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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years

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I’ve been really into Komahina lately. This started off all lighthearted but then became a bucketload of Komahina hurt/comfort. Just because I think Nagito needs more people to care about him. This is post-hope arc when they are just trying to be normal again. - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33992074

Warning: descriptions of injuries (nothing serious but requires stitches), blood, some spoilers for SDR2 game and the anime.

Nagito wasn’t surprised when his bad luck struck that day. He’d been having too much of a good time. He’d come to expect this, to feel a wary tension whenever something nice happened because he knew the bad was now right around the corner.

At least this time the luck had affected himself rather than the other Ultimates. The morning had been so happy and relaxed, the perfect conditions for Nagito to let his guard down. He was so grateful to be invited on the beach trip with Hajime, Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi. They’d acted like it was no big deal, like they had no idea of the gravity their invitation held.

“You want to hang out with a nobody like me? The Ultimates are so generous, I don’t deserve such-” Nagito started, but then Hajime put a hand over his mouth, Kazuichi stuck his fingers in his ears and Fuyuhiko told him to shut the fuck up - but all three did this fondly.

It was easy to grow accustomed to the beach when living on a tropical island, but it seemed especially beautiful that day. Blue sea and white sand shimmered with a special sort of exotic glamour - though perhaps that was down to the three other men laughing along and acting like he was equal to them. It was absurd, really, that these Ultimates should give him any attention. He was about to voice this very thought, but then Hajime took Nagito’s hand without hesitation - without a hint of shame - and the words died away. A strange warm feeling bloomed in his chest, heavy and unfamiliar.

Hajime must’ve sensed he was getting overwhelmed, because he led Nagito back up the beach while Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko went swimming. Or at least Fuyuhiko went swimming; Kazuichi paddled and ran for the shore whenever a strand of seaweed brushed against his leg. Hajime spread their towels out in the shade of a palm tree, lying flat and gesturing for Nagito to do the same. “Come on, get in the shade. I know how easily your skin burns.”

“Don’t you want to swim too, Hajime?” Nagito asked, flopping down. He let his head fall back onto Hajime’s stomach, making his grunt softly.

“No, it’s okay. I could tell you needed some peace and quiet.”

Nagito frowned. Hajime was doing that much more often, seeing through his smiles and cheerful comments to the truth inside. Nagito knew he should be happy, grateful even. Hajime wanted to know him better. Hajime wanted to understand him. So why did it make Nagito feel so raw and vulnerable, like Hajime was scrubbing away a layer of his skin?

“You shouldn’t have to miss time with your friends for someone like me,” Nagito said. “You were nice enough to bring me along. That’s more than enough.”

“What, do you think I’m going to chain you to a tree like a dog while we have fun? I’m not missing out on time with anybody. I’m spending time with you, Nagito. Because I want to. I like to. Right?” Hajime said, his voice exasperated. But then Nagito felt a hand in his hair, clumsy yet gentle, and he knew Hajime wasn’t really upset with him.

Nagito felt the weird feeling come back, itching insistently. He forced himself to give a lighthearted laugh. “You’re so inspiring, Hajime. You have hope for everyone, even miserable wretches like me.”

“Nagito.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Nagito did as he was told. Hajime started idly fiddling with Nagito’s hair, taking hold of one wild curl and pulling it straight, then letting it bounce back. Nagito wasn’t sure if he liked it or not, nervous giggles tickling the back of his throat. This wasn’t them. They weren’t tender and gentle and soft. They weren’t sweet words and walks on the beach and fingers running through hair. Their relationship was messy. They were angry outbursts and nightmares and holding onto each other too tightly, too long.

Nagito remained tense for a long time, but Hajime didn’t speak again. His hand continued moving through Nagito’s mop of hair until - finally - he felt the man sigh and release the tension in his shoulders. With the warm sun on his face and his head bobbing slowly up and down to the rhythm of Hajime’s breaths, Nagito felt his eyelids droop. And the nightmares didn’t come this time.

Hajime must’ve slept too, because they were both woken by a splash of icy water over their faces. Hajime yelped and sat upright so hastily Nagito tumbled off him onto the sand, spluttering in shock, wet hair plastered to his face.

Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi loomed over them with empty buckets, grinning impishly. Hajime lifted his sopping fringe with one hand to glare at them, and they both burst out laughing.

“You two were sleeping the day away! We didn’t want you getting dehydrated.”

“It was Kazuichi’s idea,” Fuyuhiko said.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Hajime growled.

“It wasn’t! Fuyuhiko started it,” Kazuichi said, but he was giggling like an idiot and it was clear he was lying.

Hajime stumbled to his feet, hauled Nagito up and snatched Kazuichi’s bucket from his hands. “Right, come on, Nagito. Payback.”

Hajime started running to the shoreline, dragging Nagito along. Fuyuhiko made for the sea too, and Kazuichi, who was now without a bucket, ran to the right of the beach, clambering over the slick rocks by the cliffs to hide.

“I’ll go after him,” Nagito told Hajime. “I know there’s only two buckets but I could… throw seaweed at him, I suppose. He seemed afraid of it in the water.”

Hajime snorted. “Yes, do that! That’s hilarious. I’ll get Fuyuhiko.”

“No you fucking won’t!” Fuyuhiko yelled.

So Nagito ran down to the side of the beach too. The damp black rocks appeared every low tide as the sea retreated, leaving behind a selection of tiny pools filled with small fish and anemones and little crabs. The rocks were covered with seaweed and very slippery, and Nagito was barefoot. He should’ve known better - he was used to watching out for potential hazards - but Nagito knew Gundham and Sonia had been down there on several occasions to study the wildlife in the rock pools, and neither of them had been sensibly dressed. Sonia was even in heels, for God’s sake. Surely the rocks couldn’t be that treacherous.

He wasn’t thinking properly. It was just nice to finally be able to act silly and do stupid stuff with people who seemed to want him around, even if they were just being kind. Nagito had never been in a water fight in his life. He was kidding himself he was normal.

So he clambered over the slime-covered rocks with reckless abandon, barely pausing to breathe. He had his eyes on Kazuichi in the distance, and he didn’t notice the small rock pool until he was slipping into it, his right foot sliding over sharp rock and rough barnacles. The pain and the shock of the icy water screamed all the way up his leg and his knees gave way, sending him falling onto his behind in the pool with a splash. He sat still for several seconds, the sole of his foot screaming.

Kazuichi had originally started laughing when he saw Nagito fall, but his expression clouded when Nagito didn’t join in. Usually Nagito smiled after his clumsy moments and said something about his bad luck being a stepping stone for hope later or some similar bullshit. But this time Nagito didn’t smile. He didn’t attempt to get up. He just sat there, face blank.

“Hey,” Kazuichi called, slowly creeping over. He still wasn’t quite sure if this was a trick. He didn’t want to get a face full of seawater. “You alright?”

Nagito didn’t react. He didn’t even blink. Kazuichi moved closer, coming right up to the rock pool and bracing himself. Nagito didn’t try to splash him. He just sat, blank-faced, twirling one finger idly in the water and making pinkish swirls with the… sand? Silt? Kazuichi couldn’t tell what it was floating in the rock pool, but it didn’t look sanitary.

“You should probably get up. That looks pretty dirty,” Kazuichi advised. “And you’re getting your pants wet. What’re you doing anyway? You’re not gonna go weird on me, are you?”

“I… think I may require Mikan, when it’s most suitable for her. I wouldn’t want to bother an Ultimate with my petty issues,” Nagito said calmly.

“What? Why?” Kazuichi said, alarmed. “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?”

As if in answer, Nagito lifted his right leg out of the water. Kazuichi’s eyes went wide when he spotted the huge gash on the sole of Nagito’s foot, gushing blood at a terrifying pace. He looked again at the murky pinkish water and suddenly understood.

“Oh my fucking God! Fuck, shit, what do we do?” Kazuichi cried in a panic. “Don’t just sit there playing around in your blood, you weirdo! Shit, HAJIME!” Kazuichi yelled back down the beach, waving his arms at the two men in the distance like he’d been shipwrecked.

They approached warily, not taking the situation seriously. “This better not be a trick, Kazuichi!”

“I’m not playing the game anymore! Komaeda is bleeding to death over here!”

“What?” Hajime cried, picking up the pace.

“Bleeding to death is rather an exaggeration,” Nagito said. “You’d need to lose thirty to forty percent of the blood in your body to even fall unconscious.”

“I’m not going to ask how the hell you know that,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime and Fuyuhiko climbed over the rocks, staring in horror at the big cut on Nagito’s foot and the rock pool growing cloudy with blood.

“What did you do?!” Fuyuhiko cried. Nagito opened his mouth, but Fuyuhiko was looking at Kazuichi.

“I didn’t do anything!” Kazuichi cried, looking wounded. “I think he slipped or something. I found him just sitting there.”

“It was nobody’s fault but my own,” Nagito said, his voice the calmest among them despite the fact that he was the one gushing blood. “I was tempting my bad luck. I should be thankful I’m not worse off.”

“What’s he on about?” Kazuichi asked Hajime.

“His luck cycle thing.”

“So something bad is gonna happen every time we’re nice to him?” Kazuichi said. “That sucks. Should we like… shove him over first before we invite him somewhere? Will that cancel it out?”

“Kazuichi, stop fucking talking,” Fuyuhiko snapped.

“I didn’t mean a hard shove or anything…”

“Shut up.”

“We need to get him to Mikan,” Hajime said firmly, hooking his hands under Nagito’s arms and carefully hauling him out of the rock pool. “Ugh, you’re all soggy.”

“Yes, that tends to happen when you fall into water, Hajime,” Nagito said, smiling. Not quite a nice and happy smile though.

“You should probably carry him,” Fuyuhiko said. “Otherwise he’ll get sand in the cut. And he can’t hop all the way back. You should keep his leg elevated above his head to reduce the blood flow.”

“How am I meant to do that?” Hajime snapped. “Dangle him upside down from his ankles?”

“I was only trying to help, asshole.”

“You’d all be terrible first responders. We’ve made no progress whatsoever,” Nagito said. Hajime and Fuyuhiko told him to shut up in unison.

Kazuichi was grimacing at the growing pool of blood under Nagito’s foot. “He has a point. He’s bleeding a lot, guys. We should probably do something.”

“He’s on a ton of medication. Lots of them have blood clotting as a side effect, so he has to take blood thinners. That’s why it’s… bad,” Hajime explained. He sighed, scooping Nagito up into his arms, cradling him like a bride.

It was still far too easy to hold him like this; Nagito’s eating habits were pretty disordered. On bad days he wouldn’t eat at all. Hajime had thought it was sheer obstinacy, but when he’d forced Nagito to have lunch it had come back up again so quickly Nagito hadn’t even reached the bathroom in time. They were in Hajime’s cabin too, which made it worse. That was one of the few times Nagito grew visibly angry with him. He was usually so careful to keep a smooth, happy mask, smiling and chuckling when he was nervous or upset or scared. Hajime never pressured him to eat when he said he couldn’t again.

“Is this okay?” Hajime asked, trying to shift his arms to lift Nagito’s injured foot as high as possible.

“Are you going to carry me over the threshold, Hajime?” Nagito said, smiling.

Hajime could feel his cheeks growing warm. Wow, that was not good. He didn’t want to react physically whenever Nagito teased him, or he’d just tease much more. “I’ll drop you in the ocean if you’re not careful.”

