As their father, Bruce should have answers. He doesn’t have answers. He simply watches his teenage son shake in utter grief no child should be so familiar with and he is powerless and confused. It feels awful to just sit back and know there is something for him to do, however it’s outside of his knowledge.

“C-compose yourself, Drake,” Damian tries again. But his voice is weaker now, a little hoarse. His little arms are still awkwardly looped around Tim and his gaze shows he’s petrified.

Dauntless and brash Damian looks like the 12-year-old he is, confused and scared. Damian, Bruce realizes, had never seen Tim breaking down. Tim is his rival, his infuriatingly logical and calculating brother that can take any situation swiftly and solve any problem by sheer force of will. Tim, that never wavered, even when Damian was trying his hardest to crack him.

Bruce can’t wallow in self-pity about his parental skills now. His pride is nowhere near as important as his children. “Tim,” he asks, being careful to keep his voice calm and collected. “Son, talk to me. What do you need from us?”

What he needs, what he wants. Whatever it is, Bruce will get it.

Tim hesitantly pulls away from Damian without letting him go. When he turns to his father, it takes every bit of Bruce’s strength to keep his calm mask. There are bags darker than usual under Tim’s clear eyes, his nose is crimson red and his usually bony face is puffy from so much crying. His helpless expression breaks Bruce’s heart in a million pieces.

“Jason,” Tim says, his voice hefty. “Bring Jason here. Please.”

Dick is already moving before Tim finishes his request. Bruce stays with his son.

“He’ll be here soon,” he says, certain. His last encounter with Red Hood had been less than ideal, but Bruce knows Jason won’t ignore a call from Dick and he especially won’t hesitate to come for Tim. “What else?”

“Just J-Jason. It has to be Jay.”

“That’s not what it looks like,” Damian mumbles, still caught in Tim’s embrace.

Tim lets out a little chuckle. Again it’s hollow, humorless. Bruce hates it.

“I’m sorry, Dami,” Tim mutters. “Just… Just a little bit more. I need this.”

“Tt. Do what you must."

Jason was asleep when he got the call. He wants to tell his brother to fuck off and go back to bed, but with their family business being like it is… Well. Jason knows it’s never a good idea to ignore a phone call. Dick sounded confused when he asked Jason to come over because Tim needs him and he couldn’t explain why.

It’s a good thing Jason doesn't need why. Dick says Tim is asking for him. Tim never asks for what he needs, not unless the world is ending. Jason was getting into his outfit and out of the door before Dick hangs up.

He doesn’t know what to expect when he rides into the cave. Dick assured him that Tim wasn’t physically hurt, he was just asking for Jason. He certainly didn’t expect to find his brother sitting on the computer chair with Damian on his lap.

It’d be cute if it wasn’t concerning. Damian is still short enough to sit there almost comfortably with Tim’s chin resting on his shoulder and Tim’s arms loosely wrapped around his middle. Damian has his arms crossed like the world's grumpiest teddy bear and a murderous expression that challenges Jason to laugh at the scene if he wishes for death.

Jason doesn’t laugh. Not when his eyes meet Tim’s and it’s clear that his brother had been crying not long ago. He ignores Bruce and Dick uselessly standing around and takes off his helmet before walking towards his younger brothers.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

When Tim speaks, his voice is almost to hoarse to recognize. “I’m stuck in a time loop.”

“Damn it. Again?”

His sarcastic reply makes Tim’s lips quirk up a bit. His expression returns to somber too fast for Jason’s liking.

“You’re the only one that always believes me right away,” Tim tells him.

As hypocritical as it is, Jason hates magic shit. Hates it.

“Alright. Let’s break your loop. What’s the last thing you remember before the loop?”

“It was 10pm. Alfred forced me to go to bed. Then I wake up three hours later and it starts.”

Jason glances at Bruce and Dick and they nod in confirmation that that’s their latests Tim memory too. He turns back to his brother.

“Alright. Any constants?”

While time loops are a first for them, they watched enough movies to know there is always something specific repeating itself.

Before answering, Tim hesitates and squeezes Damian again. Jason is surprised when the gremlin uncrosses his arms and awkwardly offers Tim a little pat on the hand.

“The thing that always happens is… You die.”

Jason goes stiff. He can hear Bruce and Dick reacting behind him, but he has to focus on keeping himself calm. Despite his own issues, this is still about Tim.

“Just me?” he asks, as casually as he manages.

“Just you.”

Slowly putting what he knows together, Jason glances at the protective way Tim is holding Damian. Of all of them to be stuck in a time loop, he thinks Tim is the most likely to think his way out. Of all of them, he has the best memory, he’s the one that finds it easier to put away his feelings in a little box and do what’s the best to be done. For him to be that distressed about Damian…

Jason doesn’t beat around the bush, the way he knows Tim prefers. “Tim, did you kill Damian on the last loop?”

Dick inhales sharply. Bruce doesn’t make any noise, but Jason figures he’s frozen in horror. Damian stares at Jason as if he’s gone mad as Tim squeezes him a bit tighter before slowly retreating into the chair. His arms are still around his younger brother, but all Damian had to do was to stand up and he’d be free of his hugging pillow duty. Damian doesn’t move, not even when Tim whispers:

“I did.”

Jason nods. He’s glad that Tim’s eyes are trained on his, because he doesn’t want to even imagine what kind of reaction Dick and Bruce are showing behind him.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

Tim breathes in and out. “It was the seventy-first loop. You were teasing him over something stupid and he had that… that stupid katana. He said he was going to kill if you didn’t shut up and I...” At this point, he retreats fully into the chair, willingly putting distance between him and his little brother. “I didn’t think. I was on high alert for any threat, I just… I hit him with my staff. He fell. I hit him in the back of the head, and… he didn’t get up.”

Damian still doesn’t leave. His expression is unreadable.

“And… and I didn’t care. Dick was horrified, you restrained me and I just… I just got annoyed and waited. But then it was time, the loop didn’t restart and I-”

Tim runs out of breath and chokes on thin air, unable to continue for a moment. No one says anything, even Jason unsure of where to start. He also notices that the whole time Tim doesn't make any excuses for himself, like he does for the many people that hurt him in the past and he's forgiven. He doesn't use the word accident. He doesn't try to remind them he didn't mean to, even though he didn't. Jason thought Tim was making a lot of progress on the self-worth department lately, but apparently some steps backwards were taken.

“I thought it was over. I thought I cemented a timeline in which I killed my little brother. What kind of monster am I? How come my first instinct was to deadly wound anyone, let alone Damian? Then it restarted and… And I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe you guys should put me-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Damian hisses. He turns to face Tim, his tiny arms tightly crossed again and his eyes steeled with conviction. “I thought you were supposed to be smart, Drake.”

“Damian,” Jason starts in warning.

Damian makes a gesture to silence him and continues: “How can you think that’s your first instinct? That was hardly the first thing you’ve done. What sounds to me is that you watched your favorite brother die seventy times and you were pushed to the extreme. I would not call that bloodlust.”

Tim blinks. “But I didn’t…”

“Of course you didn’t care. You thought it was inconsequential. After watching a family member’s gruesome death so many times, you’d be desensitized as a defense mechanism. That’s only logical. As soon as you thought it might be real, however, you reacted as expected and came to me crying like a child.”

No one says anything for a moment. Damian deliberately leans backwards, pressing his back to Tim’s stomach.

“Besides, it was an accident. You didn’t attack to kill, you attacked to incapacitate and miscalculated the amount of strength needed. It happens to the best of us.”

Jason could have smiled at the kid. He thinks his lips quirk up against his will when Damian grabs Tim’s hands and pulls them so he’s being held again. Confusion replaces the lost look on Tim’s face for a bit.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but the gremlin is right. You’re fine, Timbers,” Jason says.

For a horrible moment, blue eyes become watery and Jason feels as though there is a knife twisting in his gut. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen Tim crying. It’s not one of his favorite experiences.

“Timmy,” Dick starts, his voice soft. “How long is every loop?”

“About 24 hours,” Tim says. “It restarts exactly at 1am.”

“And in all of those loops… how many times have you stopped to sleep? Or eat?”

Tim stares at his older brother as though he’s speaking an alien dialect. Dick sighs.

“Well, buddy, it sounds like you’ve been awake for 2 hellish months.”

“But… But I’m always in my room at 1am. Doesn’t that mean I got to sleep like Alfred wanted?”

“Well. We can’t know for sure, but you sure looks like someone that needs some rest,” Dick insists.

Tim tries to protest but Bruce walks to him and combs his fingers through his son’s hair. The touch is enough to shut him up.

“Let’s be practical, chum,” he says. “We need you to be okay to be able to help us. I don’t think you can as you are now. I need you to drink a glass of warm milk and take a nap for about an hour. While you rest, your brothers and I will do research into time anomalies. When you get up, you can join us. How’s that sound?”

A frown. Jason is ready to force him if he must. He resolves crumbles a bit when his little brother turns his gaze to him and asks in the smallest voice:

“Are you still going to be here when I wake up?”

Jason’s throat is clogged. He used to think that his early demise had been inconsequential and that hurt like hell. He didn’t think that it hurt just as much to learn that it mattered, that his family cared, that Tim cared so much, because Jason never ever wanted to be the reason behind that forlorn look in any of his brothers, let alone Tim. Tim who was always there for them, who always worked the hardest, who was Jason’s go0to prank partner, who laughed at his jokes and embraced him as family when he had every reason not to.

“I promise I will,” Jason manages. “You know I’m a man of word, Timbers.”

“We’ll take care of him for you,” Dick adds. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid until you’re back to scold him and all that.

Tim hesitates, glancing from one brother to the other and then to their father. He seems to try and assess his condition and recognizes he feels tired - if not physically, Jason doesn’t need to be a genius to know he must be emotionally exhausted. Finally, he nods.

Well, that had been a rollercoaster from start to… the middle? Damian doesn’t think this is the end per se. It’s best if they put their plan into action sooner better than later, so the boy finally jumps to his feet in order to leave his brother’s lap

“Very well,” he says, “I reckon I’m on Drake Duty, is that correct?”

“Drake Duty?” Timothy repeats, frowning.

Damian shoots him a haughty glare. “Forgive me if I don’t trust you, but you do have the habit of sneaking under our noses to do extra work when you’re supposed to be resting. I’ll be the one making sure you stay in your bed, as you should.”

Besides, Damian doesn’t think Timothy should be left alone as it is. Not that he minds, he just thinks the older boy is unstable and needs to be watched. He’s not worried, just cautious.

“Hm. I was actually going to take a nap at the reading den?” Timothy says. “I… I don’t want to be in my room right now.”

It’s to be expected that he wants to avoid the place where the loop starts, of course.

“Tim, you’re going to wreck your spine if you keep sleeping in the library,” Richard chastises gently.

Damian sighs. “If your room is the issue, mine should suffice, isn’t that right? You may take a rest in my bed.”

The surprised look Timothy gives him is outward insulting. Damian feels as though the others have the same expression, so his cheeks start getting warmer. Annoyed, he tuts and grabs Timothy's hand, starting to drag him away.

“Well? We should not be wasting time!”

