#I have a toxic character section in the left side of my brain...

[cinamun]

I feel like your the G.O.A.T of creating the most hated toxic most disgusting and destructive, despised sims and relationships ever… Every time I read your stories I’m only happy for like ten seconds and then bam you hit me with the most toxic thing I’ve seen all day… you make me want to throw my phone in the garbage… (this is a compliment about your character development by the way😊)

LMFAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! I swear to GAWD I love you sis! In my defense, I had some help with this one, is all I'm sayin...

*cough* @therichantsim *cough*

[diamond-coral]

A Game

Summary: Tony suggests a game that you, the unfortunate intern, get dragged right into the center of: who can make a woman cum the fastest?

Pairings: all dark!: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader, Thor x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader, Tony x Reader, implied natasha x reader

Warnings: DUB-CON/NON-CON (oral: f-receiving, fingering, tiny smidge of analplay) VOYEURISM/EXHIBITIONISM, BLACKMAILING, OVERSTIMULATION. The characters in this story are NOT good people. After reading the warnings, your media consumption is your own responsibility!

As Stark’s party mellowed down and all the guests left, you, the unfortunate intern, were called over to the small group of five Avengers seated in a section of couches.

“Y/n, come!” Thor’s voice boomed.

“Y/n, come!” Sam mimicked, deepening his voice to make fun of Thor’s.

You approached them as the men snickered at Sam’s joke. 

“What can I do for you?” you ask, a fake smile plastered on your face.

Stark cleared his throat and raised a brow at you; a silent command. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” 

“A round of drinks please, and add this to Sir Barnes, Sir Rogers, and I’s drinks.” Thor handed you the flask of his Asgardian liquor and you accepted it, hiding the slight nervous tremble of your hands.

“Of course, sir.”

“Someone’s been learning their manners,” Steve taunted, and it took all your restraint to not snarl at him.

“Easy there, Rogers,” Stark interjected, noticing how your fingers clenched Thor’s flask tighter. “Pretty sure Barnes fucked the brat outta her couple days ago when he came back from that shitshow of mission in Bosnia. Got a lot of pent up rage there, Buck?”

“Mission just put me in a bad mood,” Bucky shrugged. “Either way, I don’t think I fucked all the brat outta her. Got anything left for me, doll?”

“I have nothing for you, you self-righteous, ignorant prick,” you spat venomously.

“There she is. I always love a challenge.” Bucky smirked at how your knuckles were turning white around the flask. “Now didn’t Thor ask you to go fetch us some drinks?”

You huffed, opting to bite your tongue rather than lashing out, and spun on your heel toward the minibar.

Three-months ago, you would never have imagined your internship interview at S.H.I.E.L.D to bring you here. Your interview had been conducted by Captain America himself, and just as things began to look promising, it was interrupted by a sharp knock from Tony Stark. Tony had brought Steve into the hall, leaving the door to the conference room open, and you could only sneak glances through the window of the room, hearing Steve whisper about how it was “a question of morality” while they both kept looking back at you.

You got the position, and the next day, Tony sat you down and gave you an offer.

The Avengers needed to be ‘taken care of’, as he put it, and you being a ‘stress-reliever’ would boost morale around the team. Most of the them never had time for the outside world (apparently saving the world was a big commitment?) and were rarely ever able to make lasting relationships. You could accept the position, be compensated monthy, and get to live in the compound, or you could decline, and walk away with your mouth sealed by the confidentiality contract you signed before the interview.  Something about S.H.I.E.L.D. work being linked to a lot of top secret information, meaning you weren’t allowed to speak any details of the job to outside parties unless you wanted to get sued for every penny you were worth.

You had been on the cusp of taking the second option before Tony mentioned your sister’s job as S.H.I.E.L.D. as an agent. She was half the reason you’d interviewed for an internship. A couple words from Tony about her possibly falling into a fatal accident on a mission, and you took the position offer in a heartbeat.