“Who says chivalry is dead,” Fuyuhiko muttered dryly. “Now hurry up, we need to get help. Take Nagito back to your cabin, Hajime. Me and Kazuichi will go hunt down Mikan.”

Kazuichi usually moaned if anyone tried to make him dash around in the hot island sun, but he just nodded. “Yeah, we’ll find her. Try not to bleed to death, okay Nagito?”

“I’ll do my best.”

They ran off together, and Hajime carried Nagito across the sand towards the cabins. Nagito had his arms wound around Hajime’s neck, his face peering over his shoulder. “We’re leaving a trail of blood. Like that old fairy story.”

“What?”

“Some children leave a trail so they don’t get lost in the woods. I remember that part, but I can’t think of the title. It was so long ago…”

“Oh, you mean Hansel and Gretel. And they left a trail of breadcrumbs, you weirdo, not blood.”

“And there was a woman in that story who was a cannibal…”

“She was a witch. She was keeping the kids to cook and eat them.” Hajime was starting to think properly about some of the fairy tails they’d all grown up with. They were actually pretty dark when you thought about it. Trust Nagito to bring that to his attention.

“Never mind that. How’re you feeling? You’re bleeding an awful lot. And it must hurt.”

“You don’t need to worry about a nobody li-”

“Nagito, if you don’t give me a real answer I really am going to drop you.”

“No you’re not.” Nagito spoke with such calm confidence that Hajime had to clench his teeth to hold back a snarky retort. Okay, maybe Nagito was correct. Hajime wouldn’t just dump his injured boyfriend on his ass in the sand. But that didn’t make his tone any less annoying.

“Ah, you’re pulling a scary face, Hajime! Are you growing tired of me yet?” Nagito asked, starting to laugh.

Hajime sighed. He’d been hearing that line a lot from Nagito, as long as they’d been dating and well back into their friendship too. Are you tired of me yet? Whenever it was Nagito’s turn to wake gasping from a nightmare, whenever he grew so ill and weak he could barely move and Hajime had to walk him to the bathroom, whenever the phantom pains from a hand no longer there kept them both up at night, he’d start. Ah, I’m such a burden. Why are you here, Hajime? Why do you care about a nobody like me? Aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of me?

He always kept his voice light and easy, but Hajime sensed there was must be some sort of truth behind the questions. Nobody repeated something over and over like a parrot unless the same thoughts were swirling non-stop in their own heads. Hajime knew Nagito had been alone most of his childhood, forced to take care of his own problems. Now he seemed to baulk at the idea of help or support of any kind, like Hajime was going to play a cruel joke on him and shove him away at the last second.

“I’m growing tired of you saying that,” Hajime said. “Come on, let’s just get inside. And no more woe-is-me speeches, right? I keep telling you, I want to help.”

“You’re so kind, Hajime.”

“I’m not kind. I’m not doing it because I’m kind,” Hajime said irritably. “I’m doing it because I want to. Because I care about you. Okay?”

Nagito didn’t respond, just smiling calmly. Hajime wished he could peer right behind those eyes and see what really went on in Nagito’s head. He sighed and sat on his bed to wait for Mikan. As he was still holding Nagito, he ended up perched on Hajime’s lap, but he didn’t attempt to move. Hajime felt the tight frustration in his chest ease and he carefully wound his arms around Nagito’s skinny waist. Too skinny. Fuck, they needed to find something Nagito could eat even when he felt ill.

“I’m dripping blood on your carpet,” Nagito whispered, his head still resting on Hajime’s shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter right now.” He peered over the side of the bed. “You’re still bleeding a lot. Are you feeling okay? You’ve gone pretty pale.”

“Just a little light-headed, Hajime. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I’m worrying about you. Stop testing me, Nagito. I care. I’m not leaving, I’m not annoyed, I’m not sick of you. Please stop it,” Hajime begged.

Nagito went silent again. There was a strange expression on his face, brows furrowed, almost irritated - but before Hajime could question him there was a knock at his cabin door and Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi burst in. They were dragging Mikan between them, one on either side of her like bodyguards.

“We found her!” Kazuichi cried. “Is Komaeda okay? Because we don’t have spare blood if he needs a transfusion or something.”

“Who the fuck has spare blood?” Fuyuhiko snapped. “He’ll be fine. I’ve seen guys bleed way more than that and still live.”

“Well, the peace and quiet in here was nice while it lasted,” Hajime muttered. He smiled at Mikan apologetically. “Sorry for dragging you over here at such short notice, but I think he needs stitches.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble. I would never tear an Ultimate away from their work with my petty desires and-” Nagito’s string of self-deprecation was swiftly cut off as Hajime’s clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t listen to him. Please, can you help him?”

“Of course,” Mikan said. Her smile was nervous, but Hajime didn’t think it was anything they’d done - Mikan always seemed nervous. She’d had the forethought to bring a case of supplies when Fuyuhiko and Kazuichi dragged her across the island, so she knelt on the blood-spattered carpet and took hold of Nagito’s ankle.

“Y-yes, it’s quite a deep gash, but it’s not very serious. You’ll need stitches and you won’t be able to get them wet or put weight on your right foot for at least a week,” she explained, snapping on rubber gloves.

“Looks like Hajime will be doing a lot more carrying then,” Fuyuhiko said.

“Does Peko carry you when you get hurt?” Kazuichi teased, then yelped as Fuyuhiko thumped him hard.

“I’m going to clean the wound. I want you to take a deep breath, Nagito. This will be painful,” Mikan said. Her usually shaky voice seemed much firmer and more assured when she was talking about her medicine. Her clumsy hands grew confident and graceful as she worked, carefully cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound while gently reminding Nagito when to breathe and warning him when something was going to be painful. She put so much effort into making him as comfortable as possible - an Ultimate trying to help a nobody like him! Nagito wanted to show Mikan how thankful he was, how wonderfully selfless it was to treat him like a worthy patient, like an equal - but his throat ached so badly he could only choke out a “thank you” in an almost inaudible voice.

And it wasn’t just Mikan; Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko stayed too. They peered over Mikan’s shoulder while she worked, having to be reminded several times to back off. Kazuichi pulled faces whenever the wound was revealed and Fuyuhiko teased Nagito for managing to slice his foot so badly in a fall most people could’ve laughed off uninjured, but it was clear they cared too. They did their best to offer help.

“I’ll bring dinner for both of you tonight,” Fuyuhiko said. “Probably best if Nagito rests in the quiet. He might be feeling shitty from the shock.”

“I’ll make you some crutches, Nagito,” Kazuichi promised. “Crutches that work on the sand too so you can still go to the beach with us.”

They were being so nice… and all Nagito wanted to do was shove them out the door. The tightness in his chest was growing worse and worse, like somebody was slowly tightening a belt over his ribs. He was dangerously close to shattering, and that was something he couldn’t do now. He needed them out. They cared too much. He hardly dared blink or speak in case it all came bursting out.

Nagito moved closer to Hajime as Mikan fixed the bandages on his foot, his lips so close they brushed Hajime’s ear. “Make them leave. Please.”

He couldn’t say any more. He wanted to explain, wanted to make Hajime realise how urgent this was, how close he was to being vulnerable around three people he was not ready to open up to in this way. Hell, it was still hard even to show Hajime, the man he literally shared a bed with.

Nagito’s eyes were burning. He felt a surge of panic. Oh God, Hajime, please get them out of here…

Perhaps Hajime heard the strain in Nagito’s whisper, perhaps he felt how tense his body had grown against him, but - miraculously - he seemed to understand. He carefully eased Nagito onto the bed, thanked their friends for their help and reassured everyone Nagito would be okay now, he just needed some rest and some peace. Nagito stopped listened. He was barely blinking. He managed to smile and nod until Hajime had ushered Mikan, Kazuichi and Fuyuhiko to the door, then Nagito rolled over and hastily buried his face in a pillow.

Hajime finally convinced his friends they’d both be fine and closed the door with a sigh of relief. He turned back to the bed, not too surprised to see Nagito lying on his stomach with his face hidden.

Nagito was all mixed up when it came to emotions; bad situations had him laughing and smiling, positive reinforcement had driven him to tears several times now. With Hajime. Nagito refused to cry in public. Sometimes it could be really inconvenient too. Since they’d all woken up and decided to try to undo all the terrible things in their past, everyone was trying to be nicer. And trying to be nicer to Nagito if he was feeling particularly weak or tired or ill that day was fatal. He’d start tugging on Hajime’s hand, gently at first, but the tugging would grow more frantic as he struggled to retain control. Sometimes Hajime had to interrupt people mid-conversation with some silly excuse to save Nagito’s pride. Once he’d run out of ideas and made out to Akane that he had a sudden and urgent need to use the toilet. That had actually made Nagito laugh when he’d calmed down.

It wasn’t ideal, but Hajime couldn’t help being thankful that Nagito trusted him more than anyone else. Trusted Hajime to whisk him away when he needed help, and trusted Hajime to hold him while he wept silently, face hidden in his jacket or covered with his hands - even Hajime didn’t get to see his face when Nagito was in that state.

So Hajime didn’t comment when he saw Nagito soundlessly weeping into his pillow (hopefully Nagito’s pillow anyway. Hajime didn’t want tears and snot on his own pillow). He didn’t ask what was wrong. He simply walked to the foot of the bed and took hold of Nagito’s ankle, examining Mikan’s handiwork. The white bandages were almost the same colour as Nagito’s skin, and his exposed toes were icy cold.

“You should put some socks on,” Hajime noted.

Nagito, predictably, didn’t move, so Hajime grabbed a pair from the dresser. “Are you going to cooperate?”

Nothing. Hajime sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing hold of Nagito’s leg. “Honestly, I bet even Sonia never had anybody to put her socks on for her and she’s royalty. Come on, bend your leg. Help me out a bit.” Despite his grumbling, Hajime eased the socks on with scrupulous care, being especially delicate with the injured foot. “There, your majesty. Surely that must feel better.”

Nagito still didn’t make a sound. Hajime moved to stretch out beside him on the bed, a hand resting between his shoulders. “Hey,” Hajime mumbled. “It’s alright. I know it’s hard, but they care about you. It’s not a bad thing.”

“They shouldn’t care. I did terrible things,” Nagito said, his voice so muffled by the pillow it was hard to understand him.

“So did I. So did everybody here. We’re all trying to make up for that.”

“I don’t deserve love.”

“That’s what you tell yourself. It’s not the truth.” Hajime very gently eased Nagito off the pillow into his arms. Nagito immediately hid his face in Hajime’s chest, but he didn’t pull away. He clamped a hand hard over his mouth to keep the sobs inside.

“Don’t,” Hajime said firmly, taking hold of Nagito’s hand and trying to pry the fingers away from his lips. “Stop holding it all in. I think that’s partly why you keep getting overwhelmed so often. You never let go.”

Nagito didn’t give up, wrenching his hand free and slapping it right back across his lips - but not before a single gasping sob had escaped. It was the first time Hajime had ever heard him make a noise while he cried. Nagito screwed up his face immediately, wincing.

“No, that’s good! Fucking fantastic! Jesus Christ, I can��t believe I’m cheering you on for crying, but here we are,” Hajime muttered. He took hold of Nagito’s hand once again and tried to prise it away. “Come on, we’re on the right track. It’s just us here. Our door is locked, nobody expects us at dinner. You’re safe, okay? You’re not a burden. I don’t think any less of you. Please…”

Hajime yanked Nagito’s hand away, keeping hold of the wrist this time. Immediately a loud sob burst out, another chasing on its heels so quickly Nagito barely had time to draw breath. And the floodgates opened. He gasped and wheezed and sobbed, soaking Hajime’s chest with tears and spit and snot, clinging so tightly to Hajime’s arms that his nails left little crescent moon shapes in the skin. And Hajime never complained. He held Nagito tight, whispering encouragement into his hair, warm hands rubbing between Nagito’s shoulder blades - holding him together, anchoring him against the darkness that swirled inside Nagito’s head.

