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jinglyhigh-heels · 4 months ago

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Okay so. Now that I’m not thick in the Emotions this game was giving me, I have come to the realization that this game does SO good at portraying abuse.

So uh. Expect to see a lot (Lot) of talk about that, under the cut.

I’ll start with the most recent realization, which was how the cat was dictating your actions the entire time. It explicitly says so at the end: it was your narrator throughout this whole game. And then how you had to struggle through narrating your own actions at the very end? Solid.

Then, the second most recent realization: you may have ‘messed up’ in the very first ending, but the cat just goes on to show you that literally anything you could’ve done was the ‘wrong choice.’ It found enjoyment in watching you try again and again to see what you could’ve done differently: which is such a good way of telling the player that this isn’t on you. Often times people who are in abusive relationships are blamed for the violence inflicted upon them. If you dressed differently, went to bed instead of watching tv, made such-and-such for dinner instead of so-and/so, did whatever was the catalyst for your abuse differently, then it wouldn’t have happened. But this game is saying no! That’s not how it works! People who want to hurt you WILL hurt you, and it’s not your fault.

As an addition to that point, you cannot avoid doing something that will get you killed (well, except for the ending where you help your cat kill everyone else, but I digress). Even when you see the death coming, and choose the option that gets you away, you run out of things to do. You either have to stay in a single loop—or, well, daydream in this case—forever, or do something that makes the cat (or something else) kills you.

Then, the endings where you feed the cat your blood. It’s really interesting! These endings made me think of what it’s like being in an abusive relationship when you have a child. The choice of whether to risk an even greater abuse to—maybe even temporarily—protect someone who couldn’t protect themself, or whether to turn a blind eye and let your own abuse be temporarily paused, permanently stopped, minimized, or even just kept the same but importantly not made worse; it just reminds me of stories I’ve seen in the past. And you might think, well, you should obviously choose the first one, right? But the game does a good job of showing the dilemma someone who’s being abused might go through. See, if you choose the former option, you die. And as you say when dying: how can you protect anyone now? It’s the same with the mouse, when you choose to let it go. You saved one, for the price of one, and now the cat is free to kill as many more as it desires. And that’s not even considering the instinctive desire to protect oneself, or how the abuser might have changed how you look at the abuse. All this to say, it’s a pretty great portrayal of a dilemma that often shows up in abusive relationships that have a dependent involved (which doesn’t always mean a child, despite what I said in the beginning of this section).

Next up, the dog park. This is pretty heavily related to the first point; which, upon rereading, wasn’t expanded on enough, so let’s talk about it again. This section, the narration goes on and on a lot about how disgusting dogs are, how everything’d be so much better with the cat, and then even your visual perception of these dogs is altered to make them terrifying—part of an attempt to lure you back to the cat (not that you can. Actually do that, if you’re at this point). As part of the game, the cat’s influence is really obvious, and really direct. It’s literally, directly admitted to influencing your thoughts like this. But you don’t need magic or psychic powers, or whatever, in order to influence someone’s thoughts. And abusive people take advantage of that often! They tell you stories, or act a certain way, or inflict physical pain in order to make you view something positively or negatively. Like, if your abuser would curse out dogs all the time while drunk and slamming cabinets, or something. You might look at dogs and be reminded of the fear and paranoia you felt while the cabinets were slamming. (To give a simple example.)

Then, the endings where you almost feed the cat chocolate. These endings do a great job at exploring two different mindsets that abuse victims often have. One, that thoughts of doing something bad are nearly as reprehensible as doing the act itself. When you almost feed the cat chocolate—and by ‘almost’, I mean, you pull it out of your pocket while searching for food and then merely look towards the cat, the beginnings of consideration in your mind, before you stop—you’re wracked with guilt aaaalllll throughout the journey home, and the cats reinforce this guilt. And then this one is specific towards the ending where you ignore the cats, where you turn into a fish and realize now that you have a way to ‘repent’ for what you did. The cat is staring at you, and likely has the means to grab you, but what’s notable here is that you, on your own will, swim up to the surface. And even after you’ve sacrificed yourself, you find yourself feeling guilt that you couldn’t feed all the cats, couldn’t truly repent for what you’d “done.” Which, again, was literally just thinking about doing something, and even before you realized that it would be bad (not that that makes a difference, because thoughts aren’t bad 🔫). This is kinda similar to what happens when you let the mouse go, but that one is unique in that you: 1.) stay still. You don’t deliver yourself to your death like you do in the fish-transformation ending. 2) don’t say anything about regretting being unable to give the cat its fill. Probably because, well. You probably are able to.

And then of course, The ending. This is, most definitely, the least subtle thing ever. Even if I hadn’t happened to exit the game partway through (and then actually read the CWs upon reentering), this likely would’ve let me figure out pretty fuckin quick what was goin on.

I’m gonna split this into three parts: the beginning of the end, the end, and the post-end.

To begin my discussion of the former, I need to mention that the end is you not letting the cat (who, in case this wasn’t obvious by now, is your abuser) back into your home. This is a HUGE step for abuse victims. It’s, hard. Like, in this case it may have been due to magic, but the cat was literally rewriting your brain. Also, you’re lonely, and the cat provided at least some comfort. A helluva lotta pain, sure, but they gave you more comfort than you were receiving anywhere else. Not every situation is the same, but there’s almost always some big hurdle keeping you with the abuser. In this case, the game lets you climb that hurdle through the help of previous victims. This is good, because it avoids the pitfall of ‘to escape abuse you just need to pull yourself up by your bootstraps.’ And, ‘the pain they inflict on you will be enough motivation.’ Like no! This wasn’t something you could do on your own!

Then for the second part, I’m first gonna talk about the lead up to the end: the chase scene, as you’re trying to get home. In that, the cat begs you to stay, saying they’ll die without you, that they’re nothing without you.

And here’s where I make the disclaimer that I’ve never been abused, nor have I ever abused. Furthermore, while I have read many accounts from people who have been abused, I have read very little from the perspective of the abuser (at least, ones that were from people who had recognized and accepted that they were abusive).

However, with this dialogue, it seemed like the cat really believed what it was saying. And from what I can tell, it seems like (SOME) irl abusers actually feel the same? They punish you because they worry that if you enjoy the world outside of them, then you’ll love it so much more and leave—and what would they do without you? And I say this, because then the ending of the game is teaching the lesson that: THAT IS NOT YOUR PROBLEM.

You staying with them did not help them get better. They had every chance, every single second you were together they could have chosen to change, and instead they chose to continue hurting you. Going back will not prove to them that they need to change or they will lose you: it will only tell them that they need to take away even more of your power so you CAN’T leave. Splitting up is not only the best thing that you can do for yourself, but it is the best thing you can do for them: even if they don’t seem like it.

Which is a great segue into the post-end. Because it really proves the point! You may have been lonely, but your abuser wasn’t your only option. You did find someone, and this one won’t kill you! :D I do have mixed feelings on the new cat being a black cat with their right eye gone though. One the one hand, it could potentially be interpreted as you letting your abuser, reformed(?), into your house. On the other, sndndinwjd. (<- that was initially a placeholder but you know what? I’m leaving it.)

For example, if you view its coat as a symbolism for a trait like gender, then choosing another black cat could be like dating another woman after your last abuser was a woman. The traits don’t make the abuser, yada yada. Very good! But since we’re dealing with cats, the creator would’ve had to deal with the issue that cats (especially in a simpler art style) Can Kinda Look Similar. And I know that if I, personally, had seen that image and the cat had both eyes, I would’ve immediately been like ‘oh sHIT THE ABUSER’S BACK—�� and had a mini heart attack. /j So. They were probably trying to find a way to make it obvious that THIS cat was not the abusive one.

But not only did you find someone better to replace the abuser with, you are just overall happier without them in your life, and the game did an excellent job of portraying this: by making you go through all the locations you already did. It was such a good parallel. Visiting any location while you were under your the cat’s paw you marred by anxiety and death. But visiting those same places on your own, after ditching it? You have fun times at every one! You even meet new people—and I really love the way the game handled that, because it could have suddenly made us outgoing and extroverted. But nope! We were an introvert walking in, and we’re an introvert walking out. That’s not a bad thing.

One final note that I realized while writing this, is that the game does a VERY good job of giving you a reason for sticking with the cat. See, I can’t think of any specific examples, but I feel like when most people see their main character in an abusive relationship they get frustrated by why they won’t leave. They, the player, can see what’s happening and see the means to escape. The character themself likely has a reason for staying, but the player doesn’t feel whatever emotions are behind that, so it’s pretty easy for them to either view the reason as ‘stupid,’ or to discount the reason altogether. To properly tell an abuse story, I think a really important aspect is being able to see why they wouldn’t leave. To feel, even a little bit, of what the victim is feeling. This game does that in two very simple, yet effective, ways. First, by making the abuser Cute and Smoll. There’s no har~m giving them a chance~! It’s an adorable kitty cat~ (And even when it does do bad things, it’s like “dohhh~ you didn’t know what you were doing~, did u my wittle cutie patootie~”) By virtue of it being adorable, many people immediately have a baseline bond with the cat, which is later made deeper by all the cute scenes, and the moments of backwards kindness in which the cat directly or indirectly helps you out in some way. The second, juxtaposing the first, is done by making the cat incomprehensibly powerful. You see for yourself the power it can, and is willing to, wield against you. Sure, most (and, hopefully, all) abusers don’t have this kind of eldritch power, but to many abuse victims, it sure may seem like it. Maybe it’s financial, or social, or maybe they’re just scarily good with guns: regardless, it tends to be a hurdle that feels impossible to overcome, though it may seem different to an outsider looking in. By making the abuser literally impossible to defeat until you’re given help by outside means (aka, the game, via the former victims), it places you right into the eyes of a victim gazing upon their abuser. This incomprehensible power pairs really well with the cuteness factor, by making the cat seem almost innocent in everything they do. Sure, they ripped me to shreds when my laser pointer was reflected to the back of my head; but they’re just a wittle kitty, how can I blame them for following their instincts~. Not every abuser has this veneer of innocence, but when it’s there it can make recognizing (as was my experience here lol) and reporting abuse to be extra difficult.

#uh reading this was confusing even for me so reminder: the cat uses it/its in the game‚ so that’s what I’m using here #which has made for. so many its. all referring to different things. in the same sentence.#uh. good luck!#do not take this cat home #cw abuse #discussion of an abuse narrative #I got really tired during the second to last paragraph hope it’s still ~words~ though lol #long post

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sinfulsalutations · 2 years ago

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𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕞 𝕙𝕠𝕣𝕚𝕫𝕠𝕟 (𝕚𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕤) ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕨𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜᴇᴇʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ ꜰʀᴜɪᴛ ꜱᴇʟʟᴇʀ ᴏɴ ᴘᴀʙᴜ, ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴇᴘ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴢᴏɴᴇ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀꜱᴋ ʜᴇʀ ᴏᴜᴛ. ʟᴜᴄᴋɪʟʏ, ʜᴇʀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴇꜱᴋʏ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴠᴇɴᴇʀ ᴘʜᴇᴇ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʟɪᴅᴇ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ-ʀᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴘɪɴɪɴɢ, ɪᴅɪᴏᴛꜱ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ, ᴄᴜᴛᴇ ᴛʀᴀꜱʜ, ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ, ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋᴇʀ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴜꜱᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʜᴇᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴇꜱᴋʏ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟᴇʀ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 8.3ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ ☆ ꜱᴜɴꜱᴇᴛ - ᴄᴀʀᴏʟɪɴᴇ ᴘᴏʟᴀᴄʜᴇᴋ, ɢʟᴜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ - ʙᴇᴀʙᴀᴅᴏᴏʙᴇᴇ, ʙᴀᴅ ʜᴀʙɪᴛ - ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʟᴀᴄʏ

⋆ ★ ᴡᴏᴏᴏʜ, ɪ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ɪᴛ! ᴛʙʜ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴍᴘ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ɪɴ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴏʀ ᴛᴡᴏ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋᴇᴘᴛ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴅɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴡᴀʏʏʏʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ… ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛꜱ ᴏᴋᴀʏ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ! ɪᴅᴋ, ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ, ɪᴛꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴇ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ʙᴀᴅ ʙᴀᴛᴄʜ ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏɴᴛʜ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴅᴀʏ ʜᴏᴜʀ. ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪᴛ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

When the warm glow of the late afternoon sun is peaking through translucent windows, the thought crosses his mind again. It isn't one that's new, not in the slightest, but it still disrupts Wrecker's normal thought of thinking every time. It being, how pretty she looks under the orange sunset.

And before he can gain real sense, and stop himself from doing something crass (see: actually going down to visit her), that primal thought inside of him overtakes any higher critical executive functioning. She might just be his fatal flaw.

“I think I'm gonna, uh, go down to the village,” Wrecker croaks, only half believable, pushing his large frame up from where he reclined on a large chair Shep had provided just for him.

"Are ya' sure?" Wrecker asked the mayor when he'd brought it down from his house, his large hands finding themselves at the top of the chair head. Kriff, it was soft.

"Of course!" Shep insisted with a warm smile. "I want to make sure you boys feel at home. Comfortable too."

The sweet town leader was kind enough to provide Wrecker and his siblings their own quarters; their relief mission on Pabu had stretched far longer than what they expected, due to the damage the tidal wave had inflicted on a large part of their island; but despite the batch’s tendency to never linger for too long in one place, none of them minded.

Hunter especially needed the break from the constant running from the relentless Imperials and bounty hunters, and he enjoys watching Omega make friends with the locals and finally flourish and socialize like she was supposed to at her age.

Tech had also enjoyed taking initiative in the beginning, creating plans and tasks and lists upon lists of things to do to help restore Pabu to its original form ('perhaps even better with my expertise' he boasted once). And over a few weeks or so, he even stopped acting like Phee’s advances were discomforting, though everyone already knew how he felt.

And Wrecker on the other hand... well, he didn't hate it there. Not at all. The food was fantastic and the views never got old, no matter how many times he watched the sun peak over the water. But something, someone else from Pabu had found a permanent spot in him. So perhaps if they were to leave, he'd find himself more attached to the place.

“Why?” Tech asks before Wrecker can turn the knob and push the door open. He turns his head to his brother, whose legs curl up to his chest with his data pad resting on top of his knees. “We’ve already completed the required tasks for us today. And we don’t require any groceries.”

Wrecker's lips seal shut and he stammers out the next words, his hand coming to fiddle with the hem of his pockets.

“I, uh, felt like going on a walk,” He lied, gesturing with his hands to the outside. “It’s really nice out, you know?”

Tech squints, interrogating his brother with his eyes. Wrecker hisses in a breath, but Tech fixes his goggles and shrugs before his brother had to make up some excuse.

“I suppose,” He says, looking back down at his data pad. “Enjoy your walk.”

“Thanks, vod,” Wrecker says quickly before he exited the claustrophobic conversation and out into the open, salty air. When the sun hits his face, tingling his senses and heating the stretch of his skin that wasn't covered in the cloth of his civvie clothes, he closes his eyes ever so slightly, basking in the sun like a kitten in a sunbeam, before looking down. Their temporary home lay just beside where Shep and Lyana reside and had a path that led to almost anywhere on Pabu. It was easy to get lost, and Wrecker certainly did, even after spending lots of time there, but he’d managed to memorize a few routes; most notably, the route to the heart of the village and market.

No one pays too much attention to him as he walks through the village; it's quite a new phenomenon. His dwarfing stature, striking scars that covered most of his face, and cybernetic eye always caught the eyes of passing civilians. But now, as his brothers stayed longer and helped restore the place to its original beauty, they’ve become somewhat locals; admired, even.

The kids especially adored Wrecker. Hoards at a time watch with awe as he carries heavy loads around like they weigh less than a baby tooka, and ask him questions upon questions about his ‘funny-looking’ appearance and unique abilities.

"Wow... he's like a bantha!"

"You think you could teach us how to do that?"

Omega’s friends always ask for him to join them if they're to go out and snag some local desserts from the bakery, and of course, he couldn’t refuse; if there were two passions he held, it would be children and food.

“Wrecker!”

Well, maybe he had three passions.

He whips around in the direction the sweet, hummingbird-like voice came from, and sees her only a few feet away, smiling wide. Her hair, tied back as slick as possible, still had a few stands slipping out and framing her face in a way that was so enticing. With her stained orange apron untied and loosely hanging over her body, it was hard to see most of her, but he could imagine what he might see if it were tied. The pinch of her waist, the soft curve of her hips, everything that made him so shamelessly floored every time she was around.

Before it could be too creepy, his eyes moved away, looking at the three crates she carried; one she had perfectly balanced on her head, and the other two she pinned to the sides of her waist, gripping the bottom of them like a lifeline; one slip up, and it would all crash down.