You almost overfilled the glass while getting lost in your train of thought. Setting down the bottle of expensive whiskey, you placed the last glass next to the others on the silver tray, and picked it up, gracefully yet begrudgingly making your way back to the small gathering.

“Y/n, finally. We were just talking about who here can make a woman cum the fastest.”

The complete utter bluntness of Tony’s words caught you entirely off guard, and you tripped over your own feet, stumbling in your high heels to keep the tray of drinks from falling before Sam reached an arm out to catch the tray and another arm to hold your hip and steady you.

You ripped yourself from Sam’s touch without acknowledging or thanking him, to disturbed by Tony’s previous words to do so. You began passing out the glasses of dark liquid. “And you’re telling me this why?” Your voice was flat in hopes of showing Tony you were completely disinterested in any plans he might have.

“Why, we need your aid, Lady Y/n,” Thor answered a little too cheerfully for your taste.

“I won’t be partaking in your little immature competition of toxic masculinity.” You crossed your arms and continued. “It makes it seem that women are nothing but prizes. Games to be played by boys as they fight over the highscore. Toys.”

“Aren’t they?” Steve cocked his head, eyes glimmering with amusement while a smirk painted his face. The rest of the men chuckled at his reply.

“I think HR would be shocked to hear that Captain America is being a sexist dick to a woman in the workplace,” you bit back, but your threat was weak and they all knew it.

“I think HR would be to busy writing a condolence letter to your sisters family if, let’s say, on her mission with Sam tomorrow in Russia, a stray bullet hit her,” Steve replied. A quick reminder at the stakes. 

Sam clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock sympathy. “Those darn Russians and their careless aim.”  

He abruptly pushed himself off the couch and clapped his hands together. “I wanna go first,” he declared.

“Just remember, you can’t use your dick,” Tony added. “Some of us don’t have super soldier serum enhanced fuckwands.”

“Please never, ever say fuckwand again,” Bucky said, scrunching up his nose. “Besides, the hydra serum didn’t do anything down there.” He waggled his eyebrows while elbowing his enhanced counterpart. “Don’t think I could say the same for this punk here though.”

Steve muttered a ‘shut up’ while the group snickered.

All while they compared sizes like a bunch of teenagers, Sam manhandled you onto the coffee table in the center of the couches. You let out a grunt as you were shoved onto your front, stomach pressed into the tabletop while your pelvis was slammed into the edge.

Sam kneeled behind you and brought up two fingers to your mouth.

“Get ‘em nice and wet for me, baby.”

The men around you went quiet, entranced as you reluctantly took Sam’s fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and swirling your tongue around them.

When Sam finally pulled them out, he looked back at Tony.

“You ready?” Sam asked.

Sam hiked the flowy skirt of your dress up your legs causing you to squirm and pathetically thrash; a desperate attempt at putting an abrupt stop to this stupid game.

“You’re on the clock.”

At Tony’s words, Sam immediately stopped your desperate attempt at worming away from him by catching you by the back of your neck and slamming you back down hard on the coffee table. Much to your disdain, the rough treatment made you wet, and that was the last thing you wanted them to see.

But when Sam pulled your lacy panties down, you could tell it was the first thing he noticed.

“Fuck babygirl, I didn’t need you lubing up my fingers, you’re already drenched,” he noted.

You let out a soft moan as Sam worked two calloused fingers into your pussy. Although they’re thick and long, they were nowhere near the size of his dick and you silently thanked whatever was out there that he wasn’t splitting you in half with it at the moment. Sam released the grip on your neck, moving to settle the hand on your ass before giving it a light squeeze and a slap that elicited another moan from you. While Sam slowly began moving his fingers- twisting, curling, and pumping them- he leaned over you, caging your body under his broad chest, to speak dirty words into your ear.

“Baby, you’re so wet right now, I think you like having them watch you.” Your cheeks burned in shame while he picked up the pace. “You want them to see how well-behaved you are for me? Want them to see how you come on my hand like a good little slut?” he cooed.