Nagito wasn’t sure how long he spent sobbing desperately into his boyfriend’s chest; it felt like hours. He cried until his head throbbed and his throat ached. He cried for his friends, struggling themselves to shake their pasts as Remnants of Despair. He cried for all the people they hurt and tortured under Junko’s brainwashing. He cried for the parents he could only remember from photographs. He cried for the childhood dog who’d died in his arms. He cried for himself, for his lifetime of loneliness, his bad luck driving people away out of fear. And he cried for Chiaki.

All the while, Hajime held him. Hajime let Nagito drip all over him for an eternity, and when the sobs finally, finally started to fade away, Hajime brought him a bottle of water and held a cold cloth to his puffy eyes, wrapping an arm around him and pulling Nagito against his shoulder. “I learned this from Mahiru. She does this for Hiyoko when she’s been crying. It’s meant to stop your eyes getting all red and sore.”

Nagito nodded, far too emotionally exhausted to speak. He sat helplessly while Hajime fussed over him with tender but clumsy hands, dabbing his face with tissues and smoothing his messy hair off his forehead. Nagito stared blankly ahead - and then felt two warm hands grip his cheeks. He was forced to stare into Hajime’s heterochromic eyes.

“Hey…” Hajime’s soft tone was a complete contrast to his firm stare. “I’m so proud of you, Nagito.”

It almost brought the tears back. Proud of him? For what? For having a tantrum like a baby?

Hajime recognised his expression. “I’m proud of you for feeling. I’m not good at this mushy stuff and I know you’re not either… but it’s just so good to finally see you letting yourself hurt openly like that. I’m really fucking proud of you.”

Nagito’s chest hurt again. He pulled Hajime’s hands away from his cheeks and held them, squeezing as hard as he could manage. It took several tries before he managed to speak, tasting salty tears on his dry lips. “Next time you feel bad,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, “I’ll put your socks on for you too.”

Hajime laughed - and Nagito finally found himself smiling again, though his face was still blotchy and tearstained. They’d be okay. They had each other to put their socks on when they were having bad days.

#danganronpa #danganronpa sdr2 #danganronpa 2 #post-SDR2 #komahina #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #kazuichi soda #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #hurt/comfort #injury #mod circle #post-hope arc #spoilers warning

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chronicler-harrington · 2 years

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Log 4, Wildlife

It's commonly known among most spacefaring species that animals, creatures of every size, are going to be a commonality. From aliens resembling creatures on your home planet, to the more forgein looking pets that many different wanders keep. Even I myself keep a sort of pet with me in the form of Chroma. But pets are not my focus today.

Space cities like the one I come from are often less than appreciative of the creatures that can make a home in their walls. Rats or other small rodentia chewing on wires can be a bit of an issue when they help to keep an entire city from going dark. That's not even talking about the bugs that can hitch a ride in tourists bags without being noticed. My point is, once you have wildlife in a city, it can be very, very hard to get rid of.

Birds however seem to be fairly well accepted in most situations. Hell, some cities even make an effort to make sure they have birds. I have to admit, it can be nice waking up to the sound of chirping birds from not only earth, but other planets as well. My favourite was the Pine herroth, a crossbreed between the earth pine siskin, and the herroth from Krethera. Gorgeous little birds, with a song that just makes you feel like sleeping.

When I had my first visit to earth with my parents, I was simply amazed by the variety of animals that lived so close to humans. My Mim (mother for those of you wondering) had been to earth before some time before, as she had family living there, so there was no surprise there. My Mum (my other mother) however, had never actually been to earth before. There are still a few photos of when we first landed, with both myself and my mum looking starstruck.

I spent so much of that first day dragging my parents around as I chased after every little new creature I saw. I had never even seen a butterfly before, and in the height of summer there were plenty. After a few days, we grew more accustomed to seeing different animals and bugs around, even when poor Mum found a spider in the hotel room, and we discovered just what arachnophobia is.

Again, being in the heat of summer is a startling experience when you’ve only been on a handful of other mild temperature planets and space stations. I don’t remember whose idea it was, but we decided to head down to the beach for part of the day.

Safe to say I was fascinated by everything. It was part of what sparked my own interest in human history. Knowing each grain of sand was however many billions of years old? An unreadable document of the past, I wanted to learn how it worked. Of course, I say that now, however back then I was more focused on the different creatures that populated the beach. Mim, stars bless her, patiently explained everything she knew about every creature I brought her in my little toy bucket. From the dozens of crabs to even the slower fish I managed to catch in my childish clumsiness. I believe I must have brought at least half the beach's occupants to her in the time we were there.

The one thing that alluded my grasp however, were the birds. Anyone familiar with any avian species can tell you how flighty (pun intended) they tend to be. Unless you are slow, cautious and quiet, you have little luck catching any. Well, human children are none of those things. Running headfirst into large flocks is generally considered a bad idea, however children often know little better.

At last, as the sun began to set and I had used up almost all of my energy, I came back to sit next to my parents, and watched rather bitterly as a flock of gulls landed near where I had been playing a few minutes before. Mim, clearly noticing my frustration, simply chuckled and wrapped her arms around me as she pointed out towards the sea of white birds.

“Those birds over there are called seagulls.” She told me. “They are mostly found near any bodies of water, rivers and lakes included.”

I watched carefully as her hand moved from pointing towards the flock, to plucking a single piece of bread from the sandwiches we had been enjoying for most of the day. She tossed it in their direction, much to the confusion of both myself and Mum. they scattered from where it landed, watching us carefully with suspicious eyes.

“They evolved over the years to be able to eat human food without any problem.” She added, as one of the curious gulls stepped forward and carefully began pecking at the small piece of bread that was left there. “That's why they’re usually called sky rats.”

An, in an instant the whole flock was upon this small piece of bread, screeching and yelling at one another until there was nothing left but a small indent in the sand. Any other day and this would have been the end of it I'm sure, however what Mim had failed to realise was that Mum, unaware of the behaviours of seagulls, had begun eating one of the sandwiches that remained.

To see a couple dozen hungry eyes turn at once to you is an experience I do not think I will ever like to relive, even if it comes with amusement in hindsight. Unfortunately, simply throwing the food you still have is generally considered a bad idea. Once they see that you have it, gulls often assume you have more. To say we ran for our lives would be an understatement. Gulls, as i have learned, are rather relentless.

All in all the trip ended rather well, everyone was more aware of animal behaviour on earth, and by the end we had even come to a steady truce with the gulls. Safety bought with food sacrifices, it's not unlike many very ancient traditions of sacrificing in exchange for safe passage across the seas.

Wildlife is very interesting, but I find it's likely best to do your research before you go interacting with it. More often than not it can ensure you know what to expect. On earth, expect seagulls to steal any food you give them a taste of.

Harrington, signing off.

#alien #short story #harrington logs #writing #work of fiction #seagull #humans are weird

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 10 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 10 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

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Before they could move, Master Juris spoke. “Mistress Daeron, I speak to you as one Master to another. Nobody stays in this shop unless I allow it. I will tell you plainly that I am evaluating these children as possible apprentices. I had not meant to say anything to them yet, but I must speak now, in order to keep them on. Will you allow it?” he gestured to the hard-working children.

There was a confusion of “Of course,” and “Apprentice? Certainly!” and “Roper? Yes, but what about the rope-walk?”

Roper looked up grinning and said, “I’ll still help you too, mother.”

Kurin looked away from the pulley that she was hanging and asked curiously, “Who told you that they were a being a problem? We didn’t say anything to anybody.”

“Well, it was Silor. He came to us and said that our children were bothering Master Juris. That we should get them away from the boat-shop.” They turned to Master Juris. “The way that he said it, it sounded like he was relaying your request. We apologize for interfering with your trial.”

“Think nothing more of it,” said Master Juris. “Silor has been a cranky old Ord ever since I refused him an apprenticeship. This is just more of the same. Ignore what he says,” Master Juris paused, grinning nastily, before finishing, “in connection with this shop.”

With five boats working crabs and several more pulling nets for Glue Fish and Skelt, the Longin’s cargo space began to be filled.

When there was no more room for live crabs in the cargo vats, the cooks had to start processing the catch. Crab cakes, dried crab flake, pressed into blocks and tallow dipped, and salted crab were laid in store. Skelt dried, Skelt salted, Skelt pickled and Skelt in tallow blocks, joined the crabs in the cargo holds. The Longin ran out of room for more.

Silor’s muscles strained as he helped to get the boat-shop hatch off. They were launching the first boat that she had designed and built all by herself. The crane lifted the boat into view. Somehow, Silor felt just a bit disappointed. It looks ordinary enough. The way all of those white-haired-witch worshiping people talked for the last week, I had expected something more remarkable.

Everybody else was congratulating her and making a big thing of it. The sides seem a bit thin to me. He did as ordered and hitched it to the davits for lowering. Crewmen were clamoring for the chance to be the first to use the new boat, as it floated along side.

Merkit and Forn, the lucky winners, clambered down and got into the boat and rowed it a short ways from the side of the Longin to put up the mast. They seemed to have a bit of difficulty at first but got it stepped and the sail up. The boat gathered way. Maybe I was wrong. It is a fast one.

The mast began to bend and then broke off just short of half-way up. Merkit and Forn were clearing the wreckage of the sail when one of them yelled something that could not be made out due to the distance. He began to bail frantically. A badly glued seam must have given!

“They’re taking water! Get a boat to them, quickly!” Silor yelled. Nobody moved. They just watched. In growing horror, Silor saw the tall, paired fins slashing through the water toward the men who were losing the battle to bail out the boat.

“Strong Skin!” Silor screamed. Nobody moved. They just watched. The big, always hungry, fish hit the side of the boat with the large spine that made part of the front edge of its leading dorsal fin. The poorly made side folded, breaking the boat and casting both men into the water.

Silor could only watch in dread as they struggled. The fins of the Strong Skin disappeared. There was a swirl of water and a brief scream. The powerful tail of the massive predator lifted from the water and slammed down flat, leaving only a stain of blood and a terrified Merkit who struggled against his certain doom. The fish hit the man with its dorsal spine, ripping him open before it turned and took him in a bite.

Nothing was left but the sinking ruin of a boat, slowly sliding beneath the blood-stained waves.

I can’t believe it! They don’t seem to care about Merkit and Forn. They’re all feeling sorry for … .

“Silor! Silor! Wake up!” a hand shook him to sudden and shocked wakefulness. Cron, his second lead deck-hand asked urgently, “How long have you been sleeping?”

Muzzily, Silor thought, Sleeping? Was it only a dream? It was so real! At least Merkit and Forn are OK. Aloud, he said, “I don’t know, only a few minutes, I think. Lucky you came down so soon. What got you down here at the start of the watch? Is there a problem?”

Jolted, Cron answered, “Soon? Soon! Silor, it’s the start of MY watch! You slept through the entire watch! Can’t you smell it? The vat water’s gone foul. I can’t change it by myself now, I’ll have to get help.”

