#doing the unreasonable task feels necessary to get what they need
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
braceletofteeth · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
#favorite tropes (4/∞): Unreasonable Request Gets Fulfilled (+ Requestor's Regret)
6 notes · View notes
graylinesspam · 1 year ago
Text
Come to find out, artillery rounds do considerable damage to your body when you're hit by them directly.
Ahsoka yelps as the swirling spinning surgical pod whirls around her again, the high pitched sound searing through her montrals. But even that pain is secondary to the way her back it opened up, the muscles being carefully tended to. charred flesh sliced away and raw muscles stitched backtogether.
There are no less than three medics hovering outside of the pod. each scurrying around completing an endless series of tasks to support her recovery.
When she walked back onto the Resolute after Steela's funeral she'd just been grateful that she'd started wearing backless dresses, which had prevented fabric from melting into her burns.
But for artillery rounds, it turned out that the healing process was worse than the wounds themselves.
Being sliced apart and stitched back together was a lengthy process. She'd been stuck in the medbay, face down, for well over two weeks. The skin of her back was kept alive by bacta treatments and steroids but ultimately kept detached from her flesh as the medics needed continued access to the muscle beneath.
She was also on a constant flow of painkillers to make her condition tolerable. It did nothing for the pain of the operations but it made her idle hours easier to bear.
she also wasn't allowed to dress in any reasonable clothing. only her leggings and disposable paper gowns that tied around the neck and waist. they were dry and itchy and they crinkled whenever see moved. she'd grown to hate that sound.
Maybe she was being bitter and unreasonable. but she'd also lost all the strength in her arms when they started taking apart her back muscles. turns out the shoulders are very necessary for arm strength. and Ahsoka was staring down a very long recovery period.
when the whirring came to an end and the cot retracted from the surgical pod Cadaver was already there looking over the open flesh of her back, noting what flesh was growing back. When he had taken his notes Kix stepped in to reapply her creams and bandage over the wound.
Thankfully they still allowed her to walk herself around even if she needed some support on the very bottom of her back in order to get to a standing position.
Rex was waiting with her lunch and she was allowed to have it on the bench just outside the medbay. The hanger loud around them. He frequently came to chat with her. other men from torrent came and went as well but Cadaver never let them into the bay. convinced they'd get her into some kind of trouble.
Maybe it wasn't just her back that was numbed out all the time. Because this was the first long stint in the medbay where Ahsoka wasn't itching to leave. She wasn't happy to be there either. It wasn't accurate to say that she was content either.
Steela's death had done something to her. Obi-wan assured her that some time would ease the strain of that expirience. Maybe it would. it seemed that for the moment at least time and pain where all she could feel.
---
Meanwhile, news of Ahsoka's injury had made it far outside of Torrent company. Taking an artillery round to the back was no easy feat even for a jedi. To not just survive it but to be up and walking immediately after. That was the kind of unbelievable war story that spread like fire.
The pilots of the 501st had already painted a mural of her across the side of a fighter. with her Sabers held in a defensive hold and the bright blast of an explosion behind her.
Ahsoka was already known for her preference of the sword and saber maneuver. She preferred to fight in tandem with her troops and as their guard rather than Skywalker's Style of sprinting right into the heat and taking the enemy's attention entirely.
But this level of durability? Her ability to take a hit and keep going was quickly becoming gossip amongst the GAR. The mythical glee that had surrounded their idea of the jedi as cadets rarely surfaces now that they work with them but this story was bringing it back.
Some Jedi were just jedi and some of them were built from stronger stock. Skywalker surely was, and by all acounts, Tano was as well.
And she was becoming a legend for it.
46 notes · View notes
seancosy · 1 year ago
Note
I saw ur post in the solarpunk tag and! I think we can do better! I think nobody should have to work ever, because how do we pick who's exempt? who's making that decision? the only way I can think for it to be fair is if the person themself gets to make that decision.
bc like the system you're describing isn't hypothetical and as someone who's gone through a nightmare of uncaring bureaucracy just to be allowed not to work due to disability I can say it doesn't work and definitely doesn't feel like a utopia!
I don't follow you and not gonna come back to this so do with it what you want but yeah something to consider I guess
Points I agree with:
People should have the ability to self-determine their capacity to work, and should not be expected to work if they are unable to.
External parties should not be deciding who is able or unable to work.
Points I disagree with:
"Nobody should have to work ever"
I may be misunderstanding you, but... life is work. Someone needs to drive trains, design functional sewerage systems, deliver babies, rescue people from burning buildings, grow rice, implement grain shipping logistics, change diapers, develop vaccines, wash clothes, teach children to read, sterilise surgical equipment, provide counselling to antisocial or dangerous people, cook food for the elderly, insert urinary catheters, repair potholes in roads, pick up rubbish, code the software that checks pressure in dam walls, etc.
None of the above jobs are particularly sexy. Very few people would dream of performing any of these roles when they are growing up. But the work is necessary to maintain a functional society. What links these jobs is that they are meaningful. They help. They improve society. People can find purpose and fulfillment in these tasks because they know they are helping society, even if indirectly.
There are so many jobs in our current society that do not provide a benefit to anyone other than a select few capitalists. If we restructured to become more 'solarpunk' (which I interpret as more communist and likely more anarchist than current societies), these capitalist jobs wouldn't exist, and we wouldn't miss them. Merchant bankers, advertising executives, influencers, soldiers, funko-pop factory workers (I have a personal dislike for these products; such an overt waste of materials and for literally no benefit! people often don't even take them out of their packets?!?!), mortgage brokers, the list goes on.
If we redirected the people working in these capitalist jobs towards roles that directly help society.... everyone would work a lot less, but society would function just as effectively, if not more so. There would be fewer jobs, and more people to do them. There would be more chance to rest and enjoy leisure time. And yes, some people would probably be able to never work at all, if they chose to. But if the work is meaningful, I genuinely believe most people would want to work, and I don't think it's unreasonable to expect people to do something meaningful for others even for just a few hours a week (clean the dishes at the cafeteria or babysit your friend's kids). But no, I don't think people's work contributions should be monitored or quantified at all, unless it's to tell people to rest when they are overworked. People should work of their own volition. And of course those with disabilities or any other factors that prevent them from working safely shouldn't need to work if they are unable or unwilling.
An interesting book that portrays a world that is anarcho-communist is The Dispossessed, by Ursula K LeGuin. It details the struggle between the need for work VS personal freedom exceptionally well.
(Original post linked below)
38 notes · View notes
nights-flying-fox · 1 year ago
Text
a short tidepod duo sickfic gift for @little-banjo-frog & @spacemimz :] hope you guys feel better soon!!
Word count: 1283 ☆ fandom: rottmnt ☆ ao3 link: n/a (yet)
Tumblr media
 Leo really hated being sick. It was always boring. Especially if he was the only one who got sick. Raph would get anxious and act like a mother hen, and Donnie would never let him leave his room if it was not necessary (and mind you, it is not because Leo has to rest, it is because he’d end up spreading his sickness in the lair), and would be a snitch whenever Leo tried to sneak out. At least Splinter had the experience and always knew what Leo needed. 
 The thing was that his dad seemed to miss the fact Leo had slept the whole morning, and then the whole noon, and now he couldn’t sleep. To be honest he didn’t want to either. Being sick was bad, but staying in your room and not being able to do much was also bad. The first was okay. He read comics, scrolled on his phone and read some fanfiction, played some video games... Yeah, he had company too but... He wanted to do something other than lying down all the time! He was well enough to walk around, and he was pretty sure his sickness wasn't contagious so he should be able to leave the room, right?
 So he got up. It was slow and careful steps, mostly to not wake up others. Thank Pizza Supreme in the Sky, he didn’t cough anymore. He could just have a tour of the lair, maybe even find something interesting to do—
 “Leo?”
 He turned to see Mikey standing at the entrance of his room. He had his blanket wrapped around him, and his eyes were tired. Uh oh.
 “Don’t tell me...” Leo started.
 “It is your fault.” Mikey glared.
 “...Is this why you came here?” Leo asked. “To accuse me of spreading sickness.”
 Mikey whined, “Noooo, I can’t sleep.” 
 Leo tilted his head, “Why?”
 “Because—” He began coughing. Leo watched, feeling terrible. Maybe this was his fault, alright. After his coughing fit was over, Mikey continued. “Well, this...”
 “Eugh boi... Yeah, let’s make you some warm tea.” Leo grabbed his blanket as well. It was cold out of his bed.
 “That sounds good, but I was wondering,” Mikey was looking at him pleadingly. “Could I stay with you tonight?” 
 Leo understood his pain very well. Sickness alone was boring as heck. “Sure, but we will visit the kitchen first.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he pulled his blanket and walked out of the room.
 He’d consider himself fast for someone sick, considering how Mikey had yet to join him. Except he wasn’t aware that Mikey was watching him walk, pulling his plushies on the blanket at the same time. The youngest smiled to himself as he followed his brother, deciding not to say anything. 
 Eventually, the two reached to the kitchen, Leo making two mugs of linden tea. Meanwhile, Mikey leaned on the counter, watching him. As Leo poured the warm tea into the mugs, he noticed something: “Hey, isn’t that Dad’s soup?” 
 Leo looked at where Mikey pointed at. A big casserole, which Leo knew that Splinter used it for when he made one of his famous soups. “Yeah, it is...”
 “Shouldn’t he have put it into the fridge?” Mikey muttered.
 “I dunno, you are the chef here.” Leo shrugged.
 They looked at each other for a second before Mikey said “I’m reheating it.” 
 “I’m getting the bowls.”
 And so the two warmed the soup, poured it into bowls, and headed out of the kitchen with two trays of soup and tea. The slideer had yet to notice his plushies on his blanket too, so they came along with the turtles as well. 
 Leo pointed out that Mikey’s room was the closest one, so they quietly headed there. However, Leo had forgotten that Mikey lacked a bed. Good thing Mikey had unreasonably a lot of pillows. Since Mikey had even less energy and was coughing a bit more now, Leo decided to handle putting the pillows down to make a comfortable place they could sit. As he did the task, he noticed the familiar purple tablet on the ground. “Is that Donnie’s tablet?” 
 “Mmmhmm.” Mikey murmured. 
 Well, they could use this! “Wanna watch a lame movie until we fall asleep or Raph finds us?” 
 “Yeah,” Mikey replied, enthusiastic but tired. “One of the lame horror movies?”
 “No, you won’t be able to sleep.” Leo said as he placed more pillows on the ground.
 “Nuh-uh.”
 “You literally couldn’t sleep after watching those fake ghost stories youtube videos for a week.” 
 “Lies.” 
 Leo rolled his eyes. He didn’t say anything though, because he got distracted once he pulled his blanket over the pillows. “Wha- are those my plushies?” 
 “Yea, you’ve been dragging them along with your blanket the whole time.” Mikey snickered.
 Oh. Okay, Leo maybe hadn’t recovered enough, how had he not noticed that? Eh, who cared. He took them and placed them on the pillows. “Bring yours too then.” He told Mikey as he sat down and pulled the trays closer, opening space to put the tablet on. Mikey did as he was told, and then sat next to Leo. They chose a movie and drank their soup and tea as they watched it in the dimly lit comfy room. The fairy lights and the way they were lying on the many pillows sleepily really made it feel like they were in a pillow fort. It was nice. 
 Mikey eventually got into his shell, only leaving his head out to see the screen. Leo held him close, circling gently his shell whenever his brother had a coughing fit. They both weren’t feeling their very best, but it seemed that the warm stuff and the comfort helped.
 The youngest was the first to fall asleep. Leo didn’t remember when, but he fell asleep too. In the morning they found themselves in Leo’s bed, surrounded with some pillows and stuffed animals. And there was grumpy Raph watching them- no, glaring at them, sitting next to them.
 “Hey big guy,” Leo smiled. Mikey was still sleeping beside him. “For your information, Mike’s joined the sick club.” 
 “I know.” He huffed. “What were you two thinking laying on the ground the whole night?”
 “On pillows, Raph.” Leo corrected.
 Raph glared at him even more, if it was possible.
 “Relaaax, I was restless and he wanted company. I thought tea would help with his coughing, and his room is closer than mine...” Leo explained.
 Raph sighed. “What am I gonna do with you two...” 
 “Bring us a very good breakfast?” He suggested.
 “How are you feeling?” Raph asked, ignoring Leo’s suggestion. But he had smiled, so he might’ve brought them a good breakfast. Or maybe it was already on the way. 
 “Still not feeling too hot, buuut kinda better.” Leo answered. “No coughing, a bit tired tho.”
 “Yeah, good.” Raph smiled, then put his hand on his forehead. “Your fever seems to be better. But don’t you dare to leave the bed yet. Not alone.”
 “Why, where are you going?” Leo asked.
 “Didn’t you ask for breakfast?” Raph smiled as he walked towards the door.
 “You’re the best Raph.” 
 “Yeah, yeah.” Raph waved his hand. As he left, he added, “Get prepared against Donnie’s rant of careful usage of his stuff and whatever Pops has to say about soup.” 
 When Leo groaned, Raph had already left. 
 But now Leo wasn’t sick and alone. Yeah, maybe being sick was boring, and so was being stuck in your room, but hey, at least he had his family that made his days better. He smiled to himself, closing his eyes to fall asleep before his twin or Splinter paid a visit.
Tumblr media
21 notes · View notes
vizthedatum · 5 months ago
Text
I can be compassionate, kind, loving, helpful, and not always available if I can't afford to.
Yes, relationships of any kind need reciprocity. Still, if a relationship is draining me (it probably is not great for the other person), I need to figure it out with my resources and rethink my availability.
I know I have unreasonably demanded more than what people could give in the past. Or expected their love/commitment to be that missing piece that would “make things better.”
Of course, there were deeper issues within myself.
Also, I had to reevaluate my standards for friendships and relationships. There are things that I still will not budge on, and that's okay!! I do have relational needs, and I can move on from connections or change expectations if those needs don't get met or worked on.
I am currently struggling with a friend who needs a lot of help right now.
If I had more financial and physical support for myself (I live alone, work full-time, am always managing my chronic health, etc.), then I'd have more to give to this friend.
I have already invested a lot of time, money, advice, and energy into this friend.
It seems like they're alienating everyone too. And they can't make it to all the healthcare appointments that would help them.
They spiral into helplessness, which prevents them from doing the necessary things to function.
They're homeless and have been for a while. Sometimes it feels like we are making progress, and then they just… don't do what they need to do to help themselves.
And I refuse to be the ONLY person who can actually help them. Like no. I have tried to set them up with care coordination but… I cannot just fix everything for them.
I'm on my period, finally getting a stride on with my work tasks, and feeling like I'm getting somewhere with all my projects. My place is still a mess, but I have a plan for tackling it all. I tidied more last night, and it's really just laundry that I need to get to. (and some other than extra things to declutter but they're not a priority rn)
My life hangs on so many balances, it seems.
And I know I have more than this friend: I have a lot of systems in place, I have shelter, I have access to food, I have access to a lot.
But if I let go of my self-care and all the things I'm juggling… to help my friend, then it will take me so long to recover.
I might flare. I might get behind in everything. I might simply crash even more.
I have worked so hard on my mental and physical health to get to a place of stability even with my debt issues. It is not that hard to fall into a place of lack and… homelessness with my health and trauma issues (despite my education or support system - again all things that I cultivated and must continue to sustain).
Sometimes, it's like I work to earn the right to live.
I am already struggling to eat because of my PMDD/period.
And I know that helping them right now would completely drain me (and boundary-test me) because this has happened before.
