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my-writings-and-musings · 3 years

Note

I saw a post you made from a little while ago about a group of young liaisons and was wondering if you could do that same prompt with fort max and megs? (If it’s not too much a bother)

Big bots with little human friends is... yes. That's far from a bother, dear anon, it's a privilege. I've completed Megatron alongside Cyclonus here, but I'll give some extra love to this big guy! For those who haven't read them or would like to reread, there's also a post for Rodimus, Rung and Drift plus the original with Tailgate, Ratchet, Minimus, Swerve, and Whirl!

Fortress Maximus

·Ever the expert of security and order, but not very knowledgeable on humans, he does a fair amount of research when the liaison initiative is announced. Earth proves a planet as diverse as it is complex, but what stands out is how small the dominant species is. It worries him to a considerable degree. Forget security threats; how are they going to handle the possibility that one of them could be stepped on?! It's a conundrum he still hasn't solved by the time the group is coming on board for the first time. At least accustomed to handling crisis, he's one of the crewmembers that greets the young liaisons when they arrive, but upon seeing them he's absolutely floored. They aren't just small; they're tiny to an impossible degree. Even the tallest one is smaller than the research could have ever conveyed. Of course he puts on a polite smile and welcomes them all, but deep down he's panicking over the mandatory safety measures they'll be needing, so much so he doesn't even notice how the humans fawn over his immense size.

·After burying himself in his work, it's only when he decides to summon the liaisons to his office that he meets them again, this time intending to lay out some rules and to check in with them so far. Unfortunately his train of thought more or less dissapears when he lifts them all onto his desk and is confronted with their tiny stature up close. It's then that he realizes they are not only small, but agonizingly adorable. Unable to recall the well thought out plans he had to discuss with them, he ends up answering their many questions instead, most of which are centered on his incredible size and strength. Their wide eyed fascination cements his dedication to protecting them with every ounce of power he has. It's with some embarrassment he has to admit to himself that their cuteness is overwhelming, to the point each and every one of them has him wrapped around their finger from day one.

·Though his commitment to keeping them safe continues, he can't help but look for reasons to meet up with them, and at times he has to simply make things up. Making things easier on him, the entire group quickly grows very fond of him. It's soon apparent he's their favorite bot on the ship. Having them around makes him happy in ways he's quite unaccustomed to, as if their innocence rubs off on him. Such feelings are only intensified by how they insist on hanging out with him by, more or less, relaxing on the broad expanse of his shoulders. It's the easiest way to chat while ensuring no one gets squished.

·After struggling with his trauma for so long, he feels a kind of peace he hadn't known he was missing out on. Therapy sessions become easier and more productive, and those around him can't help but notice the change in his mood. Some are just baffled to see him brimming with positive energy while a group of young humans sit across his shoulders like tiny birds, while most are happy to see him turning around, especially with how he's suffered in the past. It's impossible to deny he's uplifting the entire ship. Admittedly he went through a brief frenzy upon finding out the humans he had befriended were, technically, still protoforms and thus had developing to do. Thankfully though, that was resolved with assurances they would be fine with proper guidance.

·It had been with said knowledge that he'd set about trying to teach the liaisons everything he considered useful. While his experience is somewhat... grim, he has learned a great deal through his life as a soldier. They take to the idea of learning how to fight incredibly well, to the point the challenges of having such tiny students are almost nonexistent to him, meaning he doesn't even notice how difficult it is to guide their tiny hands into proper positions on their practice weapons. Using his stories as inspiration, albeit with many details watered down for their sakes, he mostly enjoys the idea of helping them learn to defend themselves. He doesn't want them to know the full extent of his past, but he does firmly believe he's come to terms with most of it. Their acceptance certainly makes that easier.

·Everything seems to fall apart when an incident far more recent is brought up by an unthinking crew member; his breakdown and attempt to reroute the ship by taking hostages. The liaisons are all shocked to hear their large but lovable mentor could do such a thing, let alone that it happened such a short time ago. Max can only see disgust in their innocent expressions of curiosity as they gently ask if it's true. Paranoia long banished from his head sinks in deep, and with the softest of confirmations he has to leave before he breaks under the trauma he'd thought defeated. He realizes in a flash that he'd adored how these little ones gave him a fresh start, and now that his scars have been revealed he can't ever have that again. It's all he can do to seel himself away as the emotions overwhelm him.

·Bearing no ill will for their beloved mentor and friend, the liaisons first seek out answers for context they're obviously missing. Other bots are able to put the pieces together, and they're both surprised and horrified to hear Max endured unfathomable torture before having his episode, as the happy mech they know has never shown any signs of such pain. Regardless, they know he's suffering now, and they want to help him. Though he lets them into his room, it doesn't take much observation for them to see he can barely face them, and the group grows emotional as they let him know they've heard what he went through.

·Before he can say a word he's surrounded by tiny hugs, with each human expressing the deepest sympathy for all he's endured and the greatest administration for their beloved mentor. His protective instincts kick in and he scoops them all up for the closest thing to a hug he can give them. Feeling the extent of their adoration makes it apparent he's far too beloved for his past to change their perception of him, and the entire group takes some time to bask in a much needed moment of healing. He resumes teaching them and they continue to flock around the massive mech, perching where they can as he carries them and marvels over what incredible beings they're becoming before his very optics. For the first time in his life, he's able to be something other than a soldier, and the weight of his past is far lighter with so many tiny hands to help him carry it.

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kireon · 4 years

Text

Store Bought Hero

x-posted from my writing account as well as my author blog.

If natural heroes didn't work, store bought was fine too.

At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. It becomes a mantra as you peruse the discount racks at your favorite clothing store that definitely does not start with 'K'. Setting aside the whole ‘escaped from the lab you were created in’ thing, you haven’t noticed any serious differences between natural heroes and the lab created ones ('store bought', as they say) except for the whole income disparity thing.

Oh, and the sponsors.

Everyone knows natural heroes shopped at Gucci and their sidekicks at Macy's, bare minimum, they simply must be outfitted with the best at all times if they are to be known in the world. You can hear the professor from the labs’ rant clear as day even fifteen years later. While you definitely like a select group of brand name items? You have bills to pay, mouths to feed, and a gigantic fucking load of student loans on your back.

No rich parents, tragic enough backstory, or sponsors for you: a 'store bought'.

With a sigh, you eye a sequined leotard and run your hand up and down the rough fabric. There is something satisfying about the way the colors shift from a too shiny silver to a lurid cherry red. You like shiny. You like shiny an awful lot, as a matter of fact, and that's how you got yourself into this entire mess in the first place.

"How was I supposed to know the stupid anklet was his downfall?" You grumble as you tear yourself away from the sequined nightmare. Restraint isn’t something that comes easily but you’ve had years to practice. A half-hearted paw through the racks of clothing marked at sixty-percent off or more reveals a pair of dark red pleather pants that might just make a good costume base.

"It's not like I walk around with my weakness in plain sight."

It wasn't even a decent anklet either; not even sterling silver or real diamonds or brand name. It was a cheap nickel plated piece of flash and the rash it gave you still itched even a week later. Some sort of curse for the unwary, or so the hero had claimed when you'd given it back to him a day later.

You neglected to inform him of your nickel allergy during the confrontation.

Well, maybe not wisely. You might have been able to get some sort of financial compensation outta him for the damage done to your skin. The rash and blisters did look really awful when he’d caught up with you and he looked horrified when he saw the results.

Heroes had that whole ‘do innocents no harm’ thing, after all.

You'd rather die than admit to anything so common as a nickel allergy, so you accused him of having a curse put on it. He ate up the accusation and used it to his advantage, as they all do. In exchange for falling for the good old fashioned sob story that was your life-- lightly embellished, of course--you had to become his sidekick as penance for your (petty) crimes. Also to completely remove the effects of this nonexistent curse.

After all, you were in ‘dire need’ of a good role model, yadda yadda yadda. You’d stopped listening to his moral prattling about the same time he tried to invoke the ‘daddy issues’ card. The last time someone had pulled that shit on you, they woke up woozy, confused, and completely unaware of the clown makeup as they walked out (pantsless) into the busiest part of the city. Waterproof makeup at that.

Just as a little extra “fuck you” to prove a point; you don’t like doing more than petty retaliation if you can help it.

You can be quite nasty, after all.

In the end, Hero McDadguy puffed up in his usual self-importance and gave you an entire fifty bucks towards a ‘basic’ costume and sent you on your way with a time limit. He was currently busy getting some frothy concoction at that one coffee shop just around the block. Far enough away that it’s a test of trust and boundaries but close enough he can close the gap and probably haul your ass in if he needs to.

The added caveat that you weren’t to embarrass him with your costume choice makes you want to do it even more. The only thing holding you back is the fact that you do have to wear the costume. In public.

Petty and spite take a backseat to pride and self-preservation.

Not like he was one to talk. He had that whole ‘90s cyberpunk meets Dad-on-Tropical-Vacation’ theme going on. Fanny pack, socks with sandals... the works. You’d rather go to jail than try to figure out how to replicate, keep in theme with, or otherwise find something to compliment that mess.

You mutter that very thing under your breath while you snag a few promising pieces-- and the leotard because fuck self-control you deserve something nice-- off the rack and head for the dressing room to start trying things on. Twenty minutes of posing in the mirror in varying outfit combinations later and you ignore the request for 'photo evidence' of you behaving and call your oldest child instead.

“Hey, what’s the name of that one bird that steals shit?” You ask as you shimmy into a pair of leather shorts with sequins on the ass. You’re definitely about ten pounds shy of ‘Juicy’, as the flashy hot pink word on your butt says, but this could very well be the start of something amazing.

“Maybe you wanna be more specific unless you want me to read descriptions for the next ten years?”

Nat is much like you; level-headed, brilliant in school but woefully under challenged, and has the same smart-mouth that had gotten you slapped through a wall once or fifteen times in your early life. You would never lay a hand on your kids regardless of how mouthy they get with you and so have to find other methods of curbing their attitudes when they get too out of line.

There’s a lot of yelling and someone sounds like they’re on the verge of tears in the background. A muffled Nat’s voice tells them to ‘calm the hell down, it’s fine’ before they come back on the line.