“You won’t be alone,” said Silor, following his nose to put the sluice over the worst of the vats. “Go to the Captain and get men. We need three for each of the four vats, and four or five of the biggest kettles the galley has. They can dip water from the sea and lower it to us in the hold with the cargo crane. The men and traveling cranes can take it from there. Go!”

As Cron went, he could hear Silor opening the vat drains and starting to crank the bucket line.

Shortly, a grim faced Captain Mord and the equally somber First Officer Kotance came leading ten other men. “Silor,” the Captain began, “you are relieved.”

“Sir, this happened on my watch. I would prefer to stay and help until it is fixed. I can offer no excuse, but I do know what to do and have started doing it.” Silor had not paused in his efforts on the bucket line as he made his plea.

“Very well, Silor, you may stay,” said the Captain, “but only because we need every man.” He paused in thought as he looked at what Silor had done and was doing. “What do you recommend, Silor, to remedy this?”

“Sir, we need to leave the drains open for now, while we flush the vats. Once we get them to run clean, then we can close the drains and fill them back up. I am flushing number three now. As the pots of water come down on the crane, we need to use them to flush numbers four, one and two, in that order, because of the water conditions that I observed when I opened the drains.”

Captain Mord nodded silent agreement and began directing the men. Big cooking kettles filled with seawater began to come down through the hatch. As they came, they were hitched to the traveling crane and moved to the necessary vats. Their life-giving seawater was dumped in and the pots returned to the crane repeat the cycle.

After a few hours of flushing, the first vat drain was closed and they began to fill it on up. The watch was nearly over before the last vat was properly refilled.

At the Captain’s order, Silor followed him through the tidy passages of the ship, aft to the Captain’s cabin. Captain Mord sat and gestured for Silor to sit as well. He regarded the youth with serious eyes for a few moments.

“Silor, what am I to do? You have put me in a truly difficult situation.” The Captain held up a hand and gestured at the books of Naral fleet Law and the Articles of the Longin, “These leave me little sea-room in dealing with you. What you have done, is done. We both wish to call it back and we both know that we cannot.

“There is much in your conduct to commend you. You caused the problem but also solved it. Your plan was sound and I followed it. Only three of the Broad-legs died, due in part to your prompt and decisive action and your refusal to try to hide the problem. It could have been much worse.

“It is past salvage that you fell asleep on duty and caused this. Do you know your rights and avenues of action from here?”

Dully, Silor said, “I can put myself in your hands alone or I can ask a tribunal of three each of officers and Masters, with you to vote only to break a tie.”

The Captain said quietly, “There is another. It was meant for officers but, as you do command men, you are qualified to it. You can request a jury of those whom you command. Of the options open to you, it might be best. If I have the case, my action is proscribed by those books, and they are harsh. The Masters and officers would be fair to you. Your men are also your friends and may prove your best course. Whichever court you use, there is no appeal from a decision for this offense.”

“Sir, I will put myself in your hands. I have known you all of my life and you have always been fair. The others, well She has gotten to them, indeed most of the ship. I will be safer with you.”

“Silor, please, do not do this. I will have to break your well deserved rank. The others do not. That is why there are those courts available.”

“Sir, they could break me and worse, far worse. She would see to it.”

“I do not understand,” said the Captain, puzzled. What does he mean by ‘She’? “You do know that you have chosen the hardest course to sail. So be it. Go, have the tocsin sound ‘general assembly’.”

Shortly, the sharp strong beat of ‘general assembly’ brought everybody not on watch to the quarterdeck. Some, who stood night watches, were rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

Silor and the Captain stood before them. Behind them was First Officer Kotance, quill in hand, with the current volume of the Ship’s Log open before him on a stand.

Clard, Master of Drums, called out loudly, “Justice at the Captain’s Hands has been requested by Silor Elon Longin. He stands accused of sleeping on watch and thereby causing harm to our live cargo.”

To Silor, one face stood out in the crowd. Kurin’s white hair drew his eye like a hungry fish to bait. She looks stricken. She must have planned for any tribunal but this. Whatever her plan was, it has been foiled. It is a good thing that I chose the Captain’s Hands. It’s the only justice she can’t reach.

Quietly, the Captain asked one more time, “Will you not take a tribunal? They can show mercy where I cannot.”

Firmly and loudly, Silor announced, “I will have Justice from the Captain’s Hands!”

Sighing at the foolishness that was costing him one of the best lead deck-hands that he’d ever had, Captain Mord said, “Silor Elon Longin, you stand in My Hands of your own will, having refused other tribunals. You have admitted to falling asleep on watch, causing the death of three of the Broad-leg crabs in our cargo. You are to be stripped of your duty as lead deck-hand for a period of three Gatherings. During that time, you may not be made a lookout or given solo duty of any kind. The Law of the Naral fleet and the Articles of the Longin demand this.

“Normally, the loss to cargo would demand a flogging to go with this punishment but you also formulated and directed the effort which saved us from much greater losses. For this service, I can give reward. The flogging is canceled unless any of the ship’s company demand it.” He paused and looked out over the assembled crew. Nobody spoke. Silor had many friends and few who wished him any ill at all, had he been able to believe it.

The Captain turned back to Silor. Regretfully, he asked, “I am in need of a new lead deck-hand. Is there anyone that you would recommend?”

Silor actually considered the question carefully for a few moments before recommending, “Cron, Sir. I think that he would be best.”

In the background, Kotance’s quill could be heard scratching across the paperfish parchment of the Log Book as he recorded the event.

“Thank-you, Silor. You are dismissed.” Then, with the same genuine concern that had caused Silor to trust him, the Captain added, “Go to the Galley and get something to eat. You missed your last meal while saving our crabs.”

Afterwards, Silor lay in his hammock, dark thoughts running through his mind. Cron, the new lead deck-hand, and one of his oldest friends, came down the companion-ladder.

“Thought I’d find you here. Tough break, that. Hell, we’ve all taken a nap before. Bummer about those three crabs, though. That’s what did you in.”

“That and the little white-haired witch,” said Silor, grumpily.

“Yeah,” said Cron lightly, “if she hadn’t been showing off how she can find fish, we wouldn’t have the most valuable catch of crabs ever, and you wouldn’t have got in trouble.”

Silor sat bolt upright, causing his hammock to flip and dump him in a heap the deck. “You’re right!” he exclaimed as he picked himself up. “We voted against that stupid mapping thing, but they did it anyway.

“I wouldn’t be in any trouble if it wasn’t for her!”

Cron was dumbfounded. That was supposed to be a joke! I can’t believe it! Silor’s serious. He retreated up the companion-ladder shaking his head over the idea. How can Silor prefer that the whole ship lose their shares in a rich cargo just so that he can get away with sleeping on duty?

That night’s dining assembly brought no relief for Silor. The discussion was lively and optimistic. As the Broad-legs had been believed to be the rarest of crabs, they were likely to bring high prices and therefore high shares.

The entire crew, even Silor, voted to make the existence of Kurin’s charts and the new, very profitable, method of crabbing Ship’s Business, with a penalty of expulsion and shunning for revealing it to anyone from another ship.

TO BE CONTINUED

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#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 10 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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wheelofmeta · 5 years

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The secret of Elayne's potential

It’s pretty clear from the outset that Elayne’s ability to channel and strength are not known outside the Tower. The only evidence otherwise is how freely the matter is discussed in front of Rand (and the guards under Tallanvor who brought him before Morgase & Elaida), but it’s also clear from the infodumping by everyone in the palace, and Elayne’s reaction to Gawyn’s inappropriate topics of discussion, that this is not normal and in hindsight, it’s a ta'veren high tide, like when Rand met with Harine.

Anyway, they say that Elayne will be the first queen, post-Hawkwing, in a position to admit that she’s an Aes Sedai. So it follows that this is something that needs some work and doubtless a lot of behind the scenes political dealmaking and lining up support before the reveal.

With that in mind, it stands to reason that they wouldn’t say anything until they were ready for the world to know that Elayne is a full sister, and a lot of the timing for that would depend on Morgase’s longevity and political position when the time comes around. What if Elayne earns the shawl in a more typical period, say in five years (given her strength, she can be expected to have her training expedited, but not too much, since they want to be sure she’s groomed as the Tower wants), in which case Morgase will still be under fifty, and unlikely to die of natural causes for a good long time. Eventually Elayne’s ageless face will make her status apparent, and Andor will have to cope with the possibility of a sister inheriting the throne. Or maybe what actually happens, happens, and Morgase dies before Elayne is raised, but she can’t come running home from the Tower as Morgase did when Modrellein & Maighdin both died.

I don’t think that scenario in normal times would present a problem with Elayne’s Succession, since it’s the Tower that has her in hand, and can say so, whereas Elaida clearly could not in OTL. If the assembled nobles of Andor can accept an Aes Sedai giving permission for a foreign army to pass through Andor’s territory, even when they are inclined to oppose the specific sister personally, they aren’t going to do much when the late queen’s Aes Sedai advisor says “She will be coming home, just not yet. The Tower is very interested in seeing the Daughter-Heir to take her mother’s throne (with an implicit "so don’t even think about throwing your own hats into the ring”).“

On the other hand, a lot of other things can happen between Elayne being entered into the novice book and swearing the Three Oaths, including fatal failures in either test, or doing something that leaves them no choice but to put her out of the Tower, like refusing to continue the Accepted test. Not that I think she would be put out if that happened. What would probably happen is that she is kept under the Tower’s thumb perhaps with the specious justification of making sure she won’t do any harm with the Power, and then being sent to a farm under the supervision of the most hardcore disciplinarians until she is beaten into line and becomes the most obediant puppet queen in the history of Andor, with a group of Aes Sedai "advisors” whose job is as much to make sure she doesn’t perform any unauthorized or public channeling (not to mention keeping her shielded with permission to touch saidar as a reward for good behavior would probably be a very effective means of controlling a channeling monarch).

But in the event of some sort of mischance eliminating their Aes Sedai queen, it is definitely in the Tower’s M.O. to deny attempting something, rather than admit to failure, so why let anyone know ahead of time. Aes Sedai heir or no, Morgase is, for all intents and purposes, a White Tower operative, given her “more Catholic than the Pope” mentality Moiraine & Anaiya perceive as resulting from her failure to learn to channel and earn the shawl herself. There is no need to weaken her political position by first announcing that her Daughter-Heir is going to be Aes Sedai one day, and then admitting that she died failing the tests. Not to mention, something as publicly known as the Daughter-Heir’s fate might give potential initiates second thoughts or cause other people to reconsider letting their own daughters test

What I always found interesting about the whole issue was how they say Elayne will be the first queen to be out of the closet, as it were, with her shawl. First of all, why? They suggest it is a matter of strength, but I can’t see how her strength in the Power matters at all to her holding a throne, unless they mean that stronger sisters will use their standing to force her to rule as they wish, but that has nothing to do with openly admitting she is a sister. Or maybe the Tower has a hard and fast rule (which would predate the Trolloc Wars) that unless a sister is an 8(+5), she is not allowed to reveal her status and hold a throne. Maybe they think people will expect too much of an Aes Sedai queen that a weaker channeler cannot deliver? Or the public spotlight on her means that her weaker channeling will bring discredit to the Tower.