“Uh. Yeah,” Timothy mutters. Then, sounding a bit more like his usual self, he tells the others: “We have yet to contact Doctor Fate or Zatanna, they do not pick up their phones. Constantine will answer if Dick’s the one calling, but the day restarted before we knew if he was any help. Bart and Wally have no idea about what’s going on, but uncle Barry had a hunch based on his last essay. Do not contact Booster Gold, his place is on fire and we wasted a lot of time putting it out and he was no help. … Maybe send someone there to help him?”

By then, Damian has successfully dragged Timothy out of the cave and their brothers and father were left to follow his directions. Damian briefly consideres forcing Timothy to sleep and joining them, but decides against it. Thomas and Cain should be joining them soon and he knows their father won’t rest until he finds an appropriate solution.

“You don’t have to do this, Dami,” Timothy says. “I promise I’ll actually sleep. I can take Jason’s bedroom instead. He hasn’t used it in ages, but I know Alfred didn’t leave it dusty.”

Damian ignores him.

“Really, you-”

“For someone that couldn’t let go of me until a couple of minutes ago, you’re sure talking a lot of nonsense,” Damian huffs. “I’m not Todd, but I know you enough that I'm sure that, the moment I leave your sight, you’re going to start torturing yourself.”

Timothy is silent after that. They go up the stairs like that and for the first time Damian doesn’t feel like a toddler while he holds someone’s hand. He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s the one guiding or the strange situation. Despite everything, it isn’t entirely unpleasant. He considers for a moment telling Richard that he doesn’t hate hand-holding after all, but decides against it. Richard would definitely abuse that knowledge.

Alfred the cat is napping on Damian’s bed when they arrive. For a moment, Damian panics over having to kick out his precious pet - he has slept on the floor for Alfred before and he’d do it again - but, as soon as he sees his owner, Alfred mercifully stretches and moves to the bottom of the mattress, leaving plenty of free space.

Looking nothing like the, Damian begrudgingly admits, intimidating hero Red Robin, Timothy fumbles with the hem of his ratty hoodie and hesitates. The hoodie is purple and weirdly tight around the arms, so Damian suspects that it belongs to someone else. It gives him an idea.

“Do you need me to bring Brown over?” he asks.

Again, Timothy gives him a surprised look.

Stubbornly, Damian holds his gaze even when he feels his cheeks warming up. He knows he’s not suggesting anything outlandish, because he knows Brown’s unstoppable cheerfulness is on par with the Bats' unmoving angst. He also knows calling her is acceptable, because he heard Todd make the same suggestion once. Timothy was running himself to the ground over an unsolved case and snapped at Todd. Instead of putting Timothy in his place, Todd had simply rolled his eyes and asked Timothy in a whisper Damian is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear, do you want me to ask Steph to come over? and lo and behold, an hour later Brown was climbing inside and making a lot of noise. She forced Timothy to eat and the two ended up asleep together in the living room. On the following day, Timothy looked more like a human being.

“Steph is out of town,” Timothy says. “I tried calling her in a couple of loops. She’s always out of town.”

Oh.

If Brown isn’t around, Timothy has to settle for the next best thing, that would be… well, Todd. But Todd is busy, so the next best thing would be… Cain. Then Richard. … Then Thomas.

But alas! None of them are available so Damian will have to do.

“Well then,” he mumbles. “She’s too noisy anyway. Why are you still standing?”

Like a skittish stray, Timothy climbs beneath Damian’s blanket while Damian stands there, his hands on his hips and his foot tapping on the floor impatiently.

Once he’s settled, Timothy glances at him. “Are you going to just… stand there?”

Damian supposes it’s not ideal to try to sleep with a standing guard, is it? With another tut, he climbs into bed as well, glad that it’s big enough for the two of them and then some.

...then, seeing Timothy’s wide eyes, Damian realizes this isn’t the outcome he expected. Damian curses inwardly, because he can never predict what Timothy is thinking. Richard is ridiculously easy to read, as is Thomas. Todd and Cain he can understand to an extent. But Timothy? He’s a complete mystery.

“Hm. Dami, are…” Timothy struggles with his words. That’s a first. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Damian tries to kill him with a single glare. Timothy seems to find his expression amusing and relaxes a bit.

“Not like that, brat, you know I know you’re deadly, and all that. I mean… aren’t you wary of me after I said…”

“Do you want me to repeat the very solid arguments I already presented?”

“No, just… I get them, rationally. They make sense. But still.”

Damian sighs. “Still nothing. If that’s the case, shouldn’t you be wary of me? I did try to end you. Repeatedly.”

“That was a long time ago, though, we didn’t really know each other.”

“And, by all means, your traumatic experience was with a version of me I don't even know from a reality I’m not a part of. Go to sleep, Drake.”

They stay quiet for a moment. Timothy sits up abruptly. Before Damian can scold him, he grabs the alarm clock on the bedside table and sets it to go off one hour from now, which is smart, Damian will give him that. Then he glares until Timothy lies down again and they’re both on their sides, facing one another.

Alfred the cat stands again and comes lie down between the two boys. The room is completely silent save for soft purs and the even softer tick-tock coming from the nightstand.

Damian stares at his brother’s closed eyelids and he knows Timothy is wide awake.

“Do you really see me like that?” he hears himself whispering.

As expected, Timothy’s eyes shoot open. “Of course not, Dami.”

All right, ouch. That hurts.

“I know you would never hurt Jason,” Timothy proceeds. “That’s why I… that’s why I was so messed up. I knew you weren’t a real threat, not to him. But I still freaked, I still moved before I could think and I…”

Oh. Damian hadn’t considered that, but that’s reassuring. He nods briefly but soon adds:

“I don’t mean that. I mean what you said after.”

Timothy frowns. “What?”

“You know.”

“I really don’t.”

“Forget it.”

“No, Dami, what is it? You know I’m curious, I’m not gonna by able to sleep if you don’t tell me.”

The boy groans, because how is he the youngest in this situation?

“I meant… When you said I’m your little brother.”

“Oh.” Timothy blinks owlishly, his eyes growing big before his voice grows small: “I mean… yeah. I know it’s not mutual, but… You’re part of my family, Damian. Sure, an annoying, cocky part, but… I like having you around. I still love you. I wouldn’t want to send you away or to hurt you or… anything like that.”

Damian makes a dismissive noise and looks away. Timothy used to be more bearable. He wouldn’t say out loud those things to anyone when Damian first arrived. It was his time with that gang of hooligans that were Jon’s brother and the other two that ruined Timothy. He came back home a lot more willing to let Richard cling to him and comfortable saying such embarrassing things to Cain and Pennyworth and Todd and… and now Damian.

“Dami, did you… did you think I don’t see you as a brother?” Timothy asks.

More mumbling. Damian isn’t avoiding his gaze because he’s embarrassed, but because Timothy’s icy stare can be so stupidly intense it’s uncomfortable.

“I thought I burned that bridge a couple of attempted murders ago,” he finally admits.

“That happened to a version of me from a reality I’m no longer a part of.”

Another frustrated noise. He buries his face into the pillow.

“Damian.” Timothy calls. Annoyingly, he waits until Damian looks at him. It’s a trick he learned from Richard, Damian is sure. “You’re my little brother. For best or worse, I… I’ll never let something like the last loop happen. Ever.”

Damian doesn’t know what to say, so he remains silent. Timothy realizes he’s not getting any reply, so he simply closes his eyes again.

It seems unfair that Timothy has to make that whole speech when Damian is the one that’s supposed to be in charge. It feels like he’s losing somehow. Letting out a huff, Damian mutters:

“It is.”

“Hm?”

“You said it’s not mutual. That’s ridiculous. You can’t be someone’s relative one-sidedly. Of course it’s mutual.”

It takes a second for his words to register, and, when they do, Timothy finally lets his lips twist into that annoying smirk he usually wears. He looks genuinely happy, albeit in a tired way.

“Ugh, do not let Richard hear about this,” Damian groans, closing his eyes and turning his back to his brother

“Goodness gracious, I would never.” Timothy chuckles. His sarcasm is less effective when his voice is still hoarse from all the crying. “In exchange, promise me you won’t forget that on the next loop.”

Goddamnit, Damian has to turn back. “There will be no next loop.”

“Hmm.”

“Timothy? Look at me.” He does. Damian sustains his gaze. “There will be no other loop. We’re going to fix this as soon as we wake up. You have my word.”

A little hesitation, a lot of fear of holding onto hope. Timothy reaches for Damian’s hand.

“I believe you. So. Am I Timothy now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Drake.”

“Thought so,” Tim says.

Tim allows himself to close his eyes. Damian’s hand is small and warm and undeniably alive. His older brothers are downstairs trying to fix this for him. His father is going to protect him, too. Soon his sister and his new brother will join them and there is no doubt in his mind that they’re going to have his back.

His family is going to solve it for him.

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.14

Hunk drove a very hyper Pidge home. Letting her mix flavours had been a bad idea, Pidge talking the whole drive home so fast that Lance was surprised she was managing to drink her slushies in between her words. Promising his best buddy he’d fill him in the following morning, Lance felt a little awkward as he let him and Keith into his empty house. His beloved bronco wasn’t back yet, Shiro extremely lucky Lance didn’t have his phone number to hound him about taking care of his baby girl. Hovering at the base of the stairs, both men stood their awkwardly. Lance feeling weird as he knew he needed to say something, but wasn’t sure what that something was. Playing it safe, he opted for an apology. Keith’s life had been thrown in turmoil, just like Lance’s, and the man clearly missed his brother, something Lance couldn’t make better for him. Maybe if they’d met when in college, he and Keith could have been friends. Keith’s anger clearly stemmed from trauma, his repeated fixation on thinking he’d been turned very clearly said that. Lance had the feeling is had something to do with whatever happened to Shiro’s partner, but he wasn’t in the position to pry.

“Hey. I’m sorry we dragged you out. I know I was kind of a pushy, and you can probably put that down to my people pleasing personality, but I hope some part of tonight was enjoyable. It’s no easy, or fun, being on the outside, but Hunk and Pidge are good people. I’m not just using them to blend in, it was never like that. They’re both special to me. I know we’re like strangers and it’s awkward as hell living together, but I think after tonight I like you a little more than I did. I don’t think you’re a fundamentally bad person, and I’m not going to push you to talk to me. I guess what I want to say is, that I swear on Blue I’m not in the habit of hurting people. That doesn��t mean much coming from a vampire, because honestly, most of us are huuuuuuge douche canoes. But as long as you’re under my roof, I’m going to treat you like an actual human being, and not as “Keith the hunter”. I don’t know how many times I can apologise for being what I am, but I’m too much of a coward to off myself. I thinking part of my emotional growth was stunted from being turned... and, well, yeah. I’ll let you head to bed or whatever. If you can’t sleep, help yourself to whatever. I would prefer you stay out of my office for the sake of my clients, but I know you can get in there anyway... yeah... anyway, I’m headed up to bed... I’ll see you in the morning”

Lance’s undead heart leapt when Keith opened his mouth, only to fall when Keith closed his mouth and looked away. He’d probably said too much again. He was trying so damn hard, and he wasn’t exactly sure why it even mattered. Until Shiro came back, both he and Keith were left in limbo... Lance still kind of hoped that Shiro leaving Keith with him meant the older hunter wasn’t about to come for his head in the middle of the night, and that some time apart would make it easy for Shiro to see his brother was very much the human idiot he’d always been.

