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hopelessrromantix · 2 years

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inure | 2

-rewritten @zi-deactive work-

summary - To some, The Spectre is a serial killer. To some, a hero. But to everyone, you were entirely a mystery. You had no history, just a list of victims a mile long. No matter how many people searched your name, they couldn't find anything. If only they had the spelling right. Now, you’ve come across some unfortunate information that drives you out of your usual shadows and into the path of the Avengers. Including two of the more reclusive members of the team. And it’s hard to pick only one of them.

(t/w): this series contains violence and alcohol abuse

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Why Are You Only Friends With Villains?

"Howard, this isn't a good idea. SPCTR isn't ready to show to the public, much less reporters itching to make up a million stories about how the US government plans to use this," You argued. You sat at one of the many work desks in your lab, looking over Project SPCTR's blueprints.

Howard sat across from you, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from his mouth. Thankfully you were nowhere near your actual machine and had a few windows open. Sadly, that meant you could hear the rest of the fort clear as day.

Howard sighed, standing up from his seat. He walked to the edge of the table, placing both hands and leaning on it. "Well, we gotta show 'em something! I'm not saying we have to keep it running, just enough to show the people we've got something real on our hands."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have bragged about it to any media outlet that would listen. You told them about SPCTR, now you have to tell them it's not ready." You didn't look up at him, marking down small repairs that needed to be made with your machine. "It's that simple."

He groaned and turned away from the table, running a hand across his face before facing you again. "C'mon! Just one test, Doc. We don't have to go through everything, just turn it on and off, basic settings! We just gotta show that it works!" He insisted.

"But it doesn't work."

"They don't have to know that!"

Stark, just the same as always.

"I just gotta show them something. Just a few seconds and they'll be going nuts for the next month!" You were tempted to say yes. Howard was a good salesman, after all. But without all the parts complete, there's no telling what turning it on would do.

Well actually, you had your guesses. And none of them were good. If it weren't for those dangers, he would've had you convinced by now.

"Turning it on now could endanger lives. Not just ours but anyone we take down to see it. It's a hole in the ground surrounded by glass, people might get stuck down there if it goes ballistic and actually implodes. We need to stay safe about this."

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes, slumping against the table. He hated your many safety rules, all of which had been created because he'd run around the lab lighting things on fire and blowing shit up if they didn't exist.

"Look, I get it!" You argued, finally looking up from the blueprints. "I'm excited about this too! This is life-changing stuff! Once we get it to work, if we can find a way to mass-produce these things we'll cut casualties so low they'll be in the single digits. We could send people home to their families again when they had no hope. That's something to look forward to," You offered. It truly was an amazing invention. Assuming you could get it to work. "But let's save the bragging and showing off until we know this will change lives. I don't want to give an entire nation false hope."

You stood up from the desk, walking over to another one with a large metal part on it. It was a piece of the control panel, one that you'd been trying to fix for about a day now. You unscrewed a panel, glancing back to the blueprints you'd just marked.

You'd missed the sour glare on Howard's face.

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Your eyes snapped open only to be met with the dark ceiling of your temporary bedroom.

Most of your dreams consisted of memories, though some were more favorable than others. You lived for the nights you dreamed about your childhood or the days you'd go out with Peggy before the war started. She was your closest friend.

You'd kept in contact with her, once you'd gotten back. Though you were pissed to hear that Howard had died before you got to kill him yourself, you were pretty happy to know Peggy was still alive. You'd spent the last years of her life visiting regularly. Watching the movies you'd missed and talking about times before the war tore the world apart.

You'd lived between England and the US your whole life, given that your mother was English. It meant you and Peggy met when you were rather young. The Carters were family friends and were thrilled to hear that your family had a daughter about the same age as Peggy.

You'd gotten along swimmingly.

You sighed, looking over to the side table Tony had given you, noticing something that you knew hadn't been there before.

It was an old photo with a dark frame, the new wood neatly painted a deep black. In it was an old picture, you and Peggy standing next to each other, one of your arms around Peggy's waist, and one of hers around your neck. The both of you were laughing, smiles wide and eyes scrunched.

You both wore nice dresses, your makeup and hair done much nicer than anything you would've worn at the fort.

It was before the war. In fact, you remembered the image well.

It had been Peggy's birthday, and you'd taken her out for dinner and dancing. Given your title as a Doctor and inventor and hers as an up-and-coming female military leader, the two of you didn't have much time to relax.

That picture was the hardest you'd laughed in a long time.

You placed it back on the nightstand, knowing Captain America or the Winter Soldier were the most likely suspects for who placed it there. They were the only ones who had any chance of knowing Peggy personally, after all.

You pushed yourself out of bed, taking a moment to admire the nice room. It was much better than the dingy hideouts you were used to. Leave it to a Stark to make things look expensive. Actually, knowing Stark, they probably were expensive.

There was a small living room and kitchen attached, stocked with some minor essentials. You'd have to travel down to the actual kitchen if you wanted any real food.

You walked into the small kitchen area, grabbing an electric kettle to make tea.

"What time is it?" You wondered allowed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "I need to tell that Captain more about SPCTR. Maybe the team will stop discussing whether or not they think I'm lying all the time if they know a little more. Or at least gossip in a more private setting."

You grumbled, grabbing a kettle and rinsing it out before filling it up with fresh water.

"It's 3:44 am, and I can remind you, if you'd like," A feminine voice offered. The sound of another person made you jump, especially since you didn't sense anyone. The kettle fell into the sink, spilling out the water you'd been filling it with. You knew no one was there, you would've felt a presence. Your senses were flawless... yet this person went unnoticed?

"Hello?" You questioned loudly, keeping your voice stern and strong.

"Hello!" The voice said again, cheerfully responding. You stepped toward the exit of your kitchen area. Even though you could see into the small living room-like area from the kitchen, it was better to look around yourself. But still, there was no one in sight.

"Who are you?" You asked, hoping the voice would continue to respond.

"I'm FRIDAY, Mr. Stark's AI system. It's nice to meet you." You almost laughed. Of course he had an AI.

Now you were less scared and more curious. Was she a full-blown AI? Had she passed the Turing Test? How had he made her completely functional and responsive? She sounded so human too. Was it only in certain rooms? If so, how was she built-in?

There were quite a few questions running through your head, and the scientist in you was completely willing to ignore the fact that Tony was Howard's son if it meant you got to quiz him on his inventions.

What could you say? After all these years, inventing was still a hobby of yours. Not that you shared it with anyone anymore.

"FRIDAY, huh? And how do you work?" You asked, kind of hoping you could just ask her instead of Stark. Admittedly, it was weird talking to the air. But it was even weirder to have the air respond.