The more plausible meaning of strength has to do with political strength of the monarch in question, and Andor in general seems to have a stronger central rule than most others. There are not the divisions of power such as Tarabon and Illian have, or the fractious noble class as in Cairhien or Tear (which probably was some sort of crab-bucket situation that caused them to give up on anyone actually claiming the throne, even though kings had ruled from the Stone before the New Era), or other domestic rival interests that weaken the crown, as in Amadicia and Arad Domon. The less said about Altara & Murandy in that regard the better. The Ghealdanin aristocracy as well, seems quite ready to pounce at any sign of weakness in a ruler, though the era of Maseema’s reign of terror is admittedly a small sample size, and the Borderlands are a special case. But it does appear, especially given the relative mildness of Daes Daemar in Andor, that whoever does claim the Lion Throne is relatively secure in her authority. On the other hand, Morgase’s position at the time seemed to be at a nadir, due in no small part to her adherence to the Tower, so it doesn’t seem like they should be taking the family’s level of power in Andor for granted, and blithely assume House Trakand can get away with whatever unpopular thing they want when it comes time to announce that Andor will be ruled directly by an Aes Sedai.

Another possibility is that they mean personal political strength and ability. It would seem that if the Tower wanted an Aes Sedai queen, Kiruna would have been a prime candidate, just get Paitar out of the way. But he seems to be quite well-respected, even seemingly primus inter pares among his fellow Borderland rulers, while Kiruna’s own personality and judgment would seem to be of less than the highest quality. Bera is clearly the brains of that pair, and the Wise Ones seem to be hammering Kiruna the hardest of their apprentices. Maybe in Elayne, they are seeing someone they won’t have to reluctantly concede should not be imposed on a country at the expense of a better claimant and more qualified ruler.

Also of interest is the implication that there have been queens in the New Era who hid their Aes Sedai status. Was that the plan with Moiraine, that she take the throne as Laman’s heir but not reveal she studied more than books at the Tower?�� Strength did not play a part in the failure of that concept, unless it was that Moiraine’s strength in the Power gave her the gumption to defy the Tower’s plans, but then they might want weaker sisters who will go along with their agenda to take the thrones. Come to think of it, White Tower customs of non-interference and deference means that future Amyrlins will have to keep trying to get Sharina, Talaan or Nynaeve (haha! good luck) on board when they want to oppose Elayne or make Andor & Cairhien cooperate with their agenda.

It would seem that Moiraine’s openly operating as an Aes Sedai for a few years helped put paid to the possibility of the Tower forcing her on the throne against her will, since the Cairhienin monarchy seems to be historically weak (re: the lack of a core national military force possessed by nearly every other monarch who actually rules their country), and thus a Cairhienin queen couldn’t get away with being known to be a sister.

So, tl;dr, yeah. No one outside the Tower and Morgase’s inner circle, and people present when a ta'veren inspires them to discuss the matter, knew that Elayne was going to train as an Aes Sedai, and it makes sense that this knowledge would have been kept close.

#elayne trakand #aes sedai #andor #wheel of time #wot #unreasonably attractive fandom #not my meta #submission

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justkeeptrekkin · 6 years

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Prompt if you wanna: Some fake!dating maybe they have to go undercover for hero work?

anon do you know how hard it was to not write a 80+k slow burn friends to lovers fic here? I’m such a ho for fake!dating. THANK you for this blessed ask.

“We definitely, absolutely should not make-out in plain sight in the corridor of a villian’s penthouse apartment.”

Hizashi says it, but he very much does not mean it. He grabs Shouta’s face and kisses him again like his life depends on it.

Which it sort of does.

Twenty minutes earlier.

The piano music sounds distant and strained in Hizashi’s earpiece. The laptop screen shows a sea of people who, for anyone who wouldn’t know any better, seem upstanding- if not also unnecessarily rich. The charity-event pretence is a clever disguise, but it didn’t fool everyone.

It had been Nezu’s idea to organise an undercover infiltration; with a little research, Hizashi discovered that several suspects for one of Tsugauchi’s biggest cases would be attending this party. Not that he should know about such things, but it’s hard not to pick up the facts when the police leave them around so lazily. Now, Hizashi sits in a storage room downstairs, Nemuri perched beside him on an upturned mop bucket. They both listen, watch the party roll ahead with all the glitz and glamour that would be expected for its absurdly wealthy guests. Prosecco, fancy looking finger-food, music, all set in a penthouse apartment in uptown Mustafu.

It looks like way too much fun.

“Why the hell is Shouta the one who gets to undercover?” Hizashi whines, leaning his chin heavily on his hand and watching his best-friend-who-he-most-certainly-doesn’t-have-feelings-for stand awkwardly amidst the crowd. “He’s literally the last person to ever appreciate this sort of thing, man, it’s so un- ooh, look, they have vol-au-vents-”

Nemuri shoves him in the shoulder, a reminder to concentrate. “I don’t need to tell you why, you know the answer.”

She folds her arms across her chest. She’s wearing a dress that is entirely too revealing for it to be a convincing disguise; even with the blonde wig, Hizashi reckons she’d be recognisable anywhere for her chosen style. Hizashi, meanwhile, is wearing red contacts, has temporarily dyed his hair black, and has been forced against his will to shave off his moustache.

He’s still bitter about that.

He sighs and drums his hands rhythmically against the bucket he’s sat on. It turns into a tuneless rendition of Down Under by Men At Work and Nemuri nudges him again.

“Can’t hear.”“Sorry.”

Shouta sighs into his earpiece. He’s always the one to go undercover since he’s still not that recognisable, despite his brief foray on national television. Hizashi and Nemuri, however, are. The only reason they’re dressed to the nines is for if back up is needed.

Truthfully, Hizashi thinks the only reason they didn’t send him down is because they think his acting is too good.

“Eraser. Shou. There are crab cakes going by. Put one in your pocket for me.”Nemuri unsuccessfully muffles her laughter, and Hizashi thinks he can see the entire camera on Shouta’s lapel move with the extreme-sighing that he’s displaying.

“Shouta- the crab cakes! The crab ca- goddamn, why do you hate me so much, dude? No free food for your handler?”

“Stop distracting him,” Nemuri says, but there’s no sincerity and she’s laughing through the words. “Oh, we’ve got Suzuki at two o’clock, Eraser.”

The man of the hour; Tsukauchi’s prime suspect. A multi-millionaire bordering on billionaire with an intelligence quirk- a man who handles complex mathematics and probability as easily as ABC. Unsurprisingly, suspected of using his abilities for embezzlement and fraud. Worse, believed to be funding several underground villain organisations. He’s dressed in a fine black suit, so simple and understated that it screams this cost more than you’ll ever earn in your lifetime.

Shouta makes his way over.

Hizashi’s leg starts to bounce up and down nervously, making the adjacent shelf of cleaning products rattle. Shouta is able to remain deadpan in almost any situation, making him ideal for undercover cases- and he can be surprisingly good at improvisation. But there’s also something about his reserved exterior that makes villains suspicious of him. Now, as he winds through the party towards one of the most intelligent suspected villains that they know of, Hizashi can only watch and advise into his ear-piece with a growing sense of anxiety.

“He’s already drunk,” Hizashi observes for Shouta’s benefit, examining the slight dribble of prosecco down the collar of Suzuki’s priceless suit. “This guy isn’t usually the messy type. And he’s talking to people he doesn’t know, judging by his phone contacts, so he won’t push you away.”

Shouta hasn’t even arrived at the small cluster of people yet before Suzuki’s eyes fall on him, double take, and settle there. And there’s something in the way the shallow smile and calculating look melts, the way it shifts into something possessive. It makes Hizashi growl angrily down Shouta’s earpiece. Hizashi is painfully aware that Shouta cleans up very nicely, it’s unsurprising for others to notice this too, but-

“Reel it in, Mic,” Nemuri says in a low, teasing voice that makes him shoot her a hurt look. Shouta doesn’t know anything about his feelings, and she’s certainly not meant to be making it even more obvious than it already is.

The fact that Suzuki’s attention has changed so suddenly to the approaching stranger isn’t lost on the other guests, and they move their conversation elsewhere. Suzuki leers, starts making small-talk with Shouta and Hizashi feels immediately sympathetic. He’s always struggled with such things.

When the conversation shifts onto Suzuki’s quirk, and thus, complex mathematics, Hizashi starts to worry.

When he laughs and lays a friendly hand on Shouta’s forearm, he gets pissed.

Removing his mouth piece, he says to Nemuri, “I told you I should have been the one to go in.”“Hizashi, you’re our linguist, you’re only ever the one to go undercover when-”

Hizashi stands up abruptly, knocking over his bucket-seat and smoothing down his incredibly dull grey suit. He wishes they’d let him go with the purple. “I’m going upstairs.”

Nemuri grabs him by the arm. “Hizashi this does not qualify as an emergency, if you think he needs advising, advise. From a distance. That’s why you’re his handler-”

“Yo my dude, my pal, you’ve gotta chill.” Hizashi spins round, rests his hands on Nemuri’s shoulders, and tries to convey as much confidence as possible. “I’m going whether you like it or not. I’ll try not to scream at him, but I can’t promise anything.”

He leaves the storage room and ignores the sound of Nemuri calling after him.

Five short minutes later he finds himself winding through the crowd, offering smiles here and there. He manages to swipe a crab cake and stuff it in his mouth, expertly swallowing it before plastering on a grin and taking Shouta’s side.

Shouta’s eyes zip over to Hizashi, assessing his presence and staring perhaps a little longer than is wise. He can see the question in his eyes even if no one else can. Hizashi doesn’t give him the chance to come up with a story; he was always better at that.

No matter what Nemuri says about his acting.

“Sweetie, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Shouta doesn’t react. In fact, his entire lack of response and the following, gaping pause is pretty suspicious. Hizashi bursts into an unfamiliar laughter- it’s his posh-party laugh that he and Nemuri have always enjoyed practising, head thrown back, hand on chest. He clings onto Shouta’s arm. “I thought I’d lost you at the drinks table, I turned around and suddenly you’d disappeared!”

Shouta’s chest rises as he takes a steadying breath, mouth falling open to speak, but nothing comes out.

The smile Suzuki gives Hizashi is courteous. “It seems he’s lost for words. Suzuki Reo.”

Hizashi takes the hand that’s extended and shakes it with a lot less enthusiasm than he ordinarily would. “Oh, charmed, I’m sure,” he says smoothly.

“Charmed I’m sure,” Nemuri repeats mockingly into his ear piece.

“And who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Hizashi’s brain falters. He hadn’t come up with a name for himself.

“Regina Falange.”

There’s a surprised snort at the other end of Hizashi’s earpiece, followed by uproarious cackles. And: “Mic please, honey, oh my god you might be smart but you’re a shit actor, you’re going to get all of us killed-”

“What an interesting name.”“It’s European.” He tries to fight off the temptation to end that with a questioning inflection: Is that believable?

“Fascinating.” He doesn’t sound all that fascinated.”We were just discussing my quirk, how awfully self-centered that sounds.”“Suzuki-san has a mathematics quirk.” Shouta supplies this quietly, almost conspiratorially, leaning towards Hizashi as he says it. He’s wrapping his arm around his waist. Hizashi’s heart stops, before he remembers that he started this we’re-a-couple charade and he really shouldn’t be acting so flustered by it.

“I was just telling your partner about Zeno’s arrow paradox, but I’m afraid I may have lost him.”

Hizashi looks down at Shouta. Shouta returns the look.

“Oh, that sounds very complicated,” Hizashi says sweetly. “I’m sure I wouldn’t understand.”

Shouta narrows his eyes. He knows this game and he’s never liked it. Hizashi, on the other hand, lives for it.