Wrecker raises an eyebrow at the sight, chucking lightheartedly and without any malice laced in.

“How are you doing?” She asks, eyes wide. Wrecker frowns.

“...Good,” He said, still looking at her. “Why are you carrying so many crates?”

She blinks, and her mouth falls open ever so slightly, gazing up at the crate being expertly balanced on her head.

“Oh!” She begins loudly, looking back at him with the same smile that melts his heart. “I got new shipments this afternoon, so I’ve been bringing them in all day.”

He gawks, but she doesn't blink.

“Without any help?” He asks urgently when he realizes she's being serious, upset at the image of her carrying all these shipments in by hand without asking for any assistance from anyone, from him especially.

Her eyebrows droop, eyes still wide as she pouts.

“Well, I, I didn’t know if you’d want to help, and I thought you might be busy, so…”

The mere suggestion of that baffles him more than he leads on.

“Oh, that’s karking nonsense, peach,” He says, slipping in a nickname for the extra measure as he takes two crates off of her and stacks them on top of each other before holding them firmly to his stomach. “I’ll always be able to help you out.”

The gesture makes her smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling with delight as she moves to stand beside him.

"I'm glad," She says softly, just for the two of them to hear. "Thanks, Wrecker."

Wrecker's cheeks dust a light pink, and he looks away for a moment to try and let his face cool down again.

"No problem," He says, coughing slightly to cut through the silence until he'd be able to speak fully correctly again. “You’ve been doing this by yourself all day ?” he reiterates her words, still upset at her audacity to do such a thing to herself. The poor girl! His mind screams.

She bites her lip, drifting away from their little bubble and off to the view they got from the road, of the striking sunset hitting the water just perfectly.

“Well, yeah,” She says, not hiding anything. “It isn’t that hard.”

“A girl like yourself shouldn’t have to do all this work on her own.” She stops abruptly and he turns, freaking out when he sees her gawked expression and the hand on her hip. He quickly stammers out an explanation, or at least attempts to. “I mean, like, I was made for this work. Literally.” He gestures to his physique, eliciting a chuckle from the back of her throat. “And you must be so tired, right? After all this.”

She frowns and shrugs rather dismissively.

“If it makes you feel any better, this is the last three crates,” She explains, starting to walk again. Wrecker follows devotedly. “And I’ll be sure to let you know if I ever need help again.”

“I’m always around,” He comments, and she grins appreciatively and bumps their shoulders together. Or more like her shoulder against his arm.

Wrecker would like to say that he didn’t remember how the two of them came to be as close (close? He wasn’t sure what to call it) as they were, but he couldn’t. He remembers every single detail of when they first met. Two weeks after the batch decided to stay for a little to help out. A loose goat had rampaged through the temporary campsites, and Wrecker had been chasing it for what felt like hours at that point.

"C'mere, little guy!" He had hollered, clambering after the skitterish little animal. "C'mon!"

But the goat tragically didn't speak Basic. It swerved and took a sharp turn into a tent headfirst, and quickly he followed, pulling in his whole body at once and jumping onto the goat. As he got his arms solidly wrapped around him did he hear a shrill shriek from someone else.

The goat had decided to hide in her tent. And the second he looked up into her frightened eyes and the way her chest rose and fell with every breath, every other thought flew out the window.

"Kriff, kriff, kriff!" He hissed under his breath. Without hesitation, he tossed the goat outside the tent and walked up to her, placing a firm, yet still trembling hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry."

But she didn't look up. Instead, she crouched and picked up something that was on the floor, cradling small ends of trampled plants in her arms in distress.

"It's okay," She told him softly, looking up finally with a firm grin that didn't seem to reach her eyes. "Slip-ups happen. I can clean this all up."

Of course, he didn't just leave her to clean up the mess all by herself. He insisted with an awkward rub of his shoulder and an expression of guilt, and she sighed with a grin and shook her head.

"You don't have to."

But oh, he did. If Wrecker knew one thing for certain, was that he couldn't deny or simply ignore a pretty girl. Sure, he might clam up a little and trip over his tongue, but it's all in his nature. How couldn't he get choked up around someone so cute?

After that little incident, Wrecker found himself oh so conveniently passing by her temporary living quarters, just ‘checking in’ as he said to make sure fruits were all a-okay again.

She always gave him that sweet, welcoming smile that felt like a sunset was giving him a hug, and said they were doing perfect or would talk fondly about a new irrigation method she was trying out, and even offer a bite of one of her fruit. The first time he bit into one of the melons, he thought he was being sent to heaven by the taste, and the giddiness in her expression seeing his enjoyment.

And since that first bite, he’d been hooked. He tried every day to see her at least once, even if it was just useless small talk. Every day, he learned a little bit more about her and got a little more addicted to her sweetness; her parents had escaped occupation on their home planet and came to Pabu when she was barely able to read and passed away a little after that, so she took on their family business full-time since she was just about Omega’s age.

"I don't remember them much," She recalled once to him with a distant stare off behind Wrecker's figure. "Just my dad's smile and the fruits we used to grow together." A couple of fingers came down and grazed at the brush of some of them she had out. "I guess to me, they still live on in what I grow. They taught me everything I know, really."

She loved her plants like she would her own children; she enjoyed singing to herself and the crops as a form of encouragement. Wrecker might've laughed at that in another situation, but she was so genuine about it.

"It's also what my mom did. She used to sing the same lullabies to me and our plants."

And when her home and all of her plants and crops were demolished after the tidal wave, she took it with such stride. Wrecker had watched his own home being destroyed, and despite the personal hell it gave him, he still had trouble finding his footing at night. He wanted to curl up next to Omega and hold onto Lula tight again just like he once did, become a child again. But she? Wrecker watched her find new pathing without any hesitation or visible grief.

"It's a new beginning for me. A way to become my own person, not just a new version of my parents."

He made it his personal goal to assist in the reconstruction of her home. He picked up little things she wished for in this new, dream home; plenty of sunlight, but also close to the hustle and bustle of the town so she didn't have to walk far to sell her goods, a large yard for all of her plants and plenty of storage. He subtly implemented all of it, practically begged Tech to help rebuild the houses in her area 'just because' and silently confirm everything she'd passively mentioned to him was there. It was lots of extra work, but the look on her face was so worth it.

Yet, his throat goes as dry as Tattooine and his mind turns into jumbles of incoherent thoughts at the mere prospect of asking her out. There's no way, he thought, that it was possible; wearing one's heart on their sleeve was easier when one didn't have to worry about the other possibly not reciprocating those feelings.

What Wrecker has with her is good; it's almost perfect. He still gets to envelop her in rib-squeezing bear hugs and call her sweet little nicknames. He can do almost everything he wants to with her. Little barriers prevent him from pushing a little further, doing what he really wants to do: hold her face with two palms and kiss her silly.

But y'know what? Maybe one day. Maybe if Wrecker got the courage to and swallowed down all the fears of rejection. Maybe if she didn't seem too delicate for his rough, boyish nature. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Her groan echoes between the walls of her home as she lugs the final crate onto the counter, sighing and leaning back exasperated once she does. Wrecker places the crates next to the one she dropped and leans beside her, watching her intently as she rubs tenderly at her limbs.

“You’re tense,” He comments, half under his breath. He's not sure if he meant to say it out loud. But she looks up into his eyes anyway with a cheeky smile she's seemed to perfect.

“Really?” She retorts sharply, but not rude or sinister like Crosshair always talked. She's always been a little more sarcastic than Wrecker, but it never felt like a personal attack or a jab at his intelligence. She doesn't just talk all wit and no empathy; she's soft and open in a way his brother wasn't.

“Well, yeah,” He backs off a little as he talks and rubs the back of his neck with coarse fingers. “I mean, you’ve been working so hard lately. Shouldn’t you, uh, take a day off?”

When he looks back, he realizes that her eyes never left his once even as his own drifted away sparsely. His heart skips like a little kid again.

"There's no such thing as a day off for me, Wreck,” She says, laughing quietly between her cheeks as she turns away just for a moment, before continuing. "Gotta keep business going." She looks back at him, eyes sparkling despite the bags that weighed underneath. “But enough about me, how are you, Wrecker?”

He only continues gazing, and she giggles at the sight.

“How’s your day been?” She repeats, articulating the words. Wrecker blinks and his eyebrows raise, acting as though he was just confused and definitely not fawning over how cute she looks.

“Oh, it's been good,” he says, trying to get comfortable with his lower body pressed against the hard cool tile of her kitchen counters. “`Was just uh, doing some heavy lifting for Shep.”

She hums, leaning in again; her breath fans over the bare skin of his arm, and he almost hisses in his next breath out of instinct. But instead, he's able to reduce it to just a shaky inhale.

“I can’t imagine,” She says, shaking her head at the thought. “You must be aching all the time.”

“Eh,” Wrecker bargains, at last trying his best to look at her again without falling apart like putty under her starry eyes. “Whenever I’m tensed up, from like a workout or a hard job, I'll knead at them. My brother made me this massage machine to help with parts I can’t reach.”

“Oh…” She awes, but her speaking ends there. His neck stiffens and he breaks the eye contact, gluing his eyes to the floor with a hard gulp as he gains his bearings.

“I could, uh, do them for you,” He continues, unsure of where he was going with the conversation. She tilts her head, and he makes a mental note to punch himself in the face when he gets home.

Why would you say that?! His mind screams, but he only keeps talking.

“Those massages. I can, uh... help loosen up your muscles, I mean.”

She blinks and her lips tug up.

“You could?”

“F’course,” He responds a little too quickly. “I always sleep better once I do it. And it’s getting late.” He adds in the last sentence to help justify his reasoning. But even as he finishes, his entire offer feels strangely fake. Like an excuse. At least to his very self-perceptive mind.

But she only smiles with a newfound giddiness in her and drops her hands from where they rest and pushes herself off the counter.

“Thank you so much, Wreck,” She says, before grabbing his wrists to encourage him to move with her. With a small yelp and a pounding heart, he let her take the lead, guiding him toward the living area. Her hands could barely reach around and circle her wrist entirely, reminding him once again how much strength he had. The power he could easily assert over her if he was a different man and she wasn't careful.

Yet she holds him with such trust, such trust that he would always be gentle and caring with her. It makes a feeling that no one else had ever given him before rupture through him intensely. Something “You’re seriously the best.”

He can't help the smile that reaches his lips, but is able to conceal how red his face would've been if he had less control; instead, they dust a soft pink.

She guides him slowly to the couch, walking backward on her heels until her calves bump against the cushion; she allows herself to fall down and pats the spot next to her excitedly. He does without a second thought, but as she adjusts and turns her back to face him, he hesitates when his hands instinctively want to rest on her shoulders. Before they actually do, awaiting in the air like he were about to, he pulls them away.

Kriff.

Kriff, it hits him.

What is he doing?

He's sitting in the living room with the girl of his dreams, about to give her a massage while at her complete willingness, and he was just... about to do it? Headfirst? His eyebrows push together and he mutters to himself, so softly that she doesn't hear; this is far too sensual for the nature of their relationship. He won't be able to control himself, push down those carnal, intimate desires...

“Er, are you sure about this, peach?” he tries to reaffirm. The sudden change in his attitude makes her whip her head around back to him, resting her chin on her shoulder with a pensive look.

“Of course,” She says, completely unfazed. “What’s the matter?”

He shrugs as a filler, his eyes drifting away from her gaze; his hand comes to rub at his neck, again.

“I just, don’t wanna hurt you,” Wrecker confesses, a state of vulnerability that is new for him, yet he isn't so hesitant to admit it. At least to her. “I can be a little rough sometimes, and you’re just so much smaller than me…”

He wants to continue and list more reasons why maybe this was a bad idea, but he loses his own voice in the clamoring of all the different thoughts berating him as one final squeak comes out before he shuts his mouth. It only makes her grin sweetly.

“You’d never hurt me,” She assures him.

Even then, he raises an eyebrow.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

She nods.

"Yes."

He doesn't realize he's doing it until his hand comes up, but he holds out his pinky finger to her.

"You pinky promise?"

She giggles and leans forward, almost like she was going for a kiss, but barely lets the tips of their noses graze as she interlocks their pinkies together.

"I do."

Only then, when she turns to have her back face him again, he permits his hands to rest on her shoulders, and he deftly moves them to her pressure points, trying not to think about how soft her skin was under his rough, calloused fingers.

Kriff, kriff, kriff! His mind screams. If his thoughts had a verbal voice, their vocal cords would be sore by now. Everything in him screamed and singed with a burning panic inside of him, but not the one he normally had; this fluttery, exciting panic wasn't the same as the panic he had on life-risking missions.

A soft whine tumbles past her lips after the first few kneads, and she softens, leaning in closer to him.

“Is... Is that okay?” He asks, as gently as possible. Even now, when his hands are perfectly molding to the crook where her neck and shoulders met, he's prepared to pull back at any moment, at any stage of time when she seems just even a little uncomfortable or in pain.

“It’s so good,” She whines blissfully, her limbs turning into slush as the words come out. He stiffens, and he hopes that she doesn't notice and pull away. “How do you know how to do this so well?” She continues without an idea of his state.

He stammers, trying to form words but the only things his mind seems to be focusing on are her body, her voice, her everything that consumed him whole.

“Gotta keep this body a temple, you know?” He manages to grit out, slightly shaky in his voice. But he doesn’t let it falter, even as she lets out the softest hum of approval that could make him melt under the right conditions.

“You’re doing great at that” She laughs delicately at her own comment, and he chuckles roughly in his stomach, kneading at a particularly tight spot right above her collarbone, and the laugh is cut off by another satisfied sigh that barely makes it past her parted lips. “Maker, that feels great.”

Even then through his tight muscles, Wrecker manages to let himself relax a little; he's able to smile at the fact he was able to mitigate the tenseness in her body. She lets out another praise.

“Wreck, you’re a miracle worker.”

He smiles.

“Thanks, peach.”

“Peach? ”

Now, if everything from before hadn’t given Wrecker an absolute heart attack, this certainly would. And it does.

Because the voice questioning the nickname doesn't come from her. And it doesn't come from him. No, the voice belongs to the same, sarcastic yet charming tone that's almost unmistakable.

He whips his head around and takes his hands off of her shoulders, eyes blown wide and prepared to raise them up in surrender. A lean figure careens on the doorway of the entrance, letting the door stay ajar behind her as she got into a very obviously conjured position. She wears a surprised, open-mouthed smirk, far too dumb looking to actually be her real emotions.

“Phee?” Her voice breaks through Wrecker's trembling body, and he whips his head back to her; he's not sure what he initially thinks her expression will be, but the face she does have isn't what he expects. She's just as surprised, but not terrified. More relieved. No, no, less relieved. She's excited. Happy to see Phee, despite the compromising situation she's caught the two in.

She pushes herself up and eagerly walks over to an awaiting Phee.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna come over. Or, frankly, knock .”

Phee chuckles, meeting her halfway in the middle before softly patting her shoulder, the shoulder Wrecker just had his hands knee-deep in massaging.

“You know me,” Phee laughs, calling her by her name for good measure. But before the two can get too chummy, Phee’s attention is drawn to Wrecker, who sits as stiff as a building, eyes glued to the space they met. He only moves to look at Phee directly, and she chuckles snidely out of the side of her mouth. “And apparently you know Muscles too?”

He manages to get out a stiff nod, his jaw going slack. He doesn't even realize that his mouth is slightly ajar until he sees her eyes drift down.

"I do know him," She says, slightly confused. She looks at Phee, then back at Wrecker, and gestures between the two of them. "Do you two... know each other?"

Wrecker is able to snap out of his slight trance ever-so-slightly, and blinks, stumbling over his next words.

"Yeah, yeah we do," He finally grits out. “And…” He brings a hand up to the two of them, who at some point had begun closing in on him like a vulture circling its prey. “...You two know each other?”

Phee lets out a pfft noise, waving a hand in the air.

“As long as I’ve been around here,” She says, making her friend laugh and promptly nod. “She’s one of my closest friends on Pabu.”

Wrecker’s mouth drops more, just a little (at least he hopes; it's hard to have full control over all his senses at this moment). Why didn’t he know this sooner? He should have; this whole time, Phee and he just managed to avoid each other even though they had the same friend. The same friend that he oh-so conveniently is pining over so helplessly.

Suddenly, the room becomes to get very hot. His civvie clothes begin to stick to his body, and he can feel the nervous trembles rumbling in him.

“Uh… cool, cool,” He croaks out like an animal half-paralyzed, standing up quickly and waddling over to the front door, almost ripping off the frame of the door as he gains his balance. The two whip around, perplexed.