"I was implemented to help Mr. Stark after he lost his previous AI. I'm a network of different systems that Mr. Stark has created. I'm not allowed to share all the details, though I'm sure Boss wouldn't mind showing you."

Of course she called Tony 'Boss'. Just like Stark to put themselves on a pedestal.

"Well," You began, "Thank you FRIDAY. I can remember to talk to Captain Rogers though, I don't exactly have much else to do."

“Alright, Miss.”

“Just call me Spectre,” you told her, smiling at the ceiling.

“No problem, Spectre.”

You walked back to the sink, turning the kettle right side up, and filling it again, setting it down on the counter to boil.

You looked around the area again, admiring it.

It felt strange to have a home.

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Coming downstairs and having breakfast was one of the most awkward experiences of your life.

You'd come down a bit late, hoping the Avengers would've already eaten. Though it did seem like some of them had finished, they were still at the table, chatting or finishing whatever breakfast they had left. Honestly, it was like they were waiting for you.

When you entered the room, book in hand, their conversation immediately hushed as they all turned toward you. They were awful at pretending not to stare.

"So, um, Spectre." The Captain was the first to speak up, his voice unwavering even as you came closer to the group. You settled at the kitchen's island next to him, facing him and nodding at him to continue. "Please, grab a plate and join us. We'd like to get to know you."

He offered one from the stack on the island, gesturing to the food piled on plates on the island. Most of it was gone, though there was plenty left for a few people. The sentiment was sweet, though you had a feeling you knew what he was doing. If they befriended you, then they might have a permanent ally. Maybe even stop your 'crime spree'. Or maybe they wanted to justify working with you. Thinking that if you weren't a bad person all the time, maybe they'd feel better about themselves. Or maybe they just wanted to find a way to take you down. They wanted to know just what makes you tick so they could disarm you later. Just in case you got too hot to handle. Not that they'd get anything from you.

"Not to be blunt, Captain, but you don't want to talk to me." You took a step closer to him, noting how he had to put in an effort not to step backward. "I'm a possible threat in your house. You want to learn whatever you can about me for your own safety."

He looked a bit guilty at that, which was the biggest sign that you'd gotten it right. "It's fine, I understand. I'd do the same."

You looked around the rest of the room, seeing similar guilty looks on a few of their faces. Some didn't seem affected or surprised, namely Tony. The rest were avoiding your eye, most likely because of getting caught, not the actual embarrassment.

You didn't have anything against them really. But you weren't here to become best friends. You were here to stop a threat and go back to life as you knew it, just with less running from the police. Of course, the city papers would have a field day, but it hardly mattered. There wouldn't be any legal record of your past or future crimes.

The Captain stayed silent, not seeming sure how to act. He opened his mouth to speak, but you did first.

"Don't bother 'justifying', Captain. As I said, you don't really want to talk to me." You started to place food on your plate, hoping it would help you get out of there faster. "Just don't pretend you do. It's rude."

You didn't hear a response, so you assumed that would be it for the conversation.

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The team went back to their hushed conversation and you scanned the room. It was rather large, as was expected, so you settled for a seat on the far side of the room. You grabbed a cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot and walked over to a seat. The only other person there didn't seem too keen on stay with the team either, so you didn't mind being near him.

He was buried in a book, completely ignoring the team's conversation. You didn't mind the lack of conversation, though his book choice was interesting. Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. An interesting choice, though not something most people read on a Tuesday morning.

You broke open a book of your own, scanning over the page while half paying attention. Your eyes wandered down the page, though you knew you were retaining a single word.

"The team has deemed you a villain as well, hm?" He said, not looking up from the book. He hadn't flipped the page since you'd sat down. In fairness, neither had you.

"You're getting the same treatment, I assume."

You recognized, though not well. He was Loki, Thor's brother and the god of lies and mischief. He had attacked New York a while back, landing himself about 100 casualties. A low number, thanks to the Avengers and the police.

The Avengers had captured him soon after, though it seemed he was being given a second chance. In all honesty, he was teetering on the edge of your list. Honestly, most of the Avengers had been on your list at some point or another. Though at the time they were doing more good than harm, so you let them be. Not that you were afraid to put them right back the second they messed up.

"It is to be expected. After my transgressions, they still do not trust me. Not that I blame them." He finally looked up, meeting your eyes. They were a sparkling blue, though it was much duller than all the pictures you'd seen of him.

"I see," You responded, analyzing the man in front of you. He wore green and black with a touch of gold, a strange mix of Asgardian and Earth attire. A combination of dark jeans and a green t-shirt along with a rather medieval-looking coat, which you assumed was something Asgardians would commonly wear.

"They're the goody heroic type. I suppose I can see why they wouldn't like me either," You lamented. Loki nodded, though he kept a straight face. It looked practiced, as if he was wearing a mask so you couldn't guess what he was thinking. But you knew that look in his eyes. The one that asked if you could possibly relate to him. Maybe you could be outcasts together.

You weren't sure if you liked that idea. At the moment, being alone was much more favorable.

"I'm not exactly clear on what you've done." Loki finally closed his book, keeping a finger between the pages and setting it on his lap. You could see a few team members glance over at you, as if they didn't like you two getting along.

"I kill for a living. Sort of. It's not the best gig but the pay is good. The hero types don't tend to like serial killers, though." You shrugged.

"Do you simply kill anyone?" He questioned, trying to make some sense of why you were here to help the Avengers at all. You smirked.

"Not exactly. My victims are the scum of the Earth. Sons of bitches who managed to escape justice. Maybe they got away with murder, maybe the court isn't moving fast enough. Or maybe they're protected behind a wall of connections, money, and way too many bodyguards." You sipped your coffee. "It doesn't matter. I don't miss a target."

You were proud of that. Not a single bastard you'd gone after had gotten away. They've tried. Some have even gotten further than you expected. But no one had gotten away. That was a streak you didn't plan on breaking any time soon.

"And the Avengers feel you are doing the world a disservice by ridding the world of criminals?" He seemed confused by the concept.

"They just don't like the whole 'murder' part. Well, the torture and murder part. They think we should bring 'em in and let the system handle it. As if the system isn't a pile of shit that's been burning for the last two decades." You took another sip of coffee, enjoying the feeling of the warm liquid sliding down your throat. "So, here I am."

"And if the authorities catch you? Wouldn't they put you to death?" You looked off to the side, thinking. They probably would, depending on the state at least. You hadn't really looked up what consequences you'd face. Not that you cared. You only gave him a low-effort shrug, downing a good portion of your coffee.

"You do not seem scared," Loki noted.

You laughed, swirling the coffee in your cup. "Death is an old friend."

He hummed. A moment passed before you both opened your books once again, resuming reading in comfortable silence. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than any time you'd spent with the team so far.

