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missputotyra · 3 years

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Monster boy Encyclopedia- MDZS- Gusu Lan 1

“Welcome to Gusu Lan I assure you there is nothing wrong , I just don’t think humans and non-monsters can handle what the Cloud Recesses has become all at one .Please take this Stone and experience our true home at your lesiure . - Lan Xichen , Current leader of Gusu Lan.

- So Gusu Lan’s main base The cloud recesses is an Eldricht Demon realm . Which is why Xichen has filter over it for someone who is a good Cultivator like him it’s pretty easy to look at Gusu Lan in its full warped Eldricht Beauty with out going insane .

- They have a lot of Harpys and Were rabbits around the

- this dose Bring Concerns about about Sizhui the only human there who sees the true Cloud Rescesses everyday and is still sane . There are. Many theories that people have which includes Him actaully having a personal Filter , him being adopted at an age were he could adapt to it and the most ridiculous being Sizhui being a higher Eldricht Being hiding using Sizhui’s body as a way To manifest itself.

- Kamen Riders , Lilim and Patron Librarian also seem to be able to by pass the Filters on Cloud Recesses and not go insane.

- the Realm is described as A visual depiction of Music the Fauna is often as Living Lyrics, notes that’s Fly ,walk like normal creatures and the Scales move like snakes across the Sky and thier are constant beautiful mesmerizing voices singing the music of Gusu Lan

- but inside there a grating dissonance takes over the Mind of those unprepare for Gusu Lans True beauty. You’ll want to stay there forever and Turn into one of them an You’ll become a Slug , a Shoggoth , An Eldricht priest Or Very rarely a Mindflayer

- Shoggoth and mindflayer seemingly lose thier natural Pigment and turn white and Blue when joining the Sect. Shoggoth also lost thier Butler like devotion for a more familial devotion

- Though many of these Shoggoth were abandoned by thier masters to dry out on the mountain and thus felt betrayed

” what about these Slugs . Well the Slugs were originally Human members of Gusu Lan.”

Xichen seemed to change hes serene Tone for a more Melancholy one looking at one spefic Slug person with two Juniors one was a Slug like Him and other completely human . The Slug Junior seemed to have done something wrong as he was being pulled the older slug .

“Who was that you asked ? Hes my Younger brother Wangji…. I mean Lan Zhan .Wangji is a courtesy name.”

- Wen wanted to Assert Dominance . Basically in an Archery match the sects have every year in Wen sect no body from Wen sect came in the top 4 Lan Wangji came in 4th despite throwing the competion halfway ,He's brother Xichen came in second ,Jin Zixaun was third and in first was JC's Adopted Brother Wei Wuxian . This made Wen worry

- The first thing that Wen did was attack the cloud recesses of Gusu Lan .However Wen didn't just stop at forcing them to burn the place down not they did something worse after they had burned the Cloud recesses they then release a Large amount of Parasitic Slugs on the poor sect and since thier Home was burned they had no where to go , since Wangji 's Leg was broken and everyone left to run Wangji was infected more severely than most of the sect .

- However Lan sect was Surprisingly resistance. to Changes these Parasitic were making to thier bodies and Lasted a long while until Xichen came back with allies .Where Qiren inform him of the state Gusu Lan was in , If the slugs weren't removed they'd all sex addicted feral frankly ugly eldritch Slug creatures known as Deformers and says some have already transformed and left the sect in search of what ever unfortunate partner they can get thier hands on.

- Luckily, the Order of the Chief god heard the Plight of the sects fighting against Wen's sect and thier healer/doctors could help them . Not really ...the order of the chief god are kinda horrible people when it comes to monsters including the Chief god himself and When Xichen asks for help removing parasitic monsterizating slugs from members of his sect most healers/ Doctors from the order turned him down saying Gusu Lan was a lost cause and Xichen couldn't get help from healer's or doctors from the area even with help of Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue asking around when they weren't fighting no one would take the Job as it would require a skilled surgeon and Gusu Lan's resitiance to the change was dwiddling .

- Xichen started to notice that his own brother would sometimes attack him in a brief feral Lust fuel rages before snapping out it as if Wangji couldn't discern Xichen as his brother .

- Xichen was getting desperate he didn't want anymore of his Sect to become these feral minded sex fuel Monsters that barely any remembered who they were. Even if they did win the Sunshot campaign , Wen would still have the last laugh .Xichen even consider infecting himself with the slugs so that he'd aleast be able suffer with his sect in thier final moments of being human and being capable of having rational thought .Even though Jin Guangyao and Mingjue protested him doing this they both knew thier was no point Xichen was going to go down with his ship . “That was until a strange man who was eating cake at the other table put down his fork he seemed to have be from Zipangu“ Xichen countined his Story ”however Mingjue got more defensive when he saw the strange belt around his waist the man was a Masked Rider one the orders many Hero's several of whom help us out in the fights against Wen. “

- However this rider stated that he meant no harm as he hand over heard Xichen's plight about the parasitic slugs and give the men the hard truth ,The order doesn't operate on people with these Parasitic slugs inside them because Removing doesn't prevent people from becoming monsters.But it dose save thier ability to think rationally though they become an entirely different monster from a deformer .

- The rider then said He'd offer to help as he's known through the order as being a Master surgeon able operate on any organ. Xichen accepted his offer with tears of joy and hope it wasn't to late to save his brother and Uncle .

The Rider called his two female assistances over and told them they were headed to Gusu lan's Section of the battle field and then to the cloud recesses itself

- The Cloud Recesses now regard this rider and his assistances as a hero who selflessly put themselves on a the order's chopping block as they resisted the order commands not to help them .

” The Rider told me to call him Brave as to not give The order any reason to attack Gusu Lan .” Xichen snapped out his Reminescening when you ask a question “ What are the Slug people called now well Beforers .”

Beforers

- Beforers and Deformer are a Type of Eldricht Slug monster That was an Idea that me and a friend came up with during her Recent Star Wars obsession . I expanded upon Cloud Recesses and Beforers After taking a look at Junji Itos Uzamaki you know the story where people turn into snails and spirals .

. - yes Gusu Lan being Eldricht beings is inspired by the Eldritch Lan Au I personally found it on@angstymdzsthoughts

- Anyways beforer just like Other Eldritch monsters are Weird . Beforers and Deformers are classified as Tritionia subspecies as they look like Sea slug though thier body structure mimic The struture of blue Dragon sea slugs( though they often are seen with legs ) they can have the Look of anything kind of sea slug.