“Where are you going?” She asks with a tilted head, so innocently, so concerned and worried that he's this close to turning and coming right back to her, into her arms. But he doesn't. He can't, knowing that Phee was there right behind him as well. So instead, he squeamishly lets out some excuse of, ‘I forgot, have something to do, gotta go uh, right now,’ before racing through the village and punching himself for his stupidity.

Wrecker avoids Phee like the plague for a significant amount of time after that fatal encounter. But their mutual fruit-selling friend, well, not so much. It was hard to keep himself away from her sweetness. But he still withdraws significantly, limiting his visits to her fruit stand and her house to less than thirty minutes long before he finds an excuse to leave, in fear that he’d, once again, run into a certain quippy friend of hers.

She’d even mentioned a few things about her after that day. How Phee and she have been best friends since they were little kids. That they met about a year after her parents passed.

“She took me on one of her little adventures once,” she recalled while the two watered her plants, dreamily gazing off into the distance as Wrecker practically foamed at the mouth awaiting her continuation. “Got chased by a pack of rabid animals even she didn't know the name of on some deserted planet. Never going with her again,” She laughed.

With all the new little details and memories he learns, he still doesn't find himself drawn away. He keeps coming to see her, getting enraptured by her everything again, and again, and again. He just walks on eggshells at every point now, because he was still unsure if Phee had gone blabbing to Tech about it all. That is most certainly not an ideal situation.

But he knows for sure one night at dinner. Shep had invited the batch for a nice evening meal, and of course, Wrecker couldn’t reject such an invitation. Stuffing himself until he reached heights of fullness he'd never had before is a pleasure he had only been able to indulge in with his phenomenal cooking skills. But stuffing his face full wasn't going to stop his eyes from wandering and accidentally making awkward eye contact. Phee, who decides to promptly sit right across from Wrecker, cheekily sneaks glances at him when Tech isn't talking her ear off, asking little questions with her eyes.

"It's quite fascinating the way this planet rotates on its axis..." Tech continues rambling on about whatever had piqued his personal interest right in Phee's ear. She nods, humming a quick 'mhm,' but she looks across at Wrecker.

How's your day? She asks. Or, at least, that's what Wrecker thinks she was asking him. There was no real way of translating what people communicated through the unspoken.

"The magnetic field is due to flip in less than a rotation..." Phee nods encouragingly.

Did you see Peach today?

Oh, how he wants to shut her mouth. Figuratively. Shut her... eyes?

But the two manage not to bring it up, verbally for the most part. At least until Omega and Lyana run off and leave the adults to eat in silence.

"Please please pleeeeaaase," Omega begs Hunter, fingers interlocked and shaking in front of her. Lyana does the same. "We ate all of our food! Look!" She gestures to their empty plates and looks back at Hunter. He hums thoughtfully, bringing a hand to his chin and he taps it once, twice, before dropping it again.

"Did you guys actually eat all of your food, and not give have of it to Wrecker?" He asks. Wrecker looks up from his plate, eyes wide and cheeks puffed out as he shakes his head aggressively. Hunter chuckles and looks at the two girls. "Alright, you can go play."

Omega and Lyana woop, excitedly taking each other's hands as they race away and off to explore, most likely. Wrecker looks over at them fondly, before he catches eye contact with Phee. He quickly averts his attention and gazes down at his food, stuffing a large handful in his mouth with his bare hands. He can still feel Phee’s eyes on him.

“So…” She begins, and his eyes snap back to Phee. Her eyes squint suspiciously, and he can see lingers of a sneaky little grin on her face before she continues. “How’s your little peach?”

Wrecker chokes. Like, no joke, chokes on his food, eyes popping in surprise and he abruptly shoots up from his chair. Hunter shoots up as well, quickly coming to his back and patting him.

"What in the-" He begins, but Wrecker interrupts as he coughs out a piece of the food he choked on, and Hunter quickly goes to press a fist to his stomach. With a push, all of it comes out, and Wrecker groans dryly, continuing to cough as everyone else around the table gathers around him in worry.

"Is everything all right?" Shep asks, a firm hand coming to rest on Wrecker's shoulder. He looks over to the mayor, getting out a smile with tears in his eyes.

"Just fine," He croaks. Tech hmphs, perplexed in the sudden shock Wrecker had, and proceeds to look at Phee.

"What did ask him?" He asks bluntly.

Phee puts on a faux expression of bewilderment and shrugs right in Wrecker's face.

“Hey, don’t look at me!” She says, before gesturing over at him. “You should be asking him.”

Hunter, who looms over Wrecker protectively, then leans into him, whose face is as red as a sith’s lightsaber.

“Wrecker, what was she talking about?” he asks, as soothing as he could be. Wrecker coughs out one final piece, his throat still dry, and he quickly grabs a glass of water and takes a large sip before he tries to talk.

“Er, well,” he begins, a droplet of water spilling over his lip and onto his shirt, which makes Tech grimace in disgust. “There’s this... girl, from the village. And she, uh... she sells fruits and sometimes lets me have some for free…”

“He calls her peach,” Phee adds, and Wrecker’s face heats up even more than it already was. He looks over to Tech, who watches with an amused expression on his face, and then to Hunter, who wears an unreadable expression.

“Wrecker has a girlfriend?” He says under his breath like he was hesitant to ask.

“And he’s kept it from us for this long?” Tech adds as if he's surprised that Wrecker was able to keep a secret, making Phee and Shep chuckle.

“No, no, it isn’t like that!” He exclaims, stumbling with his words incessantly. “We-We’re friends!”

Phee smirks, grabbing her glass and taking a long dramatic gulp before she shoots back.

“Friends that give massages to the other?”

Wrecker, once again, sputtered, and his brother's eyes widened.

“She- she was tense!" He tries to explain, furiously scrambling to gain control of this situation. "And-And I had told her I knew a couple methods, and she asked if I could do them for her so I did-I…”

“Yeah yeah, whatever Muscles,” Phee rolls her eyes, readjusting again. She places the cup down on the table firmly and leans forward, her entire body careening in his direction with self-assurance he wishes he had at that moment. “Point is, you’ve been sneaking off to hang out with her and haven’t told any of us,” Wrecker pouted, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. “And even worse, you’re obviously head over heels obsessed with her-"

Wrecker exclaims back, not even letting her finish her sentence.

"I'm not!"

"I saw the way you look at her," She says, putting a hand on her hip, accusing eyes scanning his body up and down. His mouth opens, and he tries to come up with a smart retort, but she had him backed into a corner. His mouth shuts, and she smirks in victory. "You look at her like she's the Maker themself, and you haven’t even had the guts to ask her out yet!”

Tech perks up, readjusting his goggles.

“So she’s not even your girlfriend?”

“Who has a girlfriend?”

Wrecker stiffens and they all turn to the piqued voice; Omega races toward the adults, Lyana close behind, watching the group of adults at the table. Her mouth is open in something of a wide grin, bewildered.

"Who has a girlfriend?" Lyana repeats.

“Not Wrecker,” Phee comments with a chuckle.

Omega turns to Wrecker eagerly, bouncing on her toes beside Lyana.

“Who is it? Who are you talking about?” she asks, a smile starting to creep up on her lips with excitement. “Do you know her, Phee?”

Phee nods, saying her name all smugly.

“She’s been my friend since I’ve been around Pabu,” she explains, looking at Shep for his approval. He nods along, a knowing, somewhat nostalgic look on his face. “She runs the fruit stand,” She adds, looking over at Lyana.

That makes her eyes light up. Wrecker can see the final puzzle piece click together in her mind.

“I know her!” She exclaims, jumping up and down and then looking back at Wrecker, who had essentially no control of this situation anymore. “I’ve seen you talking to her!” she points at him with a finger.

Phee huffs, crossing her arms.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s seen this.”

“So…” Omega says, looking at Wrecker suspiciously. “You have a crush?”

Wrecker stammers, bringing a hand up to rub at his neck, avoiding the gaze of everyone else despite all of their eyes being on him.

“Ah, well, she’s, really pretty and all…” He manages to grit out, voice somewhat unsure. Too much of him is coming out at this moment. “But uh, I don’t really know how she feels.”

Now that comment makes Phee actually laugh.

“She definitely likes you.”

His cheeks flush.

“No, I don’t think she… I mean, she could do so much better, and I…” Suddenly, his mouth goes dry, and he’s at a loss for words.

Omega and Lyana giggle from the sidelines as Wrecker vehemently sputters random pieces of denial.

“Alright, listen here, muscles,” Phee interrupts him, leaning forward so far one slip and she'd fall chest first into the plate of food. “This is what you're going to do: Tomorrow, you’re gonna go up to her and ask her to join you at the equinox festival.”

Wrecker’s eyebrows push together and his mouth falls ajar.

“I-I am?”

Suddenly, a snicker interrupts all of them. Wrecker turns to his left and is baffled at the sight in front of him. Hunter is laughing, kriffing laughing into his palm, eyes scrunched and all amused at Wrecker's suffering here. But before he can fully process the sight, Phee continues.

“Yes, you are. And if you really need more support, we’ll come down with you.”

Omega gasps.

“Can we come?” She asks, grabbing Lyana’s hand and raising it. Lyana nods.

"Yes, yes!"

“No!” He exclaims back, quite defensively. He backs away from the table and raises his arm, puffing his chest out. “No no no! I can do it myself.”

“Oh?” Phee says with an eyebrow raised. “So you don’t need our help? You will ask her out tomorrow?”

Wrecker then realizes the situation he just put himself in. Now trapped in a situation, telling his whole family at once about her. He hoped for at least another week. Or a month. Or as long as it took for him to make a move because now, he has no choice but to ask her out. Unless he wanted Phee and her little crew of Omega and Lyana following him around like a hawk until he did. Slowly, his body detracts, and he slumps with a sigh, shrugging defeatedly.

Phee chuckled, grinning knowingly. Hunter, who at some point had sat down again beside Wrecker, sighs roughly and pat his brother's knee assuringly.

“You did kind of say that,” He defends Phee. Wrecker gawks.

“Come on!”

“So it’s decided!” Phee declares, grabbing Tech’s hand abruptly. Wrecker chuckles at the action; at least he doesn't have to be the only flustered person in the room. “I expect her to come to me to the news. And if she doesn’t. I’ll drag you there myself and make you do it.”

He panics.

Less panic, really. More meticulously plan. Which is very, very unlike him. The stems of the flowers he bought for her (these pink and white florae he couldn't remember the name of; he recalled her saying it was her favorite) weighed heavy in his palm, and he kept excessively checking it every few seconds, making sure that not one petal falls, not one leaf is out of place when he presents it to her.

But even after he picks the flowers and arranges them delicately with his large hands and fingers, it isn't enough.

"I should get her more..." He mutters to himself as he walks through the meadow, carefully treading through the forged dirt path, before he looks up and spots in the distance billowing smoke from an oven. His eyes brighten.

So, maybe buying her some pastries is a little much. He knows that perhaps, just maybe, ever-so-slightly, the detour was an excuse to put off going to her just a little longer. At the same time, a bite into the tart heart of the baked good does calm his nerves significantly.

Totally necessary, he thinks.

But eventually, Wrecker does go to her. He walks through the market with both the box of pastries and the flowers pressed to his back, stiffly weaving through throngs of townspeople. His eyes are hawks; he scans the crowd, looking for any indication of her presence; hunting, scavenging for the target of his objective.

But someone taps on his arm.

"Wrecker?"

He yelps and turns in the direction of her voice. She stands right beside him nonchalantly, head tilted and eyes scrunched. He almost drops what was in his arms and his legs go weak... kriff, how long has she been there?

Maybe Wrecker should leave the scouting to Crosshair.

She smiles, chin tilted up to look at him properly.

"Hey!" She says excitedly. "How's it going?"

He sputters, eyes drifting away quickly before looking back with a nod.

"It's good, good," He responds as delightfully as he could sound. She laughs.

"Are you sure?" She asks, persistent. He nods quickly.

"Of course!" Wrecker blurts. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She moves back a little, surprised.

"You're just... acting a little off," She remarks. He scoffs.

"Nah, this is normal," he insists, shifting his weight from one foot to another to appear casual. She raises an eyebrow, but a grin creeps up on her face as she walks backward toward her market stand, no regard for anyone else that might be walking where she might want to go, and motions for him to follow. He does, watches her every move, how nicely her body is hugged by the apron now as she turns around. He lets himself loosen up, and the box of pastries comes to his front. She gasps when they catch her eye.

"I love those!" She exclaims. His face warms up at the realization; he must've internalized her favorite pastry as well; he can't even remember off the top of his head. His hands hold it out to her, and she looks up with a tilted head. His heart stops for a second, and he frowns. Was something wrong?

"It's... for you," He stutters out, pushing it farther into her grasp. Her just manages to gain a little courage, a little faith in himself to look up, and oh Maker, she's... she has a hand on her chest. Her mouth falls open and she looks up at him with large, hopeful eyes, completely.

"It is?" She asks, quieter than before. Her hand drops and comes to grasp at a fruit she had in a basket to balance herself, slowly adjusting so her weight was supported by it.

Wrecker adjusts as well, still stammering as he continues talking,

"Well, yes, it is, and I uh..."

Unintentionally, his hand slips, and the other arm that still held the flowers fall and comes to his side. Her gaze drops to it, and he freezes.

"Uh... and..."

She looks back at him, her lips parted so delicately.

"Wrecker?" She says his name in that certain way that makes him melt. He winces, wishing he could wipe the sweat forming at the back of his neck.

"Y-yeah?" He responds shakily.

"Are those for me too?"

He really expected himself to stutter again. Stumble and trip and fall, bomb the whole thing and he'd have to become a hermit, hide in his room and never leave again after this catastrophe. But his voice doesn't shake as he takes in a breath and says,

"Yes."

Before he can process it, she moves from the back of the stand and to the front where he stood, reaching for the flowers first. His hands loosen when they come into contact with the tops of hers, softly grazing each other as she softly takes the bouquet from his sweaty hand and holds it to herself. Her eyes trail over the piece, softly bringing up another hand to lightly caress the petals of the flowers.

"These are my favorite..." she mumbles, mostly to herself, but Wrecker takes note of it.

"Yeah, I uh," He begins, and her head shoots up. He stiffens under her watchful eyes, but he keeps talking, his hand finally coming to knead at his tense neck. "I remember you talking about them once, so I went out and picked them out for you."

A sweet, adoring smile creeps up her face at the admission, and she tries to hide her face with her free hand, bashfully biting her lip.

Seeing her like this awakens something new in Wrecker. He's never seen her so... flustered before. Flattered. Scrambling at the pieces to gain her bearings and look presentable to him. It's too cute. Too adorable.

She wears it well, he thinks.

"That's... That's really sweet, Wrecker..."

He smiles, looking down as well.

"Thanks, I..." His mind wanders, and he's brought to the desires again. With her so close, so near to him and him being this close to having her, having her for real and not just in his dreams... his hands shook at the thought of getting to hold her in his arms. "Kriff," He rasps out.

"Hm?" She perks up. He looks up, and her head is tilted, eyebrows pushed together as she looks at him laced with anxiety. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," He affirms her quickly, taking a step forward, but quickly taking another back the second he realizes what he's doing. "Sorry, no, not sorry, I-" He groans, palming his face in frustration. His tongue is twirling all the wrong words, saying and doing everything wrong. But it keeps moving, faster than his mind. "I just... I really wanted to ask you to go to the festival with me, and I thought that I should bring you flowers or food, like a courting gift, or... something, kriff-" He swears again when he looks up and sees her confused, worried look on her face, and he goes to hide his face under his hand. "I'm sorry, this is so stupid, I should just-"

But he's unable to finish his sentence; a pair of trembling, soft lips press against his and interrupt all his thoughts; and Wrecker melts.

At first, he thinks he's dead. Because unless the Maker had for some reason given him the blessing of her unconditional love. But there's something so human in the lips that kiss him; an urgency, a raw excitement and worry in every move she made. Her hands clutch at his shoulders to bring him down as low as possible to meet her where she reached on her tiptoes, and kisses him hard. Kisses him firmly and thoroughly to make sure he stays put and doesn't kriffing let go, for any reason at all.

So Wrecker relaxes. He eases and leans down more to give her better access, and he drops the box of pastries to the floor, forgetting it completely as his arms wrap around her waist. He lifts her up in one swift motion and she squeals, but he swallows it with his own kiss; something so joyful and passionate yet cautious; something so Wrecker.

She pushes herself deeper into his body as if she was trying to melt into him, allowing his body, his everything envelops and takes her whole in the way hers did his so many times. And he takes it all. He takes all of it when she breaks away for a moment and he goes to nip at her bottom lip insistently. When she finally slowly descends back down and still holds onto him like a lifeline. All of it, all of her, he'll take if he can. He'll be greedy.