When you finished your food and coffee you stood up, placing the now empty cup in the sink and washing it, placing it on the small drying rack nearby.

A few team members were near the kitchen area, though most were in the living room like area, though they were conne0cted.

Like your other senses, your hearing was advanced, and you could barely hear anything from them. Whatever they were talking about, they were being very careful about it.

You grabbed a few granola bars from a box in a cabinet and grabbed a bottle of whiskey from below the kitchen island. You reached for a tall glass, pouring it nearly to the brim without even looking at the label.

The team glanced toward you, their conversations slowing.

"I like a good drink myself, but, uh, that's a full-size glass and it's 10 in the morning," Tony said, looking concerned for your health.

You only scoffed at him. "I'm starting later than usual, then." You drink a good portion of the glass before filling it back up and heading toward their training room, bottle still in your hand.

Tony sighed from the living room. "I mean, just drink from the bottle at that point."

You didn't respond, stepping in the elevator and heading down to the training room.

In all honesty, the drink wouldn't do much. Your heart stopped after you died. Everything had. Sadly that meant alcohol could barely make it through the blackened sludge that was your self-healing blood, so it diluted faster than you wanted. You'd have to drink enough to kill a grown man if you wanted to feel so much as a buzz. As far as you knew, you were a walking talking corpse. You only had to breathe so you could talk, and you were certain you could outdrink Thor. And now that you lived under the same roof as the guy, you were tempted to try it.

Since all the loud members of the team were at breakfast, you decided to take this time to get some exercise. Unsurprisingly, the room was huge. Leave it to a Stark to go big.

Though even from the entry way, you could hear another person in the room. You inwardly groaned at the thought of human interaction. Living with a bunch of do-good superheroes wasn't enough, now you had to actually talk to them.

You walked in anyway, hoping it was one of the kinder, quieter members, like Vision. But you doubted a flying android would ever need to work out.

Instead, it was the solider, Steve's friend, Bucky Barnes. You knew him as the Winter Soldier. He ended up on your list after looking into Howard's death. You weren't able to get a real identity on him until years later though.

Although you'd only met Steve once before (not that he remembered), but you'd heard a lot about him and Bucky from Peggy. You knew a bit about their life in the army, mostly about how Bucky had gone missing somewhat early on.

You tried not to make eye contact while you walked over to the weights. He was practicing knife throwing against a wall of human-android targets. How Stark-like.

"You created that machine, right?"

His voice rang out before you reached the machine across the room from him. You refrained from sighing or rolling your eyes at the fact that you had to talk to him.

You turned around, meeting his eye. He picked up a knife, spinning it around and offering the handle to you. You finally gave in, sighing and downing the entire glass of whiskey on your way over. Bucky looked a bit worried by the time you finished, but it hardly mattered. You placed the bottle on the floor, grabbing the knife from the man next to you.

You took it, looking over it carefully and resigning yourself to questioning.

"Me and a friend of mine. We thought it could do good, or at least I did, but it was never finished." You threw the knife at the target, landing it solidly in the dummy's neck. Throwing knives weren't your specialty, but you certainly weren't terrible.

Bucky looked impressed, picking up a knife of his own. "It was meant to heal people, right?" You nodded as he threw the knife, hitting the left side of the dummy's chest. It looked like he was making a 'X' pattern on it for fun. "So how's it gonna hurt anyone?" He asked.

You had considered that. But, since the machine malfunctioned as badly as it did... well, there was no doubt it could harm just as well as heal. "Trust me, it can kill without problem." You said, picking up a knife and tossing it with more aggression. This time it landed in it's forehead, lodged in so far part of the hilt was wedged into the droid.

"I don't think you’re a threat, if that's what you're worried about." H picked up another knife, though he only looked at you without throwing it. You scoffed and looked to him as well, narrowing your eyes.

"And what makes you think I'm worried?" You questioned, your tone icy.

He made a quiet 'i don't know' hum. "I know I would be if I were you."

Your head twisted slightly, trying to analyze him for any sign of lying. You find none. "So why are you talking to me, then?"

He shrugged, tossing his knife into the dead-center of the 'X', completing the pattern.

"You seemed lonely."

#inure #letters to marvel #hopelessromantic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #loki x reader x bucky #loki x reader #loki #tony stark #avengers #avengers x fem!reader #avengers x reader #natasha romanoff #clint barton #steve rogers #sam wilson #wanda maximoff #vision

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tmzoostlxkgr8f · 1 year

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Moms With Boys Gia Jordan Getting Her Hot MILF Ass Good Fucking Honeymoon sex//jija saali //first night sex//Riya video Short big dick blowjob gay porn and teen boys hips sex As he sits Daphne Franks FuckTits Milf Yeraldin Callejas Young cute girl getting fucked with stranger Neat Elite Mom fucked while YOGA Extra hot teen Lady Dee works her shaved wet pussy with pink sex toy FKK auf den Balkon Black dick masturbation cumshot

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blorb-el · 7 months

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hands you a collection of miserable wet droopy ears batman

justice league of america vol. 1, 17, "the triumph of the tornado tyrant!" 1963, script gardner fox, pencils mike sekowsky, inks bernie sachs

#bruce wayne #he got caught in acid rain which melted his lil ears :( but when things are looking up they do go right back to pointing upright so.#i choose to believe they are linked to emotions #this issue's plot was batshit insane. im pretty inured to silver age nonsense but this was incomprehensible #cute art though :)

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columboscreens · 7 months

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#columbo #season 1 #lady in waiting #columbo is so used to being there munching a cookie during familial meltdowns that he's completely inured to the embarrassment #he has seen so much worse than your mother giving you a little slap on the cheek. trust me #columbo watches johnny fucking cash get clocked in the jaw at a party and that's a normal tuesday for him

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 2 months

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I had a great idea for story hear me out!! 😉😉 Peter caring for Tony after he has some type of surgery🙂❤️ what do you 🤔 think??☺️

I do love stories where Peter helps to care for Tony. Or is worried about him and wants to help. But, for me, there is a very fine line between caring about an adult in his life and parentification.

If I were to write this prompt, I think it would be Pepper (or Steve, or Rhodey or whomever other adult) as the caretaker and Pete begging to help. Knowing how much Peter loves Tony, the caretaker gives him small things to do so that he feels useful. Things like, "Can you freshen up his water?" "Why don't you ask him if he wants to watch a movie? Company would be good for him," or "Would you like to carry his lunch in for him?"

I will add this one to my list. Haha

But if anyone else wants to write something along these lines, please do!! And be sure to tag me so I can enjoy it!!