“How old are you?”

Lance nearly dropped the remnants of his slushy in surprise. Strawberry hadn’t been the smartest choice. Pidge had teased him about looking like a vampire for having red around his lips, and all over his teeth. Honesty was best when dealing with people in trauma

“I’m 44. In human years”

“Okay”

That was it. The limit of Keith’s vocabulary for the night. The hunter trudging towards his room, leaving Lance to walk up the stairs to his own. Stripping down and changing for bed, Blue let out a rumbled purr as she came running into his room and leapt up onto his bed to wait for him. He really must look like the lamest vampire Keith had ever met. Just a lonely vampire and his cat, living in the middle of nowhere. It was a good thing Lance didn’t mind being lame.

Lance’s dreams were horrible. He’d woken half a dozen times unable to escape the feelings flowing through his body. His teeth hurt, cutting into his lip as he huddled against his bedhead. He felt flushed with fever, arm aching as if he’d broken it. The skin had healed over the wound, but it itched so badly Lance wanted to scratch until it bled. Shivering and sick, he’d fallen back to sleep around dawn, waking with a throat feeling as though clogged with his death soil. Blue hadn’t left him, though that might not have been her choice given the door to his bedroom was closed, instead of slightly open so Blue could come and go as she pleased.

Showering only made Lance feel worse, he couldn’t get the temperature to cooperate and nearly tore the tap handle off it’s fitting trying. He ended up feeling like soggy cardboard, all wet and useless, as he towelled off and peered in the least cracked slither of mirror left. Today was definitely a day for make up. No amount of blood was going to bring back colour into his dulled skin. Being the youngest, he’d spent many a time as his older sister Rachel’s model. Mami had beaten her arse red on more than one occasion when Rachel had tried using nail polish as eyeshadow... his sister not the most skilled person to be giving anyone a make over, but his other sister Veronica had grown out of all of that kind of thing by the time Rachel had gotten old enough to be right into all frilly girly things, leaving Lance to be her victim repeatedly. After he’d turned, all of that had stopped. Initially his Papi would gently send everyone away from him, until his Mami took him by the ear and reminded him that though different, Lance was still their baby boy. When he’d been older his Papi apologised, but he never knew how good a vampire‘s memory was, that those days still stayed with Lance no matter how many years had passed. Today was not the day to be looking like a movie extra in a budget film, his whole face felt choked as he smeared his foundation on, before giving his lips a quick coat of waterproof lipstick, though humans had never really got the recipe for that right. Continuing his morning routine, he dressed as nicely as he could shirt wise, then opted for sweats on the bottom. It wasn’t like his conference call was going to be worried about his lack of proper attire when his shirt looked professional enough.

Coming downstairs, Lance darted through to his office, teeth aching all over again as he opened a bag of blood, messily drinking down the contents like he hadn’t been fed for days. Coran had said to expect a low, but this was nearing ridiculous. He wasn’t in any fit condition to entertain Keith with half hearted fighting, let alone provide legal representation to the clients trusting him in. Spilling blood across his laptop came as the final straw, Lance sinking to the floor where he balled himself under his desk, to scared to call Coran, and too scared to sit up and human. Instead he remained hidden there until his laptop started to ring, letting him know he’d spent a good three hours wallowing rather pathetically.

Before the family court, the matter took all of 15 minutes. Lance speaking smoothly, as he bounced his left leg, hands digging into his sweats hard enough that his nails had ripped through. Things would have been different if he’d known he could jump in his car and straight up to Platt, instead of this horrible feeling like he was a prisoner in his own home. The little voice in his head mocked him for not being able to pick up his phone and call Coran, paranoid over how Keith would act if Coran came running because he couldn’t keep his shit together. He didn’t want to die. Not while his Mami still lived. He didn’t want to break her heart, or prove the rest of his siblings right. He didn’t want Coran to be hurt, not that he thought Keith had the power to take Coran down... it was just... sometimes words left a wound that even the deepest blade was left dull in comparison. Keith was lashing out, hitting that target without aiming, like being caught in a spray of bullets. Coran didn’t deserve that with all the good for Lance and those like him. For Keith’s sake, Lance needed to keep all this shit secret. The hunter had signed up for his head, not his sob story.

Leaving the office, Lance headed into the kitchen. Keith at the kitchen bench trying to figure out the coffee machine. Dropping the pod in his hands, the hunter picked it back up without saying anything, but he didn’t need to. Lance knew how weak and pathetic he was, he could see it reflected in Keith’s brilliant eyes. Wordlessly he went to the cupboard, pulling out a can of wet food for Blue, Keith taking half a step away from him as he did. It stung. The not so covert action rubbed him the wrong way, not that he’d say so out loud. Pulling the ring tab back, Lance stubbed his toe on the counter as he reached for Blue’s dish. The act bringing tears to his eyes as he finally broke. Sinking down to the floor, he was showing Keith the most shameful side of him that he humanly could.

“Do you take sugar in your coffee?”

The question hung in the air, Lance’s face hidden behind his hands as he wept.

“Lance, do you take sugar in your coffee?”

Keith had said his name. Without any malice or prompting... he didn’t understand why

“I take three usually”

Why was Keith talking to him?

“Shiro says it too many, but I like three. You seem more like a one person”

“A one person”. Keith, who didn’t even think of him as human, was there in his kitchen calling him a person

“Am I really so useless that you’re wasting time on me?”

Lance regretted the harsh tone in his words. Wiping at his teary eyes, he looked up at the hunter to find him looking down on him

“Well you’re practically an animal, but... I think maybe I don’t hate you as much as I should”

Laughter bubbled up, Lance not blaming Keith for stepping back as his tears turned to laughter

“You can go fuck yourself if you’re going to be like that”

Lance’s laughter sobered, the vampire sniffling loudly. Okay. Keith was acting “Keithy” again, he could understand that

“One. Two if Pidge and Hunk are here”

Keith took a moment before a silent “oh” of realisation formed on his lips, turning back to the coffee machine as he tried to fit the pod in properly

“I... I have nightmares too”

Lance cringed. Asleep he hadn’t been able to consciously hold back. Keith had probably heard him screaming the house down, now taking pity on his undead arse

“I heard you calling for someone... friends or something. You we’re really fucking loud”

“I’m sorry”

“Who were they?”

“People who don’t matter”

They didn’t matter but that didn’t mean they weren’t always on his mind

“Nyma and Rolo?”

Lance shuddered at their names. They’d parted so long ago that it didn’t feel fair he should be forced to remember them

“People you don’t want to meet”

“I gathered from your screams. Are they the ones who turned you? Or were they friends?”

“I don’t want to talk about it”

“You say vampires never forget, does that mean you remember what happened with them?”

Lance shook his head quickly

“I don’t want to talk about it”

“So they sired you?”

Lance put his hands over his ears

“Shut up”

“If they did...”

“Shut up! Just shut the fuck up!”

Screaming in anger, Lance hated Keith in that moment for pushing. Nyma and Rolo had been his friends. The keyword being “had”. He was allowed to have things he didn’t want to talk about. Those two were in his past, not is future. Letting his head dropped back, it smacked against the cupboard without enough force to be satisfying. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to break something. He wanted to tear himself out of his own skin. Nudged with Keith’s foot, he shot a look of rage up at Keith, the hunter holding out a cup of coffee

“Drink this. Shiro said he won’t be back for a while, but he was sending someone out to watch over you until he could be”

“I don’t need watching over”

Taking the coffee cup, the handle snapped before Keith had let go completely. Pulling the mug back, the hunter cut his hand on the protruding porcelain at the bottom. Hit by the smell of Keith’s blood, Lance felt all his senses come alive with the need to feed. Both their eyes widened as they met, both in fear over the situation. Keith feared Lance was about to maul him, as Lance feared how good Keith’s blood smelt.

Lance did the only thing he could do. He ran. Keith left staring as he bolted from the kitchen, his hand snapping through the bottom of the staircase railing as the grabbed it to use his momentum to get up his stairs just that little bit faster, tripping in his rush, but pushing himself on faster in the same heartbeat. Reaching his room, he slammed the door behind him, dragging his dresser over to barricade himself in. He hadn’t needed his phone in the office, so left it up on its charge station. Snatching up the device, he copped a glance of his reflection, disgusted at the sight of himself. His hands shook as he unlocked the device, calling the only number he could, Coran. With first ring, he found he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t run to Coran for help. He couldn’t tell him there was something still wrong with him. His phone thrown in disgust where the force shattered the device on impact, and dented the floorboard it’d hit. He didn’t know what to do, but he did know he was a mistake.

#once bitten twice stupid #ashratherose

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thelazyhermits · 4 years

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The Perfect Challenge

This is dedicated to the super sweet @mandsand who so kindly sent some Ko-Fi my way earlier this week. I remembered your ask about Nedzu and came up with an idea that I wanted to write out which goes along with one of the ideas you mentioned in your ask.

I hope you enjoy it! Also, thank you so much for the Ko-Fi! ^-^ I really appreciate it!! <3 <3 <3 <3

Around the middle of February, you find yourself in the principal’s office, sipping tea, while the other teachers keep Eri entertained in the teachers’ lounge. While having teatime with Nedzu isn’t exactly unusual since he often likes to visit the dorm and join Eri’s tea parties, it’s been a while since you last visited his office.

Thankfully, you’re told upfront that you’re not here because you’re in trouble. However, that’s all you’ve been told, so you have absolutely no clue what he wants to talk with you about today.

After you both spend a few minutes calmly enjoying your tea, Nedzu sets his cup down and focuses his attention on you. “I’m sure you are wondering why I called you here today.”

You nod your head. “I know it’s not ‘cause you have bad news for me, but besides that, I have absolutely no idea.”

He chuckles, “The same could be said for the other teachers. Their reactions to finding out that I wanted a private meeting with you today were all very amusing, especially Aizawa-kun’s.”

Blinking, you tilt your head curiously. “So, even they don’t know? Now, I’m even more curious.”

His smile grows. “It’s very simple, really. I wanted to discuss Class 1-A’s final exam with you.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Their final exam? In that case, shouldn’t Shouta-san be a part of this discussion too? Why call just me here?”

Nedzu takes another sip of his tea. “Because I have an idea that I want to run past you first before suggesting it to the other teachers. I will only go through with it if you show your support.”

An idea that he’ll only use if you support it. What in the world could that be?

As if reading your mind, the principal answers your unspoken question. “I would like to do a repeat of what we did in the summer but with one exception.”

A wide grin appears on his face. “Instead of All Might, I want you to be one of the exam proctors.”

Your eyes grow large as your jaw drops. “You want me to what?!”

His eyes glow with obvious amusement and just a hint of mischief. “I want to see how much our students have grown since the summer by using the same exam structure. However, since All Might is now retired, he obviously cannot fight against the students like he did before. So, I am in need of a replacement.”

Once you finally get over your shock, you give him an incredulous look. “But, why me?! Why not another pro hero like Hound Dog?! I don’t understand!”

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I have considered that possibility and will likely have him be an opponent in Class 1-B’s final exam since I do agree he would pose an excellent challenge for the students.”