“What’s all that about?” You ask as you sift through the tops for something that would go with it. This opportunity might be a wash with how little luck you’re having. Might be time for Plan B- especially if there’s a problem with the kids. Your hand lands on a peacock blue-and-green number that doesn’t look bad but isn’t quite what you’re looking for. Ugh.

It’d clash with that highlighter orange from Mr. I Sweat Burberry Cologne.

Your middle child’s voice is loud and clear on the line now. “If you buy those shorts I am putting myself into the Child Relocation Program and you’ll never see me again.”

You consider it for a moment. Mortal embarrassment of your thirteen year old or being a slightly less fashion disaster than you feel. Tough decision, really. You feel yourself smile after letting Morgan sweat it out just long enough.

“Clean the kitchen and I’ll consider it.”

The quintessential teenage shriek of fury and angst comes loud and clear through the phone. “I knew you were going to say that! You’re the worst!”

Some parents prayed against having a child born with precognitive powers. While annoying to deal with, it’s also a lot of fun to use against them. It makes parenting interesting and more of a game to see just which future the kiddo wants to avoid- or get away with. “

You feel your smile widen at the range of futures said kiddo has likely foreseen. You’ll have so much fun with this particular set of visions and using it like baby photos against them. “So did you clean the kitchen?”

“Duh!” A most indignant tone.

You laugh. You can’t help it. “Put Nat back on the phone.”

“Promise me you’re not buying those first.” Stubborn and firm. A bit of desperation there too. Not quite ready to beg but not all that far off either.

The way they say ‘those’ makes you laugh all over again. “I’m not buyin’ ‘em, don’t worry.”

“And that weird guy isn’t buying them either?”

Damn it. “Nope. He won’t buy them either.” So much for that idea. Maybe you could-

“No stealing them either!”

Double damn it. “Fine, fine; the shorts stay in the store.”

“Thank you.”

The phone goes back to your oldest. “So, about that bird?”

“Jackdaw, Magpie, Corvids.” You hear scratching of pencil on paper. Homework? At, you check your phone, two-seventeen in the afternoon on a Saturday? Your eyes narrow suspiciously.

Who is it you’re talking to and what have they done with your child?

“Corvids? Like crows and shit?”

“Yup. And no, I’m not a body snatcher.”

A grin. “Sounds like something a body snatcher would say.”

Jackdaw didn’t have that something you were looking for. Didn’t roll off the tongue the way it needed to in your head when you imagined some Big Bad Villain spotting you mid-villainous speech. Corvid didn’t either. Crow wasn’t hitting any notes either.

Raven was absolutely taken by no less than eighty-three variations in your city alone.

Rook had some fun possibilities if you had actually bothered playing and learning chess. (You can’t; you can’t sit still or pay enough attention for that shit and you own that.)

Your eyes fall on the silver-and-red sequined leotard again.

You hear your prophecy cursed child screech in despair in the background and the younger two who have gathered to watch the show tell them to shut up.

Nat, ever patient and ever your child, smiles on the other end of the phone. “I think that’s the one, Magpie.”

Magpie... yeah, you like the sound of that one. Magpie it is. “It’ll make a good base; is Morgan--”

“McFreakin’ Losing It? Yep.” You can hear the sounds of pencil scratching against paper again. Curiosity overrules any possible ‘do not need to know’ that you and Nat sometimes stumble into.

“Okay, I’ll bite; what are you doing?”

“Fulfilling the prophecy as foretold by the ancients long ago.” if Nat’s voice were any drier, they’d be dust in a forgotten tomb. “I’m designing the rest of your costume so you’re not a total train wreck and Morgan can die quietly.”

“You’re my favorite.” You say as you gleefully stuff the leotard-- you’ve tried it on twice and know it fits like a dream-- back on its hanger and wiggle out of the shorts. A wiggle that almost ends badly for you, at that, and you can hear the brats laughing at you in the background as Morgan probably mimics how you just about bit it in the dressing room.

“Remember that when I inevitably try your patience in all of forty-five seconds.” Nat hangs up on you and you feel nothing but pride in the way these sassy children have grown up under your less than skilled thumb. You’ve not been the best parent or even the best role model. It’s funny what unresolved childhood issues and bad habits will do, but damn it you have given it everything you have up to and including your favorite line of ‘do as I say not as I do’.

That is your right as a parent, goddamn it, to use that line and they can pry that right from your cold dead fingers.

They’re all good kids. They’re going to end up heroes in their own right with or without superpowers. That, above all else, is all you want for them so that they’re twice as capable as you’ve ever been in your life. Lab created and thus ‘store bought’ or natural born; it doesn’t matter and it never mattered to begin with.

Heroes are heroes in the end and the world could always use another helping hand as it spins through another chaotic cycle.

Your phone beeps and you glance at the text message.

Black thigh high socks. Get two pair. Amazon sucks for deals rn.\

U r not my fave >:(

You scowl and wish the walls would burn as you unfold the crumpled bills at the register. You don’t need Morgan’s gift of prophecy to know what that text message says and yet, like a fool, you look down at it anyway.

There’s a photo of all five of your grinning children holding up score cards. All of them holding 10s.

All of them dressed in Hawaiian shirts.

You have never felt so betrayed in your whole life.

#my writing #store bought heroes #original fic

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zayashmaya · 5 years

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Gods and Monsters - 10 - Because of You.

Tagora x Reader; SFW

You catch up with Lynera, and an outing with Tagora gets interrupted by Zebruh.

It was a mad world, we lived for fun And we got shit for free Had a face like an angel, but inside my heart was as black as a broke movie screen … But then I saw you standing there, like a millionaire Give me a number, call me before I get stupid Make me uncrazy like you did

Look at me now, I have everything You gave to me and my heart can sing I was a kid who could only drink Dance on tables, makin' deal with devils like a drunk beauty queen Fighting the fantasy, hooked on the scene, but you brought me to my knees And it's all … because ... of you

- Lana Del Rey

You weren’t quite ready to head home just yet. With the fire of determination burning in your soul, you hunted down Lynera — her craziness was exactly the sort of personality you wanted to bounce your new high off of. She was lurking in her hideout, focused on some sort of paperwork scattered across her desk. At your warm greeting, she instantly perked up, momentarily abandoning her work to excitedly buzz about your arrival and launching into a million rants about the other jades as you made yourself comfortable on her couch.

Dear, sweet Lynera. You let her run hot and cold with her monologuing so she got everything off her chest, because you owed her a lifetime of perfect friendship for not chasing after her when Lanque had told her off.

You hoped that bastard was fuming after your beautiful payback. Maybe you should have given him your Chittr handle, just to laugh at whatever angry insults he would have sent to you.

“So.” You began with an air of utter discreteness, checking your nails inconspicuously. “I heard you’ve been giving Lanque a hard time lately.”

Lynera had slipped back into looking over her papers before you spoke. She whirled around to face you, her pupils narrowed into thin slits and her cheeks tinted jade. “ - !!! who told you that !!!"

Oh boy. A flustered Lynera was a dangerous one. You plotted your next move carefully and hoped her knife was stashed far away somewhere. Or even disposed of, as you had recommended to her one time. “He told me,” you confessed. Lynera’s eyes widened. “He was keeping an eye on me earlier at the grub nursery and just started venting. And you know what?” You flashed her a thumbs up. “Keep up the good work.”

She blinked in astonishment before meekly fidgeting in her seat and glancing away. “ - i just couldnt let him get away with what he said to me you know.“

“It was pretty fucked up,” you said in agreement.

“ - !!! and !!! “ Her eyes lit up once more. “ - !!! i dont want him thinking that im a weak little pushover because im not !!! - !!! he has no idea who he messed with !!! - !!! that rude pathetic slut !!! “

You quietly regarded her. “Holding a grudge, are we?"

“ - !!! I — I … !!! “ Lynera bit her lip and flushed brighter than before. You furrowed your brows at her odd response. “ - im going to prove to him that im not a weakling who runs from fights and if he has a problem with how im treating him then he can come see me instead of gossiping.” She shook her head. “ - funny how hes doing exactly what he criticized me for.”

“ … it sounds like you want him to confront you again.”

“ - !!! you know what yes i do !!!” She squared her shoulders and puffed out her chest, hands clenched into fists. “ - !!! lanque probably thinks i cant take him on because i ran away last time but !!! - !!! i am stronger than he thinks and i want him to know that !!!”

“Lynera?” She calmed down momentarily and glanced at you. “Do you … Is this some sort of pitch flirting?”

Instead of the sort of vehement opposition you knew only she was capable of — volcanic outbursts and graceless flailing — Lynera merely deflated, hanging her head as her eyes swam with unshed tears. “ - … i just really hate him ok.”

Fuck. Of course she would take his challenge in stride. It was so difficult to keep up with what trolls consider platonic or not.

Guilt pierced through you as though Lynera had personally slid her knife deep into your chest. How could you have missed the signs? It’s not like Lynera was known for being subtle.

And then you remembered the sort of person Lanque was. Toxic, rotten, and completely in control of his vices. Lynera would not survive his manipulative scheming. You were anxious just thinking about how swiftly and efficiently he would break her down.

“Is he really someone you’d want to get involved with?” you asked.

“ - what why.” Lynera narrowed her eyes at you. Uh oh. “ - !!! why wouldnt i he is so hatable and and — !!!” She pushed up her glasses and rubbed away her tears. “ - maybe it could help me get over bronya i dont know.”

“Lyn, come here.”

She looked at you questioningly, and when you patted the open space beside you, she mustered up a weak smile and made her way over to you. You pulled her into a tight hug as soon as she sat down, and she squeaked in surprise, her hands hovering in the air before settling hesitantly around your waist.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” you spoke through her curly hair tickling your nose. “Hooking up with an asshole isn’t going to magically make your love for Bronya disappear. The challenge might be enticing, but you and I both know you deserve someone better.” You pulled back slightly and met her stare. “Only idiots fall for someone like Lanque. And you are not an idiot.”

Lynera sniffled, and this time, her smile was more genuine. She nodded and said, “ - maybe youre right."

“Just think on it, okay?”

“ - yes i will.”

“And will you think more on what I said before about throwing out these torture devices? You know Bronya would be horrified by the stuff in this room.”

She glanced at the iron maiden, panic blossoming on her face.

Oh, sweet Lynera. What were you going to do with her, you wondered fondly.

“You did what?!”

“You heard me.”