#thanks for asking #prompt #irondad prompt #inured character #injurey #recovery #peter parker #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #iron man #spider-man #marvel #mcu #irondad

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everdreamart · 4 months

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I made a shitpost AU featuring the main villains from a D&D campaign I'm in! They're so silly and I love them sm--

(DM) @ashes-to-asher Suffer >:)

(Other Players) @traumallamarama @blazingjuniper You're welcome <3

#my art #dungeons and dragons #I hope the dm sees this and suffers knowing what ive done to their beloved villains #othiat #maid cafe #maid outfit #maid cafe au #dnd #dnd bbeg #The Voidlocks #in order of appearance:#Lucid #Pholipha #Stalker #Rem #Thassalor #Eigen #Inural

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wugblogs · 2 years

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you know I think they did the 'Phoenix and Edgeworth class trial backstory' reveal well because if you started off the bat saying "this man, our protagonist, became an attorney purely to meet his friend from 4th grade again" it would be absolutely ridiculous but by the time you get to turnabout goodbyes it's like yeah he would and we might as well interrogate a parrot while we're at it

#essentially: you get slowly inured to phoenix being batshit #it's still ridiculous but that's how we like him!#ace attorney

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booasaur · 11 days

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Seeing this kind of juxtaposition on my timeline...

with

makes me cold with anger and quite hopeless, tbh. That tone is not far off from what I see often, including on here. How are we supposed to trust that people like this are going to push Biden on Palestine?

If I were in part responsible for creating some of the most hellish circumstances for humans today I would not gloat about it? I would not scold those concerned about it? Like, yeah, sucks for you, Biden'll win and continue this genocide because he's ideologically committed to it and Dems sure don't care enough to stop it, especially post-election. Or, Biden'll lose and it'll be your fault for caring about a genocide and it'll still continue and everything else will get worse in a different number of ways.

Yeah, yeah. Great to be reminded of that.

#us politics #israel #palestine #free palestine #dead children tw #if that's a thing we're not inured to by now #it's like non-stop sandy hooks and uvaldes #except it's liberals being like NRA and the cops and alex jones

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mynightingalecomplex · 11 months

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Ivanhoe 1982

#ivanhoe #ivanhoe 1982 #whump #inured #weak #cared for #bandaged #helped to walk

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olreid · 1 year

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its like. yes channing tatum is on my screen wearing eyeliner ear prosthetics and blonde hairspray, doing what he clearly thinks is a convincing Space Accent as he explains the nuances of a galactic politics based on bloodlines that bees can recognize... but more importantly can you believe they put little freckles on his shoulder

#ive watched it too much. ive become inured to the absurdity #jupiter ascending

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harmonysanreads · 2 years

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01. Phantasms

[Inure Index] [ next ]

—ILLUSIONS. BEAUTIFUL, AREN'T THEY? They're but the reflection of what could've been, or, they could be the inner desire of someone. At their core although, they're nothing but a form of trickery. When one's desire becomes too fervent, they either receive the recognition of the devine ; or they delude themselves in a reality that does not actually exist-such was the unspoken Law of Teyvat.

Humans have always desired. For things that are superficially within reach, and for things that are not. An emotion so humane, so mighty, that it outshines all other criteria for recognition, for gain. You simply had to desire-in a more romantic way, believe. But the 'what if' has always been far more appealing. When something does not go our way, when our hunger is not satisfied, we think of what could've been and become obsessed with it.

Thus, the human starts to see phantasms and, fantasizes about them. That is the beauty of the unreal. What is beauty if it does not enticit desire? Illusions are beautiful-because they are in our favor, one way or another.

But not all illusion incipient from humans, in fact, most illusions are by our eye-sight. They are everywhere, but they only morph into something real when one actually looks.

You paint those very illusions on pristine papyrus every week. Painting is really how one interprets a happening and who says those interpretations always need to be an exact replica of the real incident? With this understanding, you alter the already existing illusion of a tranquil world so gracefully, it bewitches even the Shogun.

You were not her excellency's official painter, no. But she had become an infrequent patron after you painted her sanctuary, Inazuma in a way she quotes, "Most fake."

Unbeknownst to her, that had not been your intention at all. You simply coloured what you saw, what you observed. Her actions, though, had betrayed her exclamation at that moment for the reward for that painting still remains unfinished (you wonder how many more paper, ink and brushes could proclaim it).

You, however, were unbothered by the lack of an official, lofty title. You were but a humble painter from a family that'd decayed over the passage of time. Despite your rather.. ambiguous morals, every beholder would agree on one thing: you made painting more than just an art-form.

Some passing poets in search of inspiration had stayed for a while longer, contemplated and studied them. They'd then shower the color strokes with refined words, trying to decipher the undertones like it were some sort of mystery.

Sometimes, you'd be amused, sometimes, you'd be disappointed. And other times, you just wouldn't care.

In this particular moment, you felt neither of the three emotions. You were used to musings, mutters of wonder-they'd serve as harmonious background tunes but a drunk, loud poet's scampered exclamations were anything but symphony ; and you'd run out of fingers counting the amount of times you'd found yourself in this exact same scenario.

“Ohhhh! I know, let me guess, let me guess, that's a grasshopper!”

Your left eye twitched at the comment, you would've been amused if you hadn't heard similar unasked commentaries for the whole time you were painting this particular piece.

“That's a leaf, Suikou, for the Shogun's sake.” any witty rebuttal had left you ages ago, now only dry replies left you to which he'd just respond with an ‘ehe’.

You watched as the poet sways in a careless manner, a sake jar clutched in one hand while the other does a dramatic gesture, “My dear dove-what power you hold, for you made a virtueos poet like I, a fool!” he exclaims in all his slurred, stuttering grace ; his current demeanor definitely did not scream of that of a Kasen. He really had to be extremely drunk to loose his prided ability to rhyme.

You deadpanned.

“Shouldn't a ‘virtueos poet’ like you have better things to do? For instance, composing poems for the Shogun's next perusal?” you raised an eyebrow and he laughed like he had just hit checkmate.

“Fear not, I am doing just that, ehe!”

Giving up on trying to shake the drunk and witless (at the moment) boy off, you set your attention to the surroundings. Under the shade of a sakura tree and covered by lush greenery with a perfect view of the sunset-you'd found yourself in this place more often than you'd expected. The reason you found yourself returning was perhaps the quietude that'd keep you company for hours on end, but why the green caped poet would sought out your company so often was something you're yet to find a reason to.

“Why are you even lingering around this place? Do you have no fear for your reputation?” you ask the question that'd occupied your mind for quite a while now.

You had no affiliation with the First Splendor for most of your life, it had stayed that way until on one afternoon, a tipsy boy around your age came tumbling beside you and practically demanded company. And it didn't take you too long to figure out his identity by his vivid green attire.

Suikou, the first of the five poetry immortals of Inazuma.