It would be different if this friend could contribute anything back… but even their presence is emotionally/energetically draining because I feel like a therapist, care manager, and parent.
Thus, I have these challenging boundaries right now…. while I read (and respond, ofc!) the messages of their struggles.
And it just sucks.
It feels horrible and miserable.
3 notes · View notes
pseudonymousposting · 4 months ago
Text
BTW if you have *that* friend, this is for you.
Does this friend exhibit behaviors that make you uncomfortable? Have you have been avoiding the word "abuse" because you assume that's a word for romance and family members?
Do you see them collecting information on people that seems blackmail-worthy, or maybe their main motivation seems to be anger? Does everyone else seem to be the problem in their life? Is nothing seemingly their fault, and do they seem to get angry if even one *tiny* little thing goes wrong?
Do all of their interpersonal or romantic relationships seem to end on bad terms, and the resulting grudges seem to last longer than you think is necessary? Do the people who no longer hang around them seem happier until that person is reminded of their existence?
Do you feel obligated to take their side in interpersonal conflicts out of fear or to keep the peace? Does disagreement seem out of the question for you when around them?
Do they seem to demand an unreasonable or disproportionate amount of time? Do they ask you for money or favors more often than others? Have you started to give up on the idea of reciprocity?
Do they keep you dependent in one way or another? Do they make you feel obligated, subservient, lesser-than? Does the very existence of other friendships seem to require their approval?
Do they denigrate your hobbies, hopes, or dreams? Do you feel like you can't talk about what you're passionate about, every conversation framed in their approval? Do they make you walk on eggshells? If something that makes you happy exists independently of them, do they seem to discourage or diminish it?
Do they seem to want to keep you intoxicated on some substance or another, to the point you wonder if you will ever be clear-headed if they're in the picture? Do they want to get you drunk or high so often you feel pressured to partake?
Do you often find yourself making poor decisions in their presence? Does the friendship feel unsafe and/or counterproductive to your life goals?
Do you find yourself striving for stability more than joy around them? Does getting messages from them make you feel tense before you even see it? Do you feel burdened with the task of placating or taking care of their needs more than your own? Do they seem to be trying to help themselves less than you need to help them?
Do some of the things they say about people make you uncomfortable, but you find yourself scared to disagree with them? Is every moment in your life around them some new, mood-ruining drama?
Do conflicts in which they are involved tend to turn into the person they're disagreeing with somehow having an inherent negative trait? Do they seem to make every person they dislike out to be "stupid," "problematic," or some kind of moral failing? Do they escalate more than seek peace and expect others to follow?
Do they only see revenge as a possible resolution to a conflict? Do they see everything as a power dynamic? Do they seem to feel the need to dominate their relationships more than connect?
Do relationships seem to boil down to a struggle or game for power over others for them? Do they take, and look down on those from whom they extract? Do they make you feel exploited, helpless or powerless?
Do you find yourself adding a qualifier to a number of the answers in your head to these questions? Do you seem to find yourself adding "but" or "only when/if" or something to that effect? Are you making excuses for behavior you know deep down is wrong in some way right now?
Prepare, find support however you can, and then remove them from your life. They may respond with vitriol. Let them write their fanfiction about you.
Let them die hating you, your name a curse uttered on their last breath. Their retaliation is a pittance to pay for the prize of removing their presence from you. Secure your safety and bolt.
They may become the worst of everything you have been afraid of, and they may hold hatred for you forever. They may try to turn others against you and might succeed in some cases. Don't bother trying to convince anyone about who they really are. That person is their problem, now. Sucks for them, but you have to take care of yourself.
This person is an abuser, just like any romantic or familial tie that causes more strife than connection. An abusive friend is not talked about as often. Do not let this be minimized in your mind because of that. Know that you have no obligation to remain friends with a bully.
Drop them. Now and forever. Take your power back. Take your life back. You need and deserve better. Your well-being comes first, now. Be free. Consider this permission, if you need.
2 notes · View notes
cosmicdreamt · 2 years ago
Text
Excerpt from Chapter 1: New Moon - The Fool
Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11
Therapy rooms are weird. It’s like entering a portal to some unknown space where there’s an attempt at a sense of familiarity and comfort but you still know. You know it’s a room of business and profession and picking at your brain. What you’re there for and what the room tries to be just don’t match up.
It’s a strange feeling for her no matter how many times she’s been there. Even if she can sit on that couch with one of her legs tucked under her and her torso draped over one of the arms as she awaits her therapist to arrive at their session - being too hyper aware of the room gets her mind going. As her hand reaches up for her to rest her face against it her pinky finger starts tapping at her cheek. Sure, they can make you wait all the time in the world but God forbid you make them do the same.
The door finally opens and the man walks through, an action that has her finding herself sitting up straight once he places the folders on his desk and sits across from her in the other chair. 
“Good morning! Sorry for the wait. Thank you for coming today, Neff. How’ve things been for you lately?”
The dissociating feeling from earlier dissipates now that she has other things to focus on. How have things been lately? A lot better than they were that’s for sure, thanks to him of course. She was lucky to have found a therapist that works well with her after ones before didn’t quite work out. She’s been seeing him since right before she started college and now she was twenty-three. 
His name being Dr. Kruger is one for the books, though.
“Uh….well it’s been alright. A normal amount of stress, no mental spirals or breakdowns, usual depressive episodes but the meds have been helping with those. I’ve been able to keep up with work - I’m still at the cafe, working full time now -  and my art business has been doing well. I feel like I’ve been able to function well enough in society lately. Things have been fairly steady and consistent.”
She gives a slow nod and shrug of her shoulders as if to say ‘yeah, that’s about it’. He nods in response, taking a few notes down before continuing.
“That’s good to hear then. And what, to you, is a ‘normal amount of stress’?”
To that her eyes glance up and to the side, thinking for a moment before pursing her lips.
“Work stress, mostly. Making sure I’m doing all my tasks and doing them right. Making sure customers are satisfied. Dealing with the ones that come in and are unreasonable. My bosses say I’m doing fine and I know they mean it, but you know how my brain works by now. I’m always double and triple checking and just still have that lingering worry. Outside of work it’s just making notes of payments I need to make, making sure I have enough groceries, making sure I’m cleaning on time, giving myself time to relax so I’m not burning myself out. Things like that.”
“Not trying to take on more than necessary just because you think others have it worse?”
“I think you’d beat my ass if I did that. So no. Not this time.”
She can see him attempt to stifle a snort, the corner of his lips betraying him by curling just a bit before making more notes. He tries his best to remain professional but his mistake was encouraging her to be as raw and real with her feelings as possible. He wasn’t immune to her dry humor. 
“Hopefully not any time, either.”
“Can’t make any promises except I’ll try.”
6 notes · View notes
dramamelon · 2 years ago
Text
Constructicon Week is here! @constructiconweek
I'll be posting them here as well as reblogging with an AO3 link because they're all short pieces. :)
What Once Was
Day 3: Devastator | Influence Rating: T Tags: Minimal Editing, Canon Blender of IDW1 & IDW2, Snippets of Larger Story, Abandoned & Destroyed City, Haunted Houses, updated as necessary Fic Summary: In a moment of peace that was either the End of the War or a Temporary Truce (no one was quite sure where they stood yet), the Constructicons claimed the shattered remains of Crystal City as their own. So far, no one else had raised a fuss, leaving them free to rebuild as they wished. Chapter Summary: Something about the city felt wrong, even to a combiner.
It had been a while since his parts joined to form his large frame. Seeing why they needed him left Devastator tilting his helm slightly in curiosity. He nudged at his parts, urging them to share even the smallest bits of data pertaining to their request of him. Not for the sake of a better explanation, no, but for a deeper understanding of how to approach his task without destroying everything his parts were attempting to recover.
"I understand," he said aloud, enjoying the chance to use his vocalizer even when there was no need to use it as his parts were the only others around.
Enough tall spires of the once proud buildings of Crystal City remained to allow his voice a small echo. Small flutter traveled through the panels of his armor—a shiver? Devastator marveled at the chill that traveled along his spinal stack, reaching some deep, mechanimal area of his brain module. Or, at least, his shared encephalon array. (That was the Hook part's term for it. The Long Haul part thought it sounded awful hoity-toity, but wasn't willing to suffer the dirty looks he got for calling it something else. Or so the Long Haul part liked to tell Devastator.)
Not quite certain what to label the sensation just yet, Devastator straightened to stand tall and turned a slow look around the rubble of the fallen city. A touch of the Scavenger part had him aware of just how desolate the city had become since his last walk through these particular streets. He remembered very well the act of building it all, a moment of pride for not only him, but for all his parts.
"What is this sensation I feel, my parts?" he asked, another shiver passing through him the hollow return of his voice to his audials. "I do not like it."
In his combined form, Devastator didn't hear the separate voices of his parts. Not as words, anyway. His answer came in the form of a swirling vortex of knowing and emotion he was only vaguely able to comprehend. He filtered it all through his processors, aware that his answer lay somewhere in the middle of all they were throwing at him. Once he untangled all that information, what Devastator was left with was not reassuring.
"I do not like it," he repeated, louder and causing more definite echoes to bounce around the shattered shells of the once beautiful buildings that stood around him.
Fear.
That's what he was feeling his parts were telling him in full consensus. They all of them knew the sensation, though the cause was different for each. "I do not like it and I will not heed it," he said, shoulders firm as he stared down the reflective sound of his voice. Reaching for the slab of metal and broken glass that lay over the main entrance of the medical facility he'd been brought to, Devastator went to work. "We will rebuild," he said. "Rebuild and bring others in to fill our city once more."
He was buffeted by a flurry of agreement and the first vestiges of the plan being deliberated between his parts. Hefting the slab out of the way, Devastator took heart that they no longer resided in the time of destruction. Despite the portents of his name, he much preferred the act of building. No unreasoning fear regarding their sheer aloneness in the ruins of Crystal City was going to get in the way of that.
5 notes · View notes
3liza · 1 year ago
Text
there is one person who has reblogged with tags describing how they personally experienced the misleading upbringing i describe in the first post, where parents teach you its normal and fine to constantly pester people, and they had to unlearn it after it caused them a bunch of problems. it's often not malicious or intentional, it is often genuinely just that someone raises you to think being annoying or making people uncomfortable is how people bond. this is always really hard to break out of because something most people are REALLY reluctant to confront others on is boundary violations. they will often just avoid you instead of taking on the responsibility and the chore of educating someone who should know better.
my own family has a pestering-based way of showing affection and bonding behavior. we navigate this by reading the signals and physiological status of the other person to tell when they are willing to be pestered, and when they are not. also my parents would switch to a serious voice and gently ask us to settle down if they weren't in the mood to goof around or banter. this taught us to be able to switch modes when necessary.
autistics do have trouble with this sometimes because of the lack of feedback and the fact that when kids are socially withdrawn, we get less pure mileage in the tasks and behaviors of socialization, meaning we get stuck in behavior suited to elementary and middle school as our age cohort grows up. this can be overcome through practice and study. a good rule of thumb is if someone tells you they dont like something or not to do something, immediately stop, immediately apologize sincerely (even if you dont understand why they dont like it, or if it doesnt make sense to you that they would object to it), and never do it again.
complication: sometimes the concept of a "boundary" can itself be manipulative or abusive, like falsely framing a reasonable request or need that you have as a "boundary violation" for them. this does happen sometimes. it can be an aspect of gaslighting and controlling behavior. and its hard to tell when it's happening. "it violates my trust when you leave the house or talk to your friends, you're violating my boundaries" is a very common abuse tactic. thats sort of a different post. the short version is the only way to be able to know when this is happening is checking with a variety of other people to get a sense of what is reasonable or not (ths is why people post on AITA, mostly), and getting experience in your life navigating social situations.
complication two: sometimes someone requires and maintains boundaries that they genuinely need to feel comfortable, but arent normal. a harmless example: i have very bad hypersensitivity to unpredictable sounds. i have asked people i have lived with to sometimes not flush the toilet in the middle of the night because the noise startles me awake and really fucks me up. i would not get mad at someone for forgetting this or even arguing with me about it, because im the one being "unreasonable", and maybe the other person thinks its super gross to leave pee in the toilet until the morning. in this case we would negotiate: maybe we have a way of making the toilet flush quieter or something. or maybe their revulsion towards leaving pee unflushed (unflushed poop is a no, that trumps noise concerns imo) is greater than my startle response. idk. we just hash it out and try stuff. everyone should try not to get defensive or take it personally with conflicting access requirements like this, even if it's triggering or very serious, like needing to get enough sleep.
ive met a lot of non-malicious men who seem to have learned to equate pushing someone's boundaries, or just spontaneously deciding that the boundaries are no longer applicable, as a form of intimacy. the reasoning, whether it's conscious or not (i've seen cases of both), seems to be test whether the target lets it slide (thus affirming intimacy by forcing permissiveness), or re-asserts the boundary, which usually makes them have a rejection freakout because it means they arent special enough to get away with bad behavior. sometimes its just regular creep behavior, testing the fence for weaknesses, sometimes it's intimate partner dysfunction based on insecurity, and sometimes its just arrested development (kkids test boundaries normally and in a healthy way, they're supposed to) because some parent figure didnt complete the other side of the developmental exchange correctly or at all.
it's not a gendered behavior, humans are prone to it in general, i just personally dont get challenged by women much idk why, whatever vibe i have going on is repulsive to women who arent really weird in a compatible way
849 notes · View notes
rcksmith · 4 years ago
Text
Desire — Kaz Brekker
Tumblr media
(Photo not mine)
Requests: “Hello there! I've been around this blog for a bit now and you are an amazing writer! I was wondering if you would be ok with doing something with 21 28 & 29 from the smut prompts and kaz brekker? If you are uncomfortable please just ignore this!”
“Kaz brekker Smut prompts 28 66?? Love you💖!!”
“I can request Kaz smut prompts 29?❤️”
Smut prompts:
21. “Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already shaking.”
28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”
29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”
66. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”
Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Fem!Reader
Warnings: swearing, mention of shot, mention of desire, desire, mention of smut, explicit smut, NSFW.
Word count: 3k
A/N: All smut requests for Kaz must follow these rules.
I hope you like💕 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.
Requests are open. Love you ❤️
— — — —
There was something about you. Something impossible to decipher, with a glow hovering around you like a electrical energy. Wrapping your whole body in a cloak of magnetism. There was something about the way you spoke, walked, laugh. Something about what it was like to be you, in your beauty and mysteries like a sphinx.
Something that made Kaz Brekker completely furious.
You couldn't be more distorted from the image, in Kaz's mind, than what was to be a peaceful woman. Calm, controled, with steel emotions and wit in eyes. Someone who, like him, knew how to dance the waltz of negotiation, manipulation, who could blend in with the shadows and know the best time to listen more than speak.
You were not like Inej, you were not like Jesper. Hell, you were like nobody Kaz has known in all of his 28 years.
Nothing reminiscent of calm and control would be used to describe what it meant to be you.
Your soul are stormy, loud, obstinate, too stubborn and too talkative. You needed to speak loudly, laugh, move, expose your opinions to the seven winds and to whoever listened the most. You needed to question, inquire, doubt and test the limits of any situation. A direct order for you would be an affront to your free and independent spirit. A command that would curtail your freedom or tame your strong genius was almost like an invitation for you to do exactly the opposite of what they had ordered you to do.
So, for a man of trained reasoning, subtly balanced world, and who was used to his every command being followed vehemently and promptly in blind obedience, such a personality like you was like introducing a disturbing factor capable of shaking all his judgments. Sand in a watch, or stone in a shoe, would be no more a nuisance than a strong nature like your.