Confusion dawns your features. “Then, why not have him be an exam proctor for Class 1-A too? How could I possibly provide more of a challenge than an actual pro hero?”

Nedzu presses his paws together. “While it’s true that he overall would be a more challenging opponent for the majority of the students, there is one pair of students I can think of who would benefit more from having you as an opponent instead of him.”

All you can do is stare at him with obvious surprise. “Really? What pair of students would that be?”

With a wide smile, the hybrid outstretches his arms with a flourish. “Why, the two students you know best, of course! Midoriya-kun and Bakugou-kun!”

Once again, you find yourself gaping in disbelief. “You want to put Midoriya and Bakugou in a team against me?!”

The obviously amused principal nods his head. “That’s right! I want to see how much those two have grown by placing them on a team together. Obviously, they have worked together since then, so we know their relationship has improved. However, I have unfortunately not had the opportunity to witness this development with my own eyes, so I want to take the chance to do just that with this exam.”

Well, it is true that the two times you’ve seen Midoriya and Bakugou team up to fight are both times that Nedzu nor any of the other teachers could see them work together. Considering how the events of your vision about the Midoriya/Bakugou vs All Might match went, you can understand why the hybrid would want to see for himself how much they’ve actually grown since then.

While that does make sense to you, there’s one thing you still can’t wrap your mind around. “How would I be the perfect opponent for them? Those two could easily take me down if they worked together. Sure, I can predict their movements with my Quirk, but I can only dodge for so long, especially against two opponents coming at me at the same time.”

Nedzu wags a finger at you. “Now, now, I think you should give yourself more credit. While it’s true they have you beat when it comes to a contest of power, when it comes to a contest of will and intelligence, I think you could be quite the challenging opponent for them.”

Before you can tell him that you’re not so sure about that, he continues, “It seems you haven’t realized it yet, but you have a special advantage over those two, Y/N-san. One that’s great enough that I would choose you over every other teacher to be those boys’ opponent.”

At the sight of your shocked expression, the principal smiles, “You know those boys better than anyone else at this school does, excluding the boys themselves, of course. You’ve been watching those two in your visions for quite some time. So, you are likely very familiar with their strengths and weaknesses along with any habits they may have.”

His smile grows. “I also don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that you’d have an easier time predicting their movements as compared to anyone’s else, and that’s without even using your Quirk. Or, am I wrong?”

For several seconds, all you can do is stare at the hybrid, too stunned to speak. Once you eventually find your voice, you slowly shake your head. “No, you’re right. I didn’t notice it until after I started training with Nighteye, but after he showed me how to better analyze my opponent’s movements, I realized that I do have an easier time doing that when I spar with Midoriya and Bakugou as compared to everyone else.”

You didn’t notice that fact until the day Nighteye had you spar with Midoriya and told you to predict his movements without using your Quirk. You expected to have a hard time with such a feat, but soon enough, you realized that you were wrong.

Because you’ve spent so much time watching the green haired boy, you are very familiar with how his mind works. Obviously, you’re no mind reader, so you can’t predict his every move like you can with your Quirk. However, you have noticed that he has little tells that indicate what direction he’ll be moving in or what kind of attack he’s likely to use.

In the case of Bakugou, you have a slightly more difficult time. However, like Midoriya, you are good at reading the blond’s movements when it comes to hand-to-hand combat since you’ve spent so many years watching him fight and listening to his former childhood friend analyze his movements. Of course, you learning how to fight by watching Bakugou also played a big role in you gaining such a good understanding of his fighting style.

The fact that Nedzu noticed this all on his own proves just how observant he is. You wonder how many of the spars you’ve had with the two boys he has watched for him to notice this fact or if he found out through some other means.

Eventually, you’re brought out of your thoughts by his voice. “You have a very high opinion of both boys which is perfectly understandable, but you shouldn’t throw in the towel so quickly, Y/N-san. Those boys are strong, but so are you. You all have your own special strengths. It’s just up to you to figure out how you can use your strengths to your advantage.”

A contemplative expression dawns your features as your gaze falls to your hands which are still holding your teacup. After several seconds pass in silence, you reply, “Growing up, I would often compare myself to those two. I always thought they were so strong while I.…wasn't, which always made me feel pathetic since they were years younger than me.”

Your grip on your cup tightens. “I always wanted to be strong like them, but it just seemed like an impossible dream.”

“But, it’s not, is it?”

When you lift your eyes, you meet Nedzu’s kind gaze. The tension in your frame eases at the reassuring sight. “No, it’s not. No dream is impossible if you work hard enough.”

The corners of your lips curve upwards. “Never give up on your dreams. That’s something Midoriya taught me.”

Wearing a matching smile, the hybrid nods his head. “I agree completely. Anything becomes impossible if you give up from the start, but if you persevere, anything is possible. That’s what I believe.”

At that moment, your Quirk activates. Your surroundings change, replaced with the scenery of a cityscape much like what you saw in your vision of the Midoriya/Bakugou vs All Might fight.

All you can do is watch amazed as you run all throughout the cityscape, leaving traps and causing destruction wherever you go. Meanwhile, Midoriya and Bakugou are hot on your trail, trying to stop you from causing further damage while also having to avoid all your traps.

Much to your amazement, the boys are having a harder time than you expected. While they come close to capturing you several times, you always somehow manage to escape before they can put the handcuffs on you.

Unfortunately for you, your vision ends before you can see the results of the exam. As your sight returns to normal, you find yourself staring at an obviously intrigued Nedzu with wonder. “I...I really can do it. There is a way to provide a challenge for them while playing to my strengths.”

A grin appears on his face. “I had no doubt about that, but please do tell. What requirements were established for their final exam?”

You set your teacup down on the coffee table before clasping your hands together. “It was obvious that they were trying to capture me, so either they didn’t want to try running to the exit even though that would be the easiest way to win or that just wasn’t an option for them.”

Nedzu thoughtfully rubs his chin. “Most likely, it was the latter. If you were to agree to be an exam proctor, I planned to do away with the option of escaping through the exit for those two since that would’ve, as you said, been far too easy for them.”

Remembering your actions from the vision, you decide to share another observation you made. “One other thing I noticed was that I was doing a lot of intentional property damage, and I think there was a reason I was doing it besides just to be true to my villain role. Also, every time I was successful at destroying a part of the city, the more panicked the guys became.”

With a chuckle, the principal finishes off the rest of his tea. “I see. Obviously, a requirement was created in which the students must capture you before you destroy too much of the town you are attacking. What a wonderful idea. Perhaps, I should include that as a requirement for the other team exams as well.”

So, that’s how it is. Now, it all makes sense. That’s why you were causing so much property damage--because you could win the match if you destroyed enough of it before Midoriya and Bakugou caught you.

Thanks to that requirement, there really is a way for you to come out on top if the students don’t bring their A game. With enough careful planning and lots of Hatsume’s beloved inventions at your disposal, you really could give Midoriya and Bakugou a run for their money.

Before you even realize it, you find yourself grinning broadly. “Looks like Class 1-A is in for a very exciting final exam.”

Nedzu dons a matching grin. “Indeed. I am very much looking forward to the results.”

So are you.

#TABF post scene #bnha nedzu #my writing #when I first came up with the idea of fortune being an exam proctor #I was just joking #but then I made that post a while back #once I realized how much I liked the idea #originally my idea was to have this happen during her second year at UA #but I changed my mind #this probably was the last kind of situation you were expecting #when you suggested the two having tea together #but I hope you enjoyed it! ^^

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jewels-writes · 3 years

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chapter 10

“I don’t like this new habit that’s been developing that I’m in pain every time I wake up.” Deku mumbled as he sat up off the floor and rubbed his head. “The fuck did I do this time?”

“You drank too much.” Twice said from the couch without looking at him. Things were still tense between them since the incident. “It’s called a hangover.”

“Oh.” Deku breathed. “Where’s-”

“In his room. He doesn’t like you when you’re drunk.” Deku held his tongue and walked over to the shared room and saw Dabi curled up on the bed. He gently climbed in next to him, trying his best to spoon him but he was too small to do it right.

“Hey, baby boy.” Dabi said groggily and rolled over, pulling the boy into his warm embrace. “You smell like beer but I’ll try to ignore that. How do you feel?”

“Like my head hurts.”

“Yeah. It’s like this every time.” Dabi yawned and nuzzled his face into Deku’s chest. “Take my advice and don’t drink anymore.” Deku immediately thought of what Twice said and stiffened.

“What did I do?” Deku whispered. “When I was drunk, what did I do?”

“You were real childish. You asked for a kiss, told me I was sexy.”

“Did I get the kiss though?” Deku grinned.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to kiss you when you were drunk.” Dabi mumbled as he held his partner’s hand. “I don’t think I’d like how you tasted.”

“How I taste?”

“Yeah. I can’t describe it with words but, you have your own unique flavor to you. I love it.” Dabi smiled and closed his eyes. “I’m trusting you not to throw up on me. I don’t want to clean it up again.”

“I’m sorry.” Deku held onto the tired boy and scolded himself for letting himself get drunk.

Later that night, they all sat in the living room, relaxing, occasionally talking with each other. Deku reached for the remote to turn on the tv and that’s when he saw the news’ newest story.

“Dabi, wasn’t that girl the one from your mission?” Toga asked as she tilted her head towards him. “The way they’re describing the way they found her, that doesn’t sound like how you normally kill.”

“That’s because I was the one that killed her.” Deku spoke up and shifted uncomfortably as everyone looked at him. “It was me.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Toga smiled but Deku shrunk into his seat as his actions replayed in his mind.

“No, it’s not, Toga.” Deku’s lip quivered and he took a shaky breath. “She was one of my best friends and I fucking killed her. I’m a monster.” He shot up out of his chair and ran outside, not even bothering with shoes.

“Izuku!” He heard Dabi calling his name but he kept running. Deku ducked into a corner and sank down, pulling his knees to his chest and tried to clear his head. Dabi’s calls became fainter as he ran right past him.

“I’m so fucking pathetic.” Deku mumbled to himself as the tears silently ran down his face.

“Deku..?” Oh no. Not him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Get back, Kacchan.” The nickname slid off his tongue and he hated how casual it was. He kept his head down and heard shuffling from around him and he peeked up to see Bakugou sitting across from him. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t fucking start with me you damn nerd. Do you know how worried everyone is about you? Especially your mother. What about her?” The blonde raised his voice. “You’ve been missing for weeks! Just come home, Deku. Everything sucks without you there.”

“Did he seriously not tell you? Aizawa expelled me, Kacchan. I’m not welcome anymore.” Bakugou’s mouth hung open before he clenched his fist. “I have nothing to go back to.”

“What about Inko?!” Bakugou practically shouted and Deku flinched at his mother’s name. “She’s been a frantic mess since you ran off. Hell, we all have.”

“I’m not a fool, Kacchan. I know you. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” Deku snapped and the blonde turned his head to the side in frustration.