Slow pumps now turned to quick thrusts from his skilled fingers and Sam groaned as you fluttered around him.

“That’s it. You’re taking me perfectly.”

Twisting his wrist so his thumb could also strum your clit, Sam was moving so fast you’d easily mistake him for a superhuman.

“Yes, Sam, please,” you cried out, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Uh-uh, babygirl. Wrong word,” he scolded, although his pace never slowed as his fingers brutally fucked into you.

“Daddy!” you screamed. “I’m cumming!”

You chanted those words, cunt clamping down on his merciless fingers. He gave you no reprieve, mercilessly thrusting into you, until you squirted, your release coating his hand and dripping down his forearm. Only when you were almost crying, did he finally remove his hand from your abused cunt.

“Now that-,” Sam stated, grinning while he stood. “-is how you make a girl come.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever Birdbrain.” You don’t have any strength to look at Tony as he speaks. “Give her a couple minutes before whoever’s next.”

Whatever the conversation was between them (you couldn’t hear it over the buzzing in your brain), it was much too short to your liking. The few minutes Tony gave you only felt like a few seconds before Bucky was getting up.

“Guess I’ll take a crack at it,” he announced, rolling his head from side to side.

“No one says “take a crack at it” anymore, old man.”

“Keep talking when your in last place, Sam,” Bucky quipped, however, his tone was still light.

You felt a metal hand on your hip before you were rolled over onto your back, now facing Bucky while your eyes pleaded with him.

“Please dont,” you croaked.

Bucky just scoffed, kneeling down between your legs and wrapping both arms around your thighs as he pulled you closer.

“Tony?” His hot breath fanned your pussy as he spoke and you inhaled sharply at the feeling.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Stark said.

Bucky wasted no time the moment the words left Tony’s mouth. He started by licking up from your hole to clit over and over, the lazy stripes already driving you wild. Letting go of one of your thighs to bring his flesh hand to your pussy, he pulled the hood of your clit back, pausing his licking to blow on your engorged bud.

“Such a pretty pussy, doll,” he murmured before turning his head around and speaking louder. “You guys seeing this?” 

He moved his head out of the way to showcase your glistening folds. A couple groans from the men on the couches had you trying to close your legs, but Bucky’s grip was like steel (especially considering his hand was metal).

“Wasting time Buck,” Steve commented and Bucky just rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I can still beat Sam and have time left over,” he scoffed.

Bucky directed his attention back to your folds, this time, diving in right away. He still had the hood of your clit pulled back as he encased the bud with his lips causing you to writhe at the intense sensation. And yet, you were held down with practically no effort as he methodically played with you. Each time he groaned against you, you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, and by the time he started sucking on your clit, you were wrecked. Your hand found home in his brown locks of hair while he quickly moved his tongue back and forward on your sensitive nub that was trapped in the vacuum of his mouth. The coil inside you wound tighter and tighter, and suddenly, while Bucky began shaking his head from side to side, it snapped. Your clit pulsed rapidly while encased in his hot mouth, and you screamed, legs locking around his head while your hand held his head in place. He worked you while you rode out your orgasm on his face until you could barely move.

Bucky got up from his knees, grinning down at you, so weak, you couldn’t muster it in you to glare back.

“Now I think I really fucked the brat out of you,” he said. “What was that?” He cupped his ear. “Did I hear a thank you sir?”

“Thank you, sir,” you whimpered weakly.

You were so fucked out, all the next events were but a blur.

Thor had feasted between your thighs the same as Bucky but was more sloppy, although, your body seemed to love ‘sloppy’. His tongue was constantly lashing and worming around your clit, the wet muscle accompanied by lewd slurping sounds, and in record time, Thor’s suckling and licking had you tensing and building up so much that your orgasm felt like a waterfall crashing over your body.

Steve was just as methodical and precise as Bucky, also pumping his fingers slowly in and out of your pussy. He was sweetly slow, dragging out your pleasure to the point where you were begging him to come. His warm tongue dragged across your sensitive cunt, while another hand reached up to grab a breast and pinch a nipple. You felt like your body was on fire. It wasn’t until Steve had inserted a thumb into your ass that he finally allowed your body sweet sweet release.