The extraordinary stubbornness and mania to counter his orders - when, in your words, they were unreasonable - had made you different from all the women Brekker had ever met. Kaz liked challenges and responsibilities, a good puzzle, but you were on a level far beyond that.
You were a danger to his peace of mind. And you knew that. All his aversion to your indomitable spirit only served as fuel for your own mission in to piss him off. Few men were like Kaz Brekker, you knew that, with a strength of character too powerful to be ignored. He was not just comfortable in his position of authority as he was obviously unable to act in any other way than as a leader. His stoic figure and always so contained in a wall of indifference made you want to ruffle his hair to see if you could remove any emotion. And being a girl who hasn't always liked leaders, Kaz Brekker was a huge temptation. Few moments had been better than those that you managed to piss him off beyond what he could handle.
However, all the reasons why the two of you were so exasperating for each other, did not explain why the air crackled in ambiguity when your eyes met. The hemisphere was adorned in a thought-provoking, poignant veil, like a warm honey flowing down its throat, and there was something else in the way blood flowed like flames of fire through veins of you two.
Jesper said that the sexual tension between you was so tangible that it could be cut by one of Inej's knives, but you refused to think of Kaz that way. At least until that moment.
Not pure images of what the infamous Brekker could do to you between four walls swept you like the strong Arabian wind. Making you be surprisingly breathless. Kaz was not a man whose private life was exposed, nor was he involved with many women, but you have heard two or three of them when they were drunk saying that Kaz Brekker in the room could be incendiary.
Everyone knew that his touch reserve didn't limit him to anything, but that his job was at the top of the priority list and that sexual encounters were almost never on that list.
"It was not my fault!” Jesper defended himself one night, slightly drunk, sitting at the club's round table next to the other crows “I didn't know he was married to another man! That damn pretty face seduced me!”
"Did he seduce you?" You asked, skeptical and playful.
"I swear to God! And it had been a long time since I had sex with anyone, and I went… ”
“But you did sex last week." Inej laughed, chocked.
"Exactly!" Jesper said, as if he were obvious.
You laughed with your beer glass in your hand, taking another sip.
“Is a week a long time to not sleep with anyone?" Matthias retorted, trying not to laugh.
“Are you going to tell me that is not?” Jesper and Nina spoke at the same time.
“If a man has time for sex more than once a week, he clearly doesn't have much to do. And I'm sure I gave Jesper a lot of tasks that would keep him busy.” Kaz narrowed his eyes at his friend, and Jesper hid his guilt behind the rim of his beer glass, looking to the side.
"So you are saying that you are a very busy man?" You teased, trying not to laugh at the scathing look Kaz sent you.
"I disagree. The values ​​of hard work and discipline cannot match the hot body of a woman in bed.” Matthias said, exchanging a brief conspiratorial look with Nina, who winked at him.
"There are more important things." Said Kaz.
"Like what?" You rested your chin on the back of the hand whose elbow was on the table, the playful look of a rebellious student.
"Progress." Kaz held your gaze.
He wasn't going to take your bait. But you didn't give up easy.
"Tell me, if God gave you a deal: all the hunger in the world would be extinguished in exchange for you never being able to have sex again, what would you choose?" your eyes had a teasing feline glow.
At that moment, Kaz felt a shiver up the back of his neck, like a warm breath of autumn. Something crawled, like a snake, across his rib cage and down to his groin, pumping blood like fire through his veins.
He held your gaze, but the feline glow in your eyes promised to contain the most ardent sins. Suddenly, Kaz's mind was flooded by the wave of obscene images of you, on his bed; moaning, squirming, shouting his name and being very obedient with every order he gave you.
He would make you such a good girl...
"I don't believe in God." He replied succinctly, the predator's eyes still in your eyes audacious feline's.
A big, satisfied smile spread across your face, and you said: "As I thought. Bad luck for hungry people.”
Realizing that he had fallen right into your cunning trap, Kaz got rid of your diabolical magnetism and cursed.
“I didn't say…” he stopped, impatient “It doesn't matter. I have more important things to do than waste time here.”
But the smile you hid behind the glass was noticeable to Kaz.
After that night, the crackling, gasping flame that circled the two of you intensified to alarming levels. Kaz could feel you holding your breath when he was too close, and you could see him squeezing his cane harder when you sweetened your voice for him.
However, regardless of Kaz's wanted to fold you at a table and put an end to your brat girl pose, enjoying the groans he was sure you would let out, the two of you still fought like dog and cat.
Just as it was now.
“What do you mean, I'm not going?!” You looked at Kaz, amazed, when he told you that you would not participate in the robbery that week “I know that security system like the back of my hand!”
It was true, what you had of stubbornness, you had of technological intelligence. There was no computer that you would not hack, a program that you would not hack, and a system that you would not unlock. Your genius with technology made up for all your lack of obedience.
But Kaz ignored. “I've already told you. It's a more dangerous mission than you're used to and we don't have time for the plans you come up with right away.” He needled you.
“Are you referring to Switzerland?” You were never anything short of direct and inquiring. It was logical that you would question every orden. “But I already told you that when the alarm went off your plan didn't work anymore! I was more useful inside to deactivate the alarm than waiting outside.”
And stubborn. Holy God, how stubborn you were!
"And it cost you to get shot."
"But it was just a shot!"
Kaz looked at you, puzzled. “Just?! And wasn't it enough ?! You put the whole team at risk!”
“But if I hadn't deactivated the alarm, we would all be arrested! And only I knew how to do that!”
"My fucking God, isn't there a speck of common sense in you?!"
But you answered boldly: "Not when you impose clueless plans on me."
Mortified would be an understatement to describe how he was now. What an unbearable creature! Kaz felt the anger spread from his neck to his face, igniting his breath and squinting his eyes in annoyance.
Why was it so difficult for you to follow a simple goddamn rule?!
“Besides, your initial plan was flawed and there was no reason for me to be out when it was necessary inside and...” And you kept talking!
If you had noticed Kaz's completely enraged state in front of you, you would have been scared, shut up and ran. But, truth be told, Kaz suspected that even if you knew how to read the murderous humor in his eyes, you wouldn't have left that office. Much less be afraid. You could argue with the demon. And you would probably beat him out of tiredness.
However, regardless of the desire to shake you up, to see if that put any good sense in you, in that second, watching you gesture with your hands, defending your point of view as if it were the england queen's crown, something swept Kaz's body from the top of his head with dark hair to the tips of his illustrated boots.
The sound of the world was drowned out by the flow of blood itself in his veins. His heart hammered hard in his chest and, in that instant, a sharp sting in his groin and the pit of his stomach set him on fire.
His gaze went down to your mouth, which kept moving. And when it came up to your eyes, your stubborn and defiant gaze sent Kaz's rationality into space. He dropped the cane abruptly, which toppled to the floor with a hollow crack, and advanced towards you in firm and determined steps.
Gluing his gloved hands to your face, Kaz silenced all your protests with a strong kiss. Hot, fiery, domineering. The kind of kiss that held years of camouflaged desire, years of irritability, years of an unnerving desire to make you shut up with all the perverse forms that existed.
You weren't afraid of him. But you should. You should if you knew everything he wanted to do with you.
However, as if you have been burning in the same desire for years, you responded to that kiss with the same urgency. The same hunger. Kaz slipped his hands into your hair, closing his fingers there and deepening the kiss with ferocity. He felt beside himself, like a hungry wild animal that had been denied food for years and that only now had its teeth set on its prey. You moaned against his lips, bringing your hands to his lean, strong biceps, squeezing your fingers there.
You both needed air, but neither seemed to give a damn about that. Misted of desire that burned like a fire in their bodies, Kaz pushed the two of you backwards, slamming your back against the wall and swinging a frame beside. You gasped, and the gesture made it possible for Kaz to invade your mouth with his tongue, hunting every piece of hot meat. You two fought the same battle in that kiss: invade, dominate, conquer.
They both wanted to take the waltz, but Kaz would never let you conduct the show.
He pulled your wrists up, pinning them with one hand against the wall, leaving you immobile while sinking his mouth further into yours. Kaz felt you try to get rid of his tight grip, but he was stronger than you. And much more when he have a objective.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He murmured against your mouth, the tip of his tongue playing with your bottom lip. “You know I don’t like to be teased.”
Was impossible for you to control the loud moan that escaped. Your body trembling with desire, your legs wobbly, your wet core vibrating with his words. Kaz Brekker was a fallen angel. With a beauty and charm you've never been immune to.
How can you think you'd win the dominance game with him?
And, like the fallen angel he was, his smug and arrogant smile painted the corner of his lips when he saw what his lines did to you.
“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Kaz mocked “If I knew it was only necessary to do this for you to shut up...” he brought his lips closer, his voice hitting yours “I would have fucked you like the naughty brat you have been a long time.”
If his caustic and maddening kisses hadn't been enough to break you in half, that statement would have done all the work.
In that second, you hoisted your white flag, biting your lip in a needy moan and closing your eyes for a second by the overwhelming vibration of your core. God, you needed more. Whatever he gave you. Anything he wanted to give you. You just needed more.
"Are you going to be good?" He played with the dough you were in his hands, his devilish mouth going down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and debris wherever he went.
You agreed, desperately. “Yes, Sir."
That title seemed to do things with Kaz. Because in the next second, his mouth was back on your. More urgent, more needy, more dominating. You shifted your hips for more friction with his, and Kaz rewarded your obedience by pulling one of your thighs forward, making your skirt go up, aligning your thigh on his hips and giving access for his member to fit perfectly against your pulsating core.
You moaned louder this time. Fingers clenching, heart pumping frantically. Kaz pulled his lips away from you for a second, taking his hand off your thigh and bringing it to your mouth.
“Pull.” He ordered, referring to the glove.
You murmured a low, excited moan, bringing your mouth to the glove and clenching your teeth on the cloth at the top of his middle finger. Satisfied, Kaz pulled his hand back, watching the alabaster skin peel away from the leather fabric. As soon as he was free, he removed the glove from your mouth, replacing it with his own and stealing all your breath in that fiery kiss.
His free hand wandered over your thigh, touching you for the first time with a touch that promised to show you all the most delicious and secret sins in the world. His tongue wrapped around your again, and the moan you let out was even greater when his long fingers brushed against your wet, throbbing core.
"S-sir!" You sobbed, your hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more.
"Look at you." His fire voice beat against your lips, the tightness against your wrists getting stronger, more possessive "I’ ve only started using my fingers and you ’re already shaking"
Your body cried out in unbridled desire, sobs mingling with loud moans and heavy sighs as Kaz tormented you with his fingers. He touched you, slid, opened and sank, increasing the volume of your pleas.
“P-please" You begged, the body in need, the urge too urgent.
Kaz looked you in the eye, a dark, malicious gleam burning in his Egyptian blue irises. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" He teased you.
But you no longer cared about his teasing. With your lips swollen and red, your heart racing and the core pulsing in despair on his experienced fingers, you were already surrendered.
"Please. I n-need." You mumbled submissively, rummaging your hips in his hand.
"I bet if I wanted to fuck you against my desk, here and now, you would be very happy to do it, wouldn't you?"
He was foisting all of his dominance on you, bending you to your knees for him. And you knew that. You knew he was taking years of anger out on you. But you couldn't care less. You wanted him. Ardently. Desperately. And if it was a good girl Kaz wanted, damn it, you would be a good girl for him.
You readily agreed, your eyes shining in supplication.
“Good.” Kaz pulled you brutally off the wall, turning you over to the table and pushing your chest against the icy wood, pulling your hips at him. “Because that's exactly what is going to happen.”
Suddenly, desire and hunger roared like a wild beast. Kaz watched you, bent over his desk, obedient, surrendered, offering every inch of your body to him.
His breath was burning in his throat and it was no longer possible to order his thoughts, contain his euphoria. He would fuck you so hard that it would make that memory the only thought when you remembered him. When you dare to rebut his orders.
Kaz pulled you skirt up and your panties down, letting out a groan that sounded more like a growl as he saw your wet core. Pulsing and desperate for him. For anything he wanted to give you. It sparked a fervent desire that Brekker had never felt in his life, devastating any possibility of thinking about anything other than fucking you.
Playing with your fingers in your slick, wet folds, you whimpered again, the core pulsing whenever he teased you inside, pressing his fingertips there but never entering.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" His voice came over the top of your shoulder, hoarse, animalistic, full of profane desires.
"Please." You were quick to beg “I do what you want! But just...please, please… ”
You already felt your eyes watering from over-stimulation, your heart burning so hard it was beating, your core aching from emptiness.
You sealed the end of the game between you. Kaz had won. In a triumphant checkmate.
And you didn't have to beg again. Barely seeing when he unbuttoned his pants, you just reasoned his hard, hot, pulsating member by opening your from the inside. Claiming everything that was yours as his in a strong, desperate, hungry lunge.
"S-sir!" You screamed, your nails scraping the wood from the table, the core pulsing overwhelmingly around his rigid member.
In a more badly lunge, Kaz sank completely into you, moaning loudly as he hit rock bottom. The gloved hand slid over your shoulder, propelled you to him while the bare hand tightened on your waist, hitting you at a steady, raw, animalistic rhythm.
The sounds were pornographic, dirty and loud, echoing off the walls. The air was hot like molten lava, pungent and muffled, driving you two lost breath. Their bodies clashed as if the world was going to end tomorrow, in aggressive, rough thrusts. These were thrusts that made half of his things on the table fall to the floor, mixing in a mess that would serve as a reminder later about the sinful activities you two did.
You screamed when Kaz took on more force, his fingers squeezing you so hard that they would leave you with marks on your shoulder and waist the next day.
"Fucking hell!" Kaz snarled between his teeth, feeling your flesh throb around him, squeezing he with such desperation that he knew you were close.
You sobbed, tears streaming down the corners of your eyes as you pushed your ass towards him, trying to bring him as deep as possible, as deep inside you as possible. But every time his pelvis smashed into your ass, a loud moan and the feeling of being completely full drowned you.
You begged, pleaded, for something you didn't know. But Kaz seemed to know. Taking both hands to your hips, your pace became even more unperturbed, pushing you to the limit until you cum in a scream in his name, your lungs on fire. Kaz came close behind, sinking as deep as possible and pouring all the hot liquid into you. Almost like a brand.
The air was filled with sex, lust and desire, filled only by the sound of their ragged breaths that struggled to stabilize.
You were still panting when Kaz's voice came after you: "Whatever I want, don't I?"
A deal with the devil.
3K notes · View notes
furiousgoldfish · 4 years ago
Text
Rate your (abusive?) parents! (this is not meant as a serious diagnostic tool, not all abusive parents can be measured this simply, however it does provides some reference.)
1. How warm and loving were your parents?
a. They made me feel very loved and appreciated. b. They were sometimes a little dismissive but I was taken seriously when necessary. c. I was loved.... occasionally... it was a hit or miss some days. d. They acted as if they would rather they didn't have me. e. They were fake warm, even if they were smiling I felt resented, despised and afraid.
2. How scared are you of your parents?
a. Scared? They're my parents. Why would I be afraid? b. If I swear something nasty at them they give a threatening look but I'm not that scared. c. They're scary on some days, if they're in a good mood it's fine. d. I have nightmares about them, I feel scared even if I hadn't done anything wrong. e. I would prefer to be dead than to face them again from the amount of terror I feel.