“Is that really what you think?” Bakugou said softly. “Deku, think of it if the situation was reversed. If I went missing out of nowhere and no one knew where I went or if I was even alive. You tell me that you’d be fucking okay with that? God dammit, Deku you’ve been my best friend my entire life. And when you were gone for so long people noticed I changed. Deku I can’t focus on anything but you anymore. What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Kacchan..” Deku whispered, speechless. “I’m.. I’m-”

“Shut up. I don’t need to hear how sorry you are.” Bakugou closed his eyes hard and took a deep breath. “Just please tell me you’re safe.”

“I’m safe.” Deku wasn’t sure how true that was but if the blonde needed to hear it, he’d say it. In an instant, Bakugou’s arms were around the green haired boy. “Kaccha-”

“Shut it you stupid nerd.” Deku could feel his own tears welling up in his eyes and he clung to the blonde desperately. “Stop crying.”

“I’m not crying.” Deku sniffed and tried to close himself off as he let go of Bakugou. “Let go.”

The blonde pulled back and what Deku saw truly shook him to his core. Bakugou’s face was completely unguarded and open, his emotions plainly written across his expression. The blonde had only cried a few times in his whole life and this was one of those few times. “Do you understand now?”

“Kacchan..” Deku whispered and tried to bring his walls up again. “You can’t tell anyone you saw me. Please, I’m begging you.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that.” Bakugou warned. “I won’t lie to them.”

“Then try not to bring it up. Please, Bakugou.”

“No, don’t call me that. You call me Kacchan. Don’t call me anything other than that stupid nickname.”

“Oh. Okay.” Deku looked off to the side. A silence fell between the two boys.

“What are you doing here anyways?”

“I was running from someone.” Deku picked his words carefully.

“What the fuck? I thought you said you were safe!” Bakugou yelled and Deku motioned for him to keep it down.

“I am.” Deku said simply as he stood up. “I just needed space.”

“Deku why the hell aren’t you wearing shoes?” Bakugou pointed to the boy’s feet angrily.

“Kacchan please, just go home. Forget you saw me.” Deku said as he began walking away.

“Not a chance! You’re coming back to your mother.” Bakugou grabbed the green haired boy’s wrist firmly so he couldn’t get out of his grasp.

“Kacchan let go of me before I hurt you.” Deku warned in a low voice. Bakugou’s grip only tightened and Deku became upset. “I’ll break your fucking arm. Let. Go.”

“Stop being stubborn.” The blonde snarled and tugged him in the opposite direction. When Deku activated his quirk and tried to cause it to radiate off his arm in power surges. “The fuck are you doing?” Deku focused on his power and it actually worked, the force of his quirk was enough to loosen Bakugou’s grip so the green haired boy could slip out of it. He quickly scaled the wall of a building and reached the roof and continued running from Bakugou.

“Stop following me!” Deku screamed over his shoulder as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop.

“Stop running then!” Bakugou’s angry voice called out from behind him as he used his explosions to propel him forward. “Dammit, Deku!”

“I’m sorry, Kacchan!” Deku turned and used his black whip to capture the blonde. Deku spun in circles before flinging Bakugou away with his quirk. He knew the blonde would quickly recover so he started running again. ‘I need to lead him away from the hideout, he can’t know I’m with them.’

“Deku!!” He groaned and jumped down onto a busy street and tried his best to blend in. “Excuse me, miss, please let me through.” Bakugou shoved through the crowd as he looked for his friend. “God dammit!”

As Deku walked back to the hideout, he sensed someone following him. He made a bunch of random turns to confirm it and cursed himself for being so unprepared. He was fully healed from all his previous fights but that didn’t mean he wanted trouble with the man following him. If someone were to make a move, he’d want to be in a more secluded area to limit the civilians involved.

When they were far from the crowded and bustling streets, Deku turned and faced the man, squaring his shoulders. “What do you want?” He said coldly.

“I don’t want anything. But my master does.” The man replied as he stopped an arms length away from Deku.

“What does he want then?” Deku snarled.

“You.” The stranger smiled and Deku got a chill down his spine. “He doesn’t care what condition you’re in so I can mess you up all I want. Or you could come quietly.”

“You’re gonna have to drag me if you want me going anywhere with you.” Deku stood his ground and clenched his fist and scouted his weak spots. The stranger suddenly signaled something with his hand and Deku’s guard went up higher. “What the fuck was that?”

“You don’t have a choice.” Something lodged itself into Deku’s neck and he gasped in pain, bringing his hand up to inspect the damage. His hand folded around a small dart and as he took it out of his skin his body felt sluggish and slowed.

“The fuck did you hit me with?” Deku slurred his words together and his knees buckled and he fell forwards into the man who caught him effortlessly. “No, don’t touch me..” Deku tried to fight against the drug but he failed. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a car pulling up beside them.

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fiercyy · 4 years

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Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Haruno Sakura & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi, Team 7 - Relationship, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Hatake Kakashi & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto Characters: Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, Uzumaki Naruto, Hatake Kakashi, Tsunade (Naruto), Orochimaru (Naruto) Additional Tags: AU, Post-Chuunin Exams, post chuunin exams attack, Minor Character Death, Trauma, Team 7 Family bonding, Genin Era, Everybody moves in with Sasuke, he's got room, semi-au, Plot Twists, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Roommates, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, BAMF Haruno Sakura, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto) Feels, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), Team as Family, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Post-Chuunin Exam AU Summary:

Sakura always wished she could relate to her teammates better. She wishes she could take it back.

In which Sasuke acquires some unwanted roommates and a team becomes a family.

Sasuke hasn't needed an alarm clock to wake him up in weeks. Every night he falls asleep to Naruto's soft snores and the anxieties of his day as told by the voice in his head. When sleep finally drags him under, ankles first, he has the same dream.

He's in the Forest of Death, but instead of the canopy of trees, the trunks just stretch up and up into darkness. He is completely alone. He walks at a leisurely pace for a while; the scenery doesn't change. Eventually, he looks down, only to realize that ahead of him are a set of footprints. He glances behind him and finds that he has left his own track of prints, they curve behind him and into the trees. He realizes that the set in front of him are his own. He's been going in circles.

Beneath him, the earth splits. He hovers above the chasm. The chasm blinks. A golden snake eye glares up at him. A hissing noise rises like the roar of a river.

"Sasuke," Sakura whispers in his ear, but when he turns, she's 50 feet away and her fist touches the ground. She is the source of the chasm.

"Try to keep up, bastard," says Naruto, only he is right by his side. "Or we'll leave you behind."

Suddenly, Sasuke is falling into the eye. Naruto grabs his hand and stops him from falling. "Naruto," Sasuke orders, "pull me up, quick!"

"You can do it yourself, can't you?" He wrenches his hand away and Sasuke is falling falling falling again into the eye. Consumed.

Relying on them is foolish. They will leave you. A voice hisses from all around him. He's still falling. You can't trust anyone but yourself. They're not worth your time anyway. You've tried to pull them up to your level. But at what cost? They've dragged you down to theirs. You're better than this Sasuke Uchiha. I can offer you-

And it is often here, that he startles himself awake. But today. Today the nightmare continues.

He stops falling. Heart in his throat, he floats in the inky blackness of the snake eye pupil. I can offer you power. You languish in this village, thwarting your true potential. Look at what Uzumaki Naruto has achieved with the help of a sannin. he is weak but he almost beat you. Why? And Sakura Haruno. Pathetic, sobbing Sakura Haruno. She will learn to bring men back from the dead. What can you do? You need me. Come to me. I will give you power the likes of which you've never-

"Sasuke!"

He gasps and emerges from the nightmare. His heart races under the fist he's clutched to his chest. His neck burns. Sakura stands over him, hands on his shoulders. He slaps them away.

"What!?" he demands.

Sakura deftly takes a step back, like dodging a fist. "Fine. I'll train on my own today…" her tone is sullen until she takes a good look at him. "Are you sick?" Approaching with the slow unstartling gait of a snake charmer she lays a hand on his sweaty forehead. "Oh no, I'm sorry. I should have let you sleep."

"…It's fine."

"I'll pick up some soup on my way back from my lesson with Tsunade," she promises. He's glad she hasn't offered to make any herself. Salty, spicy and oily broth might make him feel worse than he already does. Then again, the longer he's in her presence the worse he feels—the more he thinks about the voice from his dreams.

He nods, tense and shivering and goose-pimpled like he's just come out of a freezing lake.

Sakura shoots him one last look from the doorway, hesitant to leave.

"Would you go already?!"

Her mouth presses into a firm line and the door snaps closed.

Once she's gone and he's left to fixate, Sasuke spirals lower. He can't be around anyone, but he doesn't want to be alone. He's furious. He's scared. He desperately wants to go back to sleep but knows what's waiting for him if he does.

So Sasuke makes a liar of himself and prepares for some solo training.

Sasuke is being so weird and Sakura is torn between genuine worry and anger. He could be such a hypocrite sometimes. She slept in once an he left without her. She was kind enough to wake him and he was nothing but cranky! He looked terrible though; red rimmed eyes, gaunt and seeming a little lost.

What a stupid, self-centered jerk! …Who patiently waited for her most mornings and helped her catch up to him and Naruto with extra training…

Sakura quickly grows bored of training by herself, having been ditched by her old friend. Her new friend. Her former crush and former enemy. Sometimes it's hard to keep Sasuke straight. Living with him and dealing with his henpecking ways makes it hard for her heart to pound every time he talks to her. It would become a medical condition. But does that mean she doesn't love him anymore?

She does… she thinks. She's just figuring out how.

With Naruto, it's so easy. He wheedled himself into her heart slowly; with jokes, support and attention. It feels as if they've always been together. He has never once confused her.

After they came to live with Sasuke she didn't have the emotional bandwidth to worry or question the way the boys treated her. There was no room for surprise at the delicacy with which they both handled her. In retrospect It's not shocking at all that Naruto filled her cracks and held her together, but it is surprising that Sasuke did too. He found it somewhere within himself to give her a home, acceptance and empathy. Even though there was no conceivable means for him to have acquired it. Sakura doesn't have her parents anymore, but she does have a family. They must love her very much.

She turns on her heal and stomps away from the training ground toward the market.

She's early for training with Tsunade, but the Hokage is already there. The training ground is a rocky clearing that peaks just below the treeline. Konoha is in the middle of a draught and the air is dusty. A small stream runs through the middle when it rains; sometimes Tsunade plucks a small fish from it with her bare hands and makes Sakura keep it alive for as long as she can.

"Good morning Shisou."

"Morning Cutie." That tells Sakura that she's in for a rough morning.

It doesn't matter that they're both half an hour early, they get started right away.

"What am I-" Sakura chokes on the sentence because a rock the size of her head is flying right at her. She dodges. "What the hell?!"

"Strength training, block, don't dodge."

"NO!" Sakura shrieks as a rock twice the size of her head flies overhead.

Tsunade picks up a boulder. "They're just going to keep getting bigger!"

When Sasuke wakes up again, he's cranky. It's why he doesn't often sleep in or nap. He always wakes up worse off than he started. The bitter taste of his tongue travels to his heart and his belly with each aching breath of wakefulness.

He glances at Naruto's bed. Gone, training with Jiraiya. They're set to go on an expedition soon. He says the Sannin's going to teach him a new technique.