Her lips, now red and puffy, part as she gazes up at him, surprised at her own action. But it quickly turns into a delicate, open-mouthed grin that he mirrors.

"That was nice," She breathes out, a quick sigh following.

Wrecker nods, biting his lip to contain his smile.

"...Yeah."

She pulls herself closer to his body, having to tilt her chin all the way up to look at him fully.

"Er..." He mutters, trying to find the right thing to say. But he only blinks, and she giggles. He follows with a smile. "So will you go to the festival with me?"

She giggles again incessantly, dipping her head to rest in the crook of his chest to hide. But he's still able to hear her mutter, 'of course.'

Somewhere from afar, hiding between two stands and chomping on crackers, Omega, Lyana, and Phee scare the living shit out of a bypasser with their boisterous cheers.

tags: @xxamixisxx @afuckinnerfpuncher @ilovethosebrowneyes9904 @ct-9902 @echos-girlfriend @wenalena @lunarlockley ps. i currently dont have a taglist, the tags are for people who asked for one + ppl i think might enjoy this fic

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goblinsofdiscord · 4 months ago

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The Horror of Heart Types 👹🫀 Enneagram Types 2, 3 & 4 (How to Type People)

by Larissa

I get asked a lot what Enneagram material I recommend, and my go-to is Riso & Hudson. I’ll be expressing previously understood and uncovered concepts as well as my own interpretations. My understanding pathway is informed by what I find profoundly irritating about the types via personal experience, so this won’t be a flattering, soft-focus Baby Blue production. More like a handheld camera with cubicle office lighting that makes everyone look like they’re decaying and septic.

We’re all doing our own Ego’s version of being terrible. Don’t worry, none will be left unscathed. If you’re a pain piggie, please enjoy torturing yourself in the name of enlightenment and self-growth.

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MISINTERPRETING THE SELF-IMAGE 👀

Image Types or Heart Types (Enneagram 2, 3, 4) are “shame” types - or another way to look at it is a type that’s trying to avoid shame. Their unconscious goal is to circumvent feeling humiliation through their self-image, identity and sense of self. All attempts to drag their self-concept through mud, “misrepresent” it or distort it must be fended off (even if it’s true).

Image Types are trying to outrun the hounds of shame by fixating and doubling-down on their self-concept. Their existence hinges on being able to deflect shame hot potatoes and keep their fantastical self-symbol alive and protected. Hiding in the closet from the barking dogs that howl, “You’re not the way you think you are! Here’s how you actually are!”

If you inadvertently trigger this wound, this fight or flight response, and unknowingly pass them a shame hot potato, you might find it spiked back into your face. Triggering this response can come about by doing or saying something that reveals to them they’re not in alignment with how they think they are.

For a 2, that upset could be caused by you pointing out where their “help” had negative consequences; you don’t need their help with something they’re trying to insert themselves in, suggesting they have a self-motivated agenda, or by not appreciating the 50 cookies they brought to the party. Reductive, but also true. You made them feel unnecessary or seen as uncaring.

For a 3, that can be treating their value (usually dictated by the instinct) as trivial or unimportant. 3’s can even be triggered by encountering someone who is “better” at whatever their ego resides in (being attractive, competent, skilled, talented, popular or prolific - something that’s instinctually “valuable” to them and usually others).

For a 4, that could be something as simple as treating them as if they’re not a rarity, not catering to their preciousness, or forgetting to walk on eggshells in their presence. Or if you compare them to someone or their creations to something else. You might get a cutting look or a “How dare you?” if you request them to engage in lowly trash pursuits (4w3) or something that’s showy and fake (4w5). 4’s are the only ones allowed to have a rider of special exceptions everywhere they go (it’s implied, not necessarily dictated). To expect them to participate like a regular person is insulting.

And it doesn’t matter if the 2 isn’t actually helpful or needed, the 3 isn’t actually valuable or impressive, or the 4 isn’t actually rare or deep. This is the lie they must believe about themselves in order to survive. 2’s, 3’s, and 4’s will do anything to keep the shame hot potato from staying in their lap. They must spike it away from themselves; eject it from their consciousness lest it wrap its roots around their heart and devour their most prized organ (and sense of identity).

SHAME & “THAT’S NOT ME” 😳

All image types auto-reflexively “no” at “misinterpretations” of their self-image (how they see themselves). It’s a dagger straight into their sense of worth. It can inflict agony upon them to be confronted with information contrary to the fantasy they paint of themselves. How this “no” can manifest is quite literally (“No, (insert image correction)...”), doubling down on what they said, repeating the same thing in a different way, a hostile over-reaction, or getting irritated and ending the interaction. Everyone has a heart center, so we all do our heart center to a degree, but you’ll notice this kind of thing more with core Heart/Image Types.

This process is not about you, it’s about the Image Type and how they perceive themselves. And this mirage is created to avoid the pain of shame on the identity level. Shame can make you feel violated, disgusting, degraded and left in tatters on the floor. As if someone has pissed in your face. Which is why “hostility” is associated with the image center (although other types can be hostile), because this is the hill they’ll die on. It’s where their self-worth resides.

A 2 “no’s” at you “misunderstanding” their loving, positive and helpful good intentions - how could it be anything but that? I am but an angel of spiritual nutrition and delicious tiddy to all who are worthy. They’ll double-down on how charitable and big-hearted they are. To be seen as uncaring or self-serving would cause them tremendous shame. Therefore, they have no malintent, nothing they do ever has negative consequences, and you (dependent, family, lover, close friend) absolutely need them. And if they feel you don’t need them and they cannot create a situation in which you do need them, the relationship may experience a rough patch. Because not being needed or having their caring received as caring, is so painful to them on the identity level. They may continuously try to become necessary in your life, often like a broken record, offering you what they think you “need” via their dominant instinct (social, sexual or self-preservation aka money/food/useless shit).

A 3 “no’s” at you “misunderstanding” their valuable, attractive and skilled - whether it’s actual skills (sp), popularity (so) or sex appeal/magnetism (sx) - self-image. This will be flavored by their wings. Maybe you misunderstood (or interrupted) their 3w2 story about a special connection they had with someone else (which insinuates their value), or how people threw them a party (which insinuates how desirable they are to others). Or, perhaps, you interrupted or misunderstood their existential 3w4 story about how the grind is wearing them down (which insinuates they suffer for their success) or how other people are getting in the way of their success (it’s never a 3’s fault - they’re perfect), or how all of these people find them so attractive that they’re constantly being hit on (insinuating their sexual market value). You’ll understand, they are more or better than others in some area their ego likes to hangout. Because to feel “less than” or a “loser” in this category stirs up a great deal of shame and horror. It makes them feel worthless, which causes them to go into the 3’s coping strategy of Image PR Mode - and if that means destroying you in the process, so be it. If you wound a 3’s self-image by not recognizing or appreciating their worth - or worse, you inadvertently outdo them, call out their competitive BS, or point out the holes in the mounting deceptions they’re weaving - they will set out to ruin your image and reputation behind the scenes to pass the Shame Hot Potato onto you. (Personal experience, verified.) They do this to regain their sense of self and fend off the hounds of shame at the door.

A 4 “no’s” at you “misunderstanding” their tragic, unfixable and precious separateness - you can’t and won’t be able to understand it or relate to it (by design). A 4 is the only one not wearing a mask (this is their Ego talking), and existing in a plane of personal and creative significance and meaning that is unknowable to others. They will auto-reflexively have a disgust response if you (a phony) attempt to insert, compare or attach your shallow experience to the melodramatic romance and artistic suffering of their experience. Or worse, you try to inflict your hideous “vision” or “aesthetic” onto them. Because you’re being fake and they aren’t. You can’t possibly relate to their experience, because that would mean they have something in common with an empty low-life like you. Not possible - their ego will not allow that narrative to invade the 4’s consciousness. And so it is you who are in the wrong for attempting such an act of profanity. They may even try to unconsciously “one-up” your sob story/special melodrama with the kind of shit that many people keep hidden or would view as a weakness or defect. There’s not room for more than one special exception, just so we’re clear.

More on 4 (because why not?)...

For most people, relating is how they feel “safe” and connect with others. Relating and connecting puts the 4’s entire self-concept in danger. It’s ruining their fantasy (which is everything). If they “relate” to you, give you special attention, or invite you into their experience, they are making a sacrifice or they’ve taken a shine to you. This is a grand act of generosity, from their perspective. This is not autopilot. They do not feel obligated to do this. This is a conscious choice and it is your honor. They’ve carved out a little cushion for you, treasured guest. And because the “special exception” type has made a special exception for you, it can leave them feeling utterly violated and degraded if they made the wrong call (and the other person may have no idea what they even said or did to insult the 4 because their list of qualms are so specific to them).

A 4 wishes to connect under the mask, into the depths and truth of someone (which is often disturbing to others, negative, horrible or tragic). If they’re making the great sacrifice of connecting with you, it’s because they deem you worthy of their highly limited and precious “other-oriented” resources. There’s something they find special about you (often conditionally) but it’s an act of charity on their part. When a 4 is being “kind�� to someone, it’s because it’s reflecting back to them something meaningful about themselves or because they find something significant in their connection with that person. Maybe that person speaks to their heart, seems sincere enough to engage with, or is so fascinating, beautiful, or conversely strikingly hideous to the point of intrigue, that they capture the 4’s sense of romance or imagination. Or maybe they can just sense a creative pearl forming beneath the surface that a reactive-heart interrogation would bring to the surface.

Having said that, good luck if you’re actually suffering and expect the 4 to hold space for more than an hour while you out-suffer their suffering. An unconscious horror will wash upon them as they become less and less the tragic star of their own film, and may have to quickly end communication, “one-up” you with their own tale of woe or some other tragic affair or spin a narrative of how you somehow cursed them or interrupted their creative process, or some such.

IMAGE ATTACK & IDENTITY NUDITY 🩸🗡️

When an Image Type’s image is “attacked” (whether it actually is or not), they feel naked and disgusting. As if the lights have all been turned on inside the house and they didn’t have time to get dressed and make themselves look good. And every wall is now a magnified reflective surface - a house of distorted mirrors, a carnival freakshow. You’ve seen something they don’t want you to see, because it’s something that even they cannot look at themselves. And now they’re staring at it and cannot look away. It’s something that makes them feel so profoundly inadequate that they had to create this heart-shaped fantasy in order to cope with it. For someone else, that “thing” may be totally “whatever” but this is the thing the Heart Type’s soul has chosen as its cross to bear.

The 2 fears they’re unlovable and unworthy if they’re not loving and nurturing. They will be lost in the sea of others, with no one who cares about them and no connections to their own heart (because their heart’s survival requires the blood of others). They control the narrative of their heart by self-sacrificing, giving and loving. They turn themselves into a nest that holds you and cares for you and you cannot survive without.

The 3 fears they’re unlovable and unworthy if they’re not valuable, desirable, and impressive. They will be lost in the sea of others, and overlooked and forgotten. They control the narrative of their heart by comparing, competing and achieving. They turn themselves into a desirable “star”, a recognizable and impressive trophy. They often surround themselves with other trophies that make them look good by proxy (reflecting back their worth), or make them appear more impressive when sitting next to them on a shelf (because they’re a smaller/less impressive trophy but still acceptable to their image to associate with or gain a supply of validation from).

The 4 fears they’re unlovable and unworthy if they’re common, shallow and relatable. They’ll be lost in the sea of the faceless masses, with no creative significance or true meaning. They control the narrative of their heart by withdrawing, distancing and separating themselves. They turn themselves into a rare, precious, cryptic and one-of-a-kind symbol. This isn’t dissociating or ghosting to the 9’s who relate to this, this is melodramatic and active pain used to self-generate ink and paint. Their absence is noticed. That’s the point.

This pain of abasement is so profound and bone-rattling, that the Image Type will do anything to avoid it - both consciously and unconsciously.

IMAGE TYPES & THEIR RELATIONSHIP TO THE “MIRROR” 🪩

Image types are “mirror” types insofar as it’s all about how they see themselves and how that is reflected back to them. I personally think all Image Types view other people as an appendage or reflection of themselves. 2’s to feel needed and loved, 3’s to feel valued and worthy, and 4’s to feel separate and creatively significant.

The Image Center is using you to bolster their self-concept.

2’s use you to feel loved, needed, and give themselves permission to have and do something they feel too ashamed to have/do directly. You’re needed for their Superego to justify the love they show themselves. They gave you their old sweaters - an act of self-sacrifice - and now they have permission to buy themself a new one. They put you first (their child, or loved one) and sacrificed their big dream, and so now they get to (shamelessly) live through your dream, knowing without them your dream would not have been possible.

3’s use you to elevate their self-image and sense of worth and value through comparison, competition, imitation and emulation. 3’s need you (whether you’re someone they admire, aspire to be like, someone they view as a rival or a rung on a ladder, or perhaps you’re someone they wish to acquire - like a trophy wife, or possess something they want) in order to feel self-worth. Once they have your validation or praise, they feel worthy. Once they have achieved something you could not achieve, they feel worthy. Once they’re seen as the exemplar, then they finally feel good enough. They need you, because without you they have no metric of their worth.

4’s use you to deepen their experience and understanding of themselves through whatever roiling emotions and tragic narratives they’re projecting onto you - disgust, unhinged passion, love of their life, despair, inutterable hatred, etc. Or perhaps you serve some utility in their self-excavation (a cameraman documenting the story of their life). Or perhaps being in your presence reinforces the narrative that they’re separate and “deep” because compared to you, shallow vulture, they can’t help but be. The juice you provide is specific to the narrative that the 4 has created about themselves that highlights how distanced they are from others. And when you fail to deliver on this highly implausible fantasy or you fail to see and adequately appreciate how special they are - OR heaven forbid, your needs become too front and center - they will paint you fuckin’ OUT of frame in the most melodramatic or insulting way possible (insofar as it feeds into their tragic narrative of suffering and separation). 4’s aren’t negatively identified with “separation” the way 9’s and 6’s are, they like it that way.

I want to reiterate that it’s not about you. It’s about them.

2 is pointing the mirror at you and seeing themself in the reflection. Your wins are their wins. Your achievements are thanks to their help. Your problems are their problems. According to the picture they paint, they even suffer more than you do when you’re in pain. They find self-worth and keep the hounds of shame at bay through how much you need them and are grateful for them.

3 is having sex with you in a wall-sized (or ceiling, depending on your preference) mirror. They’re watching themselves fuck you, dominate you, seduce you, manipulate you, outdo you, destroy you, even BECOME YOU - believing you’ll never have better and they should charge you for the experience. And after they’re done, they may even rob your ass or steal your spouse just because they can. Of course, how a 3 seduces, fucks and destroys you will be largely dependent on other factors of their personality (an SP/SO 3 with a 9 gut will be much more subtle about the entire affair because they’re more prone to gaslighting themselves about their own intentions, whereas an SP/SX 3-8 won’t be as bothered to hide their bloodlust). They find self-worth in this pursuit, and keep the hounds of shame at bay through comparison and value.

4 is looking at themselves in the mirror, and that is absolutely fascinating enough as it is. If they allow you into the picture with them, it’s because you’re changing the way the light hits them in a way that deepens their understanding of themselves or whatever they’re fixated on (which is also a reflection of themselves). Or you’re adding to the tragic, symbol-laden narrative they’re writing about themselves on the mirror. And if you take up too much space in the mirror, try and block their view of themselves and their writings, try and impose your agenda or influence on this experience, or bring in some kind of element that is repulsive to the 4, they will unceremoniously push you away from the mirror, and seal up whatever sewer pipe you crawled out of, you hideous reptile. It’s ok though, because now you’ve become fuel for a self-indulgent song or romantically grotesque painting. *wilted rose emoji*

This is reductive, but it’s necessary to understand what the type is doing by default:

For 2’s it’s all about your needs (to meet their needs).

For 3’s it’s all about their needs being met by temporarily adjusting themselves to your needs (and once their needs are met or they realize it’s a waste of time and energy, they will discontinue adapting).

For 4’s it’s all about their needs to meet their needs. They may get into codependent dynamics that support their effete lifestyle or creative opulence, but others are merely a life support system for them to actualize their artistic significance.

Can a 2 be openly selfish and stingy? Yes. Can a 3 authentically care about another person without an agenda? Yes. Can a 4 be kind and generous? Yes.

It’s just not the default program, nor where their sense of self feels “safe.”

Every single Enneagram type is a user and abuser. And they’re doing it in service of the horrifying cosmic epoxy that is holding our Ego in place (which we need to survive). Think of these tactics as survival mechanisms. Even ones that you interpret as malicious, are being largely unconsciously enacted by the person with the sole purpose of survival and their continued existence.