“Ah, it’s simple really,” Suzuki says, his smile apparently genuine now. This is a man who enjoys to show off. And a man who enjoys to show off is a man who lets information slip. “Imagine an arrow at point A, and the target at point B, and in the course of reaching B the arrow must travel at least half that distance, which we can call point C. In getting from C to B, the arrow must travel half that distance, which is point D, and so on. But once you realise that you can keep dividing space forever, paring it down into smaller and smaller fractions, you come to see that the arrow, in fact, can never reach point B. Mathematically speaking, therefore, there is no smallest number- and no limit to greatness. Infinite everything.”

He concludes this unnecessary exhibition of his intelligence with an almost disappointed look in his eye, staring over Shouta’s shoulder.

“‘You must therefore confess that all that exists is not unique, but rather of number numberless’.”

Hizashi rattles off the quote with an air of nonchalance. Shouta glares at him.

Suzuki blinks drunkenly at Hizashi, clears his throat in surprise. “Lucretius said that, if I’m not mistaken?”“Yes.”“You speak Latin.”“I read it from time to time.”

“Hah! You almost had me take you for just another party goer. I’m not often tricked.”

“Well, we have to have our fun somehow, right? You must get so bored with a mind like yours, in a world like this.”

“Oh, it can get me into quite a lot of trouble.”The rapid fire interaction reaches an abrupt pause as both men silently assess each other. Hizashi feels Shouta tug on his suit jacket with a little more force than is necessary.

“Excuse us.”And Hizashi finds himself, without the opportunity to press any further, being directed by the small of the back out of the main reception area and into a quiet corridor. A waiter leans against the wall on his phone, registers their presence, and scurries back into the kitchen.

Shouta rounds on Hizashi, standing close so he can whisper and be heard.

“What are you doing?”Hizashi hesitates, the right words filtering to his mouth too slowly. “I came to help! He was rattling off all this crap about mathematics, man-”

“You’re my handler, you’re meant to stay out of sight and feed me information from a safe distance.”“Is this wh- you’re angry at me? Are you really pissed at me because you think that I’m not safe right now?”“I had it covered. We have a system, you broke it and I want to know why.”

“I-” Hizashi doesn’t want to answer that question. “Why did you pull me away? He was opening up-”

“No, he was getting suspicious. The ingénue act works fine, but only if you don’t prove them wrong. Now he doesn’t trust us and he knows he’s been tricked by you before.”

“OK, but, that’s not. It’s not just that, I mean-” God this is so frustrating. He shoves a hand through his hair. “Fine, listen, I was freaked out because he was being all handsy with you and I didn’t like the idea of you being at the receiving end of some creep trying to flirt with you and he’s a villain so that’s even worse and-”

“Wait-”

He’s vaguely aware that Shouta’s trying to interrupt him, but the word vomit is virtually unstoppable now. “And maybe I just felt like I should be here to mediate or maybe it’s something more, I dunno-”

“There’s someone coming-”

“Maybe I just felt like something was- wait what-?”

Before Hizashi is aware of what’s going on, he feels Shouta grab his lapel and drag him into an abrupt kiss. It lasts only a few seconds, and during the entire experience the inside of Hizashi’s head is screaming. When Shouta pulls away, Hizashi collapses against the corridor wall.

“Whuh,” is all he manages.

“Don’t freak out.” Shouta says it so evenly, like it’s that simple.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You are freaking out. Someone was coming and you were talking about the mission.”

“Ah- yeah, right, sorry.”“Don’t apologise,” Shouta adds. “I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you.”

And despite having broken apart from their kiss, they’re only inches away from each other. And Shouta is still holding onto Hizashi’s lapel. He’s staring at Hizashi’s lips.

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching.

“We definitely, absolutely should not make-out in plain sight in the corridor of a villian’s penthouse apartment,” Hizashi says reasonably. Before pulling him into a sloppy, desperate kiss, breathing into each other’s mouths and Shouta crowding him against the wall.

Oh god. This is happening. Wait, this is actually happening, isn’t it?

“Boys, as much as I’ve been rooting for you for the past fifteen years,” Nemuri’s voice slips into their ears, sounding quietly amused, “this could not have come at a worse time.”

Shouta pulls back immediately at the sound of her voice and bristles at the reminder that they’re being watched. Hizashi slouches against the wall, feels like he might melt into a puddle on the floor. He watches the way Shouta stares at the ground with a thoughtful crease between his brow.

“Can we talk about this when we get home?” he whispers.

Shouta opens his mouth speechlessly. Gives a shaky nod.

They regard each other for a long moment, hands still on each other.

“Let’s get back in there,” Shouta says, at last. He looks a little off-centre, which is as ruffled as Shouta gets. Hizashi feels a hell of a lot more than a little off-centre.

Hizashi responds with a grin, and holds up his hand for a high-five. Shouta surveys his raised hand with a weary smile, and obliges.

“Let’s do this.”

#bnha #mha #fic prompt #my writing #ask #erasermic #maizawa #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #present mic #midnight #kayama nemuri

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thehikingviking · 3 years

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Devils Peak, Santa Cruz Island High Point

Devils Peak is the high point of Santa Cruz Island and lies just off the coast of Santa Barbara. To peak geeks, it boasts over 2,000 ft of prominence and over 25 miles of isolation. It is not high, nor necessarily difficult to hike, but the main challenge lies in getting there. Typically, peak baggers must charter a private boat across the Santa Barbara Channel. Making the crossing is heavily dependent on weather and can be quite pricey. To minimize the cost per person, filling the vessel with the maximum allotted passengers is the best pricing strategy aside from knowing someone with a boat. In this case 6 were allowed; Chad, Beer, Josef, Michael, Asaka and myself. A secondary personal challenge was to figure out what to do with Leif, our new born baby. While it would have been definitely possible for me to carry him to the top, the captain recommended for us to leave the baby on dry land (which we found out later proved to be the right call). Luckily, my parents were willing to spend that same weekend in Santa Barbara to visit my mom’s cousin, so we had baby sitters for the day. Asaka was not very happy with leaving the baby, and protested to me for the several months leading up to the trip. I could have left her behind, but I already skipped a previous outing to Devils Peak several years back because there was no room for her on the boat. Finding a compatible hiking group to go with is rather rare, so I felt I had to take her. Besides, I needed to spend some personal time with Asaka, so that I can view her as my wife rather than my baby mama. After the trip, my parents reassured us that Leif did not mind one bit that we were gone for that half day. As the trip grew nearer, I realized that our reservation was on Easter Sunday! This caught me off guard, but everyone else, including the captain, seemed not to mind. My parents were flexible enough, realizing that spending a whole day with their only grandson would be the best way to spend their East Sunday anyways.

We woke up in our hotel, dropped the baby with the parents, then began our short drive to Santa Barbara Harbor. My car notified me of a wind advisory for the local area. This concerned me but the weather outside was fine. We met our group prior to 7am at the dock. Shortly after we met our captain Martín, looking like your stereotypical chill dude. Unshaven and unbothered, he wore a beanie, sweat shirt and sweatpants. He didn’t look like he was dressed to get wet, which was a good sign. He claimed to cross the channel to Santa Cruz Island over 100 times a year, which surprised me. I didn’t realized such a crossing was so popular. At any rate, this gave me confidence that we would have smooth sailing ahead. The boat was smaller than I expected, having taken a giant ferry on my previous trips to the Channel Islands. A made sure to make a “3 hour tour” Gilligan’s Island joke before we set off. Martín was polite enough to laugh, even though he probably hears that same joke on a weekly basis. Josef and Michael, Austrian buddies, sat together on the back, while the couples sat in the middle on opposite sides.

The islands looked close but this was deceptive as the ride took about an hour and a half. I was initially jealous of Josef and Michael for having the most comfortable seats on the boat until they both got completely drenched. I saw several misty spouts in the distance, which could have been from a whale or an orca. There were a couple of times where Asaka and/or Beer went flying. I was sure to hang onto her tight after the first airborne incident, and no one fell out of the boat, although Michael, who was completely drenched, might as well have. It felt like a long time to reach the island cliffs where Martín switched the dinghy into a lower gear. We cruised along until we reached Ladys Harbor, which contained a beautiful rocky beach.

The sea lions curiously watched us while swimming along the rocks.

Martín blew up a kayak which he used to transport us to shore two at a time.

We had to balance very carefully once on the transport vessel. Getting wet was inevitable, but we stayed dry above our knees. Once at shore, we dried out our feet and waited for the others to complete the transfer. Asaka took delight in the various sea shells.

Martín would hang out on the boat while we did our short hike. We expected to be gone only a few hours. After leaving the rocky beach, we entered a thicket. Thankfully there was no poison oak, but there were several sections of our route that required some bushwhacking. We aimed left (East) towards the ridgeline above. I took my place in the rear with Asaka, content to let the others break trail. My only fear was rockfall, but luckily nothing came down that day. Once through the worst of it, we emerged on a steep hillside which we followed to the top of the ridge.

-Alta 2 Benchmark

Once atop the ridge, the route was pretty straightforward as we could see all that lay ahead of us. Sure there would be some minor ups and downs, but nothing that I considered difficult.

-Dudleya succulent

It was a social occasion. I took turns chatting up each individual. I was excited for Asaka to meet Beer, since they had a similar background, coming to America from Asia to marry mountain men.

-Moonset

Though less impressive, the reddish rock reminded me of the volcanic conglomerate found in Pinnacles National Park. Over 15 million years ago, lava flows covered much of the area that now comprises the northern Channel Islands. The the rock formations at Pinnacles started in Lancaster, California, just north of the Transverse Range in the Neenach Volcanic Field, so maybe there’s some kind of distant connection.

-Lupine

-Beavertail Cactus

Rather than stay atop the ridge, we sidehilled down to a patch of shady oaks.

We took our first break in the shade. I sorted through the various Japanese snacks that Asaka’s mom shipped from Japan. The summit was near but we had no reason to rush. Sometimes you need to learn to enjoy the hikes.

After our break we climbed up the grassy hill to our right and followed a parallel ridge towards Devils Peak. The summit structure was now visible from our vantage point.

We climbed a steep, grassy hill underneath some more oaks then emerged on top of the final rocky ridge.

We reached the summit several minutes later. We all did our best to stay in the shade on that warm day. I ate my dry sandwich, wishing I had some more mayo to go along with it. I wondered how they serviced the tower, since I didn’t see a road leading up to the structure.

To the east was El Montañon, the high point of Channel Islands National Park.

To the north were the Santa Ynez Mountains and the Santa Barbara Channel.

To the west were Santa Rosa Island and Alta 2 Benchmark

To the southwest were Sierra Blanca and the endless Pacific Ocean.

To the southeast ran the fault line that divides Santa Cruz Island.

Asaka didn’t want to wait on the summit for too long since she was worried about the baby, so we took a final photo and began our hike back down.

Asaka ran off ahead of the group while I organized some final things.

Much to her nature, Asaka quickly got lost. She wasn’t on the descent route, so I had to run off to find her. She had continued along the ridge past our turnoff point. I hollered down to her and waited for her to climb back up, disappointed and embarrassed as usual. Now that we were back on track, we pretty much followed the exact same way back down to the boat. I was relieved to see Martín's boat was still there.

Much care was taken on the final section. It was steep and I didn’t want to kick down any rocks. We then trashed our way over the last section, just barely missing our ascent route too far to the left. It took us 4.5 hours to do our little hike. This included two very long rests and a gentle pace.

Once at the beach, Martín began to fill his kayak. I jumped in the super cold water to cool off. Perhaps that was a bad idea because I would end up being too cold over the next hour and a half.