Sasuke scowls. They haven't fought in months, not since the Chunin exams, but Naruto bested him when they fought Gaara and that counts. Meanwhile, Sasuke has stagnated. Kakashi's one-on-one training is centered on control and expanding his chakra reserves. It's a long, painstaking process and he isn't getting stronger fast enough. Itachi is so far ahead. By his age, Itachi was already in ANBU. Meanwhile Sasuke couldn't even make Chunin on his first try.

He's never failed at anything before and it hits harder than he cares to admit. The prospect of retaking a test is maddening—the kind of thing reserved for dead last losers in the academy, like Naruto.

"At least we'll get to do it again as a team!" Naruto had proclaimed, sunnily. To him, the greater tragedy would have been one of them passing without the others.

Sasuke would have been perfectly fine leaving them behind. He sees them every day at home anyway.

A creature of habit, Sasuke drifts to the kitchen for breakfast.

On the fridge the magnetic dry erase notepad reads 'check the microwave' in Sakura's handwriting.

In the microwave is a takeout container of chicken broth.

That night, Naruto, Sasuke and Sakura fall asleep under the chunky red blanket on the couch in front of the TV.

In the morning, Sasuke wakes up first and waits a few minutes before jiggling his shoulder free of Naruto's head and shaking Sakura awake. Together they go to morning training as usual.

Naruto can't help but think that Kakashi's getting a little lax in the sensei department. Team training's been pretty lackadaisical lately (a word he heard Sakura call their training sessions, that he liked the sound of). It's usually just exercises. Or style specific sparring; Taijutsu only, no chakra, kunai only, substitution only etc. He hasn't given them a team building exercise in forever. And while that was Team 7's least favourite kind of exercise, they were really really good at it. Especially lately. With Sasuke being more of a grouch than usual, it'd be nice to be on the same side for once.

"Today we're doing round robin spars," Kakashi tells them, "All out, no holds barred."

"YES!" Naruto screams. Screw being on the same side, he wants to beat Sasuke into the ground at full power.

"Great, you can go first."

"I wanna fight Sasuke!"

"Of course you do," Sakura rolls her eyes and drags her feet on her way you a tree. She settles in the roots and her peevish expression makes him feel a little bad. It's just that… He loves fighting Sasuke, with Sakura he doesn't feel like he can go all out.

"Hm," Sasuke rolls his shoulders. "Let's go then."

The spar lasts a while. Sasuke is down to his last Chidori. Naruto's crowd of clones has thinned, there's only two left.

He knows that Naruto needs at least one to shape his Rasengan, so all he needs to do it get rid of them both, or keep his eye on the pair that are together. One Naruto holds out his hand to the other, getting ready for the assist. Sasuke won't give them the chance. He makes the safe bet that the one assisting is the clone and charges his last Chidori. He needs much less runway for his attack. He lunges for the pair of Narutos, ready to aim his leg for the clone, and Chidori set on Naruto's gut.

Suddenly, he's flying through the air, hits a tree and crumples to the ground.

What just happened? Naruto… he used the Rasengan without the help of a clone. How did he do that? When did he learn to do that?

Sasuke doesn't get up—not because he's hurt. The attack was only at 20% of its power, otherwise he'd have been killed. He just… can't understand what just happened.

Naruto hasn't seen Sasuke since the end of their spar yesterday. He stormed off right after and was asleep before Naruto and Sakura came home. In the morning he was gone, but when they arrive at the training grounds for day two of the round robin spars, he's already there.

"You look like you're chomping at a bit," Kakashi remarks when he finally gets there an hour after their meeting time. "Sakura, you wanna take him on when he's like this?"

Sakura quirks an eyebrow and switches her considering gaze between Sasuke and Kakashi. Naruto just knows she's weighing whether or not she's going to be insulted. "Yeah," is all she says.

From her pouch she puts on these sick black leather gloves and cracks her knuckles.

Sasuke's expression doesn't change, but at least he takes a stance. He's taking her seriously.

Naruto isn't really sure what goes on at their extra training sessions. He's had absolutely no desire to join them because honestly? He needs every extra bit of sleep he can get and they take everything so seriously. The one time Sakura made him tag along, they did three hours of Katas. Snooze.

Sasuke streaks across the field going right for Sakura. There are two approaches to beating Sakura: speed or stamina. He's faster but he can also outlast her. They've been working on building up her stamina and chakra reserves.

With Sakura, he doesn't have to worry that she's going to have any big finishing moves. He's got to watch his back for a sneaky kunai and use his head to figure out what elaborate strategy she'll use on him.

He engages her in a taijutsu bout to test her reflexes and warm up. Maybe he won't finish her off right away. It would be mean and embarrassing for her. They'll play a bit. Just long enough to see what she comes up with. Sakura's a fun sparring partner because it's also a little like playing Go.

Close combat's the way to go, if he loses track of her, she'll take advantage and substitute herself until he makes a mistake. He dodges a punch and blocks a kick with his right arm only to hear a crack.

What?

She sweeps her legs again, determination blazing in her eyes and Sasuke jumps over them, nervous for her to connect again. Pushed by yesterday's wounded pride, he changes his mind. He wants to end this swiftly. He charges his left hand with a Chidori. It's just at 1/5 power, so it won't hurt her too bad.

His range is good, she won't have enough time to get far enough for a dodge. He thrusts his arm out.

Sakura ducks—no, she strikes the ground with her gloved fist. With a spine tingling crunch the ground opens up beneath their feet.

(It's just like his dream.)

He's weightless, falling, his arm still reaching out to strike Sakura. Their eyes hold, all widening in alarm. He sees it all in slow motion, Sakura reaches for him even as he drops into a chasm of her own making-

(How did she do it?)

-She takes his hand, grounding the circuit. Sakura spasms, but holds on. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes and she cries out. Holding on is making it worse, but if she lets go, he'll fall.

"Sakura," he says, gentle and shell-shocked, processing what's happening in sluggish disbelief.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!" She shrieks, not in pain but determination. She hauls him up and over the lip of the crevice. He tumbles on top of her. With his head against her stomach he can feel the rhythm of her ragged breaths. Sasuke rolls off of her and pants. He's barely exerted himself but his heart is racing.

Sakura has gotten so strong. He sits up and turns to the side so he can look at her. Her eyes are closed, her hands curled loosely at her sides.

"Uuuh, Kakashi-sensei," Naruto considers from a short distance away, "Who do you think won?"

Sasuke is the only one left standing, but he doesn't feel like it was him.

#sasusaku #sasuke x sakura #naruto #team 7 #fanfiction #IYC #if you can't hold on hold on #my fic

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madamhatter · 4 years

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diverse-hearts inquired: ❛ can’t you see, what you’re doing to me? ❜ - chu angst for ships sentence prompts | accepting | @diverse-hearts continued from this prompt/spin-off plot written by mira.

A/N: Reader’s discretion is advised. Sophie’s inner thoughts (and subject matters in BSD + plot points in HMC) will allude to human experimentation).

Nicotine plastered her palate for the past two months. Suspiration for the young woman, partially, resulted in a cloud of smog choking out from her throat. However, having a cigarette dangling from her gritted teeth wasn’t ever her fashion. The taste and scent of someone else’s regretful, nerve-ticking smoking clung to her clothing and respiratory system.

As kindly as the habit-holder was in opening windows and turning his head at every opportune moment, the frequency spiked upon the most recent and inopportune news. A hard grit of a cigarette against his teeth, blazing azure eyes obscure and chill in the moment when together they shared solitude.

Distraught struck his chords whenever their initials conversations referenced their “arrangement.” As lightly as it could be put, the heiress didn’t shed her bluntness for those moments. Yet, hesitance overwhelmed her as she bit down her tongue, only speaking of two things, amicability and tolerance, towards the shared future.

Perhaps it was the recoil of what little she comprehended in his reactions. Was he not infuriated, if not more, about his freedom being stripped? For any affiliates within the organization or friends outside of the Port Mafia’s association, the executive hadn’t shied from his own moral weakness to his hubris, wealth, and dalliances.

Was fidelity to the Port Mafia that blinding to these sacrifices? Was there nothing wrong with these arrangements as she saw it? Was there not a better option to be stuck with, of all people? ...Or was she too presumptuous to think this upcoming commitment would impede any of his bad habits?

Why was she hung up over it when she expressed it differently? She should’ve swallowed her pride and be thankful for these conditions. It could be utterly worse.

He has a name, Sophie. Consciousness reminds her, refusing to drag herself longer into the dissociative state of her memories. He didn’t do anything to be referred to so loosely and detached. This wasn’t any of his doing.

Chuuya Nakahara.

A slow glance over her shoulder, shadows swallowed the entire penthouse. The slim figure of the Port Mafia executive not too far from her, shiny expensive black shoes moving and advancing towards her. The conversation before led down the steep slope of unanswerables and undesirables Sophie and Chuuya never wanted to know. Argument imploded and she refused his questions, preferring cold, soaked clothes rather than her raw, bleeding heart exposed.

As for how they ended up once again here, it was simple.

The day now was drenched in the heavy afternoon rain. All seemed lost when the storm clouds gathered, but her plans were cut short by fate itself when Chuuya rushed her out from the incoming downpour and into his abode.

They only exchanged a momentarily glance across the street, walking down paralleling sideways with vastly different companies. Businessmen versus accomplices, loud, coordinated conversation versus discretely ominous orders, legal prowl versus illegal jurisdiction. Practically night and day.

His posey was escorting him back to his penthouse while her associates were planning for a midday celebration. Plain-faced, the heiress held herself back and prevented herself from frowning. Yet, a spark came when she finally saw him. A smile couldn’t be produced, but for once, she was lively to be in someone’s acknowledgment -- even if so far away.

Their faces were going to pull away, keeping to their lanes. Alas, once a droplet traced the rim of his fedora, and their eyes continued to connect, something moved in him--. Had the men around him commented about her? Had they been aware? Or was she simply that pathetic looking for him to intervene?

She wasn’t sure if the men around him alluded to their current situation, or if Chuuya would’ve mentioned it. Fiancée and fiancé had never left their lips, but she could only imagine how strange and unreal it would’ve sounded from someone else’s. Yet, it didn’t change the fact his presence parted the sea of men around her and he escorted her elsewhere.

In the gallant gesture, only the chilling stillness of reality sank for them as they entered his penthouse. It was now only two hours into this abrupt and extensively maddening clash that she placed her foot down.

He had questions, demands, just like her, but some could be answered with theories. Like how was it them, of all people, and not the mafia boss’s son? Sophie’s own conclusions were drawn immediately if only based on her little understanding of what Chuuya possessed underneath his regal facade.

An experiment, that is what all of this is. A volatile cocktail boiling and pooling in a cauldron of uncertainty, brewing something unexpected and unknown that could spell for disaster. Her thin sharp white nail tips prick against her thumb, brows lowered as she grimaces in her thoughts. Seeking out an umbrella to take out, she bites down her tongue. Two abilities with no limits, one so desirable and in the spotlight, while the other went barely noticed for years...until the right people wanted it.

What more can they want? It’s only a sick experiment. It isn’t like they haven’t wanted to perfect ability users before. I remember it. I remember how she tore apart multiple men and stitched them together like dolls, trying to find the most powerful and most manipulable creation. And then there was me, both the obstacle and main ingredient to her damn slaughterhouse she called an experiment.