Because our Personality Type is the lie our Ego tells us to stay alive.

BEING THE “STAR” OF THE FILM & PUSHING OTHERS OUT OF FRAME 🎥🤩

When I started paying attention to how image types made me feel a few years ago, I noticed the unmistakable sensation of someone attempting to push me out of the frame of my own life’s film. Elbowing me out of the way (THE NERVE!) of MY personally created psychedelic New Beverly’s Worst Hits marathon, and insert themselves in it. Even if I didn’t invite them to the show.

“Look at me!” the desperate, wannabe screen stars scream as they try and edit over top of your film with theirs (2’s by intruding and “helping”, 3’s by outdoing and competing, and 4’s by being “difficult”). They desire to be the main character in all situations. You’re merely a bit player in their movie, an extension of themselves, or an object of frustration, affection or rivalry.

A 2 pushes you out of the frame to be your needed, adored figure (or to talk about how they’re the lead in someone else’s film who needs them), and draw attention to how loving and needed they are. While this means 2’s can be the one who will nurse you back to health, make sure you’re well-fed and cared for it can also manifest in them essentially “owning” you and having a level of control over your life. Whether it’s because you actually do need them (ie: financially, or they’re a go-between for something you desire) or because they find a way to constantly meddle and intrude - they’re indispensable. They become the star through “self-sacrifice”, martyrdom, manipulation and even hoe behavior if they have SX (like pampering someone else’s husband or being overtly sexual and gooey). You will know the 2 has invaded your frame when you feel a dozen wet tentacles wrap themselves around your independence, privacy, relationships and agency.

A 3 often enters your film by impressing you with something (which can involve bringing someone else’s ‘movie’ with them to indirectly highlight how valuable they are, whether it’s because the relationship makes them look good or they look good by comparison) or telling you something you want to hear. And if they find your movie more desirable than their current one, and it seems doable to them, once they’ve gained your trust and are squarely positioned in your film, they’ll begin the process of trying to straight up push you out of your own movie and replace you as the leading lady. And if you won’t allow them to edit themselves into your film and become the star, they’ll splice elements of your movie (the aesthetic, film score, dialogue, costumes and other characters) into their movie. And maybe even key your screen or try and steal your audience on the way out.

A 4 is in their own film. They aren’t trying to push you out of frame to accomplish anything other than keeping you out of theirs. They didn’t enter your film, you entered theirs. You taint it. Poison it. Make it ugly. They’re largely uninterested in whatever is playing in the other theater’s rooms (unless it speaks to them in a meaningful way). Perhaps you’re playing a catastrophically loud action film next door and their attention is unavoidably drawn to it. If they have to pause their film, they’ll be seeking to push your vulgar trash out of their screening room so they can resume filming. (This metaphor is getting messy, I know.) And they do this with brooding expressions of disgust, refusing to “participate,” dramatic or slyly cutting insults, or intentionally getting under your skin to invoke a negative reaction so they can see behind whatever false persona they think you’re presenting - real or imagined. They’re hoping by doing this it cuts the power to your projection room so you just go away, or as grounds to get a restraining order so you can never invade their sacred screening room again. And, if the 4 does invite you into their screening room to bear witness to their film, or even come in as a guest star or romantic interest, it comes with conditions and is revocable at any time. It will be on their terms, not yours.

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ENVY & HEART TYPES 🧿😡🥀

So envy, just like jealousy, is just an average human emotion that anyone could feel throughout their life and that doesn’t necessarily indicate type. I know quite a few envious hater 6’s and low-key envious 9’s. The most classically envious type (in my opinion) is 3. However, I believe Envy goes hand in hand with Shame, therefore Image Types are all “Envy” types (despite it only being associated with Type 4).

The definition, according to dictionary.com: “To envy is to feel resentful and unhappy because someone else possesses, or has achieved, what one wishes oneself to possess, or to have achieved.”

All Image Types are Envy types because they’re all about their self-image, and if information to the contrary comes in that someone is like or more of that self-concept than themselves it might trigger the fuck out of them. If they see that person as threatening to their self-concept then envy can arise. Because Image Types want to avoid the shame of not being how they desire to see themselves at all costs, envy can be highly activating to them.

If you’ve ever been in a room with a pair of 2’s, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s a nurturing and self-sacrificing competition. Who is the most caring and generous? It’s totally hilarious and revolting. The muffins flying, the offers of this favour and that favour, while also smiling and flattering each other. 2’s won’t identify with the emotion of “envy” (as a Superego Type), so they’ll seek to erase it through care and flattery because it goes strongly against their self-concept.

3’s envy and covet what you have, what you are, who you know, how you look, who you’re with, your success, etc, when it triggers their self-concept. What they envy are the things they think have “worth” or “value” where the Ego lives. If you have that in an area they do (or perceive as lack in themselves), then they will envy that. 3’s envy is in the conventional sense of the word. Higher health 3’s are more playful and light about this competitive aspect of themselves, but lower health 3’s can become quite calculated, sinister and underhanded when their “envy” is awoken. 3’s seek to do something about their envy as Assertive types. I think of low health 3’s as the Single White Female type, because once they get into envy mode they’re not just content to outdo you, they also want to replace and annihilate you.

4 envy is kind of pitiable, on some level. They envy people being able to just function and have some kind of normal life that feels unreachable to them because they’re simply so despairing and separate. Of course, they don’t actually want a regular life or to be functional like a regular person. As Withdrawn Types, they’re not going to do anything about this envy (except maybe just trashing the other person), because to do something about it would go against their self-concept. Their envy is like “Look at those mindless, plastic phonies going to their meaningless jobs.” They could easily do that too, but they don’t want to. Type 4’s envy is tainted by dysfunction, repulsion and hate.

A 3 will seek to destroy their rival or best them, but a 4 will look at that person as a way to make excuses for why they can never truly exist in congruency with this world (which feeds their self-image) or further unconscious fuel for separation. “If only I had a director dad, then I’d get my movie made… Of course they have an album, they’re a sell-out pod person… Oh, if only I was a cum-guzzling fraud, then I too could get an art show.” The irony is - like I already said - they don’t even really want whatever it is they’re enviously whining about, because if they got it they’d find a way to ruin it themselves.

3’s want success and will seek to maintain it. 4’s may entertain delusions of grandeur - being able to support themselves with their creations is ok (for a while), but “success” isn’t on the table. It may give them a temporary high before it quickly leaves them feeling disgusting. They’ll set fire to their entire life to just purge it from their psyche. It’s only by the grace of The Simulation that a bunch of notorious famous 4’s have maintained careers for as long as they have, despite being insufferable. And so, this envy is just a projection of self-hatred about their own self-indulgent uselessness more than anything else. Bitching and moaning is a recreational pleasure.

THE HEART CENTER COMES WITH STRINGS ATTACHED 🎻

2 is emotionally expanding outwards (service, care, you). 2 is emotionally self-indulgent outwards (masturbatorily overdoing their connections to others with intrusion, meddling, “helping”).

4 is emotionally expanding inwards (creation, reflection, me). 4 is emotionally self-indulgent inwards (masturbatorily overdoing their connection to self and their creations).

3 is emotionally triangulating between themselves and others. 3 is emotionally self-indulgent with others' gaze directed at them (masturbatorily getting hits of validation from others to feed the self).

TYPE 2: STICKY, SWEET STRINGS THAT LURE YOU IN BUT ARE IMPOSSIBLE TO WASH OFF

2’s heart strings are active tentacles. 2’s identity is pulled inside. Their self-worth is other-generated and it travels past the outer barrier. Tentacles that reach outward to feed and nourish itself.

Their focus is radiating out, pulling you inside of them, like Hansel & Gretel into the witch’s candy house, or a Kraken pulling you into its caring mouth. They want to fatten you up with love so you can’t leave. The more you depend on them, the more impossible it becomes to escape (sucks to be a 9 or 4 fixer). And when it’s time to collect, you’re going into the Ego’s oven to be baked to perfection and devoured. Your success will be because of them. Your new family home will be the one they move into or invite themselves to all the time.

2’s imprint on you, they leave their stink on you, they meddle and insert themselves. They are a drug you need (and probably didn’t ask for) in order to survive. Like a drug dealer: “The first one is free.” The 2 also has an agenda, and with that agenda comes entitlement. How this entitlement fucks them over is that it literally drives people away, running, screaming, erecting hostile boundaries full of booby traps to keep the milky teets and caring, prying fingers from being thrust into their faces and orifices.

2's put focus on you, so they don’t have to experience shame. By turning you into an appendage, or tasty baked morsel, your offering to the Shame Kraken keeps the fantasy of their kindness alive and keeps the roiling embarrassments at bay.

TYPE 3: THE HEART’S STRINGS ARE A GLISTENING RAZORSHARP TRAP

3’s heart strings create an invisible, glittering fishnet (that can become razor sharp with the flick of a wrist) and moves outwards and inwards. Their unconscious intention is to harvest trophies. While they're telling you what your own desperate little heart wants to hear, they're pulling everything they deem valuable of yours into their own image to enhance their self-worth. This might be your ideas, partner, friends, connections, energy/time/efforts, talents, knowledge or attention.

As long as you allow this transaction to occur seamlessly, continue to feed the image beast with praise or whatever their Assertive heart desires, while never doing anything to make their position or self-image feel threatened, you’re safe. But this false image they created just for you is also a trap. The moment you renege on this dynamic, it's like that scene in CUBE where the net comes down and slices you into tiny pieces. The fishing net you didn’t notice closing around you, that was shoplifting all of your treasures, pulls taut and cuts through every muscle and bone. And you’re severed in pieces on the ocean floor, wondering what the fuck just happened. Left watching as the 3 floats away with bags of your shiniest “trophies” to applause from the other people they have tangled in their image net of horrors.

As controllers of this net and the flowing waters around it, 3’s control the gaze towards their positive attributes, valuable assets, skills and accomplishments. They became what is desirable, and therefore they feel entitled to acknowledgement, appreciation and rewards - even if those “rewards” are your personal effects. They turned their heart into a 24/7 marketing team and they require compensation for the hard work. They might tell themselves they’re just competing with themselves, but they also want admiration and validation. Without it they wither.

This is how 3’s lose themselves to the entitlement of their Attachment Heart. That quest for ultimate validation turns them into someone who is not even them, tangled up in their own razor-sharp fishing net full of trophies that are now sinking them, weighing them down. A phantom of a xerox of a replica spinning around in a pile of silt. And all of the praise, awards, and riches mean nothing.

TYPE 4: THE HEART’S STRINGS ARE RUSTY STEEL THAT CUT YOUR FINGERS WHEN YOU TRY AND PLAY A SONG ON THEM

4’s heart strings are pointed inwards, the entrance is hidden, and the strings are taut and rusty like an old guitar’s. They’re soldered directly into the 4’s ribcage with viscera of past heartbreaks and slights interwoven. Their focus is on their own heart and find it difficult to put endless focus on others regardless of what they get in return - because nothing is more rewarding to a 4 than themselves and their private cave of reflective surfaces and tortured ghosts.

A 4 may have a lover they’re consumed with, but it’s feeding their fantasies with a narrative of some kind of otherworldly romance, that only serves to intensify their active, self-focused melodrama. And this can create tangles in the strings the more another person is involved. If you receive an invitation to the outer cavity of the rose-shaped dungeon ribcage, you’ll never be truly comfortable or alone with your beloved. The rusty steel strings will be cutting into your skin. You’ll be walking around on eggshells and waking up alone in bed to late-night howls in the corridors. And when you investigate what‘s going on at such an ungodly hour, you’ll find your 4 naked and sweaty with a muse (an apparition from the past or future, a freakish fascination, or another person who they “need” for creative fuel). And they’ll throw a jar of paint water at your head for interrupting the love-making process.

The deeper Type 4 goes into themselves (which is a life-long project), the more burrowed into their own prison they become until it collapses on them like a tomb. There is no exit. Visitors are invaders. 4’s heart is not just deep in the ribcage of self, it’s inside a vault with levels of passwords and symbols and booby traps. And if you try and put your hand in, the acid will get you. Do not confuse this with The Mask of 3 or 9. The 4 isn’t losing themselves to the hustle or connection, they’re not adapting to your face and secretly hiding another personality. They’ve simply crawled so deep inside their own ass that all they can smell is shit. You’ll smell it, too.

Unlike a 3 or a 9, 4’s are not really taking you into themselves. You may have an extended visitor pass, but it is just that - a visitor’s pass. And it’s entirely conditional upon your behavior enabling their MORE PRECIOUS THAN LYFE persona and self-centered activities. This isn’t to be confused with a 3 wanting to feel like the Star or VIP MVP Blah Blah Blah. If you take a broke and unknown 4, their life will probably be quite small and creating some kind of tortured artist existence in a leaky basement in some vacuous city they love to criticize, they drink to excess and eat their paint when they’re depressed, and make their girlfriend (or parents) pay for everything so they can finish some shitty life-altering, deep painting that once they’ve finished it they fucking hate - and they hate you too, dear loved one and supporter - to infinity and beyond. If you take a famous 4, their life may also be insular but they’re likely able to indulge many of the grand fantasies they have of their specialness, and will be able to bank roll ridiculous shit (like Prince and Paisley Park).

A 4 keeps their strings tight so they can snatch their heart back at any moment. No one truly holds it but the 4. Not to be confused with a 3’s “heartlessness.” 4’s simply can’t allow their heart to stray too far from their own rib cage for too long, before it starts to hiss and ash like a vampire in the sun. And they return to their faithful muse who never abandons them - themselves.

IMAGE CRAFTING - WHO IS ACTUALLY DOING IT? 👁️👄👁️ IS IT FAKE NEWS?

While “Image Types” essentially put forth an “image,” the concept of “image crafting” is (in my opinion) primarily the realm of 3. I’m not sure who came up with this concept, but it seems ancient and deeply embedded in Enneagram discussions spanning many groups. Perhaps this is semantics, but I think this aspect of “image” causes confusion for people who are actually a 3, 6 or 9.

2’s and 4’s don’t curate or “craft” how you see them, they are just aggressively doing their type. And you may misinterpret this “image,” but they’re not going to adjust their image to get the desired effect. They are just going to double-down on what they’re already doing, like a wind-up toy with feet that can only point in one direction. 3’s will adjust to get the desired effect (which is having their value appreciated and worth validated) which involves crafting, curating, adjusting, recreating, reassembling.

Masking, shifting, curating and crafting is the realm of Attachment/Adaptation (3, 6, 9).

All Attachment Types - because they are Adapting - are “crafting” an “image” to a degree. The projected Self is influenced by its surroundings and somewhat (if not wholly) malleable. Even 6’s, who are reactive types and therefore all about “realness” and authenticity do this, too. Because 6’s are adapting in the head center and wanting to find common ground with their chosen group, be liked, accepted or counterphobically backed up by a posse or outlier group - which necessitates a level of self-abandonment.

3’s are the ones actually “crafting an image” that they are “selling” you. They will fake it ‘til they make it (and this is something that has to be constantly maintained, updated, tweaked, renovated, split-tested and checked for outdated, out-of-fashion or undesirable aspects). 3’s craft their image to get their desired outcome, therefore their image is fluid and malleable (so long as it’s flattering to their Ego).

2’s and 4’s do their own type to their own detriment. There isn’t crafting involved. Just the same unsightly flea market atrocity, year after year.

2’s embody the nurturer archetype and they cannot veer from their programming, even if it would be to their benefit. A 2w3 may be a social climber (like a 3w2) but they’ll be doing it by ingratiating themselves and making themselves necessary to someone they deem important. A 3w2 can paint themselves as “necessary” to get their foot in the door, but it’s a crafted image to get a desired effect and they will craft a new charming one, moment-to-moment where necessary to get what they want. Because ultimately the 3 wants to be the shiniest and most valuable (not the one doling out cupcakes and kisses).

4’s are their image. They are the (self-inflicted) suffering artist, the embodiment of creativity and depth (in their mind) and even when they’re “with” you, it’s still all about deepening their own experience of self. Not about convincing you they are a certain way or upholding some kind of “image.” The concept of image is actually fucking disgusting to 4’s, because it implies there is something false about them. They may “correct” you if you paint them with the brush of a vapid commoner, but they’re unlikely to elaborate either because you’re not worth the pearls, swine. They may bring their ratty sketchbook with them everywhere they go, but it's in service of them reinforcing their self-image to themselves. You don’t need to witness it (unless they want you to).

Follow if reading these unflattering depictions of the types interests you.

💐👹

#enneagram #enneagram 4 #enneagram 3 #enneagram 2 #enneagram 4w3 #enneagram four #enneagram 4w5 #enneagram types #personality types #Youtube

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oozedninjas · 2 years ago

Text

Hijacked

Summary: The boys are fixing a tire one night when a girl emerges from the mist. She's escaping some thugs, and the boys fly to her aid. The whole situation winds up a bit more fucked up than they thought.