Once in the boat, we began our ride back, and that’s where the fun began. Martín informed us that a small craft advisory had been issued for the area. These particular words didn’t mean much to me, but his tone and body language were more effective at conveying our situation. He then said that it was going to get pretty gnarly, which was an easier statement for me to understand.

Things were smooth coming out of the cove, but it wasn’t long until we reached open water and things started to get dicey. Martín recommended for us to sit on the deck as opposed to the seats. The water was very choppy and the swells would take us up high peaks and down to low valleys. A couple times the waves even broke over our boat and soaked everybody. First Josef got got completely soaked, and then Asaka. It was like someone dropped a bucket on each of them. It was scary and funny at the same time. Martín lost his sunglasses and his sweatpants got soaked. After 30 minutes of some crazy maneuvering, the swells began to relent slightly, and things got progressively smoother as we neared shore. I was relieved to pull into the sunny harbor. After Martín docked, I asked him if that was typical. He stated that was the roughest crossing he’s ever experienced. He has owned his current boat for 7 years, which means with a conservative estimate, he's done at least 700 out and backs. I don’t know if we were unlucky to have experienced such wild conditions, or conversely lucky just to have survived. It will be a good story to tell for years to come. We all got our sea legs that day. We met up with my parents and the baby later that afternoon, and I went crabbing with my cousin. We didn't yield any results, but I got to stare out at the island for a couple more hours. Now I need to take a more leisurely tourist trip out to Channel Islands National Park.

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smallsummerfox-blog · 7 years

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34 Best Survival Hacks You Should Learn Right Now

Survival hacks are solutions that break the rules. The best survivalists don’t just blindly follow rulebooks, so we hack when necessary. Sure, there are hundreds of survival guides we learn from but you’re at a huge disadvantage when you rely too heavily on any one resource.

Real survival is a creative endeavor that requires fast thinking and an open mind. Sometimes you have to improvise, adapt, and make it up as you go along. You have to make split-second decisions. You have to work with what you have got.

You have to think like McGyver by survival hacking your way to safety.

Some of the following survival hacks are my own personal tricks, others I have learned from different survivalists, but together they are very useful and applicable in most any survival scenario.

But remember: you can always “make up” a new survival hack on the fly. All you need is a goal and a handful of random materials. There’s always more than one way to solve any problem.

The following list of survival hacks is not comprehensive. In fact, these 34 survival hacks are just a small drop in a much larger bucket. But this list will inspire you in a creative survival sort of way.

The Survival Hacks (We’ll Start Simple)

1 – Dorito Fire Starters

If you need to get a fire started ASAP, but don’t have paper or lighter fluid, use Doritos (any corn chip will work well). These chips are flammable and will ignite quickly. They are a perfect makeshift tinder to get a small quick flame. Time to survival hack your way into building a much larger fire.

They are a perfect makeshift tinder to get a small quick flame. Use Doritos to survival hack your way to build a much larger fire.

2 – Alcohol Swabs as Fire Starters

Similarly to Doritos, alcohol swabs are incendiary. The alcohol makes them flammable enough to catch quickly and the cotton holds a flame long enough to establish a lasting fire.

3 – Battery as Fire Starter

Another great survival hack to generate flame is to use a battery and a couple small pieces of tin foil (or wire). By placing one tin foil strip on each end of the battery, you can get the foil to heat up and burst into flame.

Any battery will do, and the flame generated should be big enough to set fire to paper, thin bark, alcohol swabs or even Dorito chips.

4 – Pencil + Jumper Cables + Battery = Fire

Simply attach the cables to your car battery like you are giving someone a jump. But connect the other ends to a pencil.

The graphite core of the writing utensil will conduct electricity, heating up and causing the pencil to burst into flames.

5 – Crisco Candles

Often times, in survival situations, people lose electricity to power their lights. But fear not! As in times of old, you can use candles to generate light. But what can you do if you are fresh out of wax candles?

Crisco makes a good candle “wax” substitute. Just run a makeshift wick through a big glop of it and you’ll be good to go.

6 – Crayon Candles

Crayons are more than just art supplies for kids. They can be stood up on end, lite on fire, and viola you have a makeshift candle. Each crayon candle will only last about 15 minutes but you can get a box of 96 crayons. That equates to 24 hours of emergency light.

7 – Terra Cotta Heaters

Here’s a survival hack for when there is no electric heat, and you need to warm up a small room. Well, without a fireplace, starting a fire in the living room is out of the question. But there is another way: terra cotta conducts heat very well and radiates the warmth that it collects.

By placing a few candles beneath an upside down terra cotta pot (which can easily be bought at any hardware or garden store) you can create a mini-heater that will pump out a surprising amount of heat.

Set up a few of these makeshift heaters and your home will be nice and toasty in no time!

8 – Coke Can Alcohol Jet Stove

Cut the top of the coke can off about 2-3 inches from the bottom of can, and turn it upside down. Drill or poke holes in the bottom of the can so that air can flow through the ‘stove’. Place a gel fuel tin (or something similar) under the upside down coke can and light it.

You may have to adjust the size of your holes and the airflow somewhat, but once you get it, you should have a working jet stove.

9 – Wild Plants For Insect Repellant

Smoke of any kind works as a general insect repellant, but a few wild plants work as well.

The video below is proof that the right wild plants will keep these dangerous pests at bay.

10 – Super Glue Stitches

Super glue is small, easy to carry, and when there is an open wound that needs closing there really isn’t anything (short of actual stitches) that is better suited for the job.

Just make sure to pinch the laceration closed until the glue dries.

11 – Makeshift Slings

Slings are one of those things you don’t need until you really need one. Luckily, they are pretty simple and really easy to improvise: bandanas, t-shirts, hoodies, blankets and tarps can all work.

If it is too big, cut it, if it is too small, tie a few together.

12 – Hunting Broad Heads From Keys

With the right kind of tools and a file, a key can be shaped into a makeshift hunting broadhead.

13 – Duct Tape Fletching

If you are making your own arrows, you will undoubtedly need a form of fletching. Fletching is the feather (or foam, or plastic) “rudder” at the end of your arrow. It stabilizes the shaft during flight and increases accuracy by a great measure.

In a pinch, when you do not have the time to craft fine fletching on each arrow, duct tape can provide the necessary stiffness to balance the flight of your projectile.

14 – Can Top Fishing Hooks

Fishing is one of the best ways to gather food in wilderness surviving. But finding the right materials is not easy. Luckily, one very common item makes for an almost perfect fishing hook: pop tops!

The fun little tags on top of your beer and soda cans are a great shape to make a fishing hook out of. All you have to do is remove one segment of the top and file it to a point. And there it is: you’ve got yourself a functional fishing hook.

15 – Gorge Fishing Hook

Gorge fishing is one of the oldest methods for fishing. Human beings have been using this technique for thousands of years to catch fish, and it is pretty simple: sharpen both ends of a small twig or stick, and carve out a notch in the center of it.

Wrap line around the carved notch and stick your bait on one sharp end. Drop the gorge hook in the water, and when a fish swallows it, pull the line hard and the twig will turn sideways inside the fish, lodging in its throat and securing your dinner for the night.

16 – Fish Trap from 2-liter Bottle

Take the cap off of the top and cut that end of the bottle right just where it reaches full thickness. Flip the smaller piece and insert it back into the bottle, in reverse. You may have to make a few cuts in the cap end so that it fits snugly inside the bottle’s body. Tie (or otherwise secure) the inverted cap end inside with wire or string.

The basic idea of this trap is the same as any commercial crabbing trap: for fish to swim inside, where they will not be able to swim back out.

Of course, don’t expect to catch any monster fish with this, but it is a good way to secure a few mouthful of minnows.

17 – Yucca Sewing Kit

This is one of my favorites, but it is also only viable in certain geographic areas of the United States.

Yucca is a sharp, agave-like plant with big fat leaves that end in sharp barbed points. Cut one of the leaves off the plant, and start shaving off the edges, until you are left with a long thin, single strip of Yucca with the barb at one end.

Now, cut that thin strip in half and twist the two strands together like a small rope. This will increase the tensile strength of the twine and leaves you with a sharp needle and a thread with which to sew your torn garments.

18 – Water Bottle Ceiling Lights

Need a ceiling light, but don’t have electricity? We got you covered. Just fill a transparent water bottle with water and cut a hole in the roof of your shelter (this probably will not fly in the house).

Jam the bottle up in the hole, and there it is! The light will travel through the water and disperse (hooray for physics), creating a source of light to brighten up your darkest days.

19 – Desk Lamp Water Jug

Gallon jugs of water can work as lamps too! Just fill them up, and wrap a headlamp around them. The light from the headlamp will turn that gallon jug into a bright desk or table lamp.

20 – Improvised Compass

This is one of the oldest and most useful survival hacks in the “book”.

Get a cup or puddle of water (it does not matter as long as it is still and not flowing), lay a leaf in the center of it and gently place a sewing needle or piece of wire on top, so it floats. The magnetic fields of the Earth will naturally orient the needle to point North/South.

This trick has saved thousands of humans over the centuries and is a hack every survivalist should know well.

21 – Rain Collection from A Tarp

All you need is a large tarp and a 5-gallon bucket to collect a significant amount of water when the skies open up. Even in a light drizzle, you can collect a decent amount of drinkable water with this simple survival hack.

22 – Signaling Whistle from Bullet Casing

Maybe might have noticed that larger spent bullet cartridges look a lot like whistles. This similarity was not lost on us, and with a few precise cuts, you can make a very loud, very shrill whistle, perfect for signaling distress.

23 – Folgers Toilet Paper Protector

What is worse than going to the bathroom only to discover you have no toilet paper? Going to the bathroom and discovering that the toilet paper you did bring is soaking wet… I only had to make this mistake once before I changed my ways forever.

Now, I use a coffee can to house my toilet paper, keeping it forever dry! Zip lock bags work well too and pack easily.

24 – Condom Canteen

Yeah, you read that right. Those trusty rubbers are good for more than just baby-prevention, they can also save you from dying of thirst.

Fill one up with water, and carry it with you if there are not any other viable options for transporting the water. Just make sure the condom is not used, or flavored, or lubed.

25 – Improvised Reflective Signals

These can be fashioned from any number of reflective materials; rear-view mirrors, CD’s, polished metal and even jewelry can work.

Of course, some are easier to work with than others. But as long as it shimmers in the sunlight, you should be good to use it as a distress signal.

26 – Tarp Shelters

Survival shelters are hard to come by in many situations. Especially a waterproof shelter. But with a

But with a large survival tarp, you can make sure that you stay dry and protected from the elements.

Tarps do not insulate very well, though, so while it is possible to just hang one up and pass out underneath it, you won’t be staying warm for long. So, the best way to remedy this it to build a small stick frame (like that of a tent) and lay the tarp over it.

Then, pile dirt and moss and leaves up against the sides of the tarp, this will act as insulation and keep your heat from dissipating too quickly.

Snow can be substituted for the dirt in winter (like an igloo).

Here’s where you can get an Aqua Defender King Camo Tarp like the one in this video.

Complex Survival Hacks

27 – Hunting Bow from a Bike Tire

There are a few slightly different methods to accomplish this, but the general idea is the same. First cut the frame of a bike wheel in half, clean out the spokes and sand down the sharp edges.

Then create a guidance system for your string with a couple of well-placed eyelets along the cut rim of the wheel.

The video below goes into much greater detail. It takes time, and it requires a number of supplies to accomplish successfully, but this is the kind of thing that could be used for hunting or self-defense in a pinch.