For all that she thought of, memories blurred in crimson and cold blades pressed against her neck, her body violently shivers. But, she catches herself as she holds onto her arms, bowing her head. Inhaling deeply, keeping her thoughts together, it was only then that Chuuya caught up, still unwavering to stop what had now dissolved into an argument.

“Mister Nakahara, enough!” Sophie pinches the bridge of her nose, snapping her head back. Both of her brows raised with her facade having a crack. Ferocity and turmoil twisted in her stomach, yet it had been long dormant since her teenage years. However, at this rate, it wouldn’t be long until she completely reawoke.

“I understand that the entirety of what is going on is beyond bewildering as it is irksome! There are plentiful and reasonable doubts about why this arrangement exists when there is no precedence for it to exist.” Her nostrils flare.

“I just don’t see why you’re reacting the way you are reacting the way you are!” Her hands finally drop, balling into fists. Out of every damn person in the world, why did it bother him--? Her eyes fix to the ground, blinking. The issue itself already was that it was her, of all people, he had to be with... But, he didn’t-- he never responded with offense until I spoke.

Every precaution to veil her emotion vanishes, her eyes, first sharp and defensive, now growing wide and clueless. Her lips part but, nothing comes out. All that she fixes on, besides his face, was the familiar heat and touch of his lips from encounters before.

Several instances of conversation during formal hours didn’t compare to the off-hours. All this started with her near devotion in dragging his intoxicated body to safety. Their encounters grew more from that besides her constant worry -- it was a back-and-forth of small discoveries and exploration about what normal life could’ve been.

The shenanigans outside of their duties -- their relationship branched off the moment she recognized him as Chuuya, not Chuuya Nakahara of the Port Mafia. To her, it broke away the mundane and harshness of their lives, when they were just two young adults who wanted more to experience, to live on the brighter side of a life they couldn’t have.

A slowly stirred pot of friendship that might’ve meant..

No, no! That’s not right. So what if we-- and ..No! Stubbornness would always refuse to negotiate with the truth.

❛ can’t you see, what you’re doing to me? ❜ The question of the hour, Chuuya finally asks. And what a fitting question that could’ve been redirected to him.

Swallowing her doubts, the young woman finally exhales and stares at the redhead. Her hand slowly reaches for the doorknob. For a moment, her eyes look to the ground and she frowns, before returning to face him.

Forwardly, and pushing all emotions aside, she finally spoke.

“No, I can’t,” she lied.

Intent on leaving, she unlocked the door, throwing in her final words. “It was a pleasure to be in your company today, Mister Nakahara. I do need to get used to it. Take care of yourself.”

At this rate, she wasn’t going to stop and look back. Her mind was flooded with the reality of her emotions, something she would never dare accept. If she did, she might’ve finally broken her facade.

#( checkbooks inquiries and much ; answered asks )#( verse: taken by a stranger | BSD )#( for he who destroys with touch && she who makes life with breath ; misfortune and sorrow fill the air | chuuya && sophie )#diversehearts #human experimentation tw #human experimentation /

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its-love-u-asshole · 5 years

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Pairing: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki, Awashima Seri/Douhan Hirasaka

Summary: Saruhiko would never admit to being inspired by...anyone really, but he's come to learn there are always exceptions.

Rating: T

Tags: fluff, established relationship, fushimi pov

Note: yooo ITS BEEN FOREVER!!! I assume this year will be the last sarumi fest, so I thought I should do at least a little something! I missed these two losers a lot, they're the pairing that brought me back to writing four years ago, and I owe the K fandom so much. I've met some amazing, lifelong friends, and whenever I remember my days in the fandom I just remember endless support and encouragement! I'm sad this will probably be the last K fic I'll ever write, but I'm also glad I'm sticking to my roots and delivering some plain old fluff ^^ (also seri and douhan pft I adore them) I hope you enjoy!

It starts with Douhan and Seri.

Saruhiko never would've expected it from them; out of all the people in his life who he's...somewhat comfortable calling friends, they're the two who annoy him the least. Sometimes they drag him to the gym or the mall, if for no other reason than to expose him to sunlight and fresh air...but even then, their words and the general cadence of their voices don't grate on his nerves.

He's...not entirely against being around them, is what he means.

Even when the two women began to date that didn't change, though he did avoid them during the first month. Back then, the intimate and subtle demonstrations of affection didn't compute in his mind. He couldn't make sense of them without feeling weird; a strange coiling would start in his gut and work through his body until he couldn't sit still. Like a code he couldn't crack or particularly rough work day, he couldn't figure out what it was about every delicate touch or private whisper.

It was uncomfortable, and he hated to admit that. He hated being bothered by things he didn't understand.

At least with large crowds or hot-blooded people, it was easy to explain away; they were annoying, simple as that.

Yet, like with a lot of other habits he'd clung to over the years, the instinct to shy away from understanding when it came to that level of intimacy began to be more trouble than it was worth.

There was just nothing to fuel it anymore, and besides...

Douhan and Seri simply embodied something he was grasping for, something he’d always been grasping for, though he refuses to admit it.

Back then, and now. Nothing has changed.

"I like you, Saruhiko!" Misaki says at the top of his lungs. It's too loud, the volume might make Saruhiko squint in distaste.

If it were anyone else.

Misaki had always been his exception, and he never liked to admit it.

Saruhiko's heart stops in his chest as he stares at his best friend, looking like a drowned rat on his doorstep. They'd met for dinner on the other side of town; by that time, it was a habit. No more distrust, no more fights...

Just a lightness Saruhiko never thought he'd feel again, something he's still not used to feeling.

And just when he thought he was okay with just that, just when he'd begun to ignore the nagging in his mind which always seemed to want Misaki closer and closer, the other decided to cross the distance entirely.

Saruhiko's honestly shocked the redhead was dealing with the same issues, but now there's no way to deny the possibility.

Because Misaki is here. He probably ran all the way back from his home at this ungodly hour because as always, he couldn't wait. He couldn't just...slow down.

And Saruhiko's completely powerless to do anything but cave.

When Saruhiko doesn't say anything for a while, Yata's rain-soaked features flood with red, and it’s not like that of his aura. "I-I mean, like-like you know?"

Yes, he does.

Shockingly he does.

Misaki is blushing for Saruhiko, and it's so satisfying and scary all at once.

"I probably always have but--I was waiting for you to get over yourself!"

Saruhiko almost laughs.

Of course. He could make fun of Misaki's shyness, his complete inexperience with anything resembling romance. How could he possibly know what he feels? How does he know Saruhiko deserves it?

Those are the instinctual questions which run through his mind, but they're not the last. Again, old habits don't necessarily fade away, but they lose some of their power, as all things do.

Saruhiko can't run from this, not this time.

He clicks his tongue after the longest silence in the world, and Misaki's fidgeting comes to an abrupt halt.

"Was that supposed to be a confession?" Saruhiko laughs, and for a moment, he sees the fear in Misaki's. The moment where he knows the expected defiance should be, the refusal. Saruhiko can't hold it against him, it's what part of him still yearns to do.

Yet, Saruhiko still defies expectation. "I bet I could do a better job."

It's a lie, his hands are shaking from how much of a lie it is. He's not sure what he's capable of these days, but when Misaki is looking at him like that...

He can't deny him anymore.

Misaki's eyes widen, the clear shock so priceless and satisfying, despite the uneven beating of Saruhiko's heart. Then, it's gone, replaced with a grin too bright and fiery. Lately, Saruhiko sees it a lot, but he'll probably never be used to it. Misaki scoffs, the challenge burning in his eyes. "Yeah? Prove it."

And in a matter of seconds, the doorstep is as empty as before.

Many would say he was just as bad as Seri and Douhan now. After that, things seemed to spiral. It’s been a year, but with Misaki, time seems to stretch on and on. His boyfriend has a habit of making everything they do together seem like the first time, it's a power Saruhiko has yet to understand.

But, otherwise, he's used to it now. He gets it, in a way. The intimate touches, the whispered words, he's familiar with them now, along with a hundred other small things which come with being with Misaki.

So, Seri and Douhan were no longer an issue.

For a year.

Unfortunately, here they are again, disrupting his normal stream of consciousness with a boulder, leaving him stranded and stuck without an ounce of knowledge of where to go next.

He watches from his desk as Douhan gets down on one knee, revealing a rose gold wedding band with opal in the center.

Why does Seri's desk have to be in his immediate line of sight?

Saruhiko's finger twitches as Douhan slides the ring onto Seri's finger; it's a fitting choice, given their different clans, he guesses. When it comes to accessories, Douhan always knows best. The opal reflects all the colors.

Douhan's normally neutral face is the same to any outside observe; but Saruhiko sees the gentle upward tilt of her lips, the shakiness of her usually precise hands.

It's overwhelming, but he can't look away.

Again, they've thrown him totally off center, and with what? A proposal?

Why does that bother--

He crushes the question like a glass bottle. He knows why, and he hates it. It's so pathetically vulnerable and unnecessary and yet...

He sees the way Seri blushes, the mistiness taking over her strict expression; Douhan is truly bold, coming to their place of work to make such a grand gesture.

The guys are already up and congratulating Seri loudly, but Saruhiko hears none of it.

Seri jumps into Douhan's arms and then green eyes meet him from across the room, like they know he's been watching. They always know.

Douhan gives him a knowing look, it doesn't even last a second, and then her focus is all Seri.

Saruhiko understands.

Yes, that's why the gesture bothers him, because unlike before, he does understand this. He just wishes he knew how to deal with it better.

The proposal bothers him for one reason and one reason only: he wants it.

Saruhiko wants.

And it never gets easier admitting that.

Beside him, his phone buzzes, like it tends to around this time. He knows exactly who it is before he picks it up, and it drives his new revelation home.

Misaki: Hey! We r still grabbing dinner yeah?!

Don't they always?

Saruhiko's eyes soften, he can feel it, and he can't do anything to stop them.

Saruhiko: We do every Thursday.

It doesn't stop him from being a bit of a smart-ass though.

He doesn't read the barrage of texts he gets after that, though the urge is there. His phone vibrates for a few seconds, some weak retort Saruhiko will no doubt tease his boyfriend for later.

Then, thirty seconds pass, and a reluctant buzz comes again. Saruhiko doesn't have to read it to blush, Misaki is so predictable sometimes.

There's about two hours until he's off work, not enough time for what needs to be done, but he pulls up a few websites anyways.

As far as rings go, there's a lot to weed through, some gaudy and some plain. He wrinkles his nose, and the light feeling in his chest doesn't leave him for the rest of his shift.

It takes him a while to realize it, but he finds he doesn't care what rings they have, all of them suit Misaki in Saruhiko's mind, and nothing will probably change that.

He doubts he'd try.

#sarumi #k project #sarumi fest 2019

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layceland · 6 years

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So, heres a translation of the new villanous animation I did for @zwagyzonk, full of author notes no one asked for uwu Enjoy it <3

Bh Narrator: Welcome, clients desperately waiting for an evil help, to the orientation videos from Blackhat Organization™. Get ready for another season on what you /don't/ have to do, here in the “lost cases of-”

Original The Powerpuff Girls Narrator: “-Townsville!” A city that possesses one of the most diverse and dangerous collection of villains in the-

Bh Narrator: hey hey, wait a minute, who the heck are you?