A/N: This was a former request on my past blog. I'm trying to rewrite and re-post all that I can find from there, although, I'm afraid is not much.

Generals:

Dark fic

Bayverse

Here Leo is 27, Raph is 26, Donnie is 24 and Mikey is 22

Fem!reader she/her pronouns

Mutant turtles x reader (but Leo is the star guy)

Warnings: hurt (inflicted upon the reader by someone else) comfort (through the boys) / kidnapping/blood and injury / situational panic/victim self-blaming / chase

Only click on keep reading if you're 18+

--------

"Stop being so noisy! We are not supposed to be here." Raphael grunted to Mikey, who was –and had been for the past hour–playing with the radio buttons.

"Chill out bro, I'm just setting the atmosphere!"

"What atmosphere? We're just changing a tire," Donnie scoffed as he made a few more adjustments.

"Well, the night is foggy, there's a chilling breeze… it might happen something spooky! I just thought it'd be nice to find a song to complete the–"

"We won't remain too long to need that" Leo cut. And when Leo said something with that particular tone, he knew it was a lost battle.

Mikey drew his gaze to the front glass of the truck, defeated. That was when he noticed something moving in the distance, a vague silhouette through the mist running towards the truck.

"Ummm, guys?" Mikey called, but everyone was minding their own business. The figure kept getting closer, and closer and closer. It was a human figure, running directly towards them. His eyes widened as a rush of adrenaline ran through his spine.

"GUYS!"

"Mikey for the last time, we are not setting on spooky music!" Leo stated loud and firmly.

"Someone is coming!" he shouted

"What?!" they gasped.

"Hide!" Leo commanded.

Everyone jumped to hold onto the tunnel roof. If it wasn't for the boosted tire they could be chilling with a warm pizza box back at the lair.

"What kind of human just runs into a drainage tunnel in the middle of the night?!" Mikey whined to Donnie. He placed a finger over his mouth, silently telling Mikey to be quiet.

The silhouette finally pierced the fog, revealing a human girl. She was dressed only with a blood-stained white blanket. Her breathing was agitated. She turned her head back in distress, as to check if someone was following her. She hit the front of the truck, smudging it red.

"What the hell…?" Raph whispered.

"Where the fuck is she?!" shouted a voice in the distance. "You better find her, or you'll be the one telling the boss you fucking lost her."

"I think she ran over there!" a more sticky voice put in. It wasn't hard to put two plus two together.

The three boys exchanged a look.

"Go," Leo said.

They jumped ahead, right in front of the truck. The aggressors stopped in their tracks.

"Looking for something?" Raph smirked.

-- Meanwhile, the female human got inside the truck. A window busted. She shrieked, closing the door. Screams. Beating. Metal clanking. She curled up, covering her ears.

Suddenly, silence. Then, steps approached. They were heavy, way more than her captors. She held her breath.

"Where is she?" someone asked in a whisper.

"I think she went inside the truck," another answered, dramatically lower.

"Are you sure?"

"This is bad. Shall we warn her about, you know, the shells?"

Someone huffed "Right. Like that's gonna make a difference."

They knocked on the door. Her breath hitched.

"Miss?" one of them called in a rather polite tone. "Are you in there?"

She shivered. It was true that now the ones chasing her were put down, but still, there was hardly a reason to trust these new men. She didn't answer. How stupid was she? She should've kept running.

"Miss we're gonna open the door." the polite voice stated. "One…"

She grabbed a soda can.

"Two…"

She hid it behind her back. It wasn't much, but if she smacked it hard enough-

"Three."

The door opened. Darkness dissolved in green lights. Before her, four giant… turtles? her eyes widened as much as was humanly possible.

Their expressions showed something close to repressed panic, worry, and dismay.

“Oh my god, she’s bleeding!” one of them squeaked, pointing at her. Then, another one made his way thru the others. He reached out. She flinched back.

“Hi, Donnie here. I mean no harm. Let me check you up,” he said. A white light lit up over his head, it was attached to his glasses, and these last were somewhat bound to a purple-torn cloth that resembled a mask. They all wore one.

"She has signs of post-traumatic stress. The blood seems to come from the lower part of her body. I think we should take her to the hospital."

Hospital? her eyes glowed with hope. The hint of panic within her soul eased. They were good guys!

“Miss, what's your name?” Donnie asked, but she didn’t even move. “Do you know the date?” he tried again.

“Not mine…” she whispered so low it was almost inaudible.

“Not mine?” The male turtle repeated back, frowning a little. It was obvious that she was abused emotionally and physically. A shiver ran down Donnie’s spine. “What exactly do you mean by that?” but she remained in silence, just looking at him, and his brothers while trembling.

“Look miss, we are gonna try to help you but there’s little we can do if you don’t cooperate. Please, try to answer the questions.” said the one with a blue bandana. She took a deep breath. He was right.

“It's not my blood,” she mumbled. Her breath became agitated. “It was over the floor… I tripped and fell.”

The signs of a possible panic attack loomed through her expression. Even Raphael softened his gaze. Poor girl, she seemed fucked up.

“Calm down miss, we’re gonna help you.” the one in blue stated. “You’re safe now. Donnie, is there something more you can do?”

Donnie backed up to face him.

“I could do more, but I think it’s better if we take her to the hospital. This a serious situation. Police might get involved,” he noted thoughtfully.

“Focus on the tire then. Let's finish that to start moving. We drop her at the hospital, then we head back to the lair.” he ordered. “Mikey, stay here, Raph, you go watch that no one follows us.”

Everyone took their places. She grabbed the one in blue when he motioned forward.

"No," she mumbled. He relented. "Don't go."

He sat beside her. "I won't."

The truck started moving a few minutes later. She was leaning over his bicep, observing his frame: from the marked jawline to the blue bandana. His eyes were almost the same tone.

"What's your name?" she asked.

He eyed her before giving out a comforting smile. "Leo."

She nodded, processing.

“I went to a birthday party, Leo. It ended late. I was- they offered me a ride- I didn't think-" She puffed. Her hands gripped the sides of her hair, close to her scalp. Her knuckles turned white. she pulled. "I'm so stupid. So stupid! Stupid!"

She trembled. Her voice cracked.

Leo grasped her hands. "No, you're not. You just trusted the wrong people."

“It was October when I was taken," she sobbed. "I don't know the current date.”

Leo’s heart ached and Mikey’s gaze fell.

“It’s December,” Leo told her.

She nodded as tiny weeps slipped through her mouth.

The girl scooted close to Leo. Her hands pressed against his plastron. He panicked for a brief moment, glancing at Mikey, not quite sure if he should hold her back. Mikey motioned in approval. Leo then placed his arms around her.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he repeated.

She knew Leo wasn't lying. She knew it by the way his arms held her protectively, the tone of his tender voice, and by the tenacious look in his eyes.

#tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2k14 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt x reader

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abloobloobloo · 5 months ago

Text

This is actually pissing me off

(EDIT: just fixed a small but pretty critical mistake in the fourth paragraph after the content warning here. The responses I'm looking at here are from person A, not B.)

Content Warning: Abuse (including graphic descriptions of CSA)

Hoo fucking boy.

So I've been following a situation where someone who I'll simply name Person A. This person released a bunch of DMs with someone I'll simply name Person B, stating that they showed B emotionally abusing A.

They did not, in fact, show B emotionally abusing A. What they did show was Person B being extraordinarily understanding and accommodating while A was... not doing that.

And hoo boy, A's responses to people pointing this out were so, SO fucking annoying.

I'll leave the gory details under a read below because there are some brief but GRAPHIC descriptions of abuse given by Person B below. Read at your own risk.

First, there's this laughably disingenuous retort:

Literally where the fuck is B mocking you in this screenshot, A? She is literally just explaining her perspective and understanding that you might have a different one: that's how differences in planning tend to be hashed out??? This makes absolutely no sense as a response.

Even more so... later in these DMs, when they basically just turned into giant essays lobbed at each other, B gave another reason: because giant essays like that were harder for her to parse in text! Like.... come to fuck on!!!

"Cruel and sadistic manner?" Are you fucking joking? Is this for real? Are you reading the same fucking DMs everyone else is reading? Where the fuck can you find a SINGLE trace of cruelty and sadism in B's messages, let alone this excerpt???????

Especially when A's continued retort is, I shit you not, "I'm not uncharitable to people I dislike, I'm uncharitable to everyone!"

Buddy. Buddy. That only further proves B's point.

Especially considering that her point was that you were comparing a situation of abuse to your own experiences of abuse as then saying it wasn't bad because it wasn't as bad as your situation. That is literally arguing from a perspective that lacks objectivity. Also the assertions that she "doesn't know what empathy is nor sympathy quite frankly" are fucking laughable but whatever.

And, well, probably the most galling part:

What sex abuse acts did you mention, you say? Well I'll tell you.

For the final time: MASSIVE TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF CSA. I MEAN IT.

In the DMs in question, image 63 has this passage from A, in which they describes multiple sex abuse acts inflicted upon them:

The detail in this message is objectively, blatantly triggering. There's really no other word. People have given trigger warnings for far less detail than A gives in this message. And for them to pretend they didn't say any of this either (and later straight-up saying they NEVER gave detailed accounts of their ritual abuse, which I'm only letting it slide because it possibly could've been referring to a different situation than the message above) means they somehow don't remember writing this at all (which I suppose is possible; they are a system, after all), or are just blatantly lying. If it's the former, then these later statements strike me as astonishingly negligent and indicative of shocking hubris. If the latter, it's actually fucking disgusting. Get your shit together.

And that's not even getting into the extraordinarily disturbing way A weaponizes accusations of pedophilia against person B for literally no reason, which becomes a hundred times more disturbing when combined with the fact that B is a trans woman, and such spurious accusations are often wielded as transphobic and particularly transmisogynist attacks.

and then the fucking cherry on top of this shit sundae:

calling people "subhuman," eh? Bloody hell.

#cw csa mention

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the-courage-to-heal · 1 year ago

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A personal message:

About a month ago I attempted to take my life. I took an overdose of dose of pills intentionally. I want to share the story of what I went through. When I arrived at the hospital a nurse told me I could keep my phone “if I didn’t cause trouble” I called my Mom and softly cried. I was told

“I thought you said you wouldn’t cause any trouble”

I came to realize trouble meant making any noise. I immediately offered to quiet myself. That wasn’t good enough. I was told that I was not allowed to have access to my cell phone anymore. Despite the fact I apologized for crying, and immediately said I understood and would quiet myself.

The nurse advanced on me and attempted to wrestle my phone from my hands. Apparently you are allowed to physically assault somebody if you are a nurse. I want to emphasize all I did was offer to quiet myself immediately. I apologized for crying. That wasn’t good enough.

By this point I was incredibly triggered. I said I wanted to leave, and for good reason this is obviously not something you can do after attempting suicide. They were right to call in people to restrain me. However, these people would have never been called in if the nurse had shown me a shred a basic human empathy, decency and kindness. she enjoyed inflicting pain upon someone who was vulnerable.

What was wrong was them continuing to restrain me to the point I was severely bruised. I can only document in photographs what was done to me.

I fought at first, but very quickly submitted. A man held my face down into the mattress. I told him I couldn’t breathe. He kept holding my face down until I was hyperventilating, and about to pass out. I kept saying I could not breathe. They didn’t believe me until I was hyperventilating and in the process of suffocating. I was genuinely terrified they were going to suffocate me. Right when I was about to lose consciousness they finally released me.

However, my torture was not done. They tied my hand up above my head. I explained they were tearing muscles. I spent at least 10 minutes sobbing and begging them to tie me up n a way that wouldn’t physically harm my body.

They finally relented when I pointed out that tying a persons head above their arms was a form of torture that the Romans inflicted upon people they crucified. That is what it took for them to stop torturing me. They could have done whatever they wanted to me.

I heard the same nurse abusing another patient the next morning. She told a man involved in a drunk, driving accident.

“Your problem is at the bottom of a bottle”

I looked at the nurse who was watching over me and said,

“That is cruel, they are mentally ill. Their problem is that their pain is now hurting other people. Not at the bottom of a bottle.”

That is beyond cruel. She might as well have told him to kill himself and make the world a better place by decreasing the surplus population. I met somebody who is the living embodiment of Ebeneezer Scrooge.

If I learned anything from this experience, it is that strength has to come from within yourself because nobody will give a sh*t if you don’t care about yourself. People use you, and abuse you when you are most vulnerable.

“Help” exists for those who can pay for it. Everyone else is just surplus clogging up the system.

I have not posted a photo of myself for a very long time. I have been overwhelmed. I have neglected this blog. But I want to use my voice so other people can hear what I went through and maybe it will help them to continue going when all hope seems lost. The United States has an appalling system, that punishes the mentally ill. People dealing with suicidal ideation are human beings. They are no less deserving of respect and kindness. The most fragile among us deserve the greatest protection. Not to be feasted on by crows pecking at their corpse. I hope at the very least I have created a safe space with this blog.

#emotional abuse #narcissistic abuse #healing #self help #npd #narcissistic personality disorder #post traumatic stress disorder #ptsd

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saviorbook · 9 months ago

Text

Blushing

I'm doing it again! We've got @fransweek 2024, baby! Let’s go! Funnily enough, I will be doing this a bit differently from years past. There will be a short one shot and a sometimes related picture.

While everyone thought the blizzards of Snowdin were in the past, the surface was not as forgiving as everyone thought it’d be. It had been a light dusting of snow for the past week. That changed, very suddenly. An onslaught of snow and hail, too powerful for even the monsters who used to reside in Snowdin, came down. In order to pass the time, everyone had stayed inside, mostly reading books, knowing that the humans’ electricity had the chance to go out. Most monsters didn’t require any heat, at least the ones from Snowdin didn’t. The ones that did, had invested in propane heaters. Unfortunately for the human currently curled up on the couch with her skeletal boyfriend, he was one such monster that did not need heat, and as fate would have it, a blackout did occur.

As the heat left the house, Frisk curled further up against Sans, seeking whatever warmth she could get. Her nose and cheeks were both dusted a light pink as the cold seemed to settle in her bones, and her small frame shook as she raised her blanket above her head to try to breathe what her lungs would perceive to be warm air. It mostly worked and caused Sans to chuckle to himself, pulling her closer and using a bit of magic to help warm her up.

When she peeked her head out of the blanket, she blushed a bright red at seeing the loving look that Sans was giving her. She might have had an impeccable poker face when it came to the words of others, but when Sans looked at her like that, she couldn’t hold back the redness of her cheeks. She still sneered and stuck her tongue out when his lazy grin took on a more devilish form. After all, this was a long standing game between the two, a blushing game of sorts. It had begun long before they had started dating, both having reputations for not caving in to flowery words or gestures. In fact, this little game of theirs was what caused them to start dating in the first place.

It started at Grillby’s, a challenge made by their friends. It went something like, ‘whoever makes the other one blush first is the winner’. It was a simple premise, and there were other caveats, like the prize, but this was so long ago, that no one could remember it anyway. They were both bored, so they agreed. Frisk started swinging immediately, tossing compliments and blown kisses at him constantly. She was a known flirt, so she figured she may as well work with what she had. Sans did the same, albeit they were funnier more than anything else. This was when their friends realized that they had made a mistake. Every conversation between the two turned into constant flirts and puns, so not much changed.

One day, something did change, though. The two were in Waterfall, alone. They had been spending more time together ever since that challenge was inflicted upon them. Everyone had noticed it: Sans having more genuine smiles, Frisk taking the time to relax and enjoy the little things. It was nice to everyone else and even better for the two of them. They were lying down together, looking at the twinkling rocks that posed as the Underground’s stars. Frisk had let out a peaceful sigh and closed her eyes.

“I know I don’t say this enough, but I really like you, Sans. I enjoy being with you, your company… I know I probably sound pretty dumb right now, but you make me genuinely happy, and I want to thank you for that.” Her voice breaks slightly as she speaks, a light smile playing on her lips.

Unbeknownst to the woman, this was when she had won the challenge. Sans had turned to face her, slightly startled. His cheeks were a cyan hue as a goofy grin found its way to his face. He took the time to study her face, the light splashing of freckles, her slightly chapped lips, and he found all of it endearing, only worsening his blush.

“You make me happy, too.” He tried his hardest to keep his tone steady, not wanting to give away that she had affected him as much as she did.