Was he just lonely or was it because he had run into a problem too perilous? You never asked because-it wasn't your business. You'd kept him company that day, lended an ear to all his little rants and even allowed him to witness you paint first hand.

(A thought came all too suddenly at that instance, not at all a serendipity but not one you found distaste in either. It was only then did you recall that: what you were painting today was the same as what you were that day, the very day you met him.)

It was but a simple ink painting, the outlining of flowers clinging to a lone branch accompanied with falling leaves. It was completely different from what the Shogun had purchased, or the ones done in folding screens. It had no distinctive meaning, just an illusory of flora.

So then why was the first of the Five Kasen so fixated on it?

You'd imposed your inquiry a little more than half a minute ago, yet, he had not rushed to a reply still. You observed his visage; fair skin and two emerald orbs glossed so otherworldly, shining with an emotion you couldn't quite detect. The two braids that framed his face dangled slowly with the ongoing breeze.

The area you two were in was a little far from the bustling Inazuma city, so not many people came here. That had been one of the reasons you sought this place out for a solitary painting session often. Despite the relative lack of footsteps of humans, it still was not proper. To have a young lady be seen with another young man albeit with more reputation would no doubt stir unwanted rumors and it pricked your inner conscience, too.

(Being raised in the Narukami Shrine had its affects.)

You shifted your attention back to Suikou yet again but before you even had the chance to properly see his expression, he answered your inquiry with one of his own and it's definitely not what you expected to hear.

“Do you not enjoy my company..?”

A cold breeze passed by.

Although, your emotions of surprise remain concealed with your next statement, “That.. was not what I meant,”

You're not used to the poet's seriousness and definitely not one that's so out of nowhere. You're far more accustomed to his jests and songs-as annoying as they can be sometimes. But the person that sat before you now, feels so... off-putting. A part of you wonders if this his inner persona, one that's suppressed and banned from seeing the light of the waking world. The light in Suikou's eyes are still there-just, they glimmered differently. If this is his inner (and perhaps true) personality, then you decide you don't like this Suikou.

“—Got you! Didn't I? Ehehe.” like the snap of ones fingers his previous serious facade fades like it'd never existed in the first place. Like an illusion meant to deceive and this time, you can't hide your shock.

Suikou merely chuckled at your bewildered expression, appearing satisfied. He sets his wine jar down and captures a lock of your hair twirling it eagerly, which ultimately shatters your bewilderment.

He was drunk after all.

Your brows furrow, “You scared me Suikou, what was that?” but you're left deadpanning at the smug response that left his lips, “Prank number 72: success!”

“‘Prank number 72’? There were more??” your exclamation was only responded with more laughter.

“Ohh! The painting's finished, won't you sign it?” the green-clad poet inquired eagerly, (and effectively changed the subject) you come to the realization just then, too.

“But.. this is just a leisure painting. Does it really require my signature?” you ask absentmindedly to which Suikou dramatically gasps, the lock of your hair falling from his gentle grip.

“What do you mean 'require'?! Of course it does! What if someone stole this painting and claimed it as their own and her excellency took a fancy to it and brought it for a great amount and made the plagiarizer her—”

“Okay, okay, I'll do it, I'll do it.”

A self-satisfied smile bloomed on the poet's face, thinking he'd succeeded in persuading you when in reality, you were quick to agree because you could not handle another one of his prolonged, passionate ramblings.

Suikou's teal eyes followed the movement of your hand, drinking in every turn and curve. How your hand moved so gracefully in both painting and calligraphy was beyond him. There were no single smudge or stutters in your wake as you finished your signature. Then, you took out a red seal and carefully stamped it after the signature-each curving of the stamp clear on the papyrus leaving the poet mesmerized.

The ghost of a smile made apparent on your delicate features was captured in his emerald orbs. Suikou sighed blissfully before leaning on one arm.

An illusion too beautiful to be true-Suikou wonders if you're actually real. Surely, he's not that lucky? To be by the presence of something so ethereal he thinks he doesn't even need sake to get drunk.

Lazily, he brings the wine jar to his clasp and swirls the beverage within. Oh, how beautiful you looked in that almost mortified state-so full of life! Getting a reaction out of you was always a task with varying degrees of difficulty, but if the end result was this sweet, he'd go to any length to taste that sweetness again.

Suikou, the first of the five poetry immortals of Inazuma, in everyone's eyes he's but a carefree poet radiating positivity in all sorts of ways.

The green-clad poet closed his eyes to feel the wind and as expected, they brought the premonition of a pandemonium. He let out a giggle that made you jolt. The crack on your usually demure personality after that stunt he pulled doesn't go unnoticed by his eyes. The realization brings a smile to his face-one that's stranger and more cryptic, you note but can't quite justify.

His eyes dart from your confused visage to the painting (which he drinks in longer, perhaps recalling something) and lastly, to your signature.

A signature and stamp marks something as a belonging of the one who applied them, no?

Suikou's eyes glimmered with the previous glow again, he concluded something like a lost piece of a puzzle he had been searching.

He hid this shine and accomplishment behind the nonchalant sip of his wine. The cold refined liquid washed his dry throat and sent a static through his brain.

He knew what his next poem would be about now.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

#Inure #genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere venti x reader #yandere venti #yandere #suikou #the five kasen #irodori festival

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hopelessrromantix · 2 years

Text

inure |3

-rewritten @zi-deactive work-

(t/w): this series contains violence and alcohol abuse

═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════

Drink Number 12

Finally, you arrived on the doorstep of a target you’d been tracking for months. You’d gotten the tip from a morally questionable FBI agent who really needed a break. Apparently, this target had been leading quite the operation.

Managing drug rings, human trafficking, and murder. Not to mention the number of people she had killed on her own. Even that sounded like your usual case. A major criminal who you got to take out. Just your average job. Until you looked into her a bit more.

She didn’t just murder. She tortured. All of her victims had gone through days of torture, maybe even weeks. Apparently, even forensics investigators weren’t sure exactly how long these people had to suffer. It made you sick.

“Violet.” You said, rounding the corner. Unlike most of your targets, she had an office of her own. It was almost ironic, a monster hiding in plain sight as some corporate CEO.

She was an older woman, though still fit and physically strong. Her tan was obviously fake, as was her dyed black hair. You weren’t sure it was a fashion choice or an attempt to keep the authorities from finding her.

She was one of the last people in the building, meaning fewer people to hear the gunshots. Or the screams. You hadn’t decided yet.

“Yes? Can I help you? I didn’t see any appointments marked this late, I hope you have a good reason for coming in,” She said half-heartedly, not looking up from her work. She had a heavy accent, certainly European, though you couldn’t tell what country.

There was a moment of silence before she let out an annoyed sigh. “I have things to do, if you don’t mind hurrying this up.”

She flipped a page of her documents, still not looking up at her.