 3. How well do your parents  pay attention to your needs?
a. They know what I need before I even realize it. b. I have to remind them that I need new pair of sneakers sometimes. c. They expect me to say if I need something, otherwise it goes neglected. d. I don't like them paying attention to me, they don't most of the time. e. I'm allowed to have needs? Says who? 
4. Do they notice when you're in distress?
a. Yeah, if something happens they immediately reassure me. b. If I'm acting strange, someone talks to me the same day and helps me. c. Well, if I'm distressed about something obvious, and if they have nothing better to do. d. They'd only notice if I was already dying and then tell me it's my fault. e. Notice? They CAUSE the distress. They enjoy it. I'm sick of having to act strong.
5. Do your parents take time to teach you all necessary skills for survival?
a. If I feel like learning, I can ask them anything; they research if they don't know. b. Well they teach me what they know and I feel capable of survival so yes. c. I'm supposed to learn from watching them, they don't answer questions. d. No, they only tell me to stuff and get angry if I get it wrong. e. They convinced me it's impossible for me to survive and that teaching me is a waste.
 6. Do your parents provide you with basics (food, shelter, clothes, healthcare) unconditionally?
a. Of course! I know I can always count on them for these. b. Yeah, they want me to be safe and sound, even if they're mad at me. c. I have to figure out some of it myself, can't always count on food or healthcare. d. I get parts of it, and I'm told I should be grateful and that I'm in debt forever due to it. e. I'm threatened with being thrown out, starved and/or all my stuff taken away constantly.
7. Are your aspirations, hobbies, achievements and happiness important to them?
a. They want me to be as happy as possible and put a lot of effort into it. b.  Yes, if they can do anything to help me be happy, they do it. c. I'm not sure if they know all my aspirations or hobbies. d. They don't think my aspirations or achievements are worth shit. Happiness? I don't know her. e. They go out of their way to sabotage my achievements and happiness.
8. Do your parents provide you with rewards for completing tasks for them? 
a. Yeah! If I do everything well I get additional money or privileges I want! b. I am well appreciated, even if there's not always a reward, I get praised. c. If you count 'here's more things to do and then we'll leave you alone' a reward.. d. I get told 'it would have been better if you did nothing' and snapped at to do more e. If I don't complete the chores, I will get hurt. I get humiliated and criticized while doing it.
9. Do your parents criticize your style, appearance, friends or relationships?
a. They're happy with whatever makes me happy, they only say something if they're worried. b. Well one time I was in an abusive friendship, and they criticized the other kid. Otherwise, no. c. I don't think they notice most of the time. Only if it's in their way of something. d. They only criticize it if it reflects badly on them. e. I can't step into the house without being criticized. They hate everything on me.
10. Are your parents proud of you?
a.  Yes, they remind me so constantly. b. Well not all the time, but if I do something well. c. They don't have time to feel things and stuff about me. d. I don't think 'proud' and 'me' could ever occur in the same sentence. e. They'd be proud if I didn't exist.
Results:
If your answers mostly dwelved around a. and b., then your parents did well enough at least in these categories, and you were able to experience a measure of safety and acceptance in your home. This is what is generally expected of parents to provide for children, and if they're 'good enough', they'll be providing all this for the most of time. This isn't to say your relationship with them is perfect; they still might be pushing pressure and expectations in other areas, or disagree in fundamental levels with you. If you have even one result at d. or e., they might be covering up abuse.
If for a lot of answers you found yourself picking c., then you are likely to have experienced neglect, inconsistency, lack of nurturing, lack of care. This goes into the category of 'not good enough parenting' and abuse. It's likely to them, you were only a backdrop, someone to care about their issues more than they care about yours, a convenience they used to get things done. It's likely you often had to keep your own life in order and assist theirs. This can make you feel like you only exist when it's convenient to others, and give you major insecurities about your self-esteem, importance, and self care. It can also set you up for an abusive relationship.
If your answers were mostly d. and e., I am sorry to say but your parents were a complete disgrace and a failure. They not only neglected all of your needs, emotions and human rights, but did their best to cast as much damage on you as possible. You were not treated with dignity and humanity that you deserved. You've been put thru a lot of undeserved hatred, and life shouldn't have been so hard on you when you were just a kid. It's likely you are or will struggle with trauma due to neglect, hostility, hatred and cruelty that was forced on you when you were vulnerable and defenseless. You shouldn't have been left alone with those people. If your answers stem more towards e, it suggests narcissistic parents.
Mixed: If your answers range across all of the options, it suggests that your parents, even while doing well in some areas, neglected and abused you in others, which makes your situation fairly complicated; you want to believe they love you and you see a proof of that, yet they sometimes hurt you very badly, and their affection is inconsistent, mixed with bursts of cruelty and denial of your humanity and dignity. Know that it isn't hard not to abuse a child. It's not a completely unreasonable thing to ask of people to not be cruel to children, to not damage your well being. Your parents shouldn't have gone to such lengths to be hurtful to you, and being okay at other times is no excuse. Good people are good consistently, not when they feel like it. This is, again, a result that suggests abuse.
441 notes · View notes
wildlyglittering · 4 years ago
Text
The Perils of Being Mr. Nesta Archeron
It’s important you understand this is my incredibly poor attempt at comedy and I just wanted to write some nonsense.
This popped into my brain after seeing all the posts about how awesome Nesta is and how she had a ridiculous amount of marriage proposals and interest from human men, fae males and demons alike. 
I just kind of took it from there...
***
“I still like what Nesta’s done to the place.”
Feyre looked around the grand drawing room of the House of Wind, her dozing son on her lap and her bored mate at her side who murmured something which could be taken as an agreement while pulling off imaginary pieces of lint from his sleeve.
The House was now Nesta’s, in as much as anything sentient could truly belong to anyone, and as such was rarely used for official Night Court business. Its predominant function was as home to Nesta, Cassian and a reluctant Azriel, who’d been gifted the responsibility of ‘supervisor’ – a gift which Feyre suspected he’d like to return.
The Inner Circle still held Starfall at the House and, like now, the High Lord and High Lady of Night, would visit. When she visited alone, Feyre visited in the capacity of sister and friend but when with Rhys, it was all work.
Nesta and Cassian had embraced their titles as the Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death and their combined reputations proceeded them sending them into every corner of Prythian and the many dark outer reaches was a tactic Rhys now employed.
The aim was to achieve negotiations and encourage peaceful surrenders where necessary but if there was resulting collateral damage, it was of little consequence to Rhys.
The other reason that the House was seldom used for official Night Court business was the unnerving issue of the House itself. Whilst the majority of the architecture remained unchanged there was the occasional surprise addition. Or subtraction.
Amren discovered the House’s penchant for the latter when, on one uninvited call, she opened a door which should have led to private chambers only to find herself plummeting through the air onto the ground. She swore blind the House foundations quivered like it was laughing.
Feyre wondered how independently the House acted from Nesta and how much it carried out her wishes. She suspected that this room, the grand drawing room, had been one of Nesta’s heart fulfilments or, at least, something for Cassian.
The room was sizable, entered from the hallway via a series of doorway arches wide enough for splayed Illyrian wings. Oversized plush furniture filled the room and the floors were strewn with thick sable rugs.
The most spectacular draw to the room was the window which stretched from ceiling to floor and from wall to wall on the side opposite the doorways. The view, one across Velaris’ golden rooftops and shining turquoise waters of the Sidra, filled the space like a painting.
Feyre sighed, at least this current visit was expected and so they weren’t risking the windows opening of their own accord to fling them out. The occupants of the House had been gone for longer than anticipated on this task and so Rhys sent ahead a message that he wanted a full debrief when they returned.
Feyre opened her mouth to speak again but stopped when she heard the thud of boots and flutter of wings.
“Finally,” Rhys said with a glance towards Nyx whose eyes flickered open.
“He’ll be happy see Aunt Nesta,” Feyre said in a sing-song voice to her now awake baby, turning him so he could view the entrance. “He loves Aunt Nesta.” She wasn’t above using her infant son as a tactic to avoid her eldest sister’s potential irritation at the intrusion into her home.
Rhys eyed up the shaking walls, “Yes, as does the House.”
Nesta entered first and Feyre breathed a sigh of relief that the floor remained solid underneath where she sat.
“Hello,” Nesta said, her voice soft and cooing. Her welcome wasn’t to her sister or brother-in-law but to the now beaming baby in Feyre’s lap whose legs and arms flailed in the air as he wriggled.
Nesta stepped further into the room, treading over the rugs, arms outstretched, “Come to Aunty Nesta.”
The vast windows let in the bright sunlight, sunlight which illuminated the state of the Illyrian leathers Nesta had clad herself in.
Feyre shrieked, twisting in the chair and blocked Nyx from Nesta’s grasp, pointing at her sister’s waist. “What is that?””
Nesta paused and frowned, looking down.
Aside from the interesting splotches of red across the leathers, the utility belt tightened around Nesta’s waist contained the usual items Feyre expected; knife, pouch, knife, another knife and then... another item she hadn’t.
A leather strap was wound in multiple knots around the thick band and tied to an uneven, lumpy dome the other end. The lumpy dome ended in a stump clotted with congealed blood.
“Oh,” Nesta said with a shrug, “I forgot.” She untied the leather strap and pulled the lump away. “Just another one for the collection.” With a graceful arm movement, Nesta threw what Feyre realised was a decapitated head onto the floor where it landed with a thud, a dribble of blood oozing fresh from the neck wound.
“Well, you can’t hold the baby until you’ve washed your hands. Thoroughly.”
Nesta frowned at her, an ice-cold glare fixed on her face. “Fine,” she snapped, as though Feyre’s request was unreasonable.
Cassian, unlike her sister, had taken some time to remove his blood encrusted leathers before greeting his guests, and he wandered in through the arch with a nod of his head towards Feyre and Rhys.
His hazel eyes noted the bloodied head by the door and he released a sigh.
“You need to stop doing that.”
“The House doesn’t mind.”
The shutters covering the windows in the other rooms started to clatter up and down.
“See?”
“Yes, but I mind and besides,” he gestured across to Feyre, “an infant is present.”
Nyx, now bouncing on Feyre’s lap, slapped his hands together as hard as he could in time with the House. He gazed at Nesta as though she’d sliced her way through necks especially for him.
“He doesn’t care,” Nesta said in a sing-song voice eerily similar to the tone Feyre herself used earlier. She beamed at her nephew, “He’s clapping with the House.”
Rhys’ face turned white, “The House is applauding you?”
“Oh yes,” Az said, arriving at last and pushing his way through where Cassian and Nesta stood to flop down onto the armchair next to Feyre. “Nesta always gets rapturous applause when she brings home a kill.”
Feyre glanced from Azriel, legs sloping over one armrest while his head flopped across the other, to Nesta and then onto Cassian who was pinching the bridge of his nose.
“As much as I am ecstatic to see you all,” he said, “I’ll leave Az to deal with the debrief. I need to go lie down for a while.”
Cassian exited as swift as he entered, Az not bothering to open his now closed eyes. The concerned glances of the other room occupants followed Cassian’s retreating back.
Nesta turned back to Feyre, the ice-cold glare melted away. “Excuse me while I disappear.” Then, in a heartbeat, her expression was one of joy, “Bye-bye baby, I’ll see you in a little bit for snuggles.”
Nyx let out a small sob as Nesta left and Feyre quickly turned him towards her, readying him for a feed, knowing that the small sob would turn into a loud shriek.
“Well,” she said, “she obviously prefers Nyx to me.”
“Feyre, darling – you got spoken to,” Rhys said. “I think it’s safe to say Nesta didn’t acknowledge my existence. Which I’m fine with,” he added, nervously eyeing up the House’s stone walls, “whatever makes her happy.”
Nyx, thankfully, latched onto Feyre’s bared breast and for a moment no noise sounded in the room other than his greedy milk-hungry gulps.
A thought played over and over in her mind though; Nesta’s look of concern, Cassian’s uncharacteristic broodiness. “Are they ok?” she asked Az, at the same time Rhys enquired as to how the recent mission went.
Az’s eyes fluttered open and he gestured to the head on the floor. “As you can tell – we won.” Then, his voice gentler, he turned to Feyre, “They’re fine.”
“Is Cassian upset at the violence? At Nesta doing the um...,” and using her free hand Feyre motioned across her throat with a finger.
Az laughed, such a rare sound it reminded Feyre of the bells on Solstice evening. “Not at all. He likes that she does those things it’s just-”
He paused.
Rhys, satisfied that the mission went well and not caring about anyone’s romantic woes, settled back into the loveseat while Feyre leaned forward, careful to not disrupt her feeding son.
Azriel nodded towards the head, “Before the Anguis went the way of Hybern and the Kelpie, he managed to propose.”
“Not another one!”
“Don’t worry,” Azriel said, “I’m sure Nesta is reassuring Cassian of her love as we speak.”
As though cued up with expert timing, or, as Feyre suspected, the House lifting a self-imposed sound barrier to prove a point, the thumping drifted down to the grand room from several floors up.
“That was...fast.”
Suddenly Azriel appeared just as exhausted as Cassian had. “Nesta reassures Cassian of her love at least twice a night anyway, and when she’s done reassuring him, he feels the need to thank her back.”
Feyre winced, her face contorting into one of displeasure while Rhys didn’t try to hide his smirk. “This is what – the fourth proposal? Fifth?”
Az closed his eyes and dropped his head backwards once more. “Ninth. This isn’t the worst we’ve had.”
Nyx snuffled and Feyre moved him to her other breast. “Wasn’t the first in the Winter Court?”
They’d been in Winter for the naming ritual of Kallias and Viviane’s baby and once the ceremony was done, all guests mingled in the palace hall. The High Lord and Lady of Winter stood on the dais, draped in silver and grey, Viv beaming as she held her pink cheeked daughter.
The music, food and wine flowed freely but Feyre could barely hear the former over the laughter of the high fae and the chime of glasses as toast after toast was declared. The Inner Circle members had dispersed throughout the crowds earlier, all intent on seeking their delight in various forms.
Feyre had seen Nesta on the dance floor for the opening songs but she’d long since gone and Feyre wondered if Nesta and Cassian had snuck away to take advantage of the Winter palace’s numerous private bedrooms.
She had done her duty as High Lady of Night, walking around the hall, ice blue gown sashaying around her legs as revellers congratulated her on the arrival of her own child.
Feyre had smiled and thanked them but she tired easily after Nyx’s traumatic birth and it wasn’t long before she sought out the fur-decked chaise longue tucked in one of enclaves on the far wall.
As Feyre made her way towards it, movement from the corner on her right drew her attention.
Nesta was standing by another enclave, glass in hand, virulently shaking her head. Nesta’s golden-brown hair had been braided into a complex knot adorned with diamonds which caught the fae lights and casted shapes on the ceiling. It had been this that captured Feyre’s eye.
“No,” Nesta said, “I don’t think so.” She smoothed down a non-existent crease on her dress, a pale grey-blue that shimmered like mist over ice, ever changing.
The male she was speaking to was some high-ranking courtier from Winter who Feyre had been introduced to earlier that evening but whose name escaped her. He was tall and handsome enough, gazing at her sister with sapphire blue eyes, but Nesta’s demeanour suggested nothing other than sheer boredom.
Cassian emerged from the crowds, seemingly drawn to what was happening in the corner of the room like a moth towards a flame, his body screaming nothing but fury. Still, he interjected himself between Nesta and the Winter male with a decorum Feyre felt he should be proud of. His fists were clenched and his jaw twitched as he ground his teeth but there was no violence. Yet.
Feyre moved quickly to them.