28 – Makeshift Raft

If I learned anything from the movie Jaws, it’s that empty plastic containers float pretty well. That simple fact applies to smaller containers too; like drinking water bottles and gallon jugs.

By fastening a bunch of empty plastic containers together – either with string or by wrapping them all together in a tarp – you can create a pretty big flotation device capable of carrying at least one person.

29 – Coffee Can Wood Burning Stove

Coffee cans are useful for a lot of purposes. But perhaps my favorite (and one I learned years ago, back in cub scouts), is the wood burning rocket stove.

Turn the metal coffee can (plastic won’t work, sorry) upside down on the ground, and punch a couple of ventilation holes in (what is now) the top of the can. You can also cut a small circle of the flat part for increased airflow.

Cut a square out of the side of the can where you can feed the fire inside. Now all you have to do is collect wood, and keep the inferno inside your coffee can burning.

These stoves work great for cooking outdoors when you don’t have a gas stove or don’t want to cook over an open fire. They also generate a lot of heat and can act like a small heater on chilly nights.

30 – Blanket Chair

Just because you don’t have access to your favorite Lazy Boy recliner, doesn’t mean you have to forsake comfort entirely.

By building a tripod A-frame out of 4 or more solid branches, and tying a blanket or a tarp to it, you can make a very comfortable, single person camp chair, perfect for keeping your bum off the cold ground.

31 – Homemade Penicillin

If you are not familiar with the revolutionary excellence of penicillin as an antibiotic, you need to get educated. This awesome little mold was one of the first ever discovered antibiotics used to fight bacterial infections.

And in the wilderness, or in a survival situation, having an antibiotic to fight an infection will absolutely save your life.

Before antibiotics were discovered, people regularly died because of small cuts that got infected. And you will too, without antibiotics. But you need to be careful, making sure to follow every step in the process as closely as possible.

And I wouldn’t wait around until you have an infection to start growing penicillin – because that is already too late. This is one that needs to be planned ahead by growing your own or with survival antibiotics…

32 – Ping Pong Ball Smoke Bomb

Have you ever tried lighting a Ping-Pong ball on fire? If so, you know that they are incredibly incendiary. They light up like the 4th of July.

By wrapping tin foil around the ping pong ball, and leaving a funnel for air at one end, you can create a fairly effective smoke bomb.

Put a flame to the bottom of the tin foil wrapped ball until the plastic inside ignites. And BOOM! Smoke will start billowing out the funnel.

33 – Grass Tire Pressure

If you get a flat tire and do not have an air pump, a spare, a patching kit, cell service to call for help, or any other viable option, you can fill a burst tire with grass and other foliage to provide just enough support to drive on it.

Simply cut a few holes on the inside of the tire and start stuffing! Obviously, you will not be able to use that tire ever again – it will need to be replaced – so don’t do this unless you have no other options.

34 – Improvised Perimeter Alarms

Security is important and becomes more important in survival situations. Air horns, firecrackers, or any triggering device can be rigged with string to go off when someone trips the wire.

A well-planned perimeter alarm system can help you get a good nights sleep when you’re concerned about trespassers.

You can pick up some Sentry Alarm Mines that work with .22 rounds. When tripped, these will fire off the .22 round and make one hell of a bang.

The Final Word

There is no “right way” to survive. Each individual is going to have his or her own survival style, tricks, and hacks. I highly encourage everyone to develop your own…

No website, survival book, or teacher will ever capture every possible survival hack. Quite simply because there’s always new ones being developed by clever survivalists. Anyone with a handful of materials, a goal, and the will to survive, will rig together things in order to stay alive.

So share your own survival hacks with us today in the comments below!

– Will Brendza

http://www.skilledsurvival.com/survival-hacks/

#survival hacks

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swipestream · 7 years

Text

The Deeper Magic of Comic Book Heroes

No, Doctor, it really isn’t.

Spring is coming.

Surveying the blasted wasteland of western culture, frozen and atrophied thanks to the long dark winter of post-modern deconstructionist thought embraced by the intellectual mediocrities that connived their way into positions of influence one might be tempted to give in to despair. The long years since the golden days of our cultural summer faded into the all too brief cool and pleasant newness of autumn long ago, and for years we have suffered the cold and dark cultural nights. But spring is coming. Cracks have formed in the ice pack and green shoots are springing up throughout the land – if one knows where to look.

Let’s look at the realm of comic books. The flailing death throes of Marvel Comics represents only the latest softening of the permafrost. The phenomenal success of Alt★Hero represents the most obvious green shoot, but the most important sign of the coming spring is the reaction of fans to both events. No longer content to turn their backs on the cold and sterile offerings, comic book fans are turning up the heat and demanding better.

With the vast array of forces aligned against the common man, it is more important than ever that fans step back and reassess the history of the medium. Pushing back against the winds of winter and preparing the ground for the coming planting season takes some thought and effort, to be sure. But the rewards are well worth the effort. To that end, let’s turn the weapon of deconstruction around and use it against those who would replace genuine virtue in comics with the empty simulacrum of Diversity Uber Alles.

The common narrative of comic books runs a little something like this: At first comics were bright and cheery and featured stories of black and white morality with clear good guys and bad guys. It was a simpler time, and the stories were far simpler and lacked nuance and context. They were written for children and so the stories only dealt with obvious situations easily understood by the audience. In the late 1960s and throughout the 1970s, as the audience grew older, the stories in comic books matured as well. From the bright morality of Superman, comics segued into the their more sophisticated tales that carried undertones and layers of meaning as typified by the stories of alienation and prejudice presented in the pages of The X-Men. Eventually, comic books outgrew that phase and matured further into the much more wise and philosophical stories of the 1990s that finally presented the bleak and meaninglessness of life in which everyone is a bad guy; even the best of us is deeply flawed and the only thing that truly matters is understanding that nothing matters and living life accordingly. The Patron Saint of this style of comic book – sorry, that’s graphic novel now – is Alan Moore, who wrote classic titles such as V for Vendetta and The Watchmen, both of which reveled in moral ambiguity and nihilism. From the complete abandonment of classic virtue (pagan or Christian), it was a short hop to the power politics of the present day, in which the good guys are characterized only by the day to day feelings of whichever SJW crab is closest to the top of the comic book bucket in the Current Year.

That narrative is garbage. Every word of it.

It feels good. The official and commonly understood story presents we enlightened Current Year denizens as the smart and sophisticated audience who has only ever improved on the simplistic and childish stories of our forebears. We can pat ourselves on the back for being smarter and cleverer and more understanding of the world around us, even as we lament the crumbling civilization that surrounds us. Even as we watch the disappearance of the middle class, the withering of social bonds, and the literal crumbling of our roads and bridges and buildings.

Our pride helps us swallow the sugary lies of that narrative. To admit we have been misled is to risk admitting to faults we prefer to hide even from ourselves. The sort of introspection required to understand how the abandonment of virtue in our media has impoverished us and left us far less clever and sophisticated than we would like to believe ourselves. Worst of all, reconsidering the history of comic books might force us to admit that we were wrong, and few among us enjoy that important part of learning and growing. It’s hard, but it needs to be done. Ironically Intentionally, the very act of casting virtue out of comic books has helped to prevent us from resisting the costly mistake of that pride.

Thanks to Shakespeare we all know pride might cometh before a fall, but have you ever considered that a fall cometh before growth?

Set aside your pride for a moment and consider the old joke about how your father was an idiot when you were a teenager, but ten years later you marveled at how much the old man had learned in one short decade. It’s an amusing tongue in cheek admission that as we grow older we often learn that the wisdom we rejected in our precocious teen years wasn’t so stupid after all. We learn that our understanding of the world was incomplete and that many of the old man’s diktats were built upon a larger and deeper foundation of wisdom than we could possibly have imagined at the time. Not everyone does this – the prideful refuse to admit to their shortcomings and proceed through life with a teenager’s understanding, and they suffer the pains of approaching their problems with that understanding.

In typically succinct style, Vox Day calls the sorts of people who never admit they were wrong about the old man, despite all evidence to the contrary, “midwits”.

Don’t be a midwit.

Apply the deeper reasoning to the history of comic books.

Were the early comic books bright and did they feature relatively simplistic tales of good and evil? Perhaps. But how is that a criticism? We all face relatively simple temptations between good and evil every day. Why shouldn’t our comic books and movies and literature inspire us to choose the good every time? Tales designed to force us into the moral relativism train us to view every situation as a complex moment in time where what is right and wrong depends on so many factors, and really, who can say what truly is right? That’s a devil’s game designed to produce people who consider their twisting and turning in the winds of their own whim a sign of their grounded responsibility.

It’s nonsense.

Most of the moral quandaries we face on a regular basis are black and white. We know the difference between right and wrong. We recognize it instinctively. It takes active effort to deny the instincts built up in western men over two millennia and pressed into every fiber of our being – active effort and a constant bombardment over generations.

And over the generations that effort has borne bitter fruit. The erasure of black and white morality has left the west bereft of the wisdom that might have saved us from the grim acceptance of truck attacks and mass shootings at outdoor concerts and revelations of the sexual deviancy of entertainment executives that shocked no one. The denial of raw evil in its primal form and the denial of the existence of men who embrace and abuse power for its own sake has left us nearly defenseless against the ravages of terrorist truck drivers and whoever is ultimately responsible for the Mandalay shooting and the countless Hollywood deviants who prey on young men and women. Young men and women who might just have been able to resist the temptation to accept blood money for their silence, and thereby save others from the same fate, if only they had the example of a comic book hero who did not fear the repercussions of doing the right thing and standing up in the face of overwhelming evil.

The nights are long and the winds blow cold through our hearts. Our reserves are running low, and for too long we have been cooped up in our own little cabins, weathering the blizzard in small groups. But take heart.

Spring is coming.

Little green shoots are appearing in the wastelands. They are the harbingers of warmer days and fruitful endeavors, but they also represent a warning that long days of work lie ahead of us. Without considerable sweat and toil, there will be no feasting and no satisfaction of a job well done at the end of the day. The little green shoots must be nurtured and cared for lest a sudden late cold snap snuff them out. Ignore the cold winds or even rage against the storm – defy the forces of winter.

You already know how to care for many of these little green shoots. You are probably already doing so.

In the comic book world, keep supporting projects like Alt★Hero and the ongoing efforts of Diversity and Comics with your financial support. Talk about these projects. Spread the word that others can join in the fun. Talk them up, ask your local shop if they know about them. Plant those seeds. Though many will fall on barren ground, if you don’t drop any, then none can take root.

But also, tend to your own heart. Reject the false gospel of the history of comic books. Ignore those who tell you the golden age superheroes and their troubles are unrelatable compared to the bronze and clay age heroes. You may be told that one cannot imagine himself punching through a wall like a golden age hero, but one could imagine himself standing up for friends ostracized by a wider community as typified by the bronze age heroes. That midwittery lacks the brainpower to understand that the wall is metaphorical. Understand that the wisdom and morality of the comic books written in the generations immediately following Christendom’s great victory against the relentless attacks of her enemies can be conveyed in colorful books with easily understood morals – both in the virtuous sense of the word and in the lessons conveyed sense of the word.

The greatest truths are often the simplest. And the simple truth of comic books is that the golden age was golden because it rejected the sophisticated and complex nonsense of post-modern nihilism. It’s not too late to return to greatness.

Spring is coming.

All we have to do is choose to nurture those little green shoots.

The Deeper Magic of Comic Book Heroes published first on http://ift.tt/2zdiasi

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