Tagora looked at you with beaming pride as he sipped his drink. “We’ll have to celebrate this, you know."

You giggled and waved dramatically around the cafe. “What do you think we’re here for?”

“No no, you deserve far more than a coffee for your sleazy efforts.” He placed a hand on top of yours. “I mean it, that was some top-notch payback. Clearly my influence is finally rubbing off on you.”

“Oh, Gor Gor.” You laced your fingers with his and smirked. “You should know by now that the student always surpasses the master.”

He eyed your connecting hands and blushed lightly, yet made no effort to pull away. Progress, you told yourself. “You wish," he teased. “This sort of talent is in my blood. Your intentions are ruled by something far more … concupiscent.”

“Mhm.” You took a gulp of your coffee. “What does that word mean?”

Tagora looked at you like he swallowed sour moobeast milk. This time, he retracted his hand, opting to rest his head against it. “Will you ever cease to amaze me?”

You smiled. “Never. And by the way, there’s been a new development that I may or may not need some advice on.”

“My counseling services don’t come cheap,” he snarked, and you lightly kicked him under the table, earning a disgruntled look as he wiped away the nonexistent dirt from his trouser pants.

”Anyway — pretending I did not just hear that — I realized that I might have stepped on some toes, so to speak.” Tagora quirked his head in question. “It looks like one of my friends is pitch for Lanque.”

“And why is that your problem?”

Damn, leave it to him to be so blunt. “Because she’s my friend, and I don’t want to accidentally get in between whatever fuckfest is brewing? But I also feel like I should. I don’t want her getting hurt by him.”

“What, do they have some sort of history?"

“I guess? She’s the friend who brought me to the hive party and got told off so harshly that she left in tears."

“Hah!” Tagora fell back against his chair in a fit of sharp laughter. “That’s gold. She couldn’t handle the heat then, and so what makes her think she can take him on now?”

You pursed your lips. “The girl has torture devices in her hideout, Gor Gor. Another very good reason for why I don’t want to cross her.”

He simply waved you off and snorted. “Please, like you haven’t survived worse. If you want my opinion, then I suggest you keep doing what you’re doing and let her wallow in her misery. With the stunt you pulled on him, I guarantee you have nothing to worry about. Or better yet, bulge block her, piss her off, and get with her instead.”

“That advice is the exact opposite of what I expected, and also makes no sense."

“What’s there to not understand? It’s a perfect set-up, a win-win situation if you play your cards right.” Tagora steepled his fingers and leaned forward, diabolical intent etched all over his face. “You either reveal your elicit escapades with the slutty bottom feeder and get on your pal’s bad side, or you continue this ongoing battle. It’s quite the beautiful situation, really. You have all the power here."

“This is really weird,” you admitted weakly. “You … want me to have an enemy? Wouldn’t you want me to be free from this drama and let Lanque deal with his own bullshit?”

“Uh, no? Why wouldn’t I want you to be in a kismesissitude? Especially when it’s off to such a passionate start.”

You tried several times to offer a rebuttal, but the words just couldn’t come out. “What do you mean kismesissitude?" you shrieked, earning a few glances from nearby patrons and a smarmy smile from Tagora. You blushed and toned down your outburst. “That is a relationship. What Lanque and I have is explicitly the opposite of a relationship. We — this is, i — it’s platonic hate!”

“Right. And it was also very platonic when you were slobbering all over his bulge."

“Tagora. Disgusting."

“Fine! Be in denial all you want. That’s how it starts, anyway.” He sighed and leaned back. “You owe me another drink for this headache.”

You mentally thanked him for switching the subject, because you were about to lose your mind from his ridiculous assertions. “Sure thing, just put it on your tab."

“You mean your tab.”

“Nah. I’m not exactly on a payroll here."

“Weren’t you the one who recently mentioned lavishing me in expensive chocolate and creating a pile of luxurious ablution robes? I think there was some serenading being offered as well."

“Yeah, but where do you think I’m gonna get the funds to do all of that?”

“You’re planning on wooing me with my own hard-earned money?”

You cheekily grinned and held up your drink for a toast. “Is it working so far?”

He rolled his eyes and lost the battle to return your smile, clinking his cup to yours. “I’ll decide once I see that pile.”

“Assuming that you won’t be the one to make it for me.”

“If you come back to my hive with me right now, I can guarantee a very comfortable pile made from a mountain of spreadsheets detailing your massive list of debts to me."

“And you say I lack a sense of romance — “

“ ♥ Did someone say romance?♥ ”

Oh no.

A hand settled over your shoulder, uncomfortably close to the bare skin of your neck. Tagora was staring above you with an expression of frozen civility, laced with an undercurrent of panic that only a highblood could evoke from him. And as Zebruh settled into a stool right in between you two, flashing you a toothy smile and over exaggerated wink, you wondered if Tagora would be able to take this monstrosity in stride.

“So nice of you to join us, Zebruh,” you weakly said, offering a half-assed smile.

He ignored your obvious discomfort, as usual. “Imagine my surprise when I noticed you while I was taking a stroll! ♠ Not that I was actively looking for you, though. ♠ ♣ That would be a very inappropriate thing to do, because it would seem like I’m trying to take control of your lowblood autonomy for my own selfish gain. ♣ “

“Um, w — well I am sort of on a da — “

Zebruh whirled around to face Tagora, who had noticeably straightened out as though someone had shoved a rod up his ass. He leaned in unnaturally close, forcing Tagora to inch back ever so slightly. “ ◆ Hello there, I don’t believe we’ve met! ◆ “ He held out a hand in greeting, and Tagora immediately met his handshake with vigor, as though spurred by an instinctual pull. Zebruh did not let go. “My name is Zebruh, although you’ve probably heard a lot about me already through our lovely mutual friend here. ♥ It’s so admirable to see a midblood of your stature forgoing commonplace laws to protect an alien! ♥ “

Then, and only then, did Zebruh withdraw his hold, grinning pleasantly all the while. Tagora looked absolutely murderous behind his customer service smile. “The law means everything to me — “ he forced out through gritted teeth, and before he could launch into a scathing attack, your foot darted out beneath the table to rub up against his lower leg. He met your heavy handed stare and seemed to catch the meaning behind the subtle shake of your head, because his breath escaped him like a deflated balloon as he loosened the tension in his frame and weaved his hands together in front of him. This time, his poker face was spot on. “ — and that is why I offer equal representation to all people, regardless of their blood color or species,” he finished off. “Oh, but where are my manners. I am Tagora Gorjek, legislacerator-in-training.”

Usually, Tagora finished off his introductions with the offer to call him by his nickname. He always told you that breaking the ice while networking was of utmost importance to him. The absence of such a peace offering was very telling, at least to you. And you could not be more proud, or more relieved. Zebruh would definitely have taken it the wrong way otherwise.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,“ Zebruh said, and turned to look at you with a contemplative expression. “ ♠ I didn’t know you had teals for friends. ♠ ◆ I hope you’re protecting yourself from exploitation, because they are a really ruthless bunch. ◆ “ He glanced at Tagora, the corner of his mouth curled up. “ ♣ Not that I blame you at all, of course; it’s just a teal’s nature, you know? ♣ “

Tagora sat in silence for a moment. You were starting to grow concerned before he smoothly replied, “I commend you for being so socially aware of my caste’s shortcomings. It is rare to meet an indigoblood who is capable of introspection.”

Zebruh nodded sagely. “I take this sort of stuff very seriously. ♣ Fighting for lowblood rights is an honor and privilege that very few can boast about, but I am willing to sacrifice my standing to protect the weak. ♣ “

You reluctantly patted his forearm that rested on the table in an effort to get his attention away from Tagora. It worked splendidly — Zebruh’s eyes lit up at the contact, and he scooched his stool a little closer to your side before throwing an arm around the back of your seat. “He’s really such a good friend to me, Gor Gor,” you forced out, discretely inching away from Zebruh until you sat at the edge of your chair. “Your drink is getting cold, by the way!”

Tagora brought the mug so rapidly to his face that he nearly smacked himself with it. You taught him this trick a while ago, to hide his expression if he was getting too riled up in the presence of someone who would cull him for his disobedience in an instant.

With that taken care of, you poked Zebruh’s side and said, “You don’t have to worry about Tagora. He treats me better than most!” His pleasant grin faded a little. “But not as much as you, of course.”

“ ♥ Your safety has always been my top priority, sweetheart. ♥ “ Tagora choked on his drink. “ ◆ If I don’t look out for you, then who else will? ◆ ♥ And considering how close you and I have gotten, I say this as someone who is as invested in developing our potential quadrant as you are. ♥ “

Tagora was openly glaring daggers at the back of Zebruh’s head. Your Gor Gor Panic Meter was lighting up with the intensity of the Alternian sun — you could sense a meltdown coming soon.

“That’s really so kind of you!” you squeaked. “But remember how we decided to just be friends? Very, very good platonic friends with no pale feelings whatsoever? Remember that, Zebruh?”

“I’m fairly certain her quadrants are being filled these days,” Tagora pipped up, his claws digging into his cup as his diplomatic grin took on a darker undertone.

“ ♠ Really? ♠ ” Zebruh glacially asked, retracting his arm from around your seat. “By who?”

“By me,” he replied with slight bite. “And various other individuals. Surely you must have heard, given that you are so close to her.”

Oh, your indigoblood friend did not appreciate that. “ ♣ Well that’s pretty damn presumptuous of you to say, considering you didn’t let her answer for herself! ♣ “ He shifted in his seat to face you and grasped your hands in a pleading gesture. “ ◆ My dearest companion of unspecified nature, please see this toxic situation for what it really is! ◆ ♥ You deserve to be treated like the queen you are, not silenced into submission. ♥ ”

You stared at him with a deadpan expression. “It’s really not that serious, dude.”

Zebruh sighed dramatically and shook his head. “ ◆ I can’t bear to see you beaten down like this and remain so unaware. ◆ Do you see what I mean about teals now?"

Tagora slammed his drink down on the table none too gently. “I’m terribly sorry for having given you such a poor impression of my character,” he hurriedly said. “And I wouldn’t dare presume that you are capable of ever being wrong about these things, but with all due respect, that is my moir — my associate you are speaking to, and I must politely request that you — th — that you unhand her.”