Side by side there was no contest that Cassian was the larger, broader and less refined male. He wore scuffed Illyrian leathers and the most he’d done for the event was clean his hair and tie it back.
The courtier wore ivory silk brocade strewn with pearls and viewed Cassian up and down with a sneer.
“And who, exactly, are you?”
Cassian spat out his answer, “Her mate and husband and your executioner – you are?”
“Ah yes,” Rhys said. “The naming ball. Was it just the one dance Nesta performed before she had the males panting over her?”
“Still,” Feyre said, “that one was the easiest to smooth over. No one was killed. Or maimed.”
“I think the proposal with Chrysos was when Cassian was aware this was going to be a repeat issue,” Az said.
Chrysos stood before them, undulating between the visage of a male and of something else, something other – possibly human but not quite. His skin was translucent and his gold blood ran through his veins, clear to their eyes, like streaks in white marble.
He was horrifying and beautiful and Feyre struggled to tear her eyes away.
“I must marry you,” he said, directing his words to Nesta. Chrysos’ voice echoed around the cave chamber, strangely melodic, a harmony of angels singing in chorus, one voice on top of another. “I shall make you my Queen and take you into the darkness where we shall make the sweetest music and-”
Nesta’s shoulders sagged, energy sapped from her as she gave a frustrated sigh.
“What the fuck?!”
Feyre jumped at Cassian’s yell, the noise bouncing from the tops of the cave to the bottom, deep into the darkest part and back again.
“Seriously! For fucks sake, I am standing right here!”
Rhys chuckled. “That ended quick enough if I remember?”
“We were on a recruitment mission though, we wanted him on our side,” Az said, “not dead.”
“Cassian maintains he slipped.”
“From six feet away?”
“Yes.”
“With his sword aloft?”
“I didn’t think the proposal in Summer was too bad,” interrupted Feyre, now with Nyx resting against her shoulder so she could pat his back with soothing circles.
The party on Tarquin’s barge was held at the height of the season the Court was most famous for.
The weather was idyllic; sunshine beating down on Feyre’s skin, endless blue skies stretching ahead while a cool ocean breeze drifted from the teal waters teaming with coral. Dolphins pranced in the frothy waves around them, shimmering and shining, their scales a rosy pink.
“Look, Nyx, look!” Feyre held her cooing baby high, pointing the dolphins out to his curious violet eyes.
The barge moved at a comfortable pace and again, like all parties the High Lords arranged, the music, food and wine flowed. Guests streamed from the top desk to the lower one and lower still when they felt like taking to the private cabins, the heat in the air turning into heat in the blood.
The decks were vast enough to not see the same individuals constantly but small enough to see them often and Feyre had smiled every time she walked past a relaxed Cassian and Nesta.
On their first stroll about the deck, Nyx had been awake and grinning, Nesta peppering his small face with a flood of kisses that had him squealing and his limbs flailing with joy. Cassian had joked about knowing his place in the pecking order and Nesta smiled at him in turn.
Cassian’s hair was tied back into a loose bun, strands of black hair falling past his jaw. It was too hot for leathers and, with his white linen shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the black tattoos on his arms, he was the most casual Feyre had ever seen him.
Nesta stunned in a dress of blue which started ice blue at her shoulders before blending into a shade so dark at the hem it was almost black. The front was a demure and delicately scalloped neckline but Nesta’s back was entirely bare, held up by invisible straps.
Multiple pairs of eyes glanced their way but Nesta’s hand never left Cassian’s and his free one travelled the length of her spine dipping beyond the fabric at her lower back.
You’re borderline indecent, Feyre told them with pretend outrage and continued to walk the deck.
The second time Feyre passed them, they had been talking to Tarquin and Feyre only caught a brief snippet of their conversation, trying to settle a now restless Nyx against her shoulder.
“One apology,” Tarquin had said, “that was my mother’s favourite building.”
On Feyre’s third pass, Nyx now in Rhys’ arms, Tarquin had gone. In his place stood a fae Feyre didn’t recognise.
“I had turned away for a couple of seconds,” Cassian said, his hands in fists, “and you thought this was your opportunity to sneak in here like a panting-”
“Cassian,” Nesta warned, “we don’t want another incident in this Court.”
“Well, there will be one if this prick doesn’t move out of here. We’ll see how he fares with my foot up his as-”
“Cassian!”
“She’s married and mated. Can’t you see the matching rings? Can’t you smell the mate bond?”
The high fae nodded his head, “Yes, but...”
“But? But what?! That’s it,” Cassian said, “we’re leaving this fucking party.”
Rhys and Az stared at Feyre as she burped Nyx, their mouths open.
“What?” she asked.
“You didn’t think it was too bad?” Rhys said, his voice incredulous.
Feyre shrugged, “No one died and no wars were started.”
“They’d only just removed the ban on Cassian to have to enforce it again.”
“I don’t think the second ban was fair though.”
“Feyre, darling. He destroyed the barge.”
“We spent hours fishing everyone out of the sea,” Az said. “Then we had to work out where Nesta’s unfortunate suitor had landed after Cassian threw him towards the cliff.”
“Wasn’t he clinging onto the side of the rockface?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t Cassian destroy another building in his haste to get away?”
“Yes.”
“Alright,” Feyre said, frowning. “So maybe it was bad.”
“I quite liked the proposal from Locuples,” Az said, “that was the best for all involved. No one died and we ended up with a pretty good trade agreement.”
“Oh, I remember that,” said Feyre, “I was here when Nesta and Cassian came back.”
Feyre and Az had been in the grand room, as they were now, sitting opposite each other in companiable silence. Steam from their tea cups swirled in the air and Feyre gazed out the windows at the white clouds over the city.
“What the-?”
Feyre’s head snapped round, surprised at the uncharacteristic shock in Az’s voice. He stared towards the door archways and Feyre followed his eyeline.
Cassian and Nesta had returned, surprisingly quietly, as she hadn’t heard them land on the roof. Or perhaps, looking at the display in front of her, they’d travelled by some other means.
Nesta sat on a throne on an open topped litter, carried by two lithe creatures who were more shadow and smoke than real and whose feet never touched the ground. Nesta herself, bedecked with jewels, a tiara and clutching a sceptre, wore an expression of confusion.
Cassian followed on foot, wings tersely tucked in, heaving a trunk filled with gold, jewellery, silks, furs and bottles which wafted exotic scents.
Cassian glanced at them from the corner of his eye, “Don’t ask.”
“I thought we expected this to be a hostile negotiation?”
“I said don’t ask.”
“We still receive gifts on a monthly basis,” Feyre said and slid to the floor to lay a barely awake Nyx on the soft furs - one of those aforementioned gifts. She traced a thumb on the arch of his foot and watched it curl, his lips smacking in contentment.
Feyre swore the floorboards underneath him adjusted to accommodate his shape.
“Don’t you receive monthly gifts from Helion as well?” Rhys asked. “Or did Cassian put a stop to that?”
“Cassian put a stop to that one,” Az said.
“Doesn’t Nesta still have the first gift though?”
Az groaned and placed his scarred hands over his eyes. “Yes, and I cannot express how much upkeep it takes.”
Feyre smiled, “Oh, I remember that one too.”
The shriek took Feyre by surprise and she leapt from her chair, readying herself for action. It was only seconds before she realised it wasn’t a shriek of pain but one of sheer, childlike joy.
Once again, her and Az were in the House and, once again, she hadn’t heard the arrival of the House’s other permanent occupants.
“In the name of the Mother,” Az breathed and, in what was a familiar pattern, Feyre turned to where he was looking. This time, instead of Az looking towards the doorway, he was staring outwards at the windows.
Nesta, clad in her leathers and with windswept hair was sat astride a glorious white winged horse, her black leather a stark contrast to the white of the creature she sat upon.
“Someone find Gwen and Emerie! They need to know about this; they need to come here!”
With another shriek of joy and a gentle nudge to the horse’s sides Nesta rose higher, the wings of the horse flapping with enthusiasm, happy to appease its new owner.
There was a sigh from behind them and Feyre and Az turned. Cassian leant against the doorframe, fingers rubbing his temples.
“Cass... isn’t that Helion’s last and most prized flying horse?”
“Please – do not ask.”
“That thing is a nightmare,” Az said, “it eats everything, likes very few fae and can somehow find its way into the House in the dead of night. Do you know how terrifying it is to wake to find a winged horse hovering over you demanding sugar cubes while stealing your blanket? I can’t live like this.”
Feyre shot him a sympathetic smile while Rhys laughed. In the brief silence which followed, Feyre could hear the rhythmic banging echoing its way through the house.
“Aren’t they done yet?”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“At least it will be over soon.”
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
“You think this is bad?” Az said, “You weren’t here after the proposal with the Peregryn.”
To Feyre, the Dawn Court was one of the most beautiful. Its shades of gold and red weren’t bright or ostentatious but were the softer golds found in the rising sun, the reds not vermillion or scarlet but something akin to a dusky rose.
Every town held a thousand clock-towers, every hand matching perfectly, the chimes on the hour synching in a glorious song, calling to the skies in praise of a new day, of promises to be made, of joy to come.
The peace of that particular morning had been broken by the shouts of males, all raised in the ecstatic spirit of competition. Nothing violent or aggressive but it spoke to Feyre of knuckles and bone crunching all the same.
She’d pushed her way to the front of a crowd, the fae recognising her and making room for her to pass. A fighting circle had broken out in a section of the town square, cheers raising into the air as one of the fighters scored a blow.
In the circle stood two males, both tall and broad, barefooted and bare-chested. One had wings similar to the Pegasus which Nesta now owned, white and gold-feathered, and the other had wings as black as night, the rising sun highlighting veins and patches of amber.
A female was eagerly watching them, a female Feyre shoved past fae to move next to.
“Nesta! Why is Cassian sparring with a Peregryn?”
Nesta didn’t tear her eyes from the males. “Some old nonsense about fighting for the right to take my hand.”
Cassian landed a punch to his opponent’s jaw, the crack reverberating through the air as the crowd cheered on.
Sweat trickled down Cassian’s own jaw and onto his neck. His muscles were strained, his abdomen contracting. As the fighters turned positions, his back faced Feyre, black tattoos against dark skin, his shoulder blades gleaming with oil.
Feyre glanced at Nesta who was dressed in a pale peach dress adorned with pearls, her hair up but with soft stands framing her face. She would have looked a wholesome picture of innocence if not for her darkening eyes.
“Shouldn’t you stop this?”
“Probably.”
“Are you going to?”
Nesta’s eyes flickered from the top of Cassian’s head down his back and then, as the fighter’s moved again, to his stomach where they lingered on the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his trousers. She sighed.
“A few more minutes.”
Feyre blinked as if she could rid herself of the memory. “I can only imagine.”
“If I didn’t visit the river house for dinner I would have starved. The House had to perform a deep clean.”
The walls shook in what was akin to a shudder.
“The bard was wholesome enough,” Rhys said.
Az groaned, “And yet ridiculous.”
 In a concerted effort to apologise to the Courts on behalf of the behaviour of some Inner Circle members during previous gatherings, Feyre and Rhys had invited the High Lords and their significant others to Starfall.
The House remained still, either curious as to who all the guests were or silently sulking that there were guests at all.
The tang of a rich red wine was on Feyre’s tongue, not from anything she had drunk, but from a stolen kiss from Rhys, under the night sky, in a moment solely theirs before it became everyone else’s.
The night was filled with laughter and talking and Feyre slid into the embrace of her mate, content in the knowledge that Nyx slumbered underneath the watchful eye of the House’s nursery, a room which hadn’t existed before this very evening.
Her heart hurt, but in a good way, as though each chamber was bursting with a joy they couldn’t contain and her happiness spilled out into every corner of the rooftop.
Azriel was intently speaking with Nesta’s red-haired friend while Elain watched on from a distance, either not aware of, or ignoring, her own red-haired watcher.
Amren and Mor stood amongst another group, Mor’s golden hair cascading down her back like a waterfall and near the balcony was Cassian and Nesta, pressed side by side, hand in hand as they gazed upwards, Cassian pointing to a constellation.
Nesta glanced at him as he spoke, her face softening in a way Feyre never thought possible, a smile on her lips. When Cassian looked back at her, to check her understanding of what he was saying, he brought their intertwined hands up to his mouth, to kiss her fingertips.
Feyre smiled, all was well and all would continue to be well. That was until a voice, clear and resolute, spoke out into the crowd.
“My High Lords and Ladies and Paramor’s, I am a bard from the Spring Court – famed as the best in all the Courts!”
Chatter drifted into murmurs as heads turned expectedly to the fae now standing in the centre. Feyre noted his lute fixed upon his waistband but the bard made no attempt to reach for it.
“I have travelled across the land, coming to the Court of the High Lord and High Lady of Night with one purpose and one purpose only – to serenade with tales of fortune and love!”
A ripple of anticipation broke out amongst the crowd to hear such songs and Feyre turned to Rhys. “Did you arrange this?” but his face was twisted in confusion.
“I dedicate my melodies to one female, one who understands music as though her very bones were formed by the notes. My song to you, Lady Nesta and also my hand in marri-”
“FUCKS SAKE!”
Feyre let out a sigh. “I felt so sorry for the bard. He must have seen Nesta on one of her visits. To think, he spent all those weeks travelling on foot to arrive to the House and then Cassian threatens to dangle him from the roof.”
“Cassian did dangle him from the roof.”
“No one’s going to invite us to any more parties,” said Rhys with a sorrowful sigh.
“I think we can handle an overly amorous high fae or two,” Az said, “it’s the demons which worry me.”
“They’re no cause for concern,” Rhys said with a wave of his hand. “In fact, we have a valuable asset on our side. Drag Nesta in front of them and it tends to shut them up.”
Feyre frowned. “That is my sister you’re deciding to use as romantic bait. Besides, the issue we had with the Caligo demon was that it didn’t stop talking. There was such a mess.”
Screams filled Feyre’s ears as terrified Night Court citizens ran past her, almost a blur.
Tears streaked down terror-stricken faces as they grabbed the arms of their loved ones and scooped up children too small or young to so anything other than shiver and cry.
Cracks appeared in the ground beneath their feet, the cobbles of the street twisting and turning before jutting upwards like the jagged, sharpened edges of broken bone. The air was thick with acrid smoke which stung Feyre’s eyes causing them to stream with the tears she saw running down her people’s faces.
Rhys was to her right. Or that’s what she hoped. He had been standing but he’d gasped in pain and then she no longer saw him through the gaps in the cloud. When she managed to glimpse him, he was on his knees, thick red blood pouring down his face from a cut on his scalp.
Feyre choked back a sob and clambered over the rips in the earth to reach him.
Steel clashed with steel in the darkness, the shouts of Cassian and Azriel tearing through the blackness as they pressed forward. A shimmer of magic absorbed as much of the darkness away as it could and created a halo around the members of the Inner Circle.
Hands, strong and steady, circled Feyre’s waist and Nesta held her up, helped her over the torn earth.
“I am destroyer,” the thing hissed. “I am consumer, I am flesh ripper and soul tearer and I-”
It turned, watching them all, gloating in their misery and gorging itself fat on their pain. One of its bulbous eyes slid to where they stood, Feyre leaning into Nesta’s side. Her sister’s hair was dishevelled, her arms smeared with blood but Nesta’s eyes remained cold and hard upon the demon.
“And I – oh, oh, you are spectacular.”
A roar ripped through the darkness; a bellowing from powerful lungs as the words of the creature reached the ears of all present.
“Absolutely fucking not!”
Cassian advanced from the void, red siphons blazing as though he were shrouded in flame. “I am her mate; I am her husband and I suggest you put those sloping tongues back into your mouth or Mother help me...”