- Deformers come from a Parasite . Deformers are basically Feral Eldritch beasts that basically Attack anyone the see as a potenial Vessels For the slug parasites and Taking them out is A basically only one way to become a Beforer as previous Said Gusu Lans Music can also cause humans to become beforer .

- So Beforer don’t manifest Genitals until they take partners. but they do Birth Asexually little slug creatures That eventually turning into Beforers basically cloning themselves

-Yes Beforers are Hermaphrodites like Normal slugs .

- They a look plumper and Gain Long tentacles like appendage that grow from their lower back that seem to have mind of its own after Taking a partner.

-yes The Tentacles are infact Their Partners dont worry they can change back at will . They do the weird Transformation thing all eldritch monster do.

—-

“ What Am I ? ” Xichen looked in confusing “ I’m A Kind of Subspecies of the Dark Priest , I guess you could say I’m an Eldritch Priest.

“ A few month Of living in this Realm I start having dreams I was in the water in the deepest Depths of the ocean and a voice saying that I should Join my people and teach them of the Great old ones. ”

Eldritch priest

- a Subspecies of the Dark Priest Who are more connected to the the Great Old one .

-They are more Cultish in behavior than the Dark priest of the Fallen god.

- usually keep doing thier Jobs of recruting people into the great church of Cthulhu even after obtain partners.

- What Eldritch priest transform thier Partner into is Entirely thier Choice Among the Eldritch Monsters .

You notice the strange almost Mint green colored cloak or was it a pale Yellow it was twice as Large as Xichen and it was really dark inside but , Did you see two scary looking yet familar Faces in that cloak . Your suspicions were confirmed by a hand Coming out and stroking Xichens Face it’s had Yellow sleeves so they had to be from Jin .

——-—

Notable individuals In Gusu Lan

Name: Lan Xichen

Species : Eldritch Priest

Notes: He’s smiles all the time and it’s kind of unsettling . Their are often Golden and/or Green Masses attached to Xichen so hes Most likely Taken .

Favorite color: …White I’ll describe it as white

Favorite Types: Caring and tender people

Status: Taken?

-———-

Name: Lan Qiren

Species : Beforer

Notes: He’s Apparently Lan Xichen and Lan Zhans Uncel

Alot people like the “Moustache”

looks more like Chromodoris willani

Favorite color: Navy Blur

Favorite Type: …he hasn’t really thought about that I guess Mature and Gentel

Status : Singel

————-—

Name: Lan Zhan

Species : Beforer

Notes:

He looks so Sad

he Hates the Leader of Yunmeng Jiang with hidden burning Passion and Lan Zhan wrote down he wished that “ The Leader of Yumeng Jiang be put to sleep like the dirty mutt he is.”

Lan Zhan also wonders why BoJian( MDZS oc) is Even friends with Yunmeng Jiang‘s Leader

Likes rabbits

looks like Glaucus Aka Blue Dragon sea slug

Favorite color: Red

Favorite Type: he Drew a picture that looked similar to current Yiling sect leader if he was human . When we mentioned this he immediately tagged along with us to Yiling .

————-—

Name: Lan Jingyi

Species : Beforer

Notes: He was Born a Beforer it’s believed he split from Lan Zhan

We thought He and Sizhui were twins but they arent

sweet kid ,Huge mouth ,forgetful

Looks like Chromodoris elisabethina

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite Type: I don’t know someone like Jin Ling !?

Stautus : I’m not ready to marry yet !! ;-;

———-—

Name:Lan Sizhui

Species : Hes Human

Notes: The only Human Gusu Lan

Lan Zhan says he came from Wen

As Said before This is Strange because He’s only a Junior and hasnt Gone insane for Gusu Lans Beauty

Favorite color: Periwinkle

Favorite Type: I have no idea I guess I follow Jingyi and Say someone like Jin Ling

status: Not ready

#eldritch #eldritch!lan #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mo dao zhu shi #lan xichen #gusu lan #lan sizhui #lan zhan #lan wangji #kamen rider #kamen rider ex aid #monster boy #monster girl encyclopedia #alternative universe #crossover au #crossover

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comic-brew · 4 years

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On Smoldering Ashes

Chapter Two: If any more blood is to be spilt

@whumptober2020 days 3. Held At Gunpoint, 6. "Stop, Please", 9. "Take Me Instead", 14. Branding and 21. Stitches (Altprompt)

Series summary: Bruce Wayne has gotten vulnerable. Bruce Wayne has found love. His love and his kids are all he needs to find happiness. Some sick concept of fate doesn't like him being happy.

Notes: Forgive me for I have sinned. Oh god, oh lord, what in the blazing hells is this. Shitty shitty but I'm tired and late *drops mic* (37 mins/4.6k words I've exhausted tumblr's paragraph limit)

Warnings: RATED MATURE. Graphic depictions of child abuse and torture, graphic depictions of violence, blood, swearing, heavy I guess angst

AO3 | Prev Chapter | Next Chapter

***

"Why" Dick hears Bruce's voice implore. "Why are you doing this? I thought-"

Bruce's merely balancing on his toes inches from the end of the cliff, Dick can figure just by the way his voice wavers like it has only ever done no more than a couple times in the past.

Cecile knows this. She knows Bruce, and she knows this. And quite possibly she's enjoying it way too much.

"Because, dear, who can say they're getting paid to practise their hobbies?"

Dick can only gawk at her, an frankly that's the only thing all the others seem able to do as well.

Hobbies?

They're nothing but a plaything to her.

It doesn't seem right. This shouldn't be happening. Dick should be helping B plan the wedding that made him beam just at the thought of taking place.

Not being held in an unknown location by his could-be step mother.

They really dodged a bullet, but in doing so they fell right into a different trap.

His family's unable to speak, stunned by the sudden revelations. He can't blame them, nor can he blame Jason for cursing under his breath.

Barbara's the first to snap out of their trance.

"What could you possibly want that Bruce's money couldn't get you?" she asks. Her true goal though, expertly weaved inside is search of Cecile's motive.

There's none.

Cecile giggles. "Oh dear. It's never about money. It's not personal either, if that's what's bugging all of you. And although my client does pay a fair amount, in reality.. pain and suffering are simply way too enjoyable."

Client, Dick notes. Somebody's paying for this. Somebody that most likely knows who they are when night falls. Somebody dangerous.

Cecile then turns to look directly at Bruce, as she expertly hides her poison inside cheerfully spoken words.

"And you, love, with as many kids as you have here,-" she says, and Bruce's face crumples, "-are going to be a very, very interesting subject"

Duke shakes his head in disbelief at the woman.