Oh my gods he almost called me his moirail and now he’s going to die after talking down to this crazy fucker —

You were frozen from an onslaught of emotions as Zebruh obliged Tagora’s demand in favor of leaning into his personal space. “You know, I’m sensing very strong hostility coming from you. ◆ I can vibe with that! ◆ ” He tugged on his bowtie and winked. “♠ If you wanted a formidable kismesis, you could have just said so. ♠ ”

Tagora looked like he was ready to faint on the spot from the suggestion. You have never seen him look so pale and scandalized. “Regrettably, I am entirely unavailable in that regard!"

“Oh. ♠ Then you’re just trying to piss me off. ♠ ” He folded his arms in an attempt to appear intimidating, yet his petulant expression made him look utterly pathetic instead. “I came all the way out here to see my best friend, so it’s kind of rude of you to lead me on with pitch flirting and leave me hanging like this!”

You needed to salvage this shitshow immediately. “Didn’t you say you were just passing by?“

Zebruh flushed indignantly. “W — well, whatever! ♣ You should be thankful that I’m even giving you the time of day — either of you! ♣ “ He pointed at you. “In fact, I’ve been nothing but kind and supportive to you, so I think you owe me for my efforts.”

Tagora sputtered in his haste to reply, but you cut him off with a sharp look. He inhaled deeply and slumped back against his chair, his eyes taking on a concerning shade of darkening yellow as he roughly carded his fingers through his hair. “What do you propose I owe you?” you asked lightly.

Zebruh’s eyes widened and he tilted his head in confusion, as though he did not expect you to be so agreeable. He tapped his chin thoughtfully until a smug look overcame him. “I’m feeling pretty hurt by all of this rude treatment. ◆ I wouldn’t mind a chance for you to join me back at my hive for a relaxing feels jam session to discuss how much this exchange has affected me. ◆ “

To you, the statement was utterly harmless — it’s not like you haven’t had a sit down with a friend to talk about personal issues before. But to Tagora, Zebruh may as well have thrown his drink in his face and pailed you right on the tabletop for all to see. His face was practically fluorescing teal, a stark contrast to the eerie orange glow of his eyes. And with the way his teeth were digging into his bottom lip to hold his outburst at bay, you suspected he was about to draw blood soon. Thank the gods Zebruh was turned away from him.

You shot out of your chair and slammed your hands down on the table. “We! We really need to get going, don’t we, Tagora?!” you exclaimed in a wavering voice. “We have to meet with Tyzias soon for your study session!” Zebruh frowned, and you hastily added, “I’m so sorry, we really lost track of time. To answer your earlier suggestion, I’ll have to say no to that, but I am very flattered by the offer! Why don’t you walk us out?”

Zebruh tisked, languidly getting up and stuffing a hand into his pocket. “Fiiine. ♠ It’s not like I was serious anyway. ♠ "

You expertly sidestepped his attempt to wrap an arm around your waist to guide you to the exit, quickly coming up to Tagora as he silently stood and watched the spectacle with no small amount of distaste coloring his sneer.

“We’re almost rid of him,” you whispered conspiratorially, ignoring his sour mood and looping your hand through the crux of his arm.

He nodded stiffly and kept you as far away from Zebruh as possible, situating himself between you two on your way out. You smiled secretly to yourself as you felt him press up against your side, presumably to keep himself away from Zebruh as well. Even in the throes of anger, Gor Gor was still a wimp around highbloods.

The crisp air filled your lungs with much-needed calmness once you stepped outside. Tagora radiated tense energy beside you, staring straight ahead as though in an effort to forget the situation he currently found himself in.

You put yourself between him and Zebruh this time, hoping he would have the chance to cool down while you handled the indigoblood. “Which way are you headed?” you innocently asked.

Zebruh pointed towards the downtown area, where the suburban streets quickly morphed into seedy-looking buildings lit up by neon advertisements. “I was on my way to a hot new club that opened up recently, before I so graciously decided to stop by and see you. ♥ I heard that the owner is a pragmatic rustblood, and I just have to meet him! ♥ ◆ Would you be interested in joining me? ◆ “ He eyed Tagora critically. “I’m sure your friend can get his homework done without you."

You heard a barely-restrained growl beside you as Tagora grasped your hand in his own with a vice-like grip. “I’m sorry, Zebruh, maybe next time,” you said with an apologetic smile, angling your body towards the opposite direction. “Text me all about it later though!”

He pouted and grumbled about not seeing you enough these days, but finally relented in the end, throwing a careless wave as he walked off. You wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t follow you, but Tagora jerked you forward and stormed towards an aimless direction.

“Tagora, slow down!” you huffed, tugging on his hand. “We’re in the clear. You don’t have to power walk us to another continent.”

“There is no place far enough away from that creature," he hissed, coming to a full stop and releasing his hold on you to stare down at his hands in livid contempt. "That disgustingly sweaty palm of his ruined my skin!” He curled them up into fists as they trembled, and his voice began to take on a hysteric edge. "And to add insult to injury, he had the fucking audacity to assume that I would break the law? Like you’re some kind of charity case to me!” he ended in a screech.

“Gor Gor, he’s gone now,” you said in a hushed whisper, hoping to quiet him down as you flushed at his outburst. To your surprise, passersby paid little to no attention to him, going about their day as though this was a normal scene. Considering the violent nature of trolls, you suspected that to be the case.

Tagora groaned and shook his head as he buried his fingers in his hair and pulled so tightly that you rapidly grew concerned for him. You gripped his shoulders and shushed him down, but he barely acknowledged you, throwing his head back as he stared wide-eyed up at the sky with a disturbing expression. “That fucking highblood thinks he can walk all over me,” he seethed, before cutting himself off with a high-pitched giggle. “And he can! He fucking can! Because I’m just a lowly ruthless teal who he feels the need to protect you from, while thinking I would spread my strut sticks for him!"

You balked at the crude statement. “Tagora, no — “

He sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly stilled. Your momentary hope of him finally calming down promptly evaporated as his eyes darkened to an alarming shade of red, his pupils narrowed into thin slits. You flinched when he finally looked at you. “That piece of shit lowlife just couldn’t leave you alone, could he?” he muttered in an eerily quiet tone. “And right in front of me, too. And I couldn’t do anything about it.” He broke off into another round of freaky giggles, no longer looking at you, but looking through you. “I may be just a weak teal, but I can still show him how gogdamn ruthless I can be, because when I sic the drones at him, he’ll be nothing but a pile of fucking ash by then!"

You stepped back as Tagora doubled over in a fit of vicious laughter. Yep, he was absolutely incomprehensible now.

It was your time to shine.

You have prepared for this moment for quite a while, considered all angles of approach and optimal spots for papping. The traditional seated frond hinge shooshpap was standard protocol, considering how squeamish he got whenever you dared to touch his face, but you have kept a killer technique hidden up your sleeve.

You had his lusus to thank for the bout of inspiration. Tagora had overworked himself into a frenzy one evening and ended up borderline passed out on the couch at his lusus’ behest, laying obediently as the ferret meticulously groomed his hair and dug his little paws into tense muscles. You had watched with curiosity, seated off to the side so as to not disturb their bonding moment. Just as you had prepared to slink away, the lusus lightly chittered at you to sit back down, and with a knowing look cast to you, he scritched at the nape of Tagora’s neck.

He had melted into absolute putty for the rest of the early morning. And if his lusus had bequeathed Tagora’s weak spot to you for a purpose, then you were obligated to carry out his wishes.

So while Tagora continued to rant and rave into the night sky, you sneaked up behind him and snuck your way under his long hair to touch the nape of his neck. Tagora froze instantly, like a prey caught in a predator’s grasp. You gave him no time to react, gently raking your nails along the exposed skin in a meandering pattern as you quietly shooshed him and petted his upper arm with your other hand.

Within a split second, all the tension in his frame melted away. His arms dropped to his sides and his head fell forward as he let out a deep sigh, giving you better access as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and stroked it with your thumb. You peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face, and you were stunned to see how relaxed he looked, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, and a substantial blush coloring his cheeks.

“Did you get it all out of your system?” you softly asked.

“Yes,” he meekly whispered.

“Will I need to resort to more shooshpaps in the near future?”

“No."

You sighed and released your hold on him, coming around to stand in front of him with folded arms. “You’re an absolute nutcase sometimes, Gor Gor.”

Tagora blinked at you, eyes finally settled back to their normal yellow hue. He huffed and looked away, still lightly blushing. “Well. I might have a bit of a problem regulating my temper. If you know a better way to deal with a lifetime of pent-up anger and humiliation brought on by the complexities of Alternian society, let me know.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to smoke a blunt once in a while.”

Tagora glared at you. “It would kill me, and I will kill you if you bring that shit anywhere near me. Bad enough that you come to my hive smelling like that garbage.”

You giggled and smiled impishly. “Looks like I won’t need to.” You wiggled your fingers. “My shooshpaps are an effective tranquilizer, apparently.”

He bit his lip. “How did you think of that move?”

Should you out his lusus as your partner in crime? Better not — you might get some more insight from the ferret at a later date. “I guess I just know you that well. It took a while to figure out your preferences, since you’re so weird about being touched.”

“So you’ve put a lot of thought into it … ?”

“Sure have,” you cheerily admitted, and Tagora’s blush reappeared with a vengeance. “Wow, that’s quite a reaction.”

You expected him to lash out at you in denial, and yet he simply shuffled in place as he rubbed his shoulder, his bang obscuring half of his face from your view. You cocked your head in confusion at his sudden silence —

And you were promptly pulled into a tight hug. Your heart thumped as you stood frozen in shock as he briefly nuzzled the side of your face before pulling away with lightning speed and settling his arms behind his back.

Tagora briefly cleared his throat before saying, “That was … a thank you. F — for caring, and … and doing that for me.”

You thickly swallowed and nodded, slowly succumbing to the realization of what your shooshpap had meant for your friendship. A while ago, you had done the same for Polypa. You recalled how strange her reaction had been, reminding you that she needed to remain professional as she fought back her flustered blushing. And the way she had melted into your touch …

It looked eerily like an orgasm, quickly followed by post-coital relaxation.

Gods, did you just …

“I, um, I’m sorry,” you blurted out, wringing your hands nervously.

He furrowed his brows. “For what?”

“For … you know, not warning you in advance? I’m just now realizing that I should have asked for your consent to do that. I never really considered how intimate a shooshpap was … “

Tagora’s eyes widened, and he softened his expression. “I don’t. I don’t mind."