Feyre swallowed the rising bile. She tried not to think about the events of that night, though she didn’t know what was worse – that night or now, with the thumping above their heads gaining momentum.
“He got the job done,” Rhys said and then smirked, “and he’s doing the same now from the sounds of it.”
“Rhys!” Feyre admonished and placed her hand on Nyx’s stomach to calm herself. “Why do you think he puts up with it?” she asked Az.
“What choice does he have? Besides, he loves and trusts her. There’s no one for him but her and no one for her but him.”
“Disgusting,” Rhys said with slight mockery to his tone.
“No,” Feyre said, “what’s disgusting is the head in the corner.” She eyed up the lump that had once been somethings head; the glassy eyes, the bloodied stump. She wouldn’t relish touching the thing but she would happily remove herself out of earshot of Nesta and Cassian’s post proposal love affirmation. “Where do I take it?”
“The House created a trophy room three doors down,” Az said.
Anguis’ mouth hung open, razor sharp rotted teeth all lined up on display. Feyre felt a slither of pity. “I’ll take it there.”
“No, Feyre darling, I’ll do it.”
Feyre breathed a sigh of relief and nodded before turning to Az. “Shall we wait for them to be done? We need to discuss the next mission which is rather sensitive.”
Az shook his head, “No, you may as well go home. It was a proposal so they’re not stopping until – what day is it now, Thursday? – they’re not going to be fit for purpose until Monday.”
Rhys, still lounging, stretched out into the space Feyre previously occupied. “We can’t wait that long.”
“Do you want to volunteer to interrupt them?
“No.”
Feyre glanced between them both. “Cassian did look rather sad.”
Azriel laughed again, the sound echoing throughout the room, his head thrown back. “Don’t pity Cassian, he knows what he’s doing.”
“And Nesta falls for it?”
“No, she definitely doesn’t fall for it.”
“But isn’t she in their chambers um...reassuring him?”
“Yes.”
Feyre bit her lip, “So surely...”
“Oh Mother,” Az rubbed his hand across his face. “It’s their form of twisted foreplay. When Nesta received a proposal from – well, I can’t remember which one, I came home early and almost went blind. Have none of you questioned the indoor swing?”
Feyre’s voice was quiet when she spoke, scooping up her son into her arms with haste. “I thought they were creating an inside playground.”
“Ah,” Az said, his voice soft, “not quite.”
The thumping reached its crescendo and blessedly, stilled.
“Oh, thank the Mother,” Rhys said, “they’re done after all. Az, go retrieve them. We need to discuss the next mission.”
“Why me?”
“You live here.”
“You’re the High Lord.”
Feyre looked around her, Nyx clutched in her arms. “I think the floor is sloping us out towards the door.”
“I don’t think so Feyre, darling.”
“No really, the head - which you said you’d deal with by the way - is rolling away.”
Feyre wasn’t imagining what was happening, she’d passed under the entrance to the room, Rhys and Az’s chairs beginning to follow.
“This happens,” Az said with a calmness Feyre didn’t feel. “Usually when they don’t want anyone to overhear the next part of their ‘Nesta got proposed to again’ sex marathon.”
“Why? What could they now be planning that’s so much worse?”
“I don’t know,” Az replied, “the House always shuffles me out at this point. One time I was trying to prep my knives and almost stabbed myself in the eye.”
“Right,” said Rhys, “I think we can walk out of here without a sentient lump of stone forcing us to. Which,” he said with an eye to the steepness of the floor angle, “is completely within its’ right.”
Feyre nestled a snoring Nyx into one arm as Rhys helped her up. Az was already on his feet, out the door and into the hallway before he got flattened by an oversized, burgundy armchair.
He turned to them both.
“So, where’s the next mission to anyway? Where are you sending our glorious Lady Death and Lord of Bloodshed and can I sit it out?”
Feyre and Rhys exchanged glances. “I think we might need you in attendance,” Feyre said.
Az raised an eyebrow. “Well, I know King Lascivus is causing some problems with his tithe but as long as you weren’t planning on sending us to his palace, it will be fine. He’s famous for his side hobby of trying to find a muse to depict as the Mother in his artworks. Borderline obsessed.”
Feyre cleared her throat, “Sounds like he’s fervently religiously devout.”
“Hardly. The issue isn’t him trying to depict the Mother but that he’s spent centuries convincing everyone that she needs to be represented in her naked glory and I quote ‘with the petals of her flower fully opened.’”  
Rhys coughed and moved fast down the hallway towards the roof entrance his wings already forming.
“Rhys!” Feyre called out. “You know I can’t run when I’m holding the baby!”
Az’s voice was quiet. “Feyre?”
“You know we love you,” she said, not meeting his hazel eyes, “and you’re always welcome at the river house. For as long as you want, whether that’s weeks or months.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I swear on the Cauldron, if you need to you can stay for centuries.”
“Feyre?”
She turned and didn’t look back, picking up her own speed to follow Rhys, ignoring the quiver in Az’s tone.
“We love you Az,” she shouted over her shoulder, propping Nyx into a position ready for flight as the House opened its doors to hasten her exit. “Always remember that.”
TAGGING
@live-the-fangirl-life
@champanheandluxxury
@dontgetsalmonella
@purpleglitterypinecone
236 notes · View notes
cantfightmoonlight · 9 months ago
Text
A sigh broke from Meena's lips as she told the man before her what she had thought to be obvious. "I don't think you're out here carrying a dagger, J.C. I do think that you made that meeting personal when you came at all of us, but I also spoke out of turn to which I apologize to you for. It was out of frustration not resentment. The back and forth was becoming heated and it felt like no matter what counterpoint was offered, there would be no seeing reason. Though, I shouldn't have said it, to which, I'm sorry. I'm typically rather good at remaining unemotional. I try not to let my humanity slip, but what can I say? You happen to be one of the few people over the past few centuries who have managed to get under my skin. My complements on your behalf. It's not an easy task. But, I do hope you will forgive me on that regard," She apologized, having no problem owning up to her mistakes when she was in the wrong.
"I'm well aware I pursued the position of Mayor, Carvalho," She stated. Her tone remaining even as she said simply, "I'm used to the criticisms and I have no problem with people thinking what they want of me. But, while I can technically resign at any time, I made a commitment. It wouldn't be fair to those who entrusted their votes to me not see it through. I chose to be their voice and am more than willing to give up mine in return. It's not a matter of that. Though, I would disagree with that being how this all started. I have no problem with the wolves defending themselves. If a wolf in an act of self defense bite to survive, I would be more than understanding. But, there is a difference between a wolf choosing to do what is necessary to protect themselves in the moment to a leader advising such. The problem is not with the wolves defending themselves. The problem, for me at least, lied with a leader advising what is essentially a death sentence for my kind. I mean let's face it, J.C., you took offense to the comment I made against you. Are you really telling me if you found out that I told all of my Clan members that its okay to drain any wolf they see dry, that it would be unreasonable to feel a certain way about that? So frankly, it doesn't matter if any wolf actually used the bite or not. Just as it doesn't matter for you that Nico was never in any danger of dying when he took vampire blood on Poppy's behalf. It's what it symbolized and, I'm not asking you to comment, so you don't need to defend Nico or speak on the Pack's behalf. I understand where your alpha was coming from. I simply believe it was phrased poorly and hope you can understand where my cause for concern arose from. Well, I didn't ask. You're entitled to your own emotions and tone. Though if others react irrationally to it, you must know that there is a reason for that. I would have just as I am calmly talking to you right now. But, in terms of feelings, all I was pointing out was how you're not the only one whose's exhausted and angry. It might not hurt to empathize with the fact that we all are, for better or worse, facing this together."
"If you have something to say about me, J.C., just say it, because in all honesty, it's fairly tiring to constantly have to reiterate the same thing over and over again. I'm fairly certain that's in part, the definition of insanity actually. But, once again and hopefully for the final time, I have no problem with what the wolves did at the Magnolia. It's not about the wolves as whole. It boiled down to leadership and, a genuine question as to whether in times of crisis, we would try to help each other or should it be every species for themselves. Either answer I was fine with. I just wanted clarity on the situation and, from our conversations, it seemed as though you were inferring the later. Now if we want to talk the Magnolia Inn, both my advisor and I had far more of a problem with the Inn nearly burning down because of someone else. An issue that we both brought up in the Council meeting, but unfortunately it seemed to become overshadowed, and, critique all you want, but I pick my battles," She explained as she moved to take a sip from the glass of wine she had ordered. "I would agree in terms of familial relationships. But, I guessed I didn't have you pegged as someone who couldn't compartmentalize. My mistake," She lifted her gaze up from her glass as she shot him a playful smirk. While, she agreed to a certain extent that outside relationships had made a number of Council deliberations more tedious, she had been intimate with a Council member in the past and that never stopped her from being able to view the Council agenda rationality. It was business. It wasn't personal. Not until, JC's reactions at the last meeting seemed to make it such. A mistake that she wouldn't make again.
"I'm sorry," Meena's brow lifted as she had to fight back the smile tugging at the corner of her lips and the look of disbelief in belief in her eyes. "Are you actually bringing up something that occurred over two years ago under a hostage situation? I'd say that's exactly what you're doing. Not only coming at it personally, but picking out any flaw you possibly can. If the only examples you can think of were during a situation of extreme duress where we were all held hostage by a terrorist years ago, might I add, doesn't that say a lot?" She countered, before clarifying, "But while we're on the subject, we were being held hostage and forced to play a twisted game where body parts were being removed if you stepped out of line, J.C. We had a timer ticking down until a number of residents, who as Mayor I am responsible for, and a number of loved ones would die. The vampire you mention, was, at the time, more than willing to break our kidnappers rules by having multiple people try to save someone at once which would have resulted in your Alpha and the Fae Queen's deaths as well a number of others. Then, despite being fully aware that any time you vetoed the game's question, those who were kidnapped would be severely tortured, he vetoed Aaliyah saving one of my Clan members. Millie was seconds away from burning alive when Aaliyah rescued her. So, yes, to save lives, I put a vampire temporarily to sleep, but it wasn't because he opposed me. It was because he wanted anarchy for the sake of anarchy. After which, he joined the Clan by the way and has become a dear friend of mine. He never resented me for it nor is he afraid of me now and, as for Bexley, once again, I have no problem with someone disagreeing with me. But, you can do so with respect and there is a time and a place for such. If She had pulled me aside or even publicly made her critique after we had saved Millie before the next riddle began, then fine. I would have accepted it. But, when a clan member is about to die, I will not stand back and tolerate someone putting another at risk so that they can bad mouth me to my face. If someone feels threatened by that so be it, as long as everyone stayed alive. That was the main priority. Not some reputation or potentially hurt feelings. Though I could argue that making tough calls is part of being a leader and, while you may understand, why others critique them, it doesn't mean that you have any control over the narrative."
"I'm not living in a goddamn vacuum, nor do I appreciate the implication of such. You have insulted me to my face multiple times now, I hope you know. My tolerance happens to only be so high and I will get up and walk away if you continue to do so, just as an FYI. I am well aware of how my actions can and are perceived. I'm not nor have I denied that fact. I have no problem with being viewed as threatening. People can think what they want and I am cold and distant. But, not acknowledge that there is a double standard present, would be to turn a blind eye to an elephant in the room. Poppy nearly set the Inn on fire. She attacked me and a handful of others just a few weeks ago. You want to ask some of the people Poppy targeted under the spell how they feel? You're looking at one of them. She's threatened a number of individuals recently including myself and, yet, I'm the threatening one? You may be one of the more vocal critics, but you don't regard us equally. No one does and I've even stopped myself. She's not taken as seriously as she should be and I'm held to such a serious regard that I continue to be scrutinized for a few fleeting sentences that left my mouth years prior when I haven't threatened anyone since, besides you for which I have apologized for. So three threats in the span of a hundred years compared to multiple threats over the span of a few weeks. What do you call that if not a double-standard?"
"I never said it wasn't. But, just because you have power, doesn't make you instantly corrupt and, choosing to use money you earned fairly, is not a bribe. I'd never sit here and declare myself a good person. I'm far from one. But I am upfront and will correct slander. Though, please, if the worst people have say about you is that you're the jackass who got kicked out of a Council meeting, you should color yourself lucky. Though," She leaned forwards, propping her elbows up on the table as she rested in her chin in the palm of her hands. A genuine laugh escaping her lips as she tried to imagine what sort of twisted image of herself had he concocted up in that pretty little head of his to form such a ridiculous notion. "Whatever gave you the impression that my concerns lie with something so trivial as being liked?"
Tumblr media
Sinking into the chair, JC placed his hands on the tabletop but made no effort to really prepare himself to eat, although that was more from a lack of grace than a deliberate attempt to not participate. He cocked his head to one side. “I was talking about the dagger everyone seems to think I have now.” He sniffed. “You're the one who said it, Meena. You said that me hypothetically transitioning back into the Alpha would be an act of war. Come on. That was directed at me personally, so if it’s not resentment, it’s something.” He answered with a spike in his voice, but JC did not give up any ground. A breath rolled through him, however, and when he spoke up again, it was more even. “Me and the wolves have been on the streets for every single catastrophe this town has had. Pick one."
He maintained eye contact with her, allowing the other to have her say, his own features unmoving. “As I said, the wolves, me included, have returned that favor time after time. And look, I can appreciate that living under a magnifying glass sucks. Sure. But you’re in an elected position. Mayor is one you pursued. It’s a job. And politics come with helluva lot of criticism and bullshit in general. But you know that. You don’t need me to say it. And it’s a hat you can take off right now if you don’t want to wear it.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “And again, Meena, everyone in that meeting had a very big problem with the wolves defending themselves. That’s how all this started. With a suggestion that the wolves bite. Which, when we're transformed, is our only means of defense. And not one of us actually used it. Whereas, other people did actually get hurt. And bad.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whether you asked me to or not, I’m not going to apologize for my emotion. Or my tone. As if anyone would have heard me if I raised my concerns calmly through official paperwork. But, yeah, maybe that would have been easier on everyone's feelings."
JC raised an eyebrow. “Ah, but it does seems like lots of people are capable of speaking on what the wolves did or did not do at the Magnolia.” He shook his head. “I’m not suggesting anyone in the Council is using intimacy against each other, but I do think it’s more than clear that outside relationships are making our work more difficult every day. Mostly familial ones, but hey, I digress."
Placing his hands on the table, JC did not budge. “Do I think you have any say in how people view you, Meena? Didn’t you, like, publicly snap a vampire’s neck? Didn’t you threaten to teach a witch a ‘lesson’ in the same breath? Things like that might play a role. Look, people think I'm coming at them personally, and maybe I am. But sometimes it's like I'm the only person on that Council not living in a goddamn vacuum. I said things that are going to affect how people see me. But I can admit I said them.” His nostrils flared.
“No, I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of anyone in those meetings. And you know what? I at least give you kudos for having a goddamn backbone, which is more than some of them can say. But no, that isn’t what makes me think you threaten others. The threatening does that just fine on its own. And that isn’t what makes me say the clan thinks it runs this town. It’s stuff like you throwing your weight around and declaring that certain pack transitions are not allowed under your watch.” He grit his teeth.
“I don’t know, Meena. Why don’t we ask some of the people Poppy targeted under the spell how they feel about her? I’ve been one of the most vocal critics of the Supreme. I think she’s dangerously erratic. I think she’s reckless. I think she throws tantrums when she doesn't get her way. And sure, if she could focus on anything but herself for more than a few minutes at a time, maybe we would all cower. But just right now when I brought up the fire that was set, we can’t talk about it. So, what do you propose be done about Poppy’s behavior then? I probably can't get Nico onboard, but hey, my mouthy ass may as well make a few more enemies, so why not? Count me in on the motion."