You stepped into the room, making your way to her desk. She looked visibly annoyed. Not that you cared.

The whole room smelled of lavender, likely due to the small candle she had burning on her desk. It provided little light in the room, especially because of the dark aesthetic of the office. The smell was heavy in the air, nearly choking you as you got closer.

Finally, she looked up from her work, immediately staring at you in confusion.

“What sort of getup is that supposed to be? Last I checked it wasn’t Halloween,” She laughed slightly at her own joke, looking more confused when you didn’t respond.

“I don’t think that’s important, Ms. Wagner,” You began. She didn’t seem surprised that you knew her name, but her eyes narrowed, scanning over your form.

“Do I know you?”

Your face was obscured by your hood, making it hard for her to get a good look.

“That’s not important. What’s important is you,” You said simply, eyes trained on her. The confusion didn’t leave her face. She looked you up and down, as if trying to remember who you were.

“What the hell do you want? Say it quick then get out.” She was short-tempered, brows furrowing as she huffed at you.

“Fine then,” You started. “You’re an ex-Hydra agent. After about ten years, you got too much for even them to handle. Your torturing was gruesome, even for Hydra. Imagine that. Being called a monster by the worst of the worst.”

Violet was starting to look offended, but you only spoke louder, cutting off whatever she was going to say.

“Now you’re in the US. You moved countries just to start your cycle of death all over again, not to mention the drug rings you’re running.” Your voice was calm and unwavering as Violet searched your face, trying to figure out who you were. “Tell me, how many children have you killed? Surely the number of adults is in the hundreds… but I wonder how many of them were kids.”

You knew the answer, of course (47), but she didn’t need to know that.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?! Accusing me of things like that?!” She yelled, standing from her desk. She looked outraged, though you were accusing her of murder.

“Get the hell out! NOW! She yelled, pointing toward the door behind you. You didn’t move.

“I said now!! Can you hear, bitch?!” She crossed her arms (as if that would intimidate you). “I’ll call security.” You could tell it wasn’t an empty threat, but you weren’t worried.

They wouldn’t get here in time anyway.

You focused on her. Her mind. What she was thinking, what she felt, anything about her. Then you heard it.

“Who does she think she is? March in here like she owns the place. Pathetic.”

Her thoughts.

You focused harder, this time on her fears. Everything she regretted, everything she hated, things she was scared of. You found every last one of the monsters in her closet. And then you made them real.

She looked left and right, probably hallucinating something awful. You could never completely see what you created unless it was an illusion, but you could usually guess what was happening based on what they said.

“Mother?” She asked. She was only staring at a wall, a painting of flowers hung on it along with other paintings she had collected. The look on her face was horrified. You wondered what the story was there.

It was an ability you’d had since you were young, though it was much weaker before you ‘died’. Now, it was one of your most useful skills.

“Stop! Dear god, stop, please. Fuck. Please!” She said. There were tears forming in her eyes already and her voice was cracking. She looked up at you. “You! What did you do to me? What the hell did you do?!” She continued yelling at you but eventually, her words became jumbled, the occasional scream cutting in. She’d glance from side to side before squeezing her eyes shut and looking down. They always acted like that. Strong, determined to stop you, then reduced to nothing but mumbling husks.

You focused on yourself now, this time disguising yourself with an illusion. Another woman walked into the office. Her skirt was short, though professional and you could see a red collared sweater tied around her hips. You’d left the door half open, her screams could be heard down the hallway, so it wasn’t a huge surprise to see someone else come in.

“Miss Wagner?” The woman said. She looked like a college intern, twenty years old at maximum. “Oh my god.” She walked toward the desk until she spotted the broken woman. Violet’s artificial tan didn’t help how pale her face had become. Her legs had given out and now her arms were struggling to support her as she sat on the ground, tears running down her face. She was mumbling things about her mother, father, and ‘the children’, which you suspected were the ones she tortured. Hm. Maybe she did feel some guilt about that. She’d glance back to where you stood. You made sure she could see you, though the intern was oblivious to your presence.

“Miss Wagner? Miss Wagner?! Are you alright?!” The girl asked with urgency, clearly unsure what to do. Violet didn’t respond. She continued staring down at the floor, mumbling, and sweating. “Violet?” The girl tried using the woman’s first name instead. She flinched back like she was expecting some huge outburst. Her employees must be treated poorly as well.

“I-I…” the girl paused. It seemed like she didn’t want to help the crying woman on the floor. You figured Violet wasn’t a very nice boss. The girl shook her head a bit, standing up. She took a deep breath before speaking with confidence, “I’m going to call an ambulance. I’ll be back, I promise.” She ran off, back to her desk presumably to make the call. You nodded, appreciating her morals to do the right thing for an awful person. Sadly, you didn’t live by the same rules. You could hear her talking to someone as you made your way over to Violet.

“Awe, darling.” You lifted up her chin with your fingers. You met her eyes. They were filled with pure terror and they kept glancing over your shoulder. You laughed at her. The way she seemed unable to focus and how clammy her face felt. You wondered if her victims looked the same.

“Please…” She started. “I can’t live like this, at least kill me. I understand. I’ve learned. Is that what you want? Learning?” You shook your head. Of course, she tries now. You’re torturing her like she once did to others and now she wants to ‘learn her lesson’?

“No. That’s not what I want. I want you to rot somewhere. And maybe someone out there, someone much nicer than me, will take pity. And kill you.” Your hand left her chin and she was left, crying out for as long as the strain in her voice would let her.

═════════•°• ⚠ •°•═════════

The next several days consisted mostly of theorizing. You knew what the mystery terrorist would need to construct SPCTR, but not where they’d go first. Sadly, it was better to wait for an update.

Meanwhile, you’ve had to adjust to living with the Avengers. Most of them were constantly on guard. The Falcon and Stark hadn’t calmed down since the moment you walked into their base. At this point, it was kind of funny.

You and Loki had started your own two-person ‘book club’, if it could be called that. It mostly consisted of you recommending your favorite books and discussing them with Loki a bit later.

Bucky and Natasha had shown you some of their fighting techniques, though you never stuck around long with Natasha. It wasn’t out of disrespect to her, you respected her a lot actually. It was because she was trying to find an ally in you. You weren’t the same as her. She was a good woman trying to make up for her mistakes. You, on the other hand, were too busy making them.

The rest of the team was anxious to find any new information about SPCTR. You didn’t blame them, but you had to explain plenty of times that waiting for some sort of attack was your best shot. Needless to say, the world’s mightiest heroes didn’t feel like waiting around.

A very, very small part of you didn’t want it to end quickly though.

Did you want to save the world from mass murder? Yes, of course you did. But you hadn’t lived in a real home since the 40’s. Even then, you’d spent the last years of your life living in a crowded military base, holed up in a lab.