“You’re not upset with me?”

“Of course not. It’s not like it w — wasn’t, ah, unwanted.” Tagora held out a hand for you. You shyly complied, and this time, his hold on you was tender as the two of you resumed your walk. “Anyway, aren’t you afraid of me when I get like that?”

You tittered. “What the heck is there to be afraid of? I know you would never hurt me. Besides, I’m pretty sure I can lift you with one arm.”

”Hilarious."

“Oh, and by the way, I figured out how I’ll fund your expensive taste.” Tagora quirked a brow, and you grinned sneakily. “I’ll be pilfering your swear jar. You owe it a hefty fee after your meltdown.”

He chuckled. “It’s still my money.”

“Not when I tell your lusus about your uncouth, boorish behavior.”

“So you know what those words mean, but not ‘concupiscent’?”

“I can only listen to Galekh for so long before my mental thesaurus gets filled up for the day.”

“Ugh.” Tagora rolled his eyes fondly, and you squeezed his hand without thought, simply basking in how happy he made you.

#self indulgent fluff #marvus next chapter with more fluff #friendsim #homestuck #hiveswap #tagora gorjek #tagora x reader #tagora/reader #lynera skalbi #gods and monsters #zebruh codakk

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junkpile-of-eterna · 6 years

Text

Nothing Like Self-Sabotage

Uhhhhhhh, so I ended up writing a little thing based on @tricky-leader‘s Ch5 AU prompt idea. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it, and it just sort of...came out. I’m not particularly proud of it, because I kind of rushed through editing, but...here it is.

While I think it’s pretty much impossible that there would be a second antidote, we all live to dream, right?

Part of me wants to continue this--see the consequences of it, the two of them confronting the others who’ve been affected by the Flashback Light, Kaito protecting Kokichi from Maki, exc., but don’t expect it. I have too much else I also want to write, haha.

Warnings for language and some suicidal thoughts

"S-S-SSTOP!!!"

The sound, the raw scream tore out across the hangar. And just like that, in a single instant, everything he'd worked so hard for, everything he'd given his entire life for, was utterly destroyed. Because of his own damn mouth. Betrayed by his own lungs, his own throat, his own heart.

How dare he?! How dare he be so...selfish?! How could he have turned his back on everyone's lives like this?! Now...now he truly did deserve death.

But even so, Kokichi couldn't lose himself in self-loathing...because, at least, at the very least, the thick metal slab just inches above him had come to a halt.

His bare, cold, bony chest heaved as it desperately struggled for breath, sweat pouring down his back, down his forehead, and every single centimeter of his body was jittering with the deepest, most horrible fear and dread he'd ever yet felt. Kaito had listened. Kaito had stopped the press and the camera...but it was already too late. Kokichi's scream had undoubtedly been recorded. It would be obvious now, who really died. Everything was destroyed. The entire world was crumbling to pieces, and he wondered if this really was better than being squashed into paste.

Hot tears rolled down Kokichi's cheeks. Why why why why?! He wanted to die! But, God, oh God...did he not want to die. It made no sense. Nothing mattered anymore. There was nothing in this life for him, nothing to hope for, no reason to hang on. He hadn't even been able to save a single life. He'd even contributed to the deaths of two others. He was the worst person conceivable. But the abyss of death--the unknowable cavity of nonexistence crawled at his soul, obliterated his will and his own agency. He was weak. He was so, so damn weak and pathetic...!

"H-Hey..." A rush of tapping announced the space idiot's arrival at the side of the hydraulic press. Oh, why had he listened?! If he'd just crushed him fast enough, maybe he could have muffled the scream, cut it off with the bursting of his skull. He hated him, anyway--he had plenty of reason to want him dead. And what about his little murder girlfriend? God damn him. Always, always a thorn in his side.

......Thank God he'd listened.

"Uh..." When Kokichi glanced over, he could see Kaito kneeling down to look in at him. His face was just as sweaty and horrified, his arms trembling in their white sleeves. Why? Why was he so afraid? As long as this worked, he wouldn't be the murderer. Except now, his cover had been completely blown by the video. Maybe that was why...?

"L-L-Look, man. I don't want to do this either. There... There's gotta be another way. I...I wanna beat the Mastermind just as much, believe me. But...but sacrificing your life like this? I can't..."

Was it just the light, or...were there actually tears forming at the edges of his fuchsia eyes? Kaito gritted his teeth, sliding his eyelids shut and wrenching his head away. "I can't do this! Taking a life... No matter what the circumstances, it's just wrong!"

At last...it seemed there was something they could actually agree on. And...wasn't suicide a form of murder too? He'd have three deaths on his hands.

More tears blurred out Kokichi's vision, and he could no longer form words. Such an idiot...they were both...such idiots.

He wanted to protest as Kaito reached into the opening, his arms just barely able to fit. He wanted to yell and punch and kick as he gently slid him out, pulling him up into a bundle in his arms. But all he could do was shake and squeeze and choke on his own idiot tears.

The ends of his nerves were beginning to numb, but he couldn't help feeling a tiny measure of instinctual relief as Kaito wrapped the starry jacket close around his bare torso and broke into a sprint, holding him to his chest.

"Passcode," Kaito insisted, as they came to the shutter's control panel, and Kokichi didn't even know why he choked out the correct answer...but he did. What did it matter anyway? Everything was already in shambles. Just...maybe he could get Kaito to take him back to his room, let him die alone in peace. What was he doing?

The idiot took off as soon as the shutter lifted enough to allow him to slip through. Kokichi could barely see as the walls whipped past him, but they were zooming through the metal courtyard, past the three unmoving Exisals. Kokichi realized he could probably move them...if he pried the controller out of his pants pocket, he could get them to stop Kaito. He'd intended to destroy that controller along with his body, but... Again...what was the point? Already, they were out of range of the Electrobomb. They would show up on the hidden cameras again, wherever those nanoscopic things were. The Mastermind probably already knew exactly where they were, exactly what they'd been attempting. He hated himself so much, for ruining it all...

The outside air of the courtyard burned in his dying lungs. A small part of him wished someone would find them--Maki or Shuichi or even Keebo--and put an end to this madness. Just finish the job, put an end to him. But, as usual, Kaito was too stubborn to give up.

They entered the school building, and Kokichi's body burst into pain as Kaito began to pound up the stairs...one floor...two floors... The poison was really seeping into his organs now, crackling through his guts and making every little jostle sting. Why... Why had that moron done this? Why was he going to die like this?

"Y-You know..." Kokichi just barely managed to croak out. "Your...p-p-precious little...M-Maki Roll is gonna die now. I'm gonna...d-die from this poison and...it'll be s-so obvious...so boring... If...y-you don't hurry up and kill me, she..."

"Shut up!" Kaito snapped. "I'm not gonna kill you! Sure, you're a piece of shit, but there's no way I could kill you! I saved your goddamn life, remember?"

"No...y-you wanted to save...h-her life... You even...you even said so. 'Even if it's Kokichi...I can't have you kill anybody'. Sound...familiar?"

"Well, yeah, but..." Kaito's teeth gnashed, and he forced his legs to go faster and faster. Another set of stairs... "You're not the only one that can lie a little, you know."

And Kokichi honestly didn't know what to think about that.

Suddenly, they'd arrived at the Ultimate Detective lab, and Kaito set Kokichi down in the armchair, dashing to the cabinet and throwing it open with panicked desperation. He was looking for another antidote. But there wasn't one. It was impossible. Why would there be more than one? And why wouldn't Maki have already found it?

Kokichi let out a weak, wheezy cough as his windpipe closed. His trembling hands clutched the jacket closer, just for something to hold onto. Death...death was crawling closer with every second--a death he deserved, but was so, so very afraid of. An inevitability he'd tried his best to ignore until this cursed night. Death....so....so this was what it felt like. To release the last dregs of hope, to feel the very foundation of the universe evaporating. God...he was so, so, so, so scared.

Bottles and jars and packets flew across the room, clanking and rolling across the carpet as Kaito ripped them from the shelves. He was panting, sweating, his tanned face paling, a drop of that telltale blood beginning to leak out the corner of his mouth.

"Pl...ease..." Kokichi rasped, his final desperation. "Just...die... W-ith...m-me..."

"Fuck that!"

And at last... Suddenly... Like a miracle, it was there. Nothing short of a genuine miracle.

Kokichi could scarcely feel as a smooth, glass surface pressed to his blue lips. He could barely see through the blurring haze of his dying eyes as Kaito's face descended over him, utterly panicked and worried, his jagged bangs damp and limp with perspiration. "There, drink. Drink it." His hand roughly pressed the bottle and tipped it up, pouring its contents into Kokichi's mouth.

The liquid flooded his throat, just barely open enough to allow it to trickle through. He could still refuse. He could cough it back up. He could die, like he was supposed to, like he was meant to. He could kill himself, and Maki with him. Or he could live. And before he could make the decision, his survival instinct was already pushing and pulsing...and swallowing it down.

"Th-there." There was a certain tinge of relief in Kaito's breathy voice, and his other hand clenched under Kokichi's head, fingers squeezing his messy purple locks, and holding it up as he continued pouring the life-saving liquid into him.

Teardrops began to bubble out of Kokichi's eyes as he felt his insides slowly thumping back to life, fresh blood beginning to run through his veins again, warming him all over. His body, his soul was just so relieved, despite how his mind continued to break apart.

At last, the bottle had emptied, and Kokichi spluttered, struggling to regain his breath...but it was coming. Life was bleeding back into him. And his tears were dribbling off his chin, staining the collar of Kaito's jacket. The jacket that should have been his death shroud.

"F-F..."

Kaito knelt at the side of the chair, waiting, watching, in case he needed anything else, and...

"F-Fucking...moron." Kokichi found his voice again...and he could feel his mind, his very being shattering, despite the ecstatic relief that flowed through his body. "I can't... I can't...!" Despite how badly he wanted to hold these words back, they were already leaking out--just like the energy of life returning to his broken body. "I can't...do this anymore. I can't. I can't, I can't..."

"Hey." Kaito fully knelt on his knees, shuffling close to his side. "You...you weren't lying, were you? When you said you truly hated this game..."