"You're sick"

Cecile sits back and ponders on this statement for a bit. Just for a split second, so it's enough to pass across that message, but not quite long to let them be freed from that entrapping mist of concurrent desire for knowledge, and repulse keeping them bound to every word that falls from her lips.

"Perhaps I am" she ventures.

"Perhaps we're all sick, just in different ways. Have you ever thought of that?"

Dick has in fact thought of that, but his answer would never share meaning with Cecile's. How different really are they from the people they fight? They lock all those costumed freaks up in Arkham, but they themselves could very well be described in the exact same way. Sometimes he wonders if they're insane for choosing this life, and the answer that his mind spits out is always yes.

Every life they save is worth it. That's the truth that makes him continue to put on the suit every night, even though the wounds inflicted on him the previous night are still healing.

But are they really making a difference? Aren't they just lunatics running around in kevlar and spandex. Isn't all the grime and mold of the city simply feeding off of them like leeches?

Dick can't focus on that now. Questioning his life choices might have to wait until he's not that tied up.

Heh. Tied up.

Meanwhile Cecile has exploited the moment of nonplussed silence she's created to tighten her sleek ponytail.

Keeping the attention to herself. Every move is calculated to milliseconds.

"Okay, so here's how this is going to go" she begins, clasping her hands together, then motioning towards their hanging limbs. "Do you see those cool little bracelets on your hands?"

On cue, nine heads tilt upwards to test Cecile's statement. And there, right on his forearm Dick can spot a faint blue light shining dully on what seems to be the middle of a silver-like device.

"Those give us, the immense pleasure of electrocuting you whenever you folks might try to escape, or cause any unwanted trouble" she informs, with her mouth taut into a completely mechanical smile.

"Or.. you know. If we're just bored and feel like it"

"And this little screen right in front of you, it's pretty bland now, if you ask me"

She then starts pacing around in the segregated room, seeming to find great amusement in hearing how her heels click against the concrete.

"Well what if I told you the sight will get more entertaining?"

Dick doesn't like this.

"Before you ask, I will not spoil the experience for you. But I will give you this: you will be the stars of a grand performance. You in particular, circus boy should be thrilled by this fact"

He flinches when he mentions him in that way. It's then that his mind fully comprehend just how much she knows them.

It's not just some kidnapping, of those they've had many before. But it's never been like this. Never has a stranger gotten so close only to betray them for laughs.

Some could argue that it was a similar case when Jason had come back, but Jason had always had a motivation. A goal.

Cecile's doing this for nothing else than pleasure.

Before he can compose himself and reply her voice strikes again, this time in the form of a snarl. "So? Any volunteers?"

No, Dick doesn't like this at all.

"Leave them alone" Bruce demands, only it's not precisely Bruce anymore. Not only has his voice assumed the dark edge of the Knight, but his speech is completely neutral, apathetic. Somehow, his emotional state is even more prominent that way.

"It's me you want to get back to"

"Oh, no" Cecile frowns. "No, no Brucie. This is not about you. Hell, it's not even about them. It's about me. And I say it will be nicer to leave you for last."

She rests a finger on her chin contemplatively, but it's fake. It's all fake, and provocatively so. Cecile's head twists around so that her malicious glare lands on Damian.

"How about our little asshole over here?"

No. Not Damian. Never in a million years. Never in a billion years.

"If you value your life you'll stay away you imbecilic Jezebel" Damian hisses, but Cecile makes no motion to enter their space. Instead, the man in black leaves his post to disappear behind the door Cecile had previously entered from, most likely leading even further away.

"I do value my life"

He comes back with three more identically dressed men, one slightly leaner than the other, and one slightly taller.

"Plenty, for that" she says loftily, and while one of the men returns to his post by her side, the other two barge in through a barely visible door next to the right end of the glass.

There's an outrage as the men quickly advance towards the boy. Everything's blurry and spinning and his ears are ringing so that Dick can't quite figure out if he's shouting along with his brothers and sisters or if he's simply been trapped in a lucid dream all this time.

Voices and bangs and thuds and yells, it all gets lost in the end. So much thunderous noice, yet still it can he broken down to its core. Raw and frantic cries of dissent, repeated over and over in a canon, until the words and senses are but a blurred collage of ire and desolation.

Cecile whips a rectangular device from her suit's pocket and before her finger has enough time to hover above one of the polished buttons, the last is pressed and Damian's body is released from the pipeline.

The boy wastes no time, immediately lunging for the men, and despite any rust slowing down his joints because of their inactivity, he manages to hold off the two men looming over him with size thrice his own.

Dick wants to hold hope inside his heart, but he knows it's futile. He also knows Damian is aware that this fight was lost before it even began, but his baby brother isn't a quitter, nor a coward by his own standards.

If Cecile is startled by Damian's fierce resistance, she doesn't let it show. Her finger finds the device held loosely in her grasp, and a different button is pushed. Sparks that are birthed from the device on Damian's forearm begin to climb throughout his every inch of flesh, until he soon collapses to the ground -like lifeless weight.

The men drag him out of their view, and Dick swears he witnessed a smirk manifesting on their faces while they yelled with all their might, yet completely powerless.

***

It starts with low and hollow grunts. It starts with insults, it starts with defiance, it starts with barely discernible hisses.

Most importantly, it starts with no image.

Only screams. Separated by breathless gasps.

"Please, stop"

Dick's heart shrinks into his chest, sinking deep, deep down, until his lungs are under too much pressure to expand.

The screen flickers to life only after the first hollow screams have subsided.

It's.. not a good sight. Nobody expected it to be.

The room is small and dark, the camera feed is black and white and grainy, but that doesn't help in reducing the horror.

The image focuses enough for Dick to make out Cecile finishing stitching deep gashes on Damian's torso back together in the worst way possible.

Cecile retracts her hand hastily, like she's forgotten something. She lolls her head to the side, waving primly towards the camera.

"Stay tuned for a surprise" she whispers almost conspiratorially before turning to Damian, severing the thread with her own fingers, picking at flesh and stretching it out until he's bleeding again all over the gurney he's tied onto.

Damian struggles not to let her hear the sound she would find oh so hedonic. He grits his teeth and grinds his jaw, but groans emanate from him without his consent.

Cecile sets the sutures and her other tools on a filthy table standing miserably beside her.

"Your brother's such an ass" she declares almost smugly, while shifting in her place to face the camera

Without a warning she pokes a finger inside Damian's open wound, evoking a strangled yelp of agony. Soon enough Cecile's retracted her finger. She brings her hand up to her face. She makes a show of admiring the fresh blood coating it, before she tastes it.