Whether you liked it or not, Loki and Bucky were the closest things you’d had to friends in a very long time.

Most of the team still wasn’t happy to have you with them. Though it felt bad to be on the outside, you were used to it. If you had it your way, you never would’ve come there at all, but there were lives on the line and you really needed immunity.

“Everything alright?” Bucky asked as he adjusted the tape over his hands. The two of you had tried out sparing since you could take one hell of a hit so he was free to use his metal arm on you. He had even consented to letting you study it for an hour or two. The two of you got along well and both he and Loki had moved up from the position of ‘not-enemy’ to ‘associate’, though it wasn’t much of a leap. You were hardly ready to trust them, it had only been a few days.

“Just fine. Whenever you’re ready, Barnes.” You said, tossing aside your sweatshirt as you stood across from Bucky. You readied your stance and waited for him to say the word.

“Go.” You took a step forward but Bucky rushed toward you, taking a swing with his metal arm. You knew he appreciated an opponent who could take a hit from a weapon like that, though it took some convincing for him to go all out. You were certain he still wasn’t using 100% of his strength, but it was a start. You ducked, sliding next to him before getting up on one knee and taking a jab at his leg. He stumbled a bit but stayed standing. Although it wasn’t as effective as you hoped, it gave you time to stand without interruption.

The second he turned to face you, you punched him in the chest, sending him back a bit. He stepped forward and swung his leg into your side, making you stumble too. You kept your hand out to help you balance. You lowered yourself and swiped under his legs. He tripped, but caught himself with his arm. You stood up, jumping back.

He stood again, rushing toward you, metal fist raised. You caught his punch and you could feel the sting against your hand. You were definitely going to have a bruise or two after this. You threw his hand aside, setting him off balance, and kicked into his side. He landed on his stomach with a small thud and you kept your foot against his back and kneeled down, arm held against the back of his neck.

“Not bad.” He said, you stood and helped him up.

“Same to you.” You nodded as a small sign of respect. “I’m going to take a shower, I’ll need it before the rest of your group calls some sort of meeting.” You rolled your eyes and Bucky nodded. You could tell he didn’t really like you making fun of his ‘team’, but he never said much. It made you feel a bit bad, but on the other hand, the do-gooders were about as annoying as it gets.

The elevator felt slower than normal, though it was probably just the uncomfortable feeling of sweat on your skin. You stepped out onto your floor. You shared it with Clint and Natasha, probably so they could keep an eye on you. You didn’t mind too much, Clint wasn’t too bad and you had a certain amount of respect for Natasha. She used to have a similar career to you after all. She’d made her way onto your radar for a while, though there were bigger fish to fry and SHIELD was already on her tail. Still, you’d much rather be alone.

You were about to open the door leading to your room when you sensed something was off. Your abilities were helpful in your line of work. Sensing other people had become a skill of yours and right now, something was wrong.

You were on high alert, though you knew it was probably just a team member. You opened the door slowly, prepared to fight if need be. Instead, Natasha sat on your couch, cleaning some of her guns.

The weapons didn’t bother you too much. They were all disassembled for cleaning, the magazines sitting on the table, completely empty. You were sure she’d done that part on purpose, just so you’d know she wasn’t here for a fight, but she’d fight back if need be.

You walked over to your makeshift kitchen and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Whiskey was more your thing, but you’d make do with what you had. You poured a full glass, not caring much about how you were ‘supposed’ to pour it, Natasha was silent the whole time, waiting for you to come over to her.

You moved toward the couch and sat next to her, waiting for her to talk.

“Good to see you again.” She said, not looking away from her weapons. You smiled, taking a large sip of your drink. It burned a bit in your throat, though it wasn’t anything new.

“I’m glad you cleaned up your act.” You said, not offering her any greeting. You could see her smile.

“Why did you let me go that day?” She asked, this time looking up at you. She looked genuinely curious. She didn’t waste any time getting to the point, huh?

“You were finally on the right path. After spending so long killing who you were told to, Hawkeye got you where you were supposed to be.”

She shook her head, not quite understanding. “I was about to kill him. That target, I was going to kill him. I did kill him, and you walked away and left him with me. Why.”

You relaxed against the couch, realizing your shower would have to wait a little longer. “He deserved it. SHIELD was right to send you after him, his death saved lives. I was just making sure you were staying on task. And staying on the right side of the tracks, so to speak.” You took another long sip, hoping you’d feel the effects sooner rather than later.

“You were watching me?” She asked. You were a bit surprised. Natasha was a talented assassin, someone capable and good at protecting herself. Though you doubted that she would know it was you, you did think she’d figure out that someone was watching her. It gave you a small confidence boost.

“I watch a lot of people, Natasha. I like making sure that people in powerful positions really want what’s best for society. Sometimes, they become a target.” You took another gulp of your drink, slightly anxious to finish it as quickly as possible. “Like that Stark.” Natasha began putting a few of her guns back together and into a small black bag next to her.

“Stark was a target?”

You shook your head. “No, but he was on my watch list. His dad wasn’t my favorite guy and for a while, he made some rather destructive weapons. I had to make sure he wouldn’t turn into some power-crazed nut job.”

Natasha laughed a bit, “Yeah, pretty sure he did that anyway.” You laughed. Making fun of a Stark was something you did with Peggy. It felt familiar. Sitting down with ‘the other woman on the team’ and having a chat about your friends. Familiar, but not the same.

“Tell me, if I hadn’t been doing the right thing, if I had let him go or left him alive, would you have killed me?” You didn’t pause, you knew your answer.

“Without a second thought.” You took another sip, this one longer than your previous ones. Natasha nodded, understanding. Of all the people in the tower, she was probably the one who would understand most.

She finished cleaning another gun before Friday’s voice was heard in your room. Great.

“Spectre, Miss Romanoff, you’re wanted in the meeting room. There’s been a robbery.”

You downed the rest of your drink, ignoring the burn in your throat. Natasha gave you a slight side glance, probably worried for your health. Not that it was a real concern for you anymore.

“Uh… do you guys usually answer robberies?” You asked, setting down the glass. Natasha grabbed her bag, bringing it with her out of the room.

“No, there’s something else to this.” You nodded, accepting her answer. You internally groaned at the feeling of sweat still on you. At this point, you’d even settle for a five-minute shower. You ran to your room quickly, pulling off the tank top you were wearing and grabbing a t-shirt. At least you wouldn’t have to wear a soaked shirt. It was just you and Natasha in the elevator in silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t a situation you wanted to be in.

The room was almost completely full, though Wanda and Vision were right behind you. You took a seat toward the end of the table next to Steve. You were sure they put you there just in case someone needed to knock you out in a worst-case scenario, but you didn’t care.