Only Sans knew that he had lost. He still hasn’t told anyone about how his ‘victory’ wasn’t really his. No, his victory came during a party after they had been integrated on the surface. Frisk was being social, flirting and talking with everybody she saw. It was nothing new, and most people had gotten used to her flirty endeavors. Sans was standing in the corner, people coming up to him to talk. He might not have been a social butterfly, but people liked him. During the hustle and bustle of the party, neither could stop to talk to the other. Of course, this wasn’t a crime. They were allowed to spend a few hours apart. After all, they were just friends.

As the party wound down, Frisk had a thin layer of sweat on her forehead and a tired smile plastered to her face. Sans saw this and when he caught her eye, he gave her a reassuring look that was full of love. That look had struck a chord in her, and she blushed. Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink that quickly became one of Sans’ favorite colors, and he blushed in return, the light cyan hue being new to everyone that knew him. There were light slaps on his back for getting the ‘Flirt Master’ to blush, and neither of them would live it down.

After this incident, it still took them a year to actually date. When they came out as a couple, instead of congratulations, they received a menagerie of groans and complaints of everyone already knowing. Funnily enough, they confessed to being a couple literally the day after they made it official, so they were a little more than confused as to why no one was surprised.

Sans started to tickle Frisk, knocking her out of her train of thought. She laughed and swatted his hands away, wanting to escape his clutches. Unfortunately, it was still freezing, so when she did escape, she was forced to dive back into the blanket and fuss at Sans over making her leave in the first place. He simply chuckled in response and used a bit more magic to warm her up as he pulled her closer to him. The warmth he provided, slowly convinced her to close her eyes and fall asleep, and he wasn’t very far behind her.

#sans x frisk #frans #fransweek #fransweek 2024 #my art #my writing

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nonbinaryeye · 19 days ago

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Left for Dead

Written for @whumptober

Day 14 - Left for Dead

They always trembled with excitement, they were gripped with such a thrill whenever they imagined their own death. It was supposed to be perfect - on their Lord’s and Father’s altar, the last living soul alive walking scourged and bloodied Toril all alone in the end.

It is not a death that was granted to them though.

Read on AO3

...

They were perfect. Bhaal created them to be the last soul alive. At the end of this all, there was not supposed to be a single creature living. Everyone dead. Everyone dead for their Lord and Father. They were meant to make Him proud.

This was not how things were supposed to end…

They are bleeding, crawling like a pathetic worm through the fleshy corridors of the illithid colony they were meant to walk through victorious. They were so close to fulfilling their destiny! They were getting so close! Elder Brain crowned and, oh, even she was impressed by their unmatched cruelty, their plan to eradicate all life. Of course, not that she had a choice in a role she was about to play: in either the Grand Design - the scheme the Chosen of the Dead Three created - nor a plan the Dark Urge themselves was about to act out when the time was right and when their allies outlived their usefulness.

Why are they not celebrated? Why were they butchered as prey? A predator made into a fool. They are still struggling to understand the reality of it. But, oh, can they really blame their brain for not working properly, not properly processing what happened to them? Stabbed and played with and left as useless mush. Same as the rest of them - dying carcass, pathetic creature mutilated beyond recognition

The Dark Urge slaughtered so many different creatures in so many different ways, their imagination never running dry. And every time they killed, they imagined what, the death they were inflicting, felt like. When they ripped still beating hearts, when they tore limbs and pulled intestines out, when gouged eyes, when they ripped throats, when they pierced skulls of their victims. Some part of them really felt it, like it was happening to them and beamed with thrill. Little shiver, just a little touch of death, delivered in the name of their Father.

Well, now their skull was pierced open for real. With their own dagger their brain matter was mushed and squashed and made into worthless pulp and it did not feel good at all. Because it was not a way of dying they chose for themselves and dedicated to their Father. No, someone else, a traitor, dared to try to give the death of the Dark Urge to their God.

Hah, try. Bold claim. They might as well say they succeeded because their time is numbered, is it not? They failed and they are dying and this is the end for them. The Dark Urge is not afraid of their death, they were never afraid. They were always ready to embrace it - they were always meant to have a terrible and gruesome death! But! But they were meant to die only after everyone else does, not here, not now. Not when the rest of the world is treacherously and painfully full of life, still ready to be killed by their hand. But their hand is too weak now. Too weak to hold their blades, too weak to rip through flesh, too weak to even clench in a fist so they can curse the one who brought this fate upon them.

The thing is, they would love to claim, they hold no grudge against their murderkin, their little sister, their second in command, Orin. It was in her nature to try to kill them, it was expected and she has beaten them, has she not? Should they not be happy that their Father will have a better Chosen as they obviously failed Him?

Except she was not ready, they declined her duel for a reason! She should have been worshipping them, everybody was worshipping them, why was she refusing to see their superiority, how could she dare? She was not mean to, she was not allowed to fight them yet. She cheated, this was not a proper way to do things! She did not play by the rules, by Father’s rules, it is not fair! Bhaal should frown and punish her for her misbehaving as this action was not a one befitting of his Chosen.

The Dark Urge laughs - or at least tries to, choking on their own blood which is filling their mouth and their insides and all the places they are usually covered only in the blood of the others. Because a grim thought crosses their mind. This kind of treachery was more fitting to one of Bane’s worshippers and, oh, how much Orin would hate to hear that, as she hated both Bane and his Chosen. The attempted laughter is followed by another wave of rage over the unfairness of this entire situation. Because how come the Chosen of Bane, their enemy, Chosen of their Father’s enemy, was in the end the one always trustworthy, always keeping his word to them, while the blood of Bhaal’s blood, the one who is sharing the same heritage as them, was the one who betrayed them?

They crawl and curse Orin and scream for their butler but he does not come. That is not possible, Sceleritas Fel always comes, wretched but faithful little thing he is. But where is he now? Why has he not come yet? To fix them and to praise them and to tell them as always how much better than Orin they are?

They pray to Bhaal but He does not answer. Why is He not answering? They are His masterpiece, His perfect scion, His tool to bring His revenge on this realm. He loves them! So why is He silent to their prayers? Do they not at least receive one last blessing, to be told they have done well, that they have done good? They have always done everything right, what was the point if Bhaal is deaf to their dying prayer…

They call for his ally who warned them and they laughed and why is he always right, will he ever get tired of being right? Where are his glorious plans now? If he was so sure Orin cannot be trusted, why did he not count with something like this happening, where is his smug smile and back up plan for every back up plan? Did he finally grow tired of them, the mind games they play together, did they finally outlived their usefulness to him as well?

The Dark Urge is in pain, the entirety of their body screams for them to give up. To lie down and let nature do its thing. Let their blood run and leave. Let their body grow cold and still. Let their soul leave for the Fugue Plane. Except they cannot, they cannot stop yet, they cannot give up! Their destroyed mind refuses to still acknowledge their defeat, their end.

Something is squirming in their head, in their brain. They can feel it. It is not a worm, it is too soon for worms to start feeding on them. They want to reach with their claws inside their opened skull and fish it out. Scratch and tore apart their flesh to cleanse it of whatever Orin dared to do to them.

The waves of rage and desperation alternate in quick succession, each time giving them a new wave of energy to move, to crawl more, just a bit further. They do not know where they are going. Out of this place. To get help. To get revenge. To make amends. To continue, to finish, to fulfil their purpose. Because they cannot stop till they destroy this damned world! They cannot! they will not!

They cannot disappoint their Lord, their Father, they cannot stop…

They try to scream for Him but they cannot. They are getting so tired, every movement slower and slower. They feel the embrace of darkness. No coherent sound is leaving their mouth and the realisation starts sinking in. That this is how they will die. As a failure left to rot forgotten by everyone, abandoned by their God too.

And it is unfair. So unfair! They understand it now, they can admit now that they failed, they get it, they are done with their self pity! So it be, Father is displeased by them, He must be, but why is He silent? And they could bear it; they could die with the fact, if only Bhaal, if only their Lord, if only their Father was not so completely quiet. His presence used to always be in the back of their mind. But they cannot feel it now, not anymore. Gone for good, ripped away together with their flesh.

And it is unfair.

They deserve to feel at least His wrath; they are desperate for any form of His divine touch. They are the Dark Urge, they are His Dark Urge, they are perfect, He created them perfect and so their failure is a greatest form of blasphemy, an insult to Him. And if they could speak, if they could have one last prayer, they would not beg for forgiveness they would just beg for punishment.

Alas, they cannot speak.

They cannot pray.

The only thing they can do now is to die…

#whumptober2024 #no.14 #left for dead #baldur's gate 3 #fic #major character death #blood and gore #religious guilt #the dark urge #anyway behold I have actually written something for whumptober #just a stream of conciousness of dying durge #bg3 #mEye fanfic

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therealillya · 10 months ago

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The only moment in Heaven's Feel that makes sympathizing with Matou Sakura a bit difficult for me personally is the moment where she takes her own worst pain and decides to inflict it upon her own older sister. There's various moments within the route where she is jealous and inflicts violence out of jealousy, spiteful, and other emotions commonly seen as negative. All of her moments are understandable or can be understood by the reader even if one argues of course that she shouldn't have done some of those things, and all but I'd argue one in my mind can also even be easily sympathized with as well.

One of the most common cruelties in society, or at least the parts that I'm aware of, is taking the very same traumatic experiences that have been inflicted onto you and proceeding to inflict them onto others, perhaps with the mindset that if you went through it then so should them and everyone else around you. Some of the other worst cruelties in society are of course rape and incest. In one of the bad endings of Heaven's Feel, in Matou Sakura's jealousy and spiteful rage towards her sister who she sees as unfairly having a better life than her and taking her only love of Emiya Shirou away from her, she rapes her own older sister so that she can experience the same pain that she's had with her older brother and her grandfather's magical worm antics. It is easily the cruelest moment in the entire visual novel, I can't think of anything that comes close, and it is also the least sympathetic even if one understands why they did it. Where Tohsaka Rin discovers her bisexuality with two people she feels fondness towards including Saber in her somewhat surprise in a consensual manner in the Fate route, Matou Sakura perhaps even fittingly discovers her bisexuality via sexually violating her sister in what she is surprised to be feeling pleasure out of and similar to how her older brother has sexually violated her for so long.

It is for many people, very understandably so, always going to be difficult to try to sympathize with a character that is a rapist, let alone an incestuous rapist, because of the severity of the act in real life and the trauma that many carry with them from their own experiences and those of others that they know of. Even in just a bad ending that one might never reach, it is much harder to sympathize with her when it is there, and being fully aware that is one of the many timelines and possibilities that can occur with said character under the right conditions. Even then with the given themes of Heaven's Feel, I think that the reader should still try to sympathize with the character and understand why they do the things that they do as a whole even if they can understandably never sympathize with the act or even other acts throughout the story. It seems to me as more significant and valuable to try to sympathize with and understand what she's going through and why she does things that can at times be cruel, rather than condemn them entirely based off of one possibility or her other spiteful acts.

#fate stay night #type moon

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sticksbatnix · 10 months ago

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I know its super late, but on your Batman Beyond thoughts, I always wonder where all these powerful and weird looking misfit teenagers become Jokerz?

Or like does Bonk have parents, if so did they care about his death?

You make a very good point here, anon.

The show, as great as it is, fails to elaborate much on The Jokerz's past as a whole. Sure, there are tidbits here and there but more should have been added to properly explain how and why they joined The Jokerz in the first place.

Sure, make the point they were dumb teens who didn't know better, but there's more than that, there always is.

So let's explain it further by the five W’s.

Who, What, Where, When, and Why.

Who?

Who are the characters presented to us?

Ghoul, DeeDee, Chucko, Wolf, and Bonk.

And whoever other teenager dressing up is similar to either The Joker or Harley Quinn herself.

What?

What is happening to these characters and the people around them?

Simple, a group of misfit teenagers go out of their way to cause chaos and mischief wherever they go. Of course, lacking general empathy, causing property damage, and directly or indirectly murdering people whether they were innocent or not. And to be stopped by either law enforcement or by The Batman.

Where?

Gotham City, more specifically Neo-Gotham City.

The various old and decrepit buildings of what Gotham City was like before were long forgotten. Likely, used for the citizens of Gotham who couldn't afford the luxurious apartments and homes near and within Neo-Gotham.

When?

The future.

A time beyond Batman’s prime in time for a new Batman to take place. Just in time to handle the new and chaotic criminals that run or fly freely across the city. New technology, new law enforcement, new drugs, and new opportunities to cause havoc upon the citizens of the futuristic city.

Why?

Many reasons, few predictable, others reasonable, and the rest unexplainable.

Throughout the show, it's shown that various teenagers who go into a life of crime have rough backgrounds. Abusive or neglectful parents, low income, bullying, or even the corruption of authorities.

Bonk’s death, while brief, shows the cruel reality that many of these young criminal teenagers would face. Yes, they may be having fun, but over time they’ll be able to face life-threatening situations that may end their life. It could be painful, it could be painless, or it could have long-lasting effects if they survived. In Bonk’s case, he made the fatal mistake of going up against The Joker, paying dearly for it, and dying with a permanent smile on his face.

His body might as well be disposed of near or in a trashcan. I doubt DeeDee would go the extra mile to deliver his body to his parents, but if they did I can't imagine the horror his parents would have finding his corpse laid out on their front porch. Now, whether or not they cared for Bonk is unknown, but judging his brutish personality I could only speculate he cared for himself and likely hated being seen as lesser than everyone else. Especially his parents.

The other Jokerz can be speculated as well.

Ghoul came from a rich family, likely running off to live a life without rules and regulations. I've written a few scenarios about this on this blog about this. His family likely disowned him because of his involvement with The Jokerz as I never see them visit him when he's captured.

DeeDee are related to Harley Quinn, now whether they know about that is up in the air. But it's obvious they were inspired despite how much their ‘Nana Harley’ despised them for it. They seem to enjoy the limelight of joining forces to cause havoc and chaos all at once despite everyone telling them not to.

Chucko is a bully who loves inflicting misery on others. Likely joined The Jokerz to bully others without consequences and cause mass amounts of destruction. Whether or not he came from a bad family, it's clear that Chucko enjoys bullying others he sees as lesser than him.

Wolf was human before being spliced with hyena DNA and became the rabid creature we all know. It's possible that he felt a clear connection with animals, specifically dogs, rather than with his own family. Maybe he felt like being a dog/hyena made him feel more complete rather than living his life out like a human.

And we already talked about Bonk.

God knows about the other Jokerz members.

Sometimes I wonder what would happen in the next ten years for these characters and where they’ll be then.

Would they be dead? Would they get proper help and move on? Would they still be in jail? Would they change their whole gimmick and become like the villains from the past?

This reminds me, I found an artist on Devianart who specifically drew The Jokerz gang if they took part in the inspirations of past villains. Ghoul as Scarecrow, Wolf as Killer Croc, and Bonk as Bane. It's very creative and I feel like it should get more attention for how creative they all were.

Nonetheless, The Jokerz gang should be talked more about not only for their missed potential but for their capability to do so much more.

#I didn't mean for this to be a rant but I had to okay #they all hold a very special place in my heart and I can’t forget them for the life of me #and it's a damn shame they aren't used more enough #not sure if the comics talk more about them there are so many of them I can hardly keep up #batman #batman beyond #batman beyond jokerz #the jokerz #batman beyond chucko #batman beyond bonk #batman beyond deedee #batman beyond wolf #batman beyond ghoul #stewart carter winthrop iii

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callipraxia · 1 year ago

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An Observation

I'm reading a bunch of books about plot structure again, and one of them was specifically about breaking down plots to their basic elements in a way that lets you see how two works can have the same 'skeleton' while appearing wildly different. Looking at it from that angle, it occurred to me:

The stories of Demeter and Clytemnestra follow roughly the same plot - they just have different outcomes.

In the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, we get the story of Demeter and Persephone - the story that formed the basis of the Eleusinian Mysteries. Persephone is picking flowers when she is lured astray by one planted as a trap for her; once she tries to get it, Hades pops up from nowhere, yanks her onto his chariot, and goes off to the Underworld with her, having gotten permission from Zeus to forcibly marry her without consulting with Demeter, her mother. There's scholarly discussion about how this could be symbolic of the real grief experienced by ancient Greek mothers and daughters, who might well never see each other again after the daughter is married off, but in its own context - the lord of the Underworld claims the Maiden, plunging her mother into grief and anger, which turns into Demeter blighting the world until the other gods come to an accommodation with her which partially restores Persephone to her. Ultimately, however, Demeter is plunged back into mourning every half-year when Persephone must once more return to Hades, which results in winter for everyone else.