She giggles nonchalantly, but there's that certain grace to everything she does.

"Don't worry. We're not done yet"

No. No, this can't happen. He can't let this go on any longer than it already has.

He has to take his place. He'll take his brother's place. Just, god. Just please listen..

"Take me instead!" Dick screams at the top of his lungs, and the dread climbing up his ribcage seeps into his voice. Bent in ways abnormal, tuning in with his despair.

"Do you hear me?!"

He's flailing around wildly and almost hysterically, his voice is getting hoarser by the second. Kicking and bumping the air, but the chains are relentless, so that he's supposed to sit idly by and watch while his little brother is being tortured.

All alone in a dark room.

The man standing tall and unmoving on the other side of the glass only smirks slightly.

"Leave Damian alone!" Dick roars at the screen, and roars at the man, but he knows it's pointless.

Cecile smiles once again to the direction of the camera as she elegantly walks away from Damian, leaving him alone strapped to the gurney -panting, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Damian's head follows the woman even as she disappears out of Dick's sight. The boy's face crumples. Breathless pleas escape his trembling lips, in swift exhales of air that hold no power.

"Please no"

She reemerges cradling an incandescent piece of metal. The sickening calmness on her face is doused in its fiery glow, and all Dick can utter as he goes deathly pale and still is a breathless "No"

Dick finally has enough contact with reality to register his brothers and sisters' own twisting and shouting. The sounds are earpiercing but all hollow to his ears, and Dick only does acknowledge their existence by sight of tears on enraged faces, jaws snapping open with enough force to dislocate, muscles toned and clenched uncomfortably, bodies bent and struggling, in futile attempts to raise enough force and reach the glass to perhaps create a distraction.

Dick can't figure out the faces from his peripheral vision, nor does he care enough to try.

"No."

His eyes are stubbornly fixed on Damian's own, shining wide with terror as the metal illuminates his skin more and more clearly on the screen. On Damian, desperately tugging against the straps keeping him bound to the gurney to no avail, struggling to be freed before the red-hot iron burns the exposed skin of his chest.

"No.. please no" Damian mumbles, and he looks so small. Smaller than a child his age should look. More frightened than a child his age should be.

Dick had promised -to him and to himself- that he'd always be there for his little brother.

He watches helplessly as the metal sizzles the first layer of flesh. He watches as his little brother writhes and squirmes helplessly under the red-hot iron melting into his skin, and he realizes he can't keep his promise.

No, no, no, no, no

Damian is screaming with all his soul and all Cecile does is laugh. Cecile is laughing, and Damian is being tortured because Dick couldn't keep his promise.

He failed him.

"Take me!"

Please no. Not Dami.

Every inch and acre of Dick's skin feels set aflame, but the pain is nothing but the child of wildfire blazing and burning in his chest. Its smoke has filled his eyes with tears burning like acid.

Failed him.

In his ears buzz cracking woods and falling towers. Not his brother's screams and pleas for mercy, not the echoes of laughter, not the thundering cries of their family.

Failed.

And because of his failure his little robin is expected to endure agonizing pain, as also the wounds inflicted on him are what make Dick's failure not only discernible but grievous.

Failure equals repercussions.

Failure equals punishment.

Perhaps it's irrational, and perhaps he's lost his mind long, long ago. Perhaps this is all a nightmare that he can't wake up from, but Dick's senses don't deceive him.

His every cell is howling in despair but yelling and praying are not enough to relieve them of their pain. Flowers buried deep in ice, frantically searching for sunlight- too frantically to know that they're dead.

Dick failed him. Dick should have been the one punished for this failure.

Only moments have passed but the agony grabs them and twists them, draws them out until seconds can't be told apart by eons.

Dick's eyes are fixed on the form spasming on the screen, but those eyes are empty and hollow.

Their azure blue has evaporated, their glossy white has been burnt to the ground. Obsidian vortexes shining with the life they've stolen from his soul in the half light, is all that is left of them.

Damian's voice is rough from the perpetual screaming, but Dick can hear no more.

So he prays to whatever deity listens that Cecile is reached by his own cries tearing through his throat with fading intensity. Perhaps so loudly the air is grazing his vocal cords more harshly than it should.

Perhaps so loudly he is already silent.

But Dick won't mind it even if they fail to produce a sound ever after these, as long as his flesh is torn and burnt instead of Dami's.

The flesh being torn and burnt is his, in a way, but not in any way that matters.

The iron is removed and Damian's face slowly appears behind the sparse smoke of his own smoldering skin.

***

Cecile reappears behind the glass, walking ever so elegantly towards the barrier separating her from them. She peers at each and every one of them in amusement, deaf to te insults so full of hatred being hurled at her from every corner.

She smiles at the teary paths staining Cass and Barbara's cheeks,

"You fucking-"

"-embodiment of evil and-"

"go-"

She laughs at the veins popping on Duke, Jason and Stephanie's necks as they shout their lungs out, feebly attempting to stop the world from sinking,

"I'm gonna fucking kill you"

"Jay calm down-"

"You repulsive.. abomination-"

"-to hell-"

She gracefully snickers at Tim and Bruce's state of dishevelled resignation, a progression of the rage and agony to the point where they're no more prominent than their breathing,

"You hear me? You're going to burn-"

"Don't you dare tell me to calm the fuck down, replacement"

"-in hell"

"He's right Jason, this doesn't help Dam-"

"you'll wish you were dead before I get my hands on you"

But she stops in her track when her piercing hazel eyes land on Dick. So visibly worn out, yet determinedly burning holes through her with his glare.

She stops, and can only regard him in newfound interest.

Dick doesn't shift in his place. Doesn't bat an eye as he speaks with the power of a thousand thunderstorms enhancing the calmness in his voice.

He's made up his mind.

It's his failure.

His decision.

"You'll stop" he says, almost nonchalantly.

Cecile cocks an eyebrow, scoffing.

"Excuse me?"

"You'll bring Damian back here with us. And you'll stop."

Cecile smirks ever so slightly. "I'm afraid I'm not quite done with your brother yet. Besides, why would I do that?"

"Because you will" Dick growls, but soon enough he masks his outburst beneath a carefully tailored poker face.

Something unreadable passes across the woman's face. Dick assumes she's caught up to his thinking. Of course she has.

"Well, you wound me!" Cecile exaggerates, clasping a hand to her chest. Overacting the entire thing, on purpose no less. She's proven to be too much of a hypocrite for Dick to know she's only acting terribly on purpose.