"Are you that dense?!" Kokichi didn't have enough air to yell, but his voice was pressing out higher, more desperate. "I... I can't... I just... I killed people. Miu...and Gonta... Why would you save me? I should have died. I should have died, I should have died, I should have died, I should..."

"Quiet." Kaito set his features in a grim line, firmly fixing him with a glare. "You did. You did kill people. And you made us all suffer. But that doesn't mean you get to run away from it all!"

"I'm just...I can't...I'm so...I'm so sick of it all!" Kokichi was too weak. All of the courage, all of the fortitude he'd built up around himself, to keep him moving forward when he felt like he was living through hell...all of it was falling to pieces, and he could barely think straight anymore.

His pathetic body broke into gross sobs, curling into the chair, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. "I can't do this, I can't live, not here, not now. I'm too scared, I...I'm just too scared. Why would you...? Nothing's going to get better. You're dying, Kaito. You're dying right now. This thing...it doesn't even deserve to be called a "game"...I can't take it. I can't... I can't pretend anymore. I can't go on. But you...you'd never believe that, and I understand. With everything I did, I...I don't believe myself. I don't trust myself either, but I'm so, so tired, and just so goddamn scared, and... Look at me. I'm worthless. I screwed it all up. I'm a coward. All I wanted...all I wanted was just...for it all to end..."

And all of a sudden, a warm heaviness was pressing over Kokichi's shoulders. It took him a moment to realize that it was Kaito's arm. He'd seated himself on the arm of the chair, curving his arm around him. And it felt so terrible, yet so amazing at the same time.

"Hey...I'm scared too. I'm terrified. But you can't give up on your life like this. It's...it's true, my body ain't the best right now. I might end up dying in the end, and believe me, I'm mortified. But...but I wanna try my best to get out of here. I'm going to fight until the end. And I don't want to sacrifice any more lives."

He moved his face in closer, capturing Kokichi's eyes and holding his gaze paralyzed. "Plus...you're not a coward. You're not a coward for wanting to live. That's just natural! You were willing to give up your life...you were willing to take on all of our hatred and ire if it could put a stop to Monokuma. And even if I despise the way you went about it, that's really brave. I've decided...to believe. I'm going to believe in you. And I believe...that you're not truly a bad person. You deserve to live. We all do."

"I hate you," Kokichi mumbled, though his voice was choked with sobs. "I hate you so much." But he was automatically clinging to the idiot's shirt, dragging himself forward.

Against all odds...he wanted to live. In his very core, he yearned to just...let it all go.

No more lives would be lost. Not Kaito's...not his own. They would have to fight. Fight with everything they had left, fight while they were still alive. Fight for the remaining life...that was worth holding on to, no matter what.

#my writing #drv3 spoilers #drv3 chapter 5 spoilers #ndrv3 spoilers #i ronpa'd again #very slight oumota #it's more like friendship though #tw: suicidal thoughts #possibly a bit ooc

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taizi · 7 years

Text

Nothing long of time (2/2)

summary:

“What I mean is, I would have told you,” Natsume goes on doggedly. “Maybe not at first, but -- I trust you. You’re one of the first, best friends I’ve ever had. But it was a conversation I didn’t know how to start.”

And Kitamoto softens at that, the way anyone who really knows him could have guessed he would. “I get it, Natsume. It’s really fine.”

set in the full circle au

story tag / ao3

The whole thing comes to an end as quickly as it started in the first place.

Satoru and Kitamoto sit there for what feels like hours, until Tanuma finally comes to find them, and Satoru feels aged when he climbs through pins and needles back up to his feet.

Tanuma is watching him warily, hovering as though he's afraid Satoru is going to faint off his feet or make a run for it, and Satoru trades a long-suffering look with Kitamoto as he allows himself to be shuffled back into the sitting room.

Before they can go in, Tanuma stops him with a hand on his arm just outside the door.

“Um,” he says eloquently, followed by, “I promise we didn’t call him over here.”

“Call who?” Kitamoto asks, but Satoru can guess. He’s flat out of surprise for the day, and shakes his head as he steps around Tanuma, tiredly resigned to another uncomfortable confrontation where he hadn’t wanted any in the first place.

“Hi, Nishimura,” Natsume greets him with a smile.

There's fresh tea waiting and a place at the table set for Natsume, who sits on a comfortable cushion with Nyanko on his lap. Taki is in the middle of cutting into a strawberry shortcake, and looks as though she’s going to hold this situation together by sheer force if she has to.

“Nyanko-sensei left while Touko was making lunch,” Natsume says without heat, idly scratching his cat behind the ears. “It makes me nervous when he acts shifty, and some friends said they saw him heading this way, so I decided to come see what he was up to. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He doesn’t sound hurt at what anyone else would probably have perceived as intentional exclusion. He also doesn’t look uncertain of his welcome, sure in an unremarkable way of his place in their lives and Taki’s bright home -- which is the most marked change of the person he was when he first moved here, and the person he is now.

Satoru isn’t sure what to do. Taki decides for him.

"Before you say anything," Taki says primly, "it's not because I feel bad for you, it's because I want you to feel better and cake always makes you feel better. Come sit.”

He’s too wrung out to feel anything but touched, and sinks back onto his cushion and accepts the plate she hands over. His stomach is still in knots, so he contents himself with picking pieces of strawberry out of the middle while his friends settle in around him.

“So,” Taki says lightly, “what should we -- “

“Natsume, I told Kitamoto,” Satoru blurts before he can think better of it or talk himself down. As soon as he gets the words out his shoulders hunch defensively up by his ears, like his subconscious is expecting a blow. “Sorry.”

There’s a beat of silence, in which Satoru is too cowardly to look at anyone. Then a slender hand crosses his line of vision and Natsume’s fingers are folded over his own.

“Start from the beginning,” Natsume says gently. He’s probably worried. Satoru feels bad about that, and keeps his eyes glued to the deconstructed cake in front of him, talking more to it than anyone else.

“I kept the circle. Taki and Tanuma found out, and I told Kitamoto. I’m really sorry.”

Now that it’s out, he wants it all out. He’s ripping the bandaid off, because he has always lacked grace and subtlety and anything else that could have made this conversation any easier.

“What?” Natsume’s voice is mildly horrified, at best. “You found that yokai circle months ago! You’ve been using it all this time? That’s not the kind of thing you should mess with, you have no idea what it could have been doing to you all this time!”

He’s not loud -- Satoru has never heard Natsume get loud -- but he’s emphatic enough that it might as well be yelling anyway. He stares more resolutely at his plate, dread pouring out of his heart like a sieve.

Natsume is right to get mad. Satoru messed up, big time. There’s no reason to feel like he’s about to cry, or for Kitamoto to bristle defensively and say, “He was just trying to help!”

“No, I’m -- hey, Nishimura.“

Natsume is moving -- dumping Nyanko off his lap unceremoniously and moving around the side of the table. His hand around Satoru’s is squeezing tighter and tugging him around, until finally Satoru has nowhere to look but into Natsume’s wide amber eyes.

And Natsume has no idea how to do this. He’s more comfortable here, with them and this place, than he’s ever been with anyone else, anywhere else -- but he’s never been in this position before. Natsume doesn’t know what he’s doing, as he tries to make his friend feel better, but he’s doing a good job regardless. Satoru thinks that is so unfair.

“I’m not angry at you, you idiot, I just -- I had no idea.” He hesitates for barely a moment, and then looks over Satoru’s shoulder at Kitamoto behind him. “I -- the only person I’ve told is Tanuma, everyone else just happened to -- “

Kitamoto dismisses that beginning of an apology before Natsume can get warmed up to it with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine, this isn’t about that.”

And Kitamoto softens at that, the way anyone who really knows him could have guessed he would. “I get it, Natsume. It’s really fine.”

Natsume is somehow too preoccupied to spare much thought the revelation that his only remaining friend also knows his most heavily guarded secret. He turns right back to Satoru and says, “You just have to be careful, Nishimura. We don’t know what yokai magic like this could be doing to you long-term. You’re so sensitive to these things now, you have been ever since you were possessed.”

“I was what?” Satoru finds the breath to squawk. The rest of the room parrots him a second later, Kitamoto going so far as to throw his hands up.

“He was what?”

“A few weeks after I first transferred here,” Natsume says. “Something was hunting me, and it followed me to Nishimura’s house. It latched onto him after that, and hung around for days.”

He’s either unaware of the horror in his friends’ expressions or he’s ignoring it with a poker face that belongs in a hall of fame, because he just keeps talking.

“Sensei had to banish it for us. That day I carried you to the hospital, do you remember?”

How could he forget? But Taki says, “I don’t!” and Tanuma puts his face in his hands. Kitamoto looks two shades paler than he was a few minutes ago. Satoru takes pity on all of them and moves the conversation along.

“I remember. I never got the chance to apologize for that -- for what I said -- “

“I think we just established it wasn’t you who said it,” Natsume teases gently, and gives Satoru’s hands another squeeze to take the nonexistent sting out of the quip, before letting go and sitting back on his heels. “But like I said, that sort of thing leaves a footprint behind. You need to be careful . Tanuma is overly sensitive to yokai, too -- he gets migraines.”

He’s something different as he talks about this. A creature of quiet confidence, sharing a wealth of expertise about a subject no one else could possibly know as intimately as him. In a room of people who like him, who believe him, he sits a little taller than he normally does.

Noisily helping himself to Natsume’s abandoned slice of shortcake, Nyanko adds, “Most humans can sense a yokai, even if they can’t see it. Especially in rural towns like this, that lie so close to yokai dwellings. Why else do you brats think your parents are so superstitious?”

“That makes more sense than it doesn’t,” Taki says fairly. “And it also might explain why that yokai is following Nishimura around now.”

Natsume’s eyes sharpen, his body going taunt. “There’s a yokai following you?”

“He tried to walk it home a few days ago,” Tanuma explains, so tonelessly that it’s obvious he’s forcibly suppressing the impolite urge to add, “the moron.” “Since then he’s been seeing it everywhere.”

“That’s why he told Kitamoto,” Taki adds, apparently just for the sake of a well-rounded conversation. “It chased them both to Nishimura’s house.”

Satoru watches Natsume go through something that looks painful. Before self-recrimination can stubbornly take root, Satoru tells him firmly, “It had nothing to do with you, Natsume, so don’t start. I just made a bad call.”