He laughed now, an exasperated noise, leaning back in the chair. "Money is power. It just is." JC closed his eyes, holding them tight for a long moment. "There's no winners here, Meena. Really, every single one of us has made sure of that. You think there's winning for me? I'm forever going to be the jackass who got kicked out of the Council meeting for something as stupid as decorum. Screw decorum. People feel some type of way about the both us. But we both have other things to be that are so much more important than liked, don't we?"
Tumblr media
8 notes · View notes
shihalyfie · 3 years ago
Note
With Digimon Ghost Game starting, I thought about how different it is from previous Digimon series, though it's still undoubtedly Digimon... and then I realized all Digimon series are like that. So I wonder, what do you think sets each Digimon series apart from the rest?
I think both Ghost Game but also the reboot have been a wake-up call for people in terms of realizing that likes, dislikes, and tastes are subjective, and I think it's especially important in terms of this fanbase that is so obsessed with this idea you can objectively rank things by quality -- especially when each series is often deliberately trying to have its own identity, so it's arguably apples and oranges -- and forcing this idea of what's Good and Not Good on everyone else (especially when there's a nasty double standard phenomenon where Adventure and often Tamers get to be so impervious to criticism that people conveniently forget they're perfectly capable of being scrutinized for a lot of things they're weaker in). Very frustrating to see everyone who likes less popular series treated as if they have to accept that they like a "badly written series" for some things and everything else is a guilty pleasure, which I find to be incredibly dumb.
The most important take-home here is that the fact each series has its own identity is always going to be the main factor in what makes it "good" or not to you, not some arbitrary bar of comparison that's based on some narrow-minded view of "good writing" (which is usually unreasonably based on Adventure). For instance, the reason why 02 is so important to me is because (see below), to me, it has the highest amount of meaningful, important life lessons and themes that it wanted its audience to remember, to the point that I frankly do not care about where the plot goes in comparison. That may not be the case for everyone else, and that's fine, but should my tastes be called unreasonable for that? I think we're also coming to realize that because of Adventure (and kind of 02)'s precedent, so many people have been judging series purely by how intimate their individual character development style is, but this is unfair because Adventure and 02's ridiculous level of character depth to psychological detail is extremely unusual and unrealistic to expect of others; Adventure and 02 only achieved this by practically considering the plot utterly subservient to its character arcs, and it's arguably why they have some of the weakest "plots" in this franchise. It's so bizarre that I can see character development in other Digimon series that outstrips even most kids' anime on the market, but it's not as much as Adventure's so apparently it's bad. And, moreover, as it turns out, some people have priorities other than characterization; just because Adventure had that as its strength doesn't mean that's the only thing anyone should care about. Is the plot fun? Is there a meaningful message besides characters (also important to me)? Do you vibe with the tone being dark, or being silly? How much do you care about resourceful usage of Digimon lore? That kind of thing. Everyone is different, so that's why everyone has their own priorities. If you’re someone who prefers darker content, you may not realize that writing good and well-timed comedy is actually a very, very difficult task, especially when said comedy simultaneously has meaning (in comparison, it’s surprisingly easy to write “dark” but shallow content).
I think it's fair to like every Digimon series for its own thing, depending on your personal tastes. I can't speak for everyone, but my impressions are that it has to do with the following:
Adventure: Significantly easier to understand than 02 due to its more straightforward plot, and focus on individual character development ("individualism" being a strong point here). In terms of characters, it goes a lot into some very real social problems (the divorce around the Ishida and Takaishi families and the pressures surrounding Jou, for instance) in a very realistic manner. Also, it has that sense of mystique and absurdism to the Digital World that's both whimsical but also mysterious, and while 02 has it too, Adventure's the isekai story that has it the most.
02: The first is its focus on the importance of human relationships and the compelling group dynamic unparalleled in this franchise, and the second is its important themes and life lessons that I think are some of the strongest in said franchise. I have a whole tag for the ridiculous amount of nuance packed into every detail and dialogue line for this series, and I think every time I've rewatched an episode I've learned something new about it because there are so many things that clearly wanted to be said in each line. The entire series is basically an unpacking of the feelings of insidious self-hatred and the crushing feeling of being subject to society's expectations, and ones that are so deep-seated that you often don’t even have a single answer to how to unpack it (for instance, Miyako hardly has a tragic single event in her backstory, but she says and does a lot of things that'll be painfully familiar to those who have experienced chronic anxiety). Almost every plot point can be said to connect to each character arc in some way, and the mantras for appreciating and treasuring your own life and living life the way you will make this, in my opinion, the strongest series in terms of speaking to those who struggle with this kind of existential crisis for reasons of depression or otherwise. (Oops, I think I went too passionate about this; my biases are obvious...)
Tamers: I think it forms an interesting study and unpacking of the kinds of things you take for granted in Digimon or the monster-collecting genre in general, and an examination of how they'd work in a real-world context (although 02 had a focus on daily life, it didn't quite merge the Digimon and the real world factors until very late in the series). Also, probably the second highest on "hard sci-fi" (the only one that outstrips it is probably Appmon, but Appmon has a very different, more simplified take on it).
Frontier: A series that lies somewhere between Adventure's scale of individualism and 02's scale of group dynamic, and one more discussing the feeling of having your heart hardened from being an outcast, and what it takes to accept the idea of opening yourself up to others again. Recommended for those who like transforming hero and magical girl stories, too. From the Digimon perspective, also the one with the most detailed and consistent Digital World mythos.
Savers: I think this is the series that most drives home "life is complicated" (i.e. there isn't a single mastermind behind everything) in the most tasteful manner, because while it drives home the point that you can't just simplify everything into a good side and a bad side, some bad things really are evil (hi, Kurata), and it doesn't change the fact that everyone's responsible for cleaning up the fallout. The portrayal of the evils of government bureaucracy is probably the most realistic out of any of these series.
Xros Wars: For those who like fun, most of all! For those who like seeing Digimon finally get more of the spotlight and individuality since so much of it had been geared and biased towards the humans prior to this. For those who really like worldbuilding, and, after all, this is called Xros Wars, so it's interesting to see shakeups on the usual formulas in the form of the different factions and their priorities. Hunters is very different in tone, but I do think they have some of these aspects in common; that said, it being closer to having single partnerships brings it a bit closer in line to conventional Digimon partnerships, and it also has more of a picture of daily life. Also, as much as Tagiru is probably your-mileage-may-vary since he's not exactly a very nice kid (I get it if you don't vibe with that), which may also rub those hoping for not nice kids to become nice the wrong way, I do have to say I find him to be one of the funniest characters in this entire franchise, and you'd be surprised how hard good comedy is to write.
Appmon: Probably one of the strongest theme narratives besides 02, since it has a very clear and obvious theme about the importance of kindness in a world where technology is dominating and we're almost encouraged to strip the feelings out of everything. (Bonus for more straightforward plot than Adventure or 02 while still retaining a lot of its elements in terms of how to characterize them.) Also the first series to be speculative about the near future instead of taking place around the time it airs, and it's very obvious it wants to provide important and necessary commentary about what we need to do in the incoming era, especially as a lot of what it has to say becomes increasingly relevant.
Reboot: For those who like Digimon mythos and null canon -- this is probably the only series to show it off in this level of detail -- and the kind of cool action fights that would usually be saved for the climax in prior series (and animated in much more intimate detail with battle choreography than prior series would have). There are a lot of people into this franchise who felt like it genuinely was not making enough use of its Digimon roster and its potential because it kept going back to the old standbys (especially Adventure-based ones), so it was a huge relief for that crowd to see attention finally being paid.
78 notes · View notes
namenoted · 3 years ago
Text
okay i’m going to do my best here, but i’ll preface with this post contains discussions of undiagnosed mental health as attributed to the character of yagami raito from death note. this is based in my own personal research as well as interpersonal experience and discussion with someone that has npd in both regards to the illness itself and how it fits with yagami’s character. 
core features of narcissism in children, of which i will highlight the traits i believe we would more than likely see exhibited by light. i am bolding for what i feel is most likely here and italicizing for what i feel is more than likely true:
believing they are better than other kids
difficulty making friends/maintaining friendships
see getting attention as their right/need to be center of attention
withdrawal from others who do not give attention or admiration
not expressing gratitude to parents or others for being kind
excluding other children from their playgroup based on superficial characteristics such as the other child being poor, having a lower social status, or if other children are unable to perform the same tasks with what they feel is an appropriate skill level
not taking responsibility for their actions and the consequences
throwing temper tantrums when criticized
resentment at being told what to do
refusal to recognize the authority of others
gaze aversion (not looking into the eyes of someone speaking to them)
pathologic play
separation anxiety
having high and unreasonable expectations of others
magnified feelings of envy: the child is offended if others are seen as better than him in any way
often accompanies antisocial behavior: the child will get into fights or steal toys from other children
the above traits are speculated as we see a brief glimpse of yagami both pre-death note and after just having gotten the book, thus grappling with the most authentic version of his “pre-self” before becoming “kira”.
were these traits to be expressed, such as the tantrums for example, i believe at some age probably towards the end of elementary school and beginning of middle school, those sorts of reactions just shut off. the more socially aware he became, and more evident it became that he was a genius, but also evident to him that roles that he needs to play to get what he wants. these excessive emotions are then aligned, becoming more in check, and more in control. i discuss emotional control briefly below, but yagami has an unparalleled ability to maintain a façade of pleasantry or whatever other affiliated emotion is appropriate, while absolutely seething inside. this goes above “faking it til you make it” or “hold it in til your boss leaves and then freak out”; yagami is fully manipulating his own emotions, as well as the emotions of others. he learned this at a young age, specifically with his mother as his father is primarily an absent figure until necessary. this makes their first exchange particularly interesting. he comes home, addresses her, she asks for his grades, then tells him he can have whatever he wants because of his success.
personal happiness is not applicable to the yagami children, or at least not their first son. there is a definite difference in the way sayu is treated in comparison to her brother, both displaying a bit of sexism but also unfair expectations from the both of them while allowing one to do things the other cannot and vice versa. sayu is more apt to live a carefree, social life that hinges on her next hangout and hopefully getting a passing grade, but she is chastised for relying on her brother, and her dating life is seemingly controlled still into her early adult life by her father. she is also seen as non-important by soichiro when he has to exchange her for the death note in regards to the law and justice, not able to put his own daughter ahead of his cause and moral compass, which we see has bled into his son, who also does not put the personal connections, relationships, or needs of other above “justice” and the pursuit of it.
core features of narcissism particularly with sections bolded or addressed where i feel they highly align with yagami’s character. i’ll also take note of any few traits that i feel do not align with his character:
grandiosity
exaggerated sense of self-importance
feeling superior to others and that one deserves special treatment
feelings are often accompanied by fantasies of unlimited success, brilliance, power, beauty, or love
excessive need for admiration
must be the center of attention
often monopolize conversations
patients feel slighted, mistreated, depleted, and enraged when ignored
lack of empathy
severely limited or totally lacking ability to care about the emotional needs or experiences of others, even loved ones
identity disturbance
sense of self is highly superficial, extremely rigid, and often fragile
self-stability depends on maintaining the view that one is exceptional
grandiose sense of self is easily threatened
patients retreat from or deny realities that challenge grandiosity
difficulty with attachment or dependency
relies on feedback from the environment
relationships only exist to shore up positive self-image
interactions are superficial
intimacy is avoided
CHRONIC FEELINGS OF EMPTINESS OR BOREDOM
when attention and praise are not available, patients feel empty, bored, depressed, or restless
vulnerability to life transitions
difficulty maintaining reality-based personal and professional goals over time
compromises required by school, jobs, and relationships may feel unbearable
young adults may have a “failure to launch”**
**i would argue that yagami having his dad pay for his apartment and only intending to move out after he had killed L and needed independent space to be L, watari, and kira simultaneously while being on the investigation and keeping misa close. that being said, i think that we see how reliant yagami is on his house and bedroom particularly, that is his space. however i do take into consideration that it’s usually the average age of 19, 18 if leaving for college far away, that a child leaves their parents’ home in japan. culturally and contextually speaking, i won’t be looking too much into this.**
narcissistic personality disorder is also a significant risk factor for suicide and suicidal attempts. i believe yagami does not fall into this category as his existence is too important for him to want to kill himself, as we see he does not accept his own death as something legitimate even when faced with it at the end. yagami proclaims that he doesn’t “want to die!” as ryuk writes his name in the death note.
these traits are already inherent to yagami from essentially birth, and were only fostered by the environment he’s in. i’ve talked about yagami is very much an object to the people around him, even his family (i would argue sayu is the least likely to view him this way and just admires him instead), and that partially i think attributes to yagami seeing others as extensions of himself or as means to an end / objects to use and manipulate. being exploited to doing the exploiting. he was taught from a young age. we see him manipulate men and women equally, though he tends to have a particularly brutal view of women, and we see this with characters he interacts with such as misora naomi, amane misa, and takada kiyomi. they are all utilized by yagami in different ways to either benefit him or move the plot along, or both. we also see him excessively go out of his way to try and manipulate L, as well as the male heavy task force, so there seems to be no limits to yagami’s intended reach so long as there is the high probability that he will get a beneficial outcome, even if it’s just to add another admirer to his collection. yagami might be an object, but he likes to be looked at. in the same vein, he is also an object collector.
yagami also has always had a high degree of encouragement that he is the best, and that starts at home and continues throughout his entire time in presumed elementary, middle, and confirmed high school and university. he is immensely liked, very popular, very good looking, very helpful, very very very, and he knows it. this image is carefully crafted and as hard as armor, not easily chinked with small embarrassments or missteps so much as he is concerned with how others are viewing him. this view from others directly instigates these symptoms, but yagami has already surpassed really needing to be affirmed that he is the best. this is now just systematic and expected, but when we meet him, yagami is perfectly capable of fueling his own ego-fire.
it should be noted that immediately when we see yagami in cram school, it is established that everyone is relying on him to do well. he is japan’s best student. by this point, everything yagami is doing is routine, easy, and boring. reading a new textbook to memorize information isn’t that hard when you have a photographic memory and/or you’ve already read it. yagami has all the tools to be the most successful version of himself he can be, and combined with his undiagnosed mental illness(es), it is coupled together to basically spurn itself. yagami feels he is the best, is affirmed he is the best, knows he is the best, and also is the best. it’s no wonder his ego is so completely out of control, but his pride (while immense) is kept a degree enough to be just humbled enough at a loss to become enraged at having to become humbled at all, thus having to rectify his perfect planning.
we see him lose control in his bedroom as L takes control from yagami at the ceremony. he waits until he’s all the way home, likely having engaged with others along the way, before going to his room to privately have a meltdown. that means he can meticulously keep his emotions and reactions in check until ‘safe’.
i’ve argued in this post here about how much of a supernatural hold the death note has on yagami, and i have argued little in regards to ‘making him’ do anything or pick up any specific traits. i believe the death note exacerbated an already symptomatic individual that was also coupled to be the perfect person to get the death note based on who he is and his upbringing. i also briefly talk about yagami and the spectrum of emotions, particularly aligned with being kira, in this post here for reference.
overall i think the character of yagami compared to these traits speak for themselves without the need for a lot of additional fluffer from me.