His stomach is urging him once more to let its contents out, only this time he's not sure it's just a lingering side effect of the drug.

"Although, while wounded, you can consider me intrigued."

Dick swallows thickly. He hopes Cecile doesn't hear him gulp as loudly as he sounds to his own ears.

"You'll stop. Leave Damian alone" he says and although his heart is beating a hundred times faster than it should, his stare is unyielding.

"And you'll take me instead"

Cecile eyes him half incredulously, half entertained, for moments that feels like an eternity. Dick is convinced his soul has already left his body, and the woman is simply left staring blankly at his hanging corpse.

She's still staring vacantly at his direction, with no indication of the fact changing.

But then she chuckles.

She chuckles, and soon snickers are finding their way up her throat one after the other, until her shoulders are shaking with laughter.

Yet the laughs escaping her are perfectly normal. Perfectly contained, just the average sound that could be prompted by an oddly funny joke. A joke so ridiculous it fulfills its purpose.

Perhaps that's the most terrifying part. How human it is.

And Dick is showered in cold sweat when he repeats himself, voice sounding just a little more tight and frantic than need be, but Cecile pays him no mind, laughing silently on her own.

Cecile -most likely pointedly- ignores his protests, which are growing more and more despondent as he's fumbling for words, caught somewhere in the crevasse dividing dread and ire.

"Do whatever you want to do to me! Just-"

He's just a child. Just an innocent child.

"-just leave Damian alone. And take me." Dick says.

An innocent boy caught in the crossfire of a war he never swore to fight, but was instead compelled to win.

His brother caught in the crossfire. His Dami.

His fault.

Dick's stuck in a loop. It doesn't end, it never does. Once it's starts there's no end to look forward to, there's merely one he can imagine, and they won't let him follow it.

All air leaves his lungs. Everything seems so peaceful when the flames tingling his heart have no more smoke to give.

"Take me."

His fault. His responsibility.

"Dick, no," Bruce pleads from behind him. Only then is it that he realizes the rest of them have grown silent, all eyes on him, reflecting the light nearly pensively.

Only then is it that he realizes he's been toeing the line of hysteria. That he doesn't know how to stop.

"B, I have to. I can't let Damia-"

"And I can't let any of you!" Bruce snaps. Dick is taken aback, only not due to the sonorous anger redirected towards him. Rather by the tears he can see glistening all over his father's irises.

Tears.

Shining all across his father's eyes.

Under the enemy's scrutinus gaze, and still he let the sorrow swim all the way up to the surface.

Cecile has stopped laughing. Openly at least, as her palm is covering her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle the giggles, perhaps not wanting to disturb the show. The bright smile lighting her eyes betrays her nonetheless.

"You're my son, Dick. I can't let you do this. I can't let another of my children do this" Bruce concludes, never ending eye contact.

Never trying to deny the tears.

All Dick wants is to give in to the pain of his own, and let Bruce wipe at his eyes and tell him it's all going to be alright, just when he was little.

But he isn't little anymore, is he?

Is he?

Is he strong enough?

No. Not a question. He has to. He has to be-

"I was dead, I should go in next. There's nothing she can do to me that I haven't already gone through" his brother's voice cuts in, disrupting the debate that's been won in his mind, long before it even started.

"Half of us have died, Jason" Stephanie counters. "I don't mind going myself"

"You're not going Steph"

"I'll go then"

"The hell you are, replacement. You didn't make the cut for our club the first time, you'll not make it now.

"Are we seriously having this conversation right now?"

Cass clears her throat to get their attention.

"Me" she offers, and immediately after she's met with loud protests.

Dick watches as the others continue to fight between them, arguing on who should trade places with Damian. They can't understand that he has to do it. He doesn't expect them to. So when Cecile laughs and asks who's it going to be?, his decision is adamant.

"Like I said. It will be me" Dick insists.

He's not little anymore.

"No." Bruce says sternly. "No, you won't go. Do you hear me?"

He is strong enough. He has to be, so he's going to be.

Dick hears him, although elects to ignore him, staring proudly ahead, at the two men walking inside to retrieve him.

Bruce then is yelling, and the others protest, some are still fighting over which one of them should take Damian's place but it's already too late. The cuffs clink open and the two men go to stand by either of Dick's side as soon as his feet touch the ground.

Dick doesn't fight them. He doesn't mind being pushed around with his arms pressed behind his back so tightly his already sore muscles hurt as his arms are straining to bend backwards despite his flexibility. He doesn't mind, because he's doing it for his brother.

As long as his brother's safely reunited with the others, it doesn't matter whatever they might do to him.

Dick sends one last look to his family, and another full of a different kind of love directed right at Babs. He hopes his eyes delivers the thousand messages he doesn't have the time to relay with phrases.

The room is left in hush when the door slides closed behind him.

As far as looks go, Dick's were farewells.

As soon as Dick's dragged into the small room whose horrid purpose he's seen on camera, he spots Damian sitting upright against a corner, with a gun pressed to his temple.

Dick's shoulders stiffen and a breath catches on his throat. Still, it's all going to be alright. It's all going to be okay. Damian's going to be okay.

"I'd advise you not to try anything smart, or-"

"I won't" Dick interrupts sharply.

Cecile stands to the side and gestures towards a skeletal armchair with untied restraining straps. Dick shudders at the thought of how many people have suffered on this same chair, and his stomach fills with dread as the knowledge that he's next settles in.

"Grayson wh-"

"It's okay Dames" Dick says softly, scrambling to regain his composure as he's forced onto the blood stained metal by the men.

He winces when they securely latch the straps around his wrists and ankles, so tightly the leather is pressing into his skin, disrupting blood circulation.

Damian looks hurt and afraid, so Dick does his best swallow his own accelerating fear and suppress the shivers running down his spine, triggered by the icy feeling of metal on his skin.

"Everything is going to be okay"

Dick locks eyes with him and plasters something that feels like the poor excuse of a smile on his face, but he knows it must appear somewhat comforting to his little brother.

Masking his unraveling self beneath a charming smile and a lighthearted joke has always been his gift and curse.

Cecile clasps her hands together impatiently and nods towards the man holding the gun. He hastily shoves Damian into the arms of the leanest of the men, while his extended arm is turned around to point at Dick's head instead.

Damian yelps and as his arms are restrained behind his back, the hideous burn on his exposed chest comes into Dick's full view.

Dick's breath hitches despite himself and.. and..

It's...