“A bad call,” Tanuma echoes faintly.

“I thought it needed help! It looked nervous around all the people -- I didn’t know it was secretly a monster. It’s almost like it switched places with an evil twin there at the end.”

Nyanko sits up and tips his head to one side fractionally, interest piqued. The frosting on his whiskers does a little to detract from the visage. “Like there were two of them? Did you ever take your eyes off of it?”

“No, I -- well,” Satoru falters. “I was clearing a path for it through the crowd. It walked behind me most of the way. I think my eyes were off of it most of the time, actually." His friends are staring at him, incredulous, and Satoru feels a flush creep up his face. "It was creepy! I didn't want to look at it!”

"But you wanted to walk it home." Kitamoto shakes his head, looking at Satoru with a complicated combination of exasperation, concern and reluctant amusement. “Nyanko was right. It’s always you that finds trouble, Nishimura.”

"His trouble is our trouble," Natsume replies with no small conviction, and looks at Satoru with eyes that burn gold in the afternoon sunlight. "Thank you," he goes on, nonsensically, "for doing everything you did for me. Now let me do this for you."

"Let us," Taki corrects gently. Natsume only smiles.

"Let us," he agrees, and reaches for Satoru's hand again, holding tight -- as though to impress, in a kinder way than possessions and curse marks, that he won't be letting go easily.

#natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #nishimura satoru #natsume takashi #full circle #my writing #natsuyuu fic #nothing long of time

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farbsturz · 7 years

Text

title: make a dead man come alive

relationship: kaneki/hide rating: general

word count: 1943 description: Ajin AU: Ajin (demi-human): immortal humans who can’t die by war, accidents, sickness, suicide. Their wounds heal but the pain of dying still exists. A rare specimen which is hunted down and handed over to scientists to be experimented on for life. (Ajin!Hide and Ghoul!Kaneki)

chapter: 5/?

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

beta’d by the wonderful @mildlycuriousdragon

read on AO3

“What do you mean you’re going to treat him? But Mister Yoshimura, that kid-”

“Now now, Touka. He needs our help. Didn’t you hear about the investigators who killed several ghouls in an apartment block just two weeks ago?”

"That… blood bath? I heard there weren’t any survivors-”

“Except this boy.”

Silence.

“You two aren’t that different. So would you please get some meat while I carry him upstairs?”

“... Very well.”

A weak groan escaped him when warm arms wrapped around his freezing body and his heavy head rested against a comfortable shoulder. Blood dripped from his face and arms, quinque parts still peeking out from his insides.

Stirring up the dirt and dust at their feet, the student didn’t miss a beat before going in for another attack.The ukaku user already laid on the ground, spitting blood while desperately holding onto the wound which didn’t heal thanks to the red appendage stabbing him over and over again.

One down, one more to go.

It was easier said than done and Kaneki found himself facing a way more troublesome opponent than he had expected. The bikaku user was agile and dodged the rinkaku over and over again, managed to land one hit after the other. The boy was barely holding up, legs threatening to give in while clasping onto his now broken arm. Crimson red kept on wandering to the motionless body of his friend and Kaneki bit his lip as he didn’t know what to do. That ghoul in front of him was way more experienced than him and it had been awhile since he had last eaten. It was obvious that the longer the fight lasted, the higher the possibility that the student would lose.

What should I do? Should I give Hide enough time to recover and escape? But these two men… They were after him, weren’t they? If Hide escapes one of them will try and go after him. And if I stop the ghoul with everything I got I’ll need to use all four appendages, meaning that the ukaku would be free to move and run after Hide….

A sharp cry tore from his vocal folds as his insides were painfully pushed aside, blood being spat onto the ground as weak hands reached for the sudden feather like kagune stuck in his abdomen. Kaneki discovered in horror that while he had been distracted for a mere second, the bikaku user had cut off one of his appendages, wide red watching in disbelief as the second ghoul began to stand up once again. A cold shiver began to numb the boy’s body as the realisation of his current situation finally hit him.

I’m going to die.

There was no way he could survive a fight against two grown ghouls. Hell, he wasn’t even able to win against Touka when it came to arm wrestling. This was it.

And now?

Teary eyes glanced one more time at his friend and with a shaking breath, Kaneki removed the piece of kagune from his stomach. Trembling hands were clenched into fists, ragged breathing left his gritted teeth as the boy tried to desperately think of a plan. Should he try to escape? Should he lead these two ghouls somewhere else so Hide can easily get away? Kaneki would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. As a ghoul, you were always confronted with the chance of being exposed and dying at any given moment but the thought of being killed by another ghoul hadn’t crossed his mind yet. That was because he was too naive. This wasn’t a peaceful ghoul community in which you exchange phone numbers and hang out together. It’s a primitive way of thinking: kill or be killed.

Collecting the little courage he had, Kaneki looked at the two enemies with glowing red eyes. He wouldn’t run away, he had someone important he had to protect. The pebbles beneath his shoes scrunched as the boy charged towards the enemies, kagune ready to pierce through whatever was necessary to ensure the safety of his friend. However, he was stopped in his movement when another voice rung out.

A cry which not only gave him goosebumps but also immobilized him.

W-What?

Wide scared eyes tried to look around but Kaneki found himself unable to move his head. It was horrifying, not being able to control his own body and the boy began to panic. He had never felt this defenseless and a dozen of possible outcomes crawled through his thoughts and threatened to drown him in his fear.

What is going on?

“Kaneki, come on! Move!”

And just like that the paralyzation was gone and the ghoul was left with catching himself before he fell onto the ground face first. Grey stared in disbelief as he tentatively moved one finger after the other, felt both relieved and scared that he was in control again. A voice which determined the state of your body, which could immobilize you at any given point and make you dependent.

“We have a special ‘voice’. You know, whenever we’re in danger, we can use our voice in order to paralyze others. They can’t move and we can use the chance and escape.”

A voice which belonged to Hide.

“Hurry, I don’t know how long they’ll be paralyzed!”

Pushing himself up, Kaneki glanced at the two ghouls who were still turned into pillars of salt. He could see the uncertainty and fear reflected in their eyes and even though he felt a pang of empathy, the boy’s fingers twitched at the thought of repaying the pain they had inflicted to Hide. However, a warm hand grabbing his own erased every negative idea and created space for a childish embarrassment.

Without another word the two friends began to run away from the immediate danger, the hint of a black shadow flying above them. His legs were trembling badly and Kaneki wondered whether he would even make it to safety before passing out. His body was exhausted, wounds partly open and his stamina basically nonexistent. Man, he should have really accepted the offer of training with Yomo back then..

Panting heavily, Kaneki had to lean against the wall for support as Hide locked the door behind them. On a normal occasion he would be nervous being in another person’s home but right now the ghoul couldn’t bother enough to think about such trivial emotions. His breathing was shallow, face pale and grey refused to focus onto the worried brown meeting them. Hide seemed to be careful as he wrapped the student’s arm around his neck and Kaneki found it almost amusing how fragile the other treated a ghoul.

After he sat down on the couch, the boy leant back and took several deep breaths. His expression changed into a grimace when he felt the cuts and wounds covering his body as the pain finally caught up to him. A part of him wanted to reassure Hide that it was nothing to worry about but Kaneki couldn’t speak up as his friend began to cut his shirt open to reveal the damage on his stomach. Weary eyes watched as the ajin treated him with the utmost care and even though the boy felt exhausted, he still smiled.

“Don’t worry…. I’ll be fine…”

The voice might have resembled a mere whisper but its truthfulness was still valid. Kaneki would be fine… Well, as long as he…

“You need to eat, right?”

At times it was almost scary how observant the blond really was. Hide had always seemed so carefree but the ghoul knew that there was more behind that cheerful attitude and charming mask. His body visibly tensed up at the thought of discussing his more… monstrous side and grey finally averted themselves in hopes of hiding from the brilliant brown’s judgment.

He recognized the movement from the corner of his eye, heard the small huff as the ajin’s head became stuck in the shirt for a moment before it ended up next to Kaneki’s. Blushing at the fact that they were both shirtless was idiotic, more so because he couldn’t afford a higher heartbeat with the blood he was already losing but then again Kaneki wasn’t known for the best control over such emotional reactions. He tried his best to pay attention to anything that wasn’t a well tanned abdomen, though Hide leaning closer wasn’t helping at all.

“Kaneki, look at me.”

Biting his lip, the ghoul hesitated greatly until he finally met the other’s gaze. He was surprised to find soft, worried and determined brown when he had expected a lecture about being too reckless. Time seemed to stand still as Hide reached out for Kaneki’s head and the student froze in place as he was carefully pushed towards his friend’s collarbone.

Meat.

The scent of fresh, delicious and free food embraced him and the ghoul felt a shudder run down his spine as he opened his mouth to accept the treat from his…

friend.

Red eyes were wide open as Kaneki pushed the ajin away, shock and self hatred portrayed in a face which was now covered by two hands. He had almost attacked his friend. He had almost killed Hide. And for what? For an unsatisfiable hunger which acted as a parasite inside him, slowly devouring his personality until nothing but a monster is left.

“Yo, dude. It’s fine.”

Hide’s soothing voice did nothing to calm him down and the boy absently wondered if he was going to have a panic attack. Warm hands grabbed his face and unfocused eyes were forced to meet the honey suns which acted as his way of guiding.

“Kaneki.”

Thumbs dashed away the tears he hadn’t realized had escaped him and quiet sobs caused his shoulders to tremble. Yet the other only smiled at him in encouragement and waited patiently for Kaneki to calm down.

After what felt like an eternity the ghoul managed to control himself enough to stop crying. The exhaustion, fear and wrath from the battle had finally gotten the better of him and even though he was incredibly tired, Kaneki also felt relieved.

“Thanks… Hide.”

He only received a nod in return but the student was grateful for the silence. It helped him sort his thoughts out and it was only now that his hunger reminded him of the current situation. Arms wrapped instinctively around his stomach as if they could prevent the growling monster from leaving its cave.

“I’m an ajin. I can’t die… We both know that you got some nasty wounds which won’t heal without a little snack and I don’t know where you get your food… Hey, this is still better than hurting an innocent passersby, right? We've been over this.”

Hide kept his voice soft and the ghoul immediately knew that his friend wouldn’t try to force anything onto him. It was Kaneki’s decision alone. And even though the other had good points the student couldn’t befriend this idea.