9 notes · View notes
danny-chase · 3 years ago
Link
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Damian Wayne Centric, Panic Attack, Sickfic, Sick Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, he gets half a hug, Damian Wayne is a sweetheart, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Damian Wayne is a good brother Series: Part 10 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:
Sequel to Pneumonia, Damian decides to spend his day home with Richard.
Full story under cut
Footsteps echo through the hall, light, but heavy enough to be intentional. Too carefully timed to be confident in their placement. And with too little bounce to be Richard’s.
 Nor would he waken if they were Richard’s and that’s really his first clue. Briskly throwing off the sheets and flattening his hair, he throws open the door before his father can make it the rest of the way down the hall. The footsteps stop in their tracks.
 He leaves the door open as invitation, yet it’s unnecessary – father doesn’t approach. From what little time they’ve spent together, Damian finds it strange – his father is single minded in his work but yet so indecisive in his home – well – really this wasn’t his home. “How is he?” The words come out too harshly and he grits his teeth, hoping for leniency – father is to be respected, not talked to in such a manner.
 Nor was father was pleased the last time he erred in his judgment. Ever since he’d failed the first time he meant, he’d been treated like a plague, locked in his room then, and avoided now.
 …But he’d heard stories from Richard about a softer man than the one he’d met a year ago. A man whose love was stronger than his hate – who took in children and saved their souls.
 It was odd that such a man had shied away from his own son. Damian couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong – he understood the skirmish with Drake was wrong – but Richard spoke of a man who could forgive. And yet. He’d only seen forgiveness from Richard.
 He’d thought perhaps, that had been his father’s influence.
 Another footstep resounds around him, and the realization strikes – he hasn’t moved. Huffing – at no one in particular – he silently strides forward, yanking his dresser drawers open to retrieve a set of perfectly folded clothes.
 “Damian.” Father stays just out of sight beyond the door. Its nerve wracking – almost painful – waiting for information. Richard promised he would be fine, last night, he promised Bruce could take care of the things – would be back – would fix it.
 He’d almost believed him, but for a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
 It was odd, seeing him waver – especially because he’d seen for himself how much Bruce cared for him. He’d read the worry in his expressions and the thinly veiled pain as he stitched his successor’s side. Father was back – he’d believed that much – though he didn’t believe it when Richard said it – and that was… a complicated thing.
 Suffice to say, he’d kept watch from afar until he heard the doorknob turn, leaving once father began to speak.
 An awkward clearing of the throat makes him turn. Father stands in the doorway, looking stern but unsure, finally having decided to make an appearance. It’s irritating, how tall he seems; his head mere inches away from the top of the doorframe. “What?” He can’t keep panic from slipping into his voice. Swallowing, he makes another attempt. “How is Richard?”
 Frowning, father shakes his head slightly looking displeased. Damian’s heart sinks to the floor – Richard couldn’t – he promised – he –
 “He’s not doing as well as I’d hoped. His blood oxygen level fell last night, I had to put him on an external canister to raise it.” Damian lets out a long breath, his pulse returning to normal as father continued. “He’s stable, Leslie came over an hour ago. She predicts a full recovery, just don’t expect him to bounce back too quickly.” His father paused, giving him a curious look. “You look flush, are you alright?”
 Suddenly full of the desire to be alone, he shuts the door. “Yes. One moment.” For a moment he thought – never mind that now. Turning back to his clothes, he kicks off his pajamas, hastily changing. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing steadily – everything is fine.
 He can hear his father hesitating, the floorboards groaning as he shifts his weight. “School starts in an hour. I’ll drive you.” It takes all the willpower he can muster not to let a groan escape his lips. School’s awful on the best of days, a miserable prison with miserable teachers not paid enough to put up with his obnoxious rich classmates’ egregious behavior.
 “I’m not going.” Richard needs monitoring after all and his father had fulfilled the task last night. For proper care, he needs properly awake caretakers.
 “You will go.” The response is firm, but not without minor hesitation – something Richard had taught him to look for – something he could exploit in interrogations – something he could exploit here (for a good cause of course).
 His argument must be flawless – rational and logical, nothing else will suffice. Pulling on his socks, crossing the room, he flings the door open, storming into the hall, in a display of righteous fury. “The benefits of my attending school today do not outweigh the benefits Richard would receive if I monitor his progress and allow you sleep in order to be prepared to monitor him tonight. Firstly, I know the material already.” His father makes a noise to interrupt, but he continues unperturbed.
 “Secondly, I understand the social benefits are a concern to you. Ask Richard, I have made a friend. His name is Colin and he’s much better than any of the awful children at that school. And I’ve met with Lian and Irey and Jay.” The Titan’s children were annoying, but he wasn’t lying. It was awful, but he’d made it through the ‘playdate’. “Thirdly, as for extracurricular activities, Grayson has provided me with all necessary materials to pursue my interests. And…” He trails off, finding his father’s eyes tired, the bags under them unreasonably puffy. Gesturing vaguely, he pointed back at a mirror in his room. “Just look at yourself, you expect to watch him well like that?” They can debate all they’d like, but if father refuses to sleep much longer, the argument will be decided in his favor.
 The eyes shift to the mirror and back, then to him, to the floor, then covered by a hand. His father turns, muttering something he can’t quite hear, but he makes out the words from reading his lips. ‘What the hell has Dick been teaching you?’ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth – he’s won. Perhaps, with further needling, he’ll be out of school for good, but today, he doesn’t press his luck.
 Father drops his hand with a sigh. “Fine. Keep up with your studies.” He takes a few steps back. “You can sit in the room but don’t bother him.” Damian holds back an eye roll, as if he would bother Richard while he’s recuperating. “Call if anything changes, I’ll make breakfast.” Father turns, Damian’s eyes follow, watching him stride down the hall, ducking into the kitchen.
 As the kitchen door smoothly thuds shut, he turns back to his room, swallowing down the odd sensation that stirs in the base of his throat. His steps are silent – mindlessly so, as he pads over into the adjacent bathroom to finish his morning routine.
 He emerges – the strange feelings sticking with him – he supposes he ought to feel relieved, but dread builds in the pit of his stomach instead at the prospect of seeing Richard.
 Father said Richard would be fine. Leslie said Richard would be fine. Richard promised he would be fine.
 None of them are liars – but what if they missed something? The thought wracks his mind on an endless loop. The hallway seems to stretch out as he takes a step towards his brother’s room. What if something changes before he gets there? What if the medication doesn’t work – what if it’s a super virus or an antibiotic resistant bacteria? Their enemies could come up with ridiculously effective toxins, pathogens aren’t that much different.
Richard promised. He tries desperately to hold on to that thought, stumbling forward, forcing himself closer to his room. His heart pounds harder the closer he inches, his head joining the party and thudding along in time. He feels like the deer slipping on ice on that dumb movie Richard made him watch; it’s as if his legs have forgotten to function.
 He’s nearly there – the hallway spins slightly but it’s just a few more steps – he needs to get control of himself but he can’t breathe. Two more steps. Two more steps and then he can. See Richard.
 Halfway through his next step, he trips, falling face first onto the floor, unable to do anything but choke out unsteady breaths, his mind screaming the counts to a breathing exercise learned as a child long ago.
 Pathetic. He would have been killed in the League for less. He mastered control of his emotion as a child – this – this is unacceptable! He reaches a hand forward, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself – he has to keep moving.
 His hand connects with a foot, he looks up, finding a flush face with bleary eyes staring back. “Damian?” Richard’s voice is rough and quiet, guilt floods his stomach – Richard shouldn’t be out of bed – he shouldn’t have panicked like this – this is – “Woah, buddy, breathe.” There’s a hand resting on his shoulder, the next time he looks up, Richard sits next to him on the floor, tapping his hand in time to a new count, one he learned here a few months ago.
 There’s a million pieces of his mind scattered about the hallway and the longer he sits there breathing, the more pieces settle back into their places. Richard’s verbal count shifts into coughs, but he keeps his hand steady. When he finishes, the tapping’s all that’s left.
 Damian shakily pulls himself up on his knees, not quite sure what exactly happened. Richard gives him a small sad smile, his eyes full of sympathy – sympathy that Damian doesn’t want – feels guilty for receiving – sympathy he’s never earned. It’s overwhelming – and something’s wrong with him – because he doesn’t cry – hasn’t cried since he was nine – and he’s nearly eleven and he’s over this.
 He can’t cry because everything’s okay – Richard’s arms are open in an invitation, his hand receding from his shoulder, but close enough to hover. He’s fine. Richard is fine. Tired, yes, but his side’s not gushing blood, and his coughs subsided. Damian wipes his eyes on his sleeve, glancing around – ensuring they’re alone – before sliding up against the wall next to Richard, scooting under one of his shoulders. A muscular arm drapes over his shoulders, hand settling back on his shoulder.
 He’s warm, a bit uncomfortably so, and his breathing sounds raspy, but as he leans against his brother’s chest, he hears a steady heartbeat and it’s unbelievingly reassuring. The hand on his shoulder is firm, but not tight; he can slip out; he’s not trapped.
 Really, he ought to be ashamed, of needing comfort like some sniveling third-grader, but it’s different – coming from Richard – someone he’s seen far too many times on the wrong end of some twisted concoction of fear gas, crying and screaming – needing comforting himself. Fear gas. Maybe this was an after effect – he files away the notion to mull over later – perhaps run a blood test on himself later.
 Richard’s grip tightens as he coughs, turning to face away. Damian’s gut drops – Richard was supposed to be on supplemental oxygen. Guilt claws at his insides as he quickly stands, pulling his brother along the best he can. It gives him appreciation for Nightwing’s smaller frame – his brother is way heavier and bulkier than he was a year ago – supporting him takes nearly all his might. “Come on.” He urges, dragging Richard into his room, this times his steps steady and stable.
 They’re both out of breath by the time they’ve made it to the bed. Richard plops down, bouncing slightly on mattress, gasping for air. Biting back his guilt, Damian quickly traces the path of the nasal cannula, shoving the nose piece into Richard’s hands. “Here.” He watches the man fumble for a second before settling it place.
 He slides down, tucking himself into a tight ball beside the bed, listening as gasps turns to wheezes, wheezes to coughs, coughs to rasps and back again, as Richard learns how to breathe like a normal human being. “Thanks.” He grunts, nudging Damian with his shin.
 Damian huffs, he shouldn’t be thanked – he caused this mess! “For what?!” He half-shouts, quickly lowering his voice before he can say more. He needs to stay calm – he’s not supposed to be a disturbance. “It’s my fault you-”
 “Damian.” Richard groans in an annoyed way, not an ‘I’m about to hack up another lung’ way. “Thanks for staying in to keep me company. It’s sweet.” Some company he is, forcing his brother out of bed to come pick him up off the floor. “Quit pouting, I’m fine.” The leg nudges him again. A third time when he doesn’t respond. He pushes back. Richard nudges him again. Damian scowls, what’s he supposed to even do in this situation?! “Let’s play Mario Kart or something.” Richard says, as if he’s overheard Damian’s thoughts.
 Just as he pauses to mull over the suggestion, the door screeches on its hinges, shaking him out of his musings. “We should get that oiled.” Father mutters, carrying a tray of breakfast foods. He freezes in his tracks at the sight of Damian on the floor. “Everything okay?” Unfreezing, his motions are rigid and forced, his lips pursing into a straight line, brow furrowing, contorting into deep worry lines.
 Richard swings his legs back onto the bed. “Just left to use the bathroom, Damian helped me back.” The lie sounds natural, comes far too readily out of his mouth. Damian swallows, staring at the floor as his father ponders whether the statement rings true.
 It seems he’s decided to let it slip if he knows. He grunts an acknowledgement, setting the tray aside the bed, passing each a plate. It’s funny – how their dishes are so plain – just pure white, no décor. It struck him as odd when he’d first used them, now no longer odd, but fitting. The bland dish fits right in with Richard’s bland room.
 Father leaves as quick as he came, and Damian’s left to reflect on the empty room as he munches on a bagel. He hasn’t spent much time in here, out of respect for privacy, he’s seen it before, but never thought what it would be like to live in it. “Don’t you get bored of looking at the walls?” He mutters, after swallowing a bite. His own walls are cluttered with his possessions; trophies from fallen enemies, keepsakes from his mother, and gifts from his brother (even a friendship bracelet from Brown is tacked to his corkboard). Richard’s are bare, save one faded poster. His eyes linger on the grinning young acrobat, gracefully swinging with his parents in the background.
 Richard hums, curiously following his gaze. “Walls are walls, I don’t normally look at them. I just come in here to sleep.” He nods towards the television. “If I’m bored I can watch a show.”
 Damian rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you even turned it on?” He stands, spinning, taking in a full view of the room. “Room color effects your mood.” It’s something Richard used an excuse, to get him to pick a new color for his bedroom when they first moved in. “And potted plants are good for overall wellbeing.” He has a few on his dresser, he even set up an automatic watering system. He could hang some ivy over the balcony. Though… maybe not ivy.
 Richard smiles to himself, letting out a little raspy noise that he supposes could be a laugh. “You’re really into it, huh?” Damian feels heat rise to his cheeks, he’s not ‘into’ anything as trivial as room décor. “Go wild, you can order whatever online and have it delivered.”
 Damian turns his attention back towards Richard, hastily scoffing as he finishes speaking. “I’m not interested, I just wondered how <em>you</em> of all people could have such a bland room.” A flash of annoyance runs over Richard’s face, lingering long enough for Damian to properly identify it. It’s surprising to say the least; Richard almost never looks that way at him anymore.
 Annoyance fades as Richard gazes out past the balcony. “I… lost a lot of stuff in the move.” Damian kicks himself mentally – Richard last lived in New York, but a month ago he overheard him and Drake talk about an old apartment back in Blüdhaven. He’d done some snooping in old casefiles, Richard’s stint there had been quite extended. Extended enough to have his property demolished by a villain even before the entire city was leveled by a nuclear explosion. “Damian.” Richard looks at him, face carefully neutral. “Don’t worry about it, let’s play cards or something.”
 Don’t worry about it – how can he not worry about it?! He’d be devastated if he lost the gifts from his mother – some things aren’t replaceable. He gives the room another glance – it’s still empty – but he could fix it slightly. Maybe consult with Drake about the former apartment, if necessary contact – he shudders – the Titans during – he gags – one of their playdates for advice. “Damian are you okay?” Richard looks perplexed.
 He shoves his plans back down, first things first, walls and flooring. He turns on the spot, marching out the door. “We’re fixing your room.” He mutters, storming down the hall to grab his laptop.
 When he walks back in the room, Richard is staring at him. “What?” He demands, as Richard’s eyes follow him all the way to a chair aside the bed. He’s a bit annoyed at the chair even, it’s from the kitchen, probably dragged in here by his father last night. He adds ‘seating’ to his mental list – if Richard’s ill or injured, it would be nice for Pennyworth or him to be able to sit somewhere.
 Richard shuffles back, edging closer and sitting upright against a mountain of pillows. “Nothing. I just thought you weren’t interested.” He cocks an eyebrow as Damian pulls up a paint comparison site.
 “I’m not.” He spits. “I don’t want to look at your boring walls anymore.”
 Richard laughs again, in his modified way. “Mm. Yup. Sure.”
 Damian ignores the comment, already delving into the program, comparing colors against the wall - connecting to the TV to display them, and weighing the pros and cons of each one. Richard watches, providing occasional commentary, rating each color on a scale from one to one hundred. They argue over shades of green, and the correct way to make purple pop – nothing serious, nor work related. Later the room will be full of things, but for now he’s content to let their conversation fill the void.
45 notes · View notes