The ghastly tendrils of burnt skin spreading across his little Robin's chest that spell out the word brat…

Dick could never describe the utter despair and pain and sorrow and ire and helplessness he feels, yet he doesn't have the time to stare right through the monstrosity etched onto his little brother's flesh as suddenly his chin is being pushed uncomfortably upwards by the barrel of the gun being pressed firmly against the soft skin right above his neck.

As Dick gulps, his Adam's apple bobs almost visibly on his inconveniently prolonged neck. The underlying dizziness finds the perfect opportunity to strike him again as his head slightly lolls backwards.

He no longer sees Damian, but amidst the sounds of his heartbeat echoing from inside the veins and taut muscles in his neck, a small and strangled Richard finds its way to his ears.

"I'm fine" Dick assures, even though he's nothing but. "I'll be fine. Love you, lil bro"

The absence of an answer doesn't concern him as much as that of shuffling or any indication that Damian is guided out of the room.

That is, until a delicate stray sniffle rips his heart apart.

If he could glance at his little Dami, he'd be able to see his reflection fall from his watering eyes in teardrops that he can no longer contain.

Dick can imagine the silently crying face, and so he shuts his eyes closed harshly, trapping inside all the pain and anguish lest it makes way to the surface

With a wavering voice he demands:

"Now let Damian go"

When he reopens his eyes with a breathy gasp he's all alone, bound to the metal skeleton of the chair.

Relief floods his heart.

If any more blood is to be spilt, it shall be his.