Ppg Narrator: Me? I'm the narrator.

Bh Narrator: In your dreams, /I/ am the narrator.

Ppg Narrator: What are you talking about?! /I’ve/ always been the narrator of “Townsville!”.

Bh Narrator: but we are /not/ in Townsville.

Ppg Narrator: but, but-

Bh Narrator: get out of here. Townsville! A pacific place, always protected by- Ugh, who cares. Now I present to you, Lord BlackHat!

Blackhat: Welcome, disgusting cockroaches-

Flug: U-uh, sir?

Blackhat: *growling*

Flug: I-I just wanted to say that you look gloriously evil today-

Blackhat: In this occasion, we are analyzing one of the most recognized, disgusting and deplorable villains of Townsville. /Mojo Jojo/. This primate is slightly more developed than the average human.

Flug: sir, he's just a banana lover monkey.

Blackhat: Bah, for me all of you are the same. Anyways, his big mistake is not to hire our Blackhat Organizations™ services. There are some things that only I can do, and I might, and that's the end of it! (I didn't really understand what he meant here either, sorry)

Flug: Um, hold up sir. Mojo is a black diamond platinum member of the organization, and has spent millions in our products-

STAND BYBlackhat: Mojo Jojo, a disgusting and merciless primate, evil genius from “NightmareVille”

Flug: Um, sir, isn't Townsville one of our multiple test zones for our manufactured monsters?

Blackhat: If you dare interrupt me again you’ll hAVE TO MANUFACTURE A NEW HEAD FOR YOURSELF. The attribute that makes Mojo Jojo a specimen more advanced than the average human is his superior intellect!

Flug: But not superior to mine!

Blackhat: He posses a big arsenal of weapons and deadly machinery!

Flug: Almost as deadly as the ones in our catalog, sir! (why is dementia only 1 peso per month, and where do I sing)

Blackhat: an evil hideout on top of a volcano

Flug: That’s not as cool as a giant hat completely habitable!

Blackhat: And a /long/ list of purchases from Blackhat Organizations™

Flug: Designed and constructed by a true genius.

(Okay, there's a joke here that can't really be translated, since depending on what translation of the show you watched (The Latin American or the European one) their name change. In Latin America they're called “Las chicas superpoderosas”=”the super powerful girls”, meanwhile in Spain they are called “Las chicas coquetas”=”the flirty girls”. They're both correct, just from different places so. I dunno how they'll do the actual translation, but the dialog goes something along this)

Blackhat: The ones that ruin his evil plans are his arch nemesis, The Flirty Girls.

Flug: They’re the Super Powerful Girls, my lord and master!

Blackhat:... *shoot that bitch*

Flug: AY! Ow my ass!

Blackhat: This Flirty Girls are the defenders of “Trashtown”. And they're not more than three kids, still in kindergarten! I don't need to see the rest, his mistake is to lose his dignity against human children that have not even developed fingers!

Flug: *shaking* he’s a frequent platinum client, a frequent platinum client!

STAND BY

Blackhat: Let's analyze his diabolic plans. Ah, the head of Anubis, one of the oldest and MOST USELESS RELICS IN THE WORLD. The only thing he's gonna achieve is turning everyone in “Shoeville” into dogs! What kind of villain would like to rule over a world full of dogs! Instead, he should have used Quetzalcoatl's (I have no idea what that is) head! Now that's an actual relic~

Bh Narrator: A deadly relic with an offer to die for! Now you can rent Quetzalcoatl's head to incinerate your heroic enemies, and not have to worry about where to put it away when you're done using it! Rent it to destroy your hero, the hero league, your mother-in-law, or-

Ppg Narrator: “-Townsville!”. Don't miss this crushing offer, only for the next 24 hours!

Bh Narrator: Get out of here, this is my show!

Ppg Narrator: Hehehe, doesn't feel so good when they're trying to steal your job now, does it?

Bh Narrator: Get out!

Blossom: Not so fast,

Buttercup: Evil

Bubbles: Monkey!

Mojo Jojo: Listen here, PowerPuff Girls, you're not a threat anymore~

Powerpuff Girls: *barking*

Blackhat: Ah, I see he's also an enthusiast about kicking cute creatures. But he’ll never outrange my multiversal record of distance traveled in one kick!

5.0.5: *squeal while getting fucking wrecked*

Mojo Jojo: Muahaha, you can reach me here!

Buttercup: *bite that ass*

Blackhat: It's obvious that monkey is as pathetic as the rest of the biped creatures that infest this world…

Bh Narrator: If you're so weak then even a group of cute puppies can defeat you, then you need the bottom cover the Blackhat Organization™! (why is the warranty only 30 seconds, BH please) Uh, w-what are you doing here Dementia?

Dementia: I'm here to narrate, duh~

Bh Narrator: Why does everybody want to steal my job today!

Ppg Narrator: You're the one stealing my job! And you didn't even go to narrator school!

Dementia: No, but I found this!

Bh and Ppg Narrator: What?! *get zapped biatch*

STAND BY

Flug: Dementia, and the narrator?! Don't you see they charge by the hour?!

Dementia: I thought you were smart Flug! Isn't it obvious? Now /I’m? The narrator! And I'm here to narrate a... “Dementia Tips!” Hi! It’s me, Dementia, and I'm here to help y'all weak villains that can't even protect your own ass with my Dementia Tips! In this case, if a hero tries to bite your booty, what you have to do is… Open an umbrella in their mouth! Or… Flood their house with raccoons! *ominous* Or you can shoot them… With your silicone pistol! *singing* Tatara, silicone power~

Flug: Dementia! Leave, you’re ruining everything! (here he uses an explanation that I don't know what it means exactly)

Dementia: Nya na na na na *mockingly singing*

Flug: Hawkbots(?), catch her, lethal mode~.

Dementia: You’ll never catch me alive!

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES

STAND BY

Blackhat: One of the biggest injustices that villains suffer, is that they always have to fight against teams of heroes! To contrarest this factor, a mediocre villain must for his own team of villains. In this case, Mojo Jojo forms an alliance with Fuzzy Lumpkins, Princess Morbucks, and *weird creepy noises*

Flug: hm, why does that happen every time someone says Him’s real name?

Blackhat: When someone says his name, weird things happen, when someone says mine, people die, to each their own~

Powerpuff Girls: *screaming*

Him: I got you~

Princes: Yes! Yes! Yes!

Fluffy: Now, to leave them on the floor!

Blackhat: Muahahaha! Yes! Yes! Again! Again! Muahahaha!

Flug: You see, my master? Mojo’s evil alliance looks like it’s gonna be victorious! He managed to crush The Powerpuff Girls more than once!

Blackhat: I’ve been in this world enough to know that feelings are about to destroy this alliance…

Moko Jono?: *Annoying ass noise*

Mojo Jojo: I love you too~

Him: Oh no…

Blackhat: I told you so!

Mojo Jojo: This is the lovely Moko Jono(?), she has great evil plans in mind that we should try~ Imagine people getting desperate because they cant reach their destination in time!

Blackhat: That's not evil, that's just inconvenient!

Mojo Jojo: Stealing articles that are completely white doesn't go against the law, so we are taking them!

Blackhat: If it's legal to take them, then you're not stealing them!

Mojo Jojo: The louder you scream, the more it’ll hurt the ones listening!

Him, Princes and Fluffy: We quit!

Blackhat: And I'm out of here!

Zookeeper: Come here Michelle~

Mojo Jojo: Whos Michelle? Moko, you know who- ah!

Flug: Um... Lord Blackhat had to leave to do… really ugly stuff.

Blackhat: *Playing golf*

Flug: I'm going to continue analyzing this villain, starting with rule 10v3, do not involve your heart, don't be like that. Now, let's see what Mojo is planning this time.

Ppg Narrator: Ah, Mojo Jojo, what are you planning this time?

Bh Narrator: I thought I told you that this is my show! *rewind* Oh, Mojo Jojo, what are you planning this time?

Professor Utonium: Oh, Mojo Jojo, what are you planning this time?

Blossom: If you hurt the Professor-

Mojo Jojo: You think I'd hurt my own dad?

Blossom: What?!

Bubbles: What?!

P.Utonium: What?!

Flug: What? Blackhat’s newspaper: “What?” “Powerpuff girls siblings with Mojo Jojo?”

Mojo Jojo: The substance explosion that created you three did also affect me. My little monkey brain started mutating. Continuously feeling worthless against your physical powers! My brilliant achievements going underrated…

Flug: *crying* That's not fair, not fair. It's too sad, shu, shu. I Understand my “Mojito”, I understand, come on you can do it.

Mojo Jojo: ...Never poor Jojo.

P.Utonium: Mojo, I feel like a tyrant, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?

Mojo Jojo: Give me superpowers as well.

P.Utonium: Okay

The Powerpuff Girls: *little girly gasp*

Flug: In my experience, giving superpowers to beings with suboptimal intelligence never really ends well.

Mojo Jojo: ...Dad?

P.Utonium: Son?

Flug: Ah, a classic, he's using his enemies as baseball bats. Lord blackhat loves to do that~

Blackhat: Yes! I do love to do that!

Flug: *Slowly clapping* who would have thought? You're not as incompetent as I thought.

Blackhat: Just wait and see, noob, this always ends with a letdown

Mojo Jojo: So many weapons and evil plans, all worthless! *wreck that shit*

Flug: Ah! What are you doing?! Dementia, stop!

Dementia: Eh? But I’m not doing anything!

Flug: Ah, s-sorry, post-traumatic stress…

P.Utonium: Now that I remember, you were the worst lab helper! And If my memory doesn't fail me, it was that day, when I was working on the formula for the perfect little girl, when suddenly, you pushed me!

Flug: I mean, who in his right mind thinks of having a monkey as an employee? I don't know what you expected.

P.Utonium: That’s the day The Powerpuff Girls were born!

Flug: What?!

Blackhat: WHAT?!

Flug: What? You’re responsible for their birth and the reason of their existence?!

Mojo Jojo: ...What? I am responsible for their birth and the reason of their existence?

Flug: Unbelievable, he made the classic mistakes of an evil genius! This where his mistakes; Number one, you can involve affection into your plans. That disgusting feeling ruins everything.

5.0.5: *weird noises he makes*

Flug: Not now, my beautiful, genetically altered child, dad is working~. Number two, he never shuts up. And after a long list of mistakes, like excessive confidence, wear a cape, and lose against human children, without a doubt his worst mistake was creating his arch nemesis! Who in his right mind is capable of such foolery?! This is unthinkable! There's only one thing I can do to make something better out of this brute.

Mojo Jojo: *shaking, tied with whatever that is*

Flug: from an evil genius to another Mojo, let me tell you, this won't kill you, even tho you might wish it would.

Ppg narrator: and once again, everything is worse than ever thanks to Lord blackhat and Blackhat Organizations™’s orientation videos!

Blackhat: Shut up already!

Ppg Narrator: *scream like the lil bitch you are*

Anyways, it’s my first time translating something this long, so any tip is welcomed <3

#villanos #villanous #blackhat #dr.flug #505 #5.0.5 villainous #marcus mojo #translations

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