“You know, your hesitation makes you ‘human’. Accepting this offer doesn’t make you a monster, Nekkers. You are my friend who I don’t wanna lose. So please… I want to help you.”

Reaching out, Kaneki could feel Hide’s heat radiating from his skin. He heard the other’s calm and melodic heartbeat in contrast to his own raging one and a part of him wondered how the ajin could remain so calm in the face of death.

“I trust you.”

A hand ran through his black hair as Kaneki finally leant in to satisfy his hunger. And as his teeth tore through warm skin, the ghoul could have almost fooled himself into hearing Hide’s reassuring laugh.

#tokyo ghoul #ajin #hidekane #hideyoshi nagachika #kaneki ken #my fic #make a dead man come alive #it's been so long since i last updated #a year by now #i just really hate writing fighting scenes #and now back to inkstains and flowers #thanks for reading!

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andersunmenschlich · 7 years

Text

Shambhala, chapter 4

"In order to experience fearlessness, it is necessary to experience fear. The essence of cowardice is not acknowledging the reality of fear. Fear can take many forms. Logically, we know we can't live forever. We know that we are going to die, so we are afraid. We are petrified of our death."

I am terrified of dying. I can't tell if I'm more frightened by the idea of not existing, or by the idea of existing forever, in eternal torment. They both seem pretty bad. I used to think I'd prefer nonexistence. Now I'm not sure.

Rationally, I prefer nonexistence. Irrationally, I prefer hell—not for me, but for somebody!—and if that somebody is me, well, I hate it but I have to laugh, too....

"On another level, we are afraid that we can't handle the demands of the world. This fear expresses itself as a feeling of inadequacy. We feel that our own lives are overwhelming, and confronting the rest of the world is more overwhelming."

That I am not afraid of. I know I can't handle the demands of the world. My best isn't good enough, and it never has been. I keep doing it anyway. Maybe someday it will be.

"Then there is abrupt fear, or panic, that arises when new situations occur suddenly in our lives."

Ha. Yes. I've never been particularly fond of change.

"There are innumerable strategies that we use to take our minds off of fear. Some people take tranquilizers. Some people do yoga. Some people watch television or read a magazine or go to a bar to have a beer. From the coward's point of view, boredom should be avoided, because when we are bored we begin to feel anxious. We are getting closer to our fear. Entertainment should be promoted and any thought of death should be avoided. So cowardice is trying to live our lives as though death were unknown."

Interesting. Boredom has never felt that way to me. It feels more like being dead already. Nothing matters, I don't care about anything, nothing is pleasant or worthwhile, I don't even care enough to not do things if people want me to do them—I don't care. Nothing matters, and I don't even care about that. I just go on living because I don't care enough to stop.

I don't know if I've ever felt less afraid than when I'm bored. Death itself isn't frightening. Neither is hell. I simply don't care. It's not pleasant. It's not unpleasant. I do try to avoid it. It doesn't seem conducive to a lengthy lifespan.

The author and I seem to experience boredom very differently. Whatever the case, does thinking about death really help anything? You're going to die whether you focus on the fact or do your best to forget it—why spend your time thinking about it? I may be missing something here. Perhaps he's saying that it's not a good idea to spend all your time rushing from one thing to another in a desperate attempt to avoid the truth when you could just accept it and get on with your life.

Ha. Were it only so simple. Accept that? No, I'm with Yudkowsky on this one.

"There have been periods in history in which many people searched for a potion of longevity. If there were such a thing, most people would find it quite horrific. If they had to live in this world for a thousand years without dying, long before they got to their thousandth birthday, they would probably commit suicide. Even if you could live forever, you would be unable to avoid the reality of death and suffering around you."

Oh. I see. Dear me. The horror. How ever would I cope.

"...acknowledging fear is not a cause for depression or discouragement. Because we possess such fear, we are also potentially entitled to experience fearlessness. True fearlessness is not the reduction of fear, but going beyond fear. Unfortunately, in the English language, we don't have one word that means that. Fearlessness is the closest term, but by fearless we don't mean 'less fear', but 'beyond fear'."

But if you go beyond fear, doesn't it reduce your fear? For example, I kept a spider as a pet (and let it crawl on me) because I found spiders irrationally terrifying. I wasn't any less scared of the leggy thing when it was on my arm—at first.

"Going beyond fear begins when we examine our fear: our anxiety, nervousness, concern, and restlessness. If we look into our fear, if we look beneath its veneer, the first thing we find is sadness, beneath the nervousness. Nervousness is cranking up, vibrating, all the time. When we slow down, when we relax with our fear, we find sadness, which is calm and gentle."

How in the name of sanity does one relax with their fear? I don't want to die. I do not want to die. I can't think of anything I wouldn't do, if it meant not dying. It's possible I just don't have a good enough imagination, but I would do my very best to cut off my own head with a pocket knife if I believed (for whatever ludicrous reason) that would help.

"Relax with our fear," indeed. Well, under my fear I find terror, and under that there's desperation, and under that there's despair. I suppose despair could be considered sad, calm, and gentle. Sort of.

"Sadness hits you in your heart, and your body produces a tear. Before you cry, there is a feeling in your chest and then, after that, you produce tears in your eyes. You are about to produce rain or a waterfall in your eyes and you feel sad and lonely, and perhaps romantic at the same time. That is the first tip of fearlessness, and the first sign of real warriorship. You might think that, when you experience fearlessness, you will hear the opening to Beethoven's Fifth Symphony or see a great explosion in the sky, but it doesn't happen that way. In the Shambhala tradition, discovering fearlessness comes from working with the softness of the human heart."

Despair. This is definitely just despair. But such remarkably intense despair that it's actually... sweet? I'm not entirely sure how to express it. And it makes me love everything all over again. How horrifying reality is. How terrible.

Hey, this is the same feeling from the last post, isn't it? That deep love for reality? Yes, it's precisely the same feeling. How odd.

"The birth of the warrior is like the first growth of a reindeer's [antlers]. At first, the [antlers] are very soft and almost rubbery, and they have little hairs growing on them. They are not yet [antlers], as such: they are just sloppy growths with blood inside. Then, as the reindeer ages, the [antlers] grow stronger, developing four points or ten points or even forty points. Fearlessness, at the beginning, is like those rubbery [antlers]."

Reindeer have antlers, Chögyam Trungpa, not horns. Antlers. You're throwing me off. Ah, the dangers of learning English as a second language.

"When a reindeer first grows its [antlers], it doesn't know what to use them for. It must feel very awkward to have those soft, lumpy growths on your head. But then the reindeer begins to realize that it should have [antlers]: that [antlers] are a natural part of being a reindeer. In the same way, when a human being first gives birth to the tender heart of warriorship, he or she may feel extremely awkward or uncertain about how to relate to this kind of fearlessness. But then, as you experience this sadness more and more, you realize that human beings should be tender and open. So you no longer need to feel shy or embarrassed about being gentle. In fact, your softness begins to become passionate. You would like to extend yourself to others and communicate with them."

Ng. I don't know about that.

I'll admit it does feel good. Passionate, yet placid. Serene and sweet, joyful—but intensely, achingly painful as well. Sort of a "still waters run deep" thing, I guess.

But look, I'm pretty sure extending myself to others and communicating with them in accordance with this feeling would be a terrible idea. I have no desire to go to prison. It's not a thing I'm particularly interested in. It's not a matter of shyness or embarrassment. (Though, admittedly, there is a bit of that. Ever since I hit puberty I haven't been much of one for emotional expression.) I don't want my life destroyed, thanks.

It does feel good, right, appropriate, natural, desirable, and all that. But the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: I'm very nearly entirely certain that going along with its idea of what's good and right is a horrible plan.

"When tenderness evolves in that direction, then you can truly appreciate the world around you. Sense perceptions become very interesting things. You are so tender and open already that you cannot help opening yourself to what takes place all around you. When you see red or green or yellow or black, you respond to them from the bottom of your heart. When you see someone else crying or laughing or being afraid, you respond to them as well. At that point, your beginning level of fearlessness is developing further into warriorship. When you begin to feel comfortable being a gentle and decent person, your reindeer [antlers] no longer have little hairs growing on them—they are becoming real [antlers]. Situations become very real, quite real, and on the other hand, quite ordinary. Fear evolves into fearlessness naturally, very simply, and quite straightforwardly."

There are a number of assumptions here that I think the author may not have realized he was making.

Nevertheless it is true that, when I'm responding to things in this way, the most excruciating stimuli are (in some ridiculous way) enjoyable. How terrible that just opening my eyes should hurt this much. And I want to laugh. How cruel that even taking one breath should burn in this way. And I want to laugh. It's delightful. Even though it's me, and I don't want it to be me!

When it's someone else, I love them for it. I can't help it. I want to get right up close to them and take their pain in my hands. I want to touch it, this pain that isn't mine. I want to breathe it, to taste it, to see every part of it in all its richness. It's stunning. They're gorgeous. They're as lovely as I am, and I feel as though I love them every bit as much.

Yes, I respond to these simple, basic, and beautiful things from the very bottom of my heart.

I'm explaining myself very poorly, I'm afraid—but then, that's emotion for you. I never did understand it. In any case, while I'm certainly being open and genuine, tender and vulnerable at times like this, I doubt the author would call me decent.

I may be wrong. But I doubt it.

"The ideal of warriorship is that the warrior should be sad and tender, and because of that, the warrior can be very brave as well. Without that heartfelt sadness, bravery is brittle, like a china cup. If you drop it, it will break or chip. But the bravery of the warrior is like a lacquer cup, which has a wooden base covered with layers of lacquer. If the cup drops, it will bounce rather than break. It is soft and hard at the same time."

It's a lovely metaphor. I think 'plastic' works better than 'lacquer', though.

Still, whether it's plastic or lacquered wood, despair or sadness or love, that feeling definitely does work to make life easier to manage. Whatever happens, you still have that feeling, and it bears you up.

I'm still not certain this is a good thing in my case—for anyone, but most especially for me.

Chapter four. How many chapters are there to this thing? Twenty-one? Well. That should keep me busy for a while. I should have scheduled these posts much farther ahead than I did. Oh well.

#Shambhala #The Sacred Path of the Warrior #Chögyam Trungpa #commentary #chapter four

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