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

Mishap ||| Yuta x Reader

Summary: Yuta is not known for his woodwork skills. He is also not known for any common sense that would also come with it. However, good things can be made of the worst scenarios, and Yuta is not completely inept—no matter what Winwin tries to assert. Genre: Comedy Warning(s): Some swearing (2x s**t) Word Count: 2361 Theme Song: Rock it For Me - Caravan Palace AN: I tend try to make my oneshots gender-neutral but in this circumstance, this is a fem!Reader. Sorry if this puts anyone off :(( Also this is written in 3rd person so, that’s a thing? Anyways this has been a long time coming (remember that yuta fic i mentioned i was writing back in like november of something? this is it bois) so I hope the wait has been worth it

~~~

Yuta had made a mistake.

This wasn’t unlike Yuta who, known for many talents such as his sharp tongue and wit, as well as his dashing good looks, was not particularly known for rationality and sense.

And—yes, perhaps in hindsight he should have asked the landlord how thick the apartment walls were, and yes, perhaps he should have requested Johnny’s help in the matter, who, though lacking in the same departments as Yuta, did possess more of a proficiency in woodwork. However, that would require more than three levels of sensibility—an area of which, Yuta was steadfastly stuck at level two.

And so, there Yuta lay, crooked upon the debris of his IKEA shelving he’d been attempting to attach to his wall; the lower half of his body in his apartment, the rest... well, that was in next door’s.

Now normally, he would have presumed, this wouldn’t have been such an issue, lacking the grand scale characteristic of Yuta’s mishaps. The person who inhabited the next-door apartment was very busy, he’d rarely bumped into her, and when he had, it was always notably a very brief encounter. Always in a rush, Y/N was a good neighbour, Yuta knew. Never one to bother a soul, she was respectful, determined and very focused upon her job. Yuta also had discerned—from that good wit I mentioned earlier—that she was also rather easy to fluster.

He hadn’t inclined to discover it, and was rather startled to find it, but the first time he spoke to her and he’d met her gaze, she plundered from the realms of reserved and controlled into (oh he couldn’t help but describe) a bumbling, blushy mess.

Which was cute.

But he never had intended to encroach on your personal space. You were career-focused, and he probably also had too little time, if he was quite honest with himself; in the end, he figured that your story was not for his co-authoring and thus he would, quite rightly, let you be.

However, Fate—or was it Misfortune?—had other ideas.

Because this was a Yuta-scale mishap.

As not only was Y/N in the front room of her apartment when Yuta ever-so-suavely-and-totally-not-accidentally flung himself through the wall, she was also only garbed in a very, very small towel.

Truth be told, this was another action of Fate or Misfortune, as Y/N had, in fact, messed up her timings again.

Keeping on top of all the small, consistent tasks of her job that each day held was an easy enough assignment. However, the ability of micro-managing seemed to not have seeped into her home life, hence laundry day had been the most recent victim to pay the price. Thus, Y/N had relinquished her exit from the shower to be garbed in a spare, slightly-bigger-than-average handtowel.

It did the trick—it wasn’t as if anyone was going to see her, right?—and all seemed well, even as her boss who out of poor mind—or was it spite, because quite frankly why would a man in possession of a soul call on the landline after being begged eight times to not do so for the sake of a humongous phone bill—rang the landline to enquire about the progression of a report she was managing. She headed into the main room, shivering at the chill emanating from the window left ajar out of habit, and answered, carefully and intrinsically masking her exasperation so he would be unprepared for the earful he was going to receive the next morning.

The wired phone that seemed like a good idea at the time (which was based on the vintage style, block baby blue matched to the curtains and looked chic as hell—just a shame the lead didn’t extend beyond a couple of feet) hung loosely in her hand, held at just a distance so the cold plastic wouldn’t come into contact with her bare skin and brand her with stab of iciness. Even as the man tumbled through the wall and onto her silver carpet.

Her eyes drifted across the cacophony of torn plaster, scraps of tawny grain strewn amongst the immaculate sea of grey, before they rested upon the sheepish smirk of the man pretending that this hadn’t impacted his confidence in the slightest.

“Hey.” He flashed a gleaming smile. Though upside-down, it perhaps appeared slightly more menacing.

Y/N screamed. It was uncharacteristic, but a reflex nonetheless and she sighed at herself exasperatedly, willing her body to move towards something to throw instead.

Yuta’s grin immediately slipped from his face, as he spun himself onto his front, a palm levied in an apology. “Sorry, I’m so sorry, this was a mist—”

Y/N clutched at her towel, haphazardly trying to pull the hem further down her thighs, while not letting it slip from her torso, her feet twitching to head towards the kitchen.

Yuta felt his throat tighten out of sheer embarrassment, snapping his eyes closed and pushing through with his frantic apologies. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m not looking—I won’t! You... I...”

Watching him tilt his head away, his eyes no longer trained on her, Y/N managed to retrieve her rationale, as well as her breath. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I...” he swallowed, hand falling to support himself on his elbows, “was putting up a shelf—”

“A shelf? You’re in my apartment!”

He glanced back, biting his tongue to stop himself remarking ‘only half’, he knew this was not the time for jokes, and kept his eyes firmly closed. “I know, I’m sorry, I misjudged—”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“—the wall, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Stay here!” Y/N ordered. “Don’t move! I’m not discussing this with you right at this moment, when I’m not...” Words faltered as she was reminded of her bare skin.

“No, of course, I’ll be right here, I promise. Please, do whatever you need.”

The sincerity in the strange man’s voice shocked her, to say the least. She still wasn’t going to leave him to his own devices, however. A spark of inspiration hit her, as she snatched her mobile from the end table, propped it up on the sofa and set the camera on record. Then she slipped back into her bedroom, throwing herself into the first clothes she could find.

Yuta very hesitantly opened his eyes once he heard footsteps pad away and a door close.

The first thing his eyes met was the mess he’d made on her lovely carpet. The next thing was the sight of just how little of the shelving remained, with bits of wood scattered like a shipwreck upon a silver ocean. The final thing was the phone propped op on the couch opposite, no doubt recording his moves.

Smart, he thought, as he sheepishly waved at the camera lens.

Y/N returned very quickly, slipping back through the door, her eyes focused upon the man sat like a schoolboy amongst his carnage. Dressed in unmatched pyjamas, her features were harden in concentration. In her hands was a wooden pole, fashioned with a metal hook at the end. Yuta swallowed thickly. She was holding it most definitely as if she knew how to use it to make it hurt.

And Yuta couldn’t deny that she probably did.

“What’s your name?” she demanded, after several seconds of eyeing him up and down.

“Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta.”

“You live next door?”

He nodded compliantly. “Always have done. I was here before you moved in.”

“How long?”

“Sorry?”

“How long were you here before I moved in?” Her eyes searched his for something. Yuta couldn’t tell what however.

“I...?” he stuttered. He didn’t know what to say to that, or to reassure her. “I don’t know, really. A few months? I haven’t really been counting anything.”

She stared him down, eye to eye, weapon brandished to her intruder. He raised his head further, palms raised in surrender, slightly fearing the worst.

Then she put down her guard, hook knocking the floor.

“I recognise you now,” she sighed, looking at him with disdain, “you really are my neighbour and you really did just break through my wall because you really are that shit at woodwork—Jesus. Christ.”

How she hadn’t recognised him at first astounded her too. He had grown out his hair, yes, and he seemed a little broader, but his eyes were the same dark spools of wonder that she’d accidentally stared into for too long in that one encounter. And anyhow, it wasn’t as if the small changes made him look any different, it just made him look more...

She caught her words before she finished that sentence. He fell through your wall, she asserted in her head, you cannot go anywhere near words like that around someone dumb enough to—

He cocked his head quizzically. She was talking as if she knew him, after all.

Y/N discarded her weapon—which he now recollected was a tool to pull down the ladder on the side of the building—against her sofa which she collapsed onto, retrieving her phone languidly. It was as she pressed the button to stop recording when she glanced at him. She paused. “Mark? Friend of yours? He told me one time that you’re not exactly the best at woodwork.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Oh Mark! Mark Lee? Yes, yes, good friend of mine!” It was only then that the realisation sunk in. “Wait, Mark said what—?”

“You didn’t hear anything from me,” Y/N sighed, leaning forward to get a closer look at the mess of the wall and on her floor. “Well, that must be a good... what? Tenner? Down the drain?”

Catching onto her question he shook his head. “No, 30. Plus hinges.”

Her eyes widened. “Jesus.”

He picked at one of the slabs, splintered at one end and snapped completely at the other. “Yeah, I made the mistake of choosing one of the slightly more expensive units...”

When he looked back up, Y/N was shaking her head desperately, brow creased and vision narrowed upon the hole in the wall.

“Yuta! You—” she exclaimed, hesitating before looking at him. Her eyes were pained, breath shaky as she clenched her fists at her knees. “Do you have any idea how much that is going to cost, Yuta?” she managed. “I can’t afford barely any of the prices required to fix that! Do—do you know how much your stupidity is going to cost me?!”

The words fell from his lips without a moments hesitation. “I will pay for all of the repairs,” he said earnestly, “I’ll cover all of it.”

The woman was stunned to say the least. Her breath stopped, silenced, and hung in the air as if it had been snatched away from her, as she stared into his eyes, searching for honesty.

“You’ll pay?”

“Yes.”

“For all of it?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll take full responsibility?”

“Of course!”

“You’ll pay f-for the hole?”

“Yes.”

“And the re-plastering?”

“Yes.”

“And the paint?”

“Yes!”

“And my broken plant pot?”

“There was a plant pot?!”

She pointed to the scattered soil and ceramic shards to his right, and the overturned shrub bowed amongst it. “Yes, his name is Jeffrey.”

“I’m so sorry Jeffrey!”

“It’s ok he’s a strong boy.”

“Thank god. I’ll pay for Jeffrey too.”

“For his lavish new pot?”

“He’ll have the best damn pot in the entire garden centre.”

Honesty was all that she found.

She straightened in her seat. “Well that’s going to be a lot of money.”

“It’s fine,” he waved a hand, “it’s my fault entirely, and besides, you’ve got better things to spend your money on.”

She frowned. “Like what?”

He glanced around her apartment’s living room. “Fancy things no doubt. Things to make you happy, things to make you smile. Things you need to distract yourself from all the mess required to fix the huge ones stupid men make of your walls.”

She laughed softly at that. Though she stopped herself, there was something about the way he spoke that meant she couldn’t help but be amused, even in spite of the situation. His voice of silk, ebbed with a lilt of something, and flowed through her head like streams of water flowing back to the sea on a sun-kissed beach.

“I think you’re right,” she hummed, rising to her feet. Stepping carefully towards the carnage, she outstretched a hand. “Need some help, Mr Nakamoto?”

He took a glimpse down at the pieces of wood and plaster and bits that made up a wall. A glimpse was all he could muster though, as he felt his eyes be drawn back up to meet yours again. He felt the need to stare into them for as long as he could, not that he could deduce quite why. “I think I could use some, Miss...?”

“Y/L/N.”

He took your hand, levying himself out from the carnage with your aid.

“Thank you, Miss Y/L/N.”

“My pleasure,” she replied, curtsying swiftly with a scoff as she headed towards her dining table.

Dusting himself off and checking the scale of the mess, he only looked up when she returned. He accepted her open laptop with open arms, but confusedly to say the least. It was logged on, with the cursor flashing along the search bar.

“Y/N...?”

She peered over her shoulder coyly. “Well, you promised to get me the best pot for Jeffrey. You’d better start searching for it.”

He grinned, feeling relief wash over him. Sitting on the sofa where she had been perched, he placed the laptop upon his thighs. “And once I find it?” he enquired neatly, eyes glimmering at the back of her head, caressed with tresses catching the setting sunlight from through the window.

Slapping a replacement pot found from the depths of her cupboards on the table victoriously, Y/N stepped over towards Jeffrey laid strewn on the carpet. Cradling him in her hands, she made her way to temporarily re-home him. “Well then... I guess you’d have to take me to the shop and buy it for me.”

Gazing at your back, he felt his lips twist into a smile, catching onto what you were inferring.

Maybe this wasn’t a mishap after all. Perhaps it was a Yuta-scale twist of fate, instead.