In the Oresteia, we open with Clytemnestra plotting murder; this is because, in the backstory, her husband Agamemnon tricked her into bringing their daughter Iphigeneia to him by pretending he has arranged an honorable marriage for the girl, only to sacrifice Iphigeneia to the goddess Artemis instead once he has her. Cue Clytemnestra plotting her revenge: she spends the whole Trojan War fantasizing about tricking Agamemnon into a position where she can kill him, just as he tricked her into putting Iphigeneia into a position to be sacrificed to Artemis. Fast-forward ten years; the Trojan War is over, Agamemnon comes home, Clytemnestra proceeds to get her revenge, and she and her boyfriend (who also wanted to avenge wrongs done to his family - specifically, he had some older siblings who met a rather gristly end at the hands of Agamemnon's already-deceased father) take over the government, with negative results for the polis, if we're to believe Electra in Libation-Bearers, anyway.

Agamemnon is, in a way, roughly analogous to Hades: a superior being (Zeus, Artemis) gives a powerful Figure From Greek Mythology (Hades, Agamemnon) permission to send a young woman to the Underworld, and in the process, her mother is tricked and bereaved. As a result, both Demeter and Clytemnestra go nuclear in their pursuit of revenge: Demeter inflicts massive crop damage, fully prepared to commit genocide upon humanity solely because the other gods enjoy receiving offerings from humans, and Clytemnestra breaks her marriage vows and then lures Agamemnon to his death. However, at that point, their stories diverge pretty sharply: even Zeus himself is apparently unable to force Demeter to come to Olympus or to allow anything to grow again against her will, and he is not able to prevent her from bringing winter back down upon the world every half-year whenever Persephone is re-removed from her due to the laws of godly physics as applied to pomegranates, because why not. Clytemnestra, however, is not a goddess - she is not even the child of a god or goddess, even though her own twin sister, Helen, is. Clytemnestra is a powerful woman...but just, at the end of the day, a human woman. Therefore, her revenge backfires onto her horribly: she who committed murder to avenge one of her daughters (Iphigeneia) is murdered by her son (Orestes) as part of a plot which included her surviving daughter (Electra). As a shade, she raises the Furies against Orestes, so that these ancient goddesses of vengeance drive him nearly mad...but because a greater power (Athena) can and does exert power (at one point, she threatens the Eumenides with Zeus's lightning-bolts, which she has access to, if they don't agree to her arbitration of the quarrel) over everyone else involved. Zeus could not curb Demeter, but his daughter can curb the Furies and bring them fully into line with the patriarchal system***.

There's stories in there. I know it. More than one. Just to sift them out and find something to do with them....

***For an interpretation of Oresteia which makes some sense out of the ending of Eumenides other than "lol, women unimportant and stupid," there's an interesting lecture by the Canadian classicist Ian Johnston, which can be viewed here: http://johnstoniatexts.x10host.com/lectures/oresteialecture.html

I quite like it, along with much of Professor Johnston's work, though it's still hard to come away without the impression that Aeschylus miiiiight have had Issues with women. However, this would hardly make Aeschylus the last writer whose skill (and point) was undermined by his prejudices.

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lususnatura · 4 months ago

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How does your muse sit? Do they take up space, or keep to themselves?

AHH, before i say anything else, first let me say: thank you for sending me this ask! it always makes me so happy whenever i see people send me stuff :) and honestly, i feel like this is an interesting question because the way i see it, the manner in which a character carries themselves alone could say a LOT about them, i'm not gonna lie. so i am glad you asked!! and now, allow me to give you the best answer i can in relation to this: blamore does absolutely take up space whenever it sits somewhere, and i think that a big part of why this is partially due to perhaps confidence that is a little performative on it's part, BUT that is also genuine as well.

and i know that that might not make complete sense without context because i myself think that my method of explaining things sometimes can be confusing LOL. though, i promise that i'll explain what i mean in a second. this is something that i've only briefly touched upon in both blamore's carrd and in an earlier post on here thus far + as such, i'm going to talk about it more in depth here, but even before it's transformation — blamore was someone with a 'big' personality and this sort-of showed through him seeming to be full of confidence as well as being quote spontaneous, especially for someone who seemed to have such a laid-back father. it's also important to know that blamore's father was also very supportive of it, however, though he felt like he couldn't express who he really was while he was still in annecy with thérèse. for, as you may be familiar with, thérèse was... well, there's really no other way to put it besides that she was abusive and as a result, blamore felt like he always had to be walking on eggshells around her.

this is done in order to try to prevent or minimize any future occurrences of upsetting the abuser. but unfortunately, this rarely works and when it does, it's only temporary. and so for a while, blamore had lost his sense of self because he basically conditioned himself to only focus on what was happening outside of himself. and as a result, he had stopped listening to his inner voice for a while as a child, which is not a good thing but blamore viewed it as the only way he could possibly survive around her without completely breaking down so one can understand why he did it. it is also a common occurrence with those who have been abused, and although sacha (blamore's father) had tried to help his child heal from all of the psychological / emotional trauma that it endured at the hands of it's mother (which was made unknown to him by thérèse until he found her physically lashing out at him) with therapy as well as much positive reinforcement from him as possible that he could be the person he wants to be without having to fear that he'd be punished or ridiculed for it... there is still a part of it that is affected by the psychological abuse that was inflicted on it as a kid.

because it has made him chronically angry and self-tortured deep down inside, so although his true personality HAS been allowed to flourish in the years that proceeded sacha and its move to gotham, sometimes blamore falls into what he considers to be a 'bad habit' and be at least somewhat insecure about his identity / personality. so, yeah, although blamore usually always appears to be a very 'loud and proud' person on the outside that let's everyone know that he exists by completely sprawling out or just sitting in positions that call attention to him in general whenever he sits somewhere + gives them this idea that he's not going to let ANYONE make him feel like he can't take up space? sometimes, he feels like he's a kid all over again and one who doesn't know who he is.

and i can't lie, it is really sad. not to mention that it took blamore a while just to become even halfway comfortable in his skin the way it is now because, as far as medical doctors like nico morselli are concerned, it's downright PUZZLING that he's still alive with the way he is now and to suddenly be thrust into being dehumanized by so many people was... very disorienting for blamore, to say the least. but he's tried his best to turn this dehumanization on its head by trying to embrace that he's something else other than just human now. but yeah, i know this was a bittt long, but thank you very much for the ask again! and i hope you're having a GREAT morning thus far :)

#IT WAS PROBABLY NOTHING BUT IT FELT LIKE THE WORLD: musings.#ALL DARK ALL BLOODY MY HEART: character study.#asks.#tw: child abuse.#tw: discussions of the effects of abuse on a person.#tw: emotional abuse.#tw: anger.#tw: a brief mention of physical abuse.#peranarkia

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stomach-bugg09 · 2 years ago

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summary: the na’vi know how to adapt. and they know how to party. so, what’s a little combination of the two?

neteyam x oc(1) // (implied) lo’ak x oc(2)

a/n: okay, so rq before you begin to read this partial mess partial beauty, here’s a bit of context: these are two ocs made by me and my bestie boo, so, as these ocs were the first thing that started my creativity streak, i decided to write this lil thing about them — do not be shocked if they show up again, because they’re the cutest lil pair and i love them. if x oc fics aren’t your thing, no harm, no foul, totally get it! but, i hope you can enjoy this anyway! (also!! let me know if you a) want a part two, or b) would like to be tagged in my next avatar fics)

tags: @pinkhotdogsfr @eywas-heir (idk if y'all preferred x ocs or x readers so i just did both -- rather be safe than sorry, but don't feel obligated to read at all!!)

REQUESTS ARE NOW OPEN!!

a date to celebrate

every year in the beautiful world of pandora, ever since that fateful battle fifteen years prior, there is a call to celebrate.

now, it might seem odd to throw a party over such a gruesome event, and that detail is anything but ignored, given the celebration is four days long with one day meant solely for grieving the lives lost thanks to the sky-people, but there is so much more behind that famous battle than just death and destruction.

on that day, the day in which the na’vi people regained control of their lands, their homes, and their lives, pandora became united. clans from around the globe, clans with an array of different people, different cultures, different homes, different lives, all came together and became one pandora.

despite the pain and loss that came with that date, there also seemed to be a newly made connection, though bittersweet.

in response to the pain inflicted upon the na’vi people, a sense of stubbornness arose from the angry community. they decided, after looking at the forest that was littered with the bodies of those they loved, that they would not let the sky-people win. ever. and to keep them from doing so, the na’vi made it so that they would not let this day weigh upon the lives of everyone else who had been blessed by eywa, everyone else who still stood, breathed, and walked on their planet.

they decided that it would become a date to remember. a date to appreciate. a date to celebrate.

the first day was always the most difficult. the transition from mourning and grief to a place of happiness and excitement, that always had avirya in a doozy.

of course, she always felt so silly thinking that way. especially considering the fact that she never actually knew her father. all that she really knew is that he went into that battle believing that he would return home to his infant son and newly pregnant mate.

avirya never knew her father, but she was all too familiar with the lack of one. her mother, pawey, tried to be strong… and she was! but, avirya couldn’t help but feel like it was her mother’s fault for joining that raid five years ago. that raid of six people in which all of them lost their lives, including the parents of avirya’s childhood best friend, tarya.

for the past five years, since the losses of their parents, tarya and avirya have been sheltered by avirya’s older brother with the help of the sully family.

unfortunately, although both girls were well aware of the reality of it all, that life could only last so long. her older brother, tstaw, had a life to live, a life far bigger than the two girls that weighed him down, as much as he denied it. he had a mate, and it wouldn’t be long before they were expecting a child of their own, so, as unusual as it was, the two best friends adopted a sense of maturity as they decided that they would house themselves together, just the two of them.

as a result, tarya and avirya often found themselves surrounded by the sullys. part of their affiliation with the family stemmed from their small childhood connection thanks to neytiri’s friendship with the girls’ late mothers, but recently they got even closer with them after neteyam and avirya finally let the public know of their secret relationship (and as much as they deny it, everybody knows that tarya and lo’ak have sparked the beginning of their own journey).

so, as the trend of life has recently been going, tarya and avirya woke up early to busy themselves with members of the sullys. thanks to the ftxozä te nìolo', they were expected, as the omaticaya’s olo’eyktan family, to help set up the center of the forest for the (what seemed like thousands of) clans that were arriving later that afternoon.

still adjusting to the emotional environment, avirya found herself dreary and partially depressed, if anything, as tuk babbled on and on about some form of seven-year-old nonsense while she led avirya and tarya through the morning-lit forest.

dew balanced delicately on the leaves, the mud underneath their feet allowing for a bit of give as they walked. the air was nice, not humid, but not cold. just enough sun with just enough breeze.

avirya could feel the concerned eyes of tarya doting on her constantly, juggling the duties of entertaining tuk while also making sure avirya didn’t accidentally doze off on their walk (and if she did, it was tuk’s fault for waking them up before dawn that morning.)

guilt collected itself in her stomach, feeling awful about ruining the mood of an extremely exciting holiday, and she knew that once she heard the music, saw the clans arrive, tasted the diverse collection of food, danced with neteyam… she would be fine. perfect, even. but, avirya always struggled with transitioning. especially when the last sight she saw the night before was the memorial of her father, tears streaming down her and her brother’s cheeks.

she shook the thought away as quickly as it arrived. she needed to have fun. she needed tarya to have fun. so, avirya forced a soft smile on her face as she regained focus on the small body of tuk.

“do you know what i’m excited for, tarya?” her high-pitched voice asked, a giggle hidden beneath her words.

tarya hummed thoughtfully. “no, i don’t know. tell me!”

“i’m excited to dance. oh, i love dancing!” she squealed at the thought of it. “i love today. and tomorrow. and the day after that!”

tarya laughed, grabbing tuk right before she leapt off of the small rock she’d been perched on. the girl shrieked with delight. “oh my, tuk! when will you learn to live in the moment, you goof!” avirya couldn’t fight her own chuckle as she watched tarya spin the small seven-year-old around in her arms just before bringing her up and plopping her on her shoulders.

avirya didn’t miss the flicker of relief when tarya noticed avriya’s smile.

“what are we looking for, again?” avirya asked tuk, flicking the bottom of the girl’s foot as she walked past.

tuk groaned, rolling her eyes dramatically. she’s been watching kiri, avirya thought with a laugh. “we’re looking for pretty flowers. obviously! every year we wake up early and go find flowers to braid in our hair. don’t you remember?” the sass in that young girl’s eyes was actually quite shocking.

avirya raised her hands in mock defense. “i’m sorry, tuktuk. i didn’t realize it was such a sore spot for you.” the older girl playfully stuck her tongue out, causing all three of them to burst into giggles.

see, avirya thought. i knew it’d get better.

and it just kept getting even better. the girls had entertained themselves throughout the day by entertaining tuk, educating her in the ways of “girls’ day.” of course, that included braiding their newly picked flowers into each other's hair, as well as some extravagant mud-masks, courtesy of tuk’s favorite mud puddle.

they’d barely seen the sully family that day, only stopping by to grab snacks before leaving to go visit the stream. there was, of course, a reason for their isolation… avirya and tarya were the babysitters. because the rest of the family was expected to help set up the entire event, both girls quickly jumped onto the job of watching over tuk—it seemed much more enjoyable.

the day passed by quickly, much quicker than any of the girls could have guessed. it wasn’t long before the trio practically sprinted back to avirya and tarya’s home to get ready.

tuk, as she’d planned the day before, had all of her materials laid out in the corner of the hut, her accessories each placed in a very intricate way so they wouldn’t get tangled or hurt in any way, shape, or form.

they all rushed to get changed, pulling on their thin tops (more coverage than usual, thanks to the inevitable fate of dancing that night) and bottoms before they stood in a little train formation, painting each others’ skin with colorful paint.

after the design was finalized (and dry, despite tuk’s impatience), it was tarya’s favorite part: accessories.

while tuk already had her things planned out, the older girls were far too stupid to think ahead. so, instead, both girls were screaming at each other, throwing different items of clothing across the room as they tried to pick the perfect necklace, the perfect scarf, the perfect feathers. meanwhile, tuk sat on tarya’s bed, kicking her feet in annoyance.

eventually, although their timing was more than risky, they found their perfect outfits. each girl adopted their own color scheme, the idea of matching being one of the worst obstacles they’d faced through that chaos.

just as avirya was adjusting tarya’s scarf that hung over her bodice, the whole forest seemed to freeze at the sound of a horn blowing.

“they’re here!” tuk gasped, her small hands pressed to her cheeks. “avirya, tarya! they’re here!” she shrieked, turning to the older girls with one of the brightest smiles they’d seen grace her face.

and then… they were off.

the trio raced through the forest, tarya cursing silently as she felt some of her paint smudge after she barely avoided a tree.

although they attempted to yell at the young girl to slow down, it did not work. instead, avriya was convinced that it motivated the girl to speed up even more.

as they neared the site of festivities, the sounds of celebration became even clearer. they could feel the rumble of ikrans landing, dropping off their riders from clans away. music spread through the air, the beat of the drums creating a rhythm that they could almost feel. all in one moment, avirya remembered the magic of the ftxozä te nìolo'.

as they reached the cliff in which their guests flooded in from, the girls were able to catch sight of the toruk makto who stood with the rest of his family.

“mom!” little tuk cried, running up to neytiri. at the sound of her youngest child’s voice, the mother turned almost instinctively, dropping down and opening her arms wide so tuk could run straight into her embrace.

avirya eyed the scenery with a look of complete and utter awe. the atmosphere was nearly intoxicating, the way it filled her with a feeling that nothing else could compare to. it was beautiful.

as she stared around the center of festivities, watching as people from an array of different clans seemed to be reuniting with each other from former ftxozä te nìolo's, she didn’t even notice netayam’s presence before he leaned down and hugged her shoulders from behind.

avirya shrieked in delight, laughing as he shook her playfully. “let me go, neteyam, you skxawng.”

the boy only laughed, dropping his hand from her shoulder and onto her arms. as a result, neteyam spun the girl out of his grasp, her hair flaring outwards as she twirled.

once she stopped spinning, avirya’s smile only rested on her lips, her eyes once again tracking back to the festivities. it had only been, what, twenty minutes, and they were already dancing?

“we should join, neteyam,” she suddenly declared. her words, shocking both him and tarya, ever the eavesdropper.

he grabbed her hand softly, subconsciously playing with her fingers as he thought. “avi,” he began, words slow and thoughtful. “i want to, but my parents…” he trailed off, looking behind his shoulder to where neytiri and jake stood.

and then, all of a sudden, like eywa blessed neteyam herself, jake and neytiri could only smile at the young couple, allowing jake to catch his oldest son’s eye and nod towards the crowd of dancing na’vi.

"Go, have fun."

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam x oc #lo'ak x oc #avatar x oc #neteyam #lo'ak #sully family x oc #neteyam sully #lo'ak sully #tuk sully #tuktirey #avatar 2 x oc #avatar oc #omaticaya

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