Your head span as finally collapsing on Tony’s floor, listening to the muffled voices above you.

You didn’t even register Stark’s words as he announced Thor had won and Steve had come in last. You barely even heard Steve’s defense that he was just enjoying himself too much in the moment.

Although ten-minutes later you had a somewhat sense of clarity, after hearing their conversation, you wished you were just unconscious. Even better, dead.

“I’m tellin’ you man, I made her squirt. She definitely came the hardest with me.” Sam’s voice rang.

“Dude- she was literally grinding against my face and holding me in a headlock with her legs,” Bucky argued.

“I literally made the brat beg to cum,” Steve inserted.

“I’d say that by bringing her to release the fastest, it was most intense with me,” Thor declared, victoriously.

You were on the brink of tears as they talked about you. Until another voice cut into the room. A female voice.

“What do you boys think you’re doing?”

It was Natasha. Your head jolted up as you felt a glimmer of hope surge through you.

That glimmer of hope was quickly extinguished at her next words.

“Not inviting me to the boy’s party?” she scolded. “You think a girl might beat you by a landslide?”

Nat squatted down next to you, running a soft hand on your cheek.

“Well you’re right. I’ll beat Thor’s record and cut it in half.”

She began unbuttoning her pants.

“And I’ll do it while riding her face.”

[randombtsprincessa]

Belladonna || 1

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader, Past Lovers! AU

Words: 3k

Genre: Heavy Angst, Smut 

Rating: This chapter is General up to NC-17, rating might go up as story progresses.

Summary: Your life has finally settled into a routine; keeping you far away from your home, friends, family and the man who broke your heart. Coming back home means facing him again and maybe you’re not as over him as you’d like to believe.

Warnings: (in-chap) Heavy Angst, mentions of a toxic relationship.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The idol used as the Muse for the lead is not in anyway affiliated with the work. The characterisation is a work of mine. Any asks or accusations against the work on the grounds of inability to keep fact and fiction seperate on the part of the reader, will not be entertained. 

A/N: Its’s rather sad that the disclaimer has to be added but eh, it’s a bad time for tumblr writing fandom and people are being very mean. Brush past that if you’re sane. Anyway, a very very huge hug to my best friends for screaming at me about this fic. A bunch of thanks to @softyoongiionly​ for hyping up the chapter! And a round of applause for @kithtaehyung​ for beta-ing the chappie!!

Happy Birthday Yoonfie baby!!

It was cold inside the cabin, the air conditioner turned extreme while the outer windows fogged with condensation. Your head leaned against the pane, the thudding and rolling of the train wheels under you jarring your brain in your skull as you watched the world outside flash speedily by.

Trees, small gravelly roads, sign boards, sparse traffic here and there…and then rolling grasslands before the pattern repeated itself…redundant, normal, and soothing.

You sighed, a puff of white exhale clouding around your mouth while your eyes drifted back to the interior of the cabin. This sight was a lot more different, with different people having different lives, problems, worries…

A woman tended to her sniffling child, holding a handkerchief up to the girl’s running nose…a man spoke into his phone; harried and rushed as he more likely than not slurred a few words together…

It was when your eyes caught a girl laying her head on the boy next to hers’ shoulder, smiling serenely when the boy ran a hand through her locks that you turned around again, eyes back to watching the redundant.

There was nothing soothing about people watching.

Or maybe there was and it required some form of inner peace to find the charm in it.

You didn’t have that sort of inner peace; neither did you have the patience for it.

People watching for people like you was anxiety inducing…and you really didn’t want that burden on your shoulders right now. There would be enough anxiety waiting for you when you set your foot home.

“____?”

You turned coffee worn, blue light sunken eyes towards your boss, standing over you with his files clutched to his chest nervously. The sight was enough to make you chuckle. For all his genius, Kim Namjoon was just a giant fumbling through life. It made him a stellar boss and manager, but it also made him a wonderful friend.