~~~

AN: im sorry this is so late, but its up now!

i tried real hard to funny i hope i succeeded :((

thanks for reading!

Masterlist

#yuta #yuta x reader #yuta nct #nct #nct oneshot #yuta oneshot #yuta reader comedy #nct funny #brief mentions of mark

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libertaridan · 4 years

Photo

The Power of Moral Authority

As I reflect on the various management styles of individuals I’ve worked with, both in politics and without, I recall some really excellent examples, some… not so excellent (I’m pleased to say those I work with at time of publishing this are all excellent), I sometimes find myself recalling one of the worst examples I ever came across – when former head of OfSTED, Michael Wilshaw, was quoted in 2012 as saying:

“If anyone says to you that ‘staff morale is at an all-time low’ you know you are doing something right.”

Really? He thought low morale was a success indicator? I hold this up as a particularly fine example of ego being the core driver, regardless of the human cost in self esteem, confidence and vitality of others. In holding his view Wilshaw was, in my opinion, blind to the fact that he was missing a key component that would net the success he wanted far more effectively than by crushing the morale of those he needed to bring it about. He was missing the component of moral authority.

Moral authority is arguably the opposite of formal authority, though they can co-exist in the same person at the same time, they can rarely be used simultaneously.

Formal authority is bestowed by virtue of job role, rank, position, contract. It is expected by right, even demanded, rather than given freely.

Moral authority, on the other hand, has no rank or position, or power to demand anything. Yet when freely given has arguably far more power to move people and achieve goals than any amount of formal authority. Rather than demanding, it leads by example. Rather than sacrificing others, it sacrifices itself.

In his book “The 8th Habit” Stephen R. Covey explains the powerful difference between the two.

“When conscience governs vision, discipline and passion, leadership endures and changes the world for good. In other words, moral authority makes formal authority work. When conscience does not govern vision, discipline and passion, leadership does not endure, nor do the institutions created by that leadership endure. In other words, formal authority without moral authority fails.

“The words “for good” means that it “lifts” and also that it “lasts”. Hitler had vision, discipline and passion but was driven by ego. Lack of conscience was his downfall. Gandhi’s vision, discipline and passion were driven by conscience, and he became a servant to the cause and the people. Again, he had only moral authority, no formal authority, and he was the father and founder of the second largest country in the world.

“When vision, discipline and passion are governed by formal authority void of conscience or moral authority, it also changes the world, but not for good, rather for evil. Instead of lifting, it destroys; rather than lasting, it is eventually extinguished.”

(Stephen R. Covey, The 8th Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness, (Simon and Schuster, Australia, Sydney, 2004), pp70)

Moral authority is an essential within modern competitive organisations. Good examples must be given, managers and leaders must talk and walk, because where they simply choose to ignore conscience and crush morale as a “motivator”, moral authority is unlikely to be arriving on the next train.

Morality

The “moral”, in “moral authority”, is inextricably intertwined with morality. The problem is very real. Managers and leaders, acting on ego, undermine their own moral authority and have nothing to replace it with but more ego, and it becomes a vicious circle.

If managers and leaders are to have moral authority, that means honesty and integrity as a bare minimum. Traits that are often the opposite of the egocentric approach. Traits that, quite frankly, scare those who are habitually egocentric in their management style – they like making allegations but they hate needing evidence, they like ‘drama’ but they hate cool reasoned consideration, they like pointing at others but cannot bear to see the flaws in themselves – it allows them to get away with maintaining their approach. Honesty and integrity are too transparent, too open, it is scary for the egocentric.

Again, in “The 8th Habit” Covey describes the traits of the egocentric:

“Ego focuses on one’s own survival, pleasure and enhancement to the exclusion of others and is selfishly ambitious. It sees relationships in terms of threat or no threat, like little children who classify all people as “He’s nice” or “He’s mean”…

“Ego works in the face of genuine crisis but has no discernment in deciding how severe a crisis or threat is…

“Ego can’t sleep. It micromanages. It disempowers. It reduces one’s capacity. It excels in control…

“Ego is threatened by negative feedback and punishes the messenger. It interprets all data in terms of self preservation. It constantly censors information. It denies much of reality…

“Ego is myopic and interprets all of life through its own agenda…”

(Stephen R. Covey, The 8th Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness, (Simon and Schuster, Australia, Sydney, 2004), pp78)

It seems obvious that such an approach to management and leadership is unlikely to result in the kind of success most organisations crave. As long as ego supersedes conscience, the success of an organisation is being undermined, and the true capacity of others is being crushed.

Ego will ultimately lose

The world is changing, as Covey also discusses in his book, the old industrial age is dying, and the principle of “servant leadership” hand in hand with the new age of “knowledge workers” is growing. With that in mind the following from Robert K. Greenleaf serves as a warning, to managers who cling to the egocentric industrial model, but also as an opportunity:

“A new moral principle is emerging which holds that the only authority deserving one’s allegiance is that which is freely and knowingly granted by the led to the leader in response to, and in proportion to, the clearly evident servant stature of the leader. Those who choose to follow this principle will not casually accept the authority of existing institutions. Rather they will freely respond only to individuals who are chosen as leaders because they are proven and trusted as servants. To the extent that this principle prevails in the future, the only truly viable institutions will be those that are predominantly servant-led.”

(Robert K. Greenleaf, “The Servant Leader,” Servant Leadership: A Journey Into the Nature of Legitimate power and Greatness, 25th Anniversary ed. (Mahwah, New Jersey: Paulist Press, 2002), pp. 23-24.)

A sustainable future for any organisation and your success at any worthy goal is built not on ego, or prowess, or a sense of entitlement, but on conscience, honesty, integrity, vision, discipline, passion and personal responsibility.

As a libertarian these are essential, and where they are found in deficit you can simply choose to withdraw your consent, to withdraw your allegiance, and move on as you choose.

#libertarian #moral authority #7 habits of highly effective people #servant leadership

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