Steve set down a few papers just as Wanda sat down.

“Alright, everyone’s here.” He pulled his seat closer to the table. “There was a robbery earlier today.”

“What, did some kid swipe a candy bar? How is this our problem.” Tony asked. He was wearing sunglasses despite being indoors. Though the normal assumption would be that he just came inside, you somehow doubted that.

“Not exactly. The focus is on what was stolen. It was at a nearby museum, the owners themselves weren’t sure what it was since it didn’t have any sort of identification. Just that it was World War II memorabilia.”

“Oh I see, someone took your old helmet?” Tony said, interrupting again. Your eyes narrowed. You were getting annoyed with his constant comments, though the rest of the group seemed unbothered. That, or they had grown used to his obnoxious personality. You saw Loki’s face shift though, so he was probably feeling similar emotions to yours.

“The owners said it was part of an unfinished project, we think it might be a piece of Project SPCTR.” A few eyes turned toward you, including Steve’s. “Do you recognize this?” He asked, setting a photo down in front of you. It was most certainly a piece of your machinery.

“It’s what we used to stabilize our core. I built it forever ago just tinkering with supplies, no blueprints. It’s one of a kind. I doubt I could remake it myself.”

“Well, that explains why it was stolen,” Natasha said, just loud enough for the few people around her to hear.

“So, what now?” A man asked. You now knew him as Sam, or ‘The Falcon’, the other bird-themed hero.

“We find anything else we can.” You said, choosing to look at Steve. It felt odd talking to a room, so you tried to focus on one person instead. You were used to creating plans by yourself, not brainstorming with a group. “I left plenty of materials and blueprints behind. I never got a chance to examine why it malfunctioned, but I’m sure a good percentage of the original machine is usable. Assuming it hasn’t been used since, of course.

“So, where is it?” Clint asked, contributing to the discussion.

“Well, it’s been almost 70 years so I have no idea. Didn’t have a reason to keep track of all that junk.” Steve nodded, though some of the group sighed out loud.

“Let’s check the site and see what else turns up.”

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regallibellbright · 1 year

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Meanwhile, over in G-Witch, Prospera continues to be fucking terrifying.

#g-witch #g witch #g witch spoilers #gundam witch from mercury #gundam witch from mercury spoilers #… sort of.#on the other hand HOW MANY ERIS ARE IN THERE???#I mean. we knew. we suspected anyway. Suletta referring to everyone was just pure Nothing Good Can Come Of This #but like. thaaaaaat basically confirmed it and. Prospera.#how many of them have you made? how many failed? how fast? how inured to the idea of Suletta’s death because you already watched it are you #also I called that at least some of Shaddiq’s squad are Earthians #Nika meanwhile continues to raise death flags and wave them with gleeful abandon

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moonlit-tulip · 1 year

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Wholeheartedness, Part 2: Flinch-Elimination

Long ago, being in the presence of wasps made me very nervous. What if they stung me? The swelling would be uncomfortable, and the pain would be inconveniently distracting! This would be a bad outcome; I wanted to avoid it. Thus I would, whenever I noticed a wasp near me, stand still until it went away.

This habit caused me more inconvenience than the two wasp stings I'd received in my life up to that point ever did.

Once I noticed this, I decided: fine. Let's just go get stung by more wasps, then, until I'm inured to it and no longer freeze up when wasps are near.

And thus, having resolved this, I no longer had any need to fear the attacks of wasps. If I were to walk at full speed near one, and it were to respond by stinging me, this would be a step forward along the path to inurement, which would be an acceptable thing to gain in return for the cost in discomfort and inconvenience.

It's an old story. (One I've told before, even.) But the relevant principles don't end with wasp stings.

Currently, I do my web searches via a paid subscription service, rather than free via Google; the results are better, and with how much web-searching I do and how much money I have to spare it's a pretty solidly worthwhile deal. But they offer only a limited number of searches per month complementary with the subscription; if one exceeds that number of searches in a month—200, at my current subscription tier—one will need to either stop searching for the rest of the month or start paying 1.5 cents per search. And when I first subscribed I got very flinchy about trying not to search too much, out of fear of that extra charge. Because 1.5 cents is a cost, and surely I'd rather avoid paying that cost on any given search if I don't have to, right?

But, of course, making substantially less use of web search would be a much larger cost than an extra few dollars a month. (I am, after all, paying them money specifically for the sake of getting more out of my web-searching; searching less would run actively counter to the reasons I subscribe at all.) So I did the natural thing: I decided to deliberately search profligately until I broke the 200-search ceiling and started paying additional marginal money per search, for a couple months, until inured to that experience. It's been going great so far: I haven't yet hit the ceiling, but I sure am no longer flinching away from the searches I want to make.

Or, for a third example, this time one where I actually succeeded in exposing myself to more of the flinch-inducing thing: water bills. I used to flinch away from drinking water, because I knew it'd add on the margins to my house's water bills. This was doing me more harm than good. So I took a few extra baths, compared with what I'd otherwise have taken—together summing up to an amount of water-use that my drinking rates would have taken weeks or months to sum up to, since a bathtub's worth of water is in fact A Lot—and I observed that no great financial disaster ensued as a result, and that was the end of my flinching-from-drinking-water.

Backing off and generalizing, now: sometimes, there are inconveniences whose possibility I flinch from, where the flinches cost far more than the cost of just enduring the inconveniences occasionally. And, under those circumstances, it can often be useful to deliberately overcompensate against the flinch response. To try, not just to suppress the flinch response in each individual instance (which tends to be an attention-demanding and difficult process), but to actively toss myself at the flinch-inducing thing until I'm so thoroughly inured to it that it ceases to produce flinch-responses-in-need-of-suppression in the first place. As long as I'm tossing myself in that direction, the tossing overrides the flinch response. Once I've succeeded sufficiently in the tossing, inurement will override the flinch response. And thus the mental overhead of needing to suppress the response will be eliminated, to my benefit as long as I was correct in my choice of what flinch response to get rid of in the first place.

Because intuitively-appealing steps to avoiding inconveniences can be more inconvenient than the inconveniences being avoided, sometimes. And it's valuable, when that happens, to be able to just stop avoiding them.

#Archive #Self-Improvement #Wholeheartedness #of course this is really a continuum rather than a binary #i no longer avoid stings from individual wasps but i still wouldn't want to get stung by dozens in quick succession #because unlike single stings i expect that that would be more inconvenient than avoiding it is!#so there's an element of careful targeting in exactly which experiences one throws oneself at for inurement-acquisition purposes #(of course as per the prior post there are only finite costs it's worth paying to get one's targeting right)#(as long as one can aim *well enough* even if some of one's moves are wrong it's still better to move more rather than less)

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