“Yes?”

“I just got your email for the leave application.”

You blinked up at your boss expectantly, face calm and relaxed. Of course, your brain had shot straight to overdrive, praying, wishing, and begging for a miracle that would allow your boss to refute the application.

A large red denied would do nothing to hamper your mood; at least it would stamp down the very intrusive tendril of panic that was already gripping around you.

You waited until Namjoon was done rustling inside of the folder in the crook of his arm. The white print out was placed in front of you, green letterings spelling ACCEPTED AND FORWARDED, scrawled on the top screaming obscenities at you.

You looked back at Namjoon.

“We don’t have a lot of work load right now plus you look dead on your feet. Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?”

You very nearly grimaced at his words.

He was sincere, of course he was. Namjoon didn’t have a conniving bone in his body, but right now, you couldn’t help but resent his kindness, his mushy brain that railed against exploiting his workers. You hated the fact that he looked into your eyes and saw past the stubborn energy and caught onto the exhausted person underneath.

So you offered him a tiny smile, just in case the flicker of your crushing despair was made clear onto your traitor face.

“Thank you, Namjoon.”

He placed a heavy, tight hand on your shoulder as he passed by.

“Have a nice vacation, ____.”

Usually, someone who was away from home, working their ass off, making something of themselves away from their family should ideally jump at the chance to take a vacation, to go home and see the family and friends they had.

Ideally…one should be happy at the prospect of going home.

So many times, however, situations were rarely ideal. Sometimes there were complications, convolutions, obstacles…

Sometimes people had no love in their hearts; sometimes there was nothing at all.

Sometimes, there was dread.

Right then, in the rattling carriage that carried you to the small town which had spawned your existence, you could sense the dread carving a pit into your stomach, roiling and curling like a wretched cat kept too long from sunshine.

There was no relief for the upcoming long sleepy times, no joy at the prospect of home food…of warm embraces…

There was just that god awful dread.

You hoped you wouldn’t throw up; though there was nothing in your stomach to hurl but for the coffee you’d pumped in you from the station café. You couldn’t keep anything else down.

You had upped and left your home right after the end of your college life. Many things had come to an end with that particular period in your life. You had scampered and scrapped together enough courage to exit the hole that still robbed you of breath sometimes when you twisted and turned in your bed – sleepless.

You had left shattered pieces of your heart in your whirling escape of the town, the space that you had now the only light that shone at the end of the tunnel back then. Your family and friends, as supportive as they were, had never truly understood why you had nearly clawed away from that world.

To them, it had been the job opportunity.

And it was understandable…

The town, as well-knit and seemingly lovable as it was, was used to being self sufficient. The people there didn’t ever need to leave, they knew everything, helped everyone, and any problem one of them had was a problem for them all.

You couldn’t fit yourself in that mold anymore.

You had left – knowingly cut yourself away from that community.

Your friends had remained; some spreading out of course but they were still as much a part of that bunch as they had been when born.

You didn’t expect anything from them.

Not when he was also still a part of that community.

Your mind jerked away moments before conjuring his likeness behind your eyes, the ticket collector bearing down to save you from the torture of it.

Your fingers fumbled with the pockets of your bag, slipping the stub into his patient hands as he clipped and handed it back to you.

You accepted it meekly, folding into yourself again, eyes drifting back out the window and firmly tugging your thoughts away from your past. You had to prepare for what was going to come now.

Nobody expected you to come, you knew. It was a surprise to you yourself that you had found enough guts in you to pull this off.

Namjoon’s words came back to you.

Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?

You weren’t going to hold out much hope for that.

You found a cab almost immediately out of the station, the many cruisers that stood to one side eager to free you of your luggage and take you off to your destination. You gave your address shakily, hoping this particular driver wasn’t one of the townspeople. Luckily, the man didn’t bat an eye, instead nodding and quietly switching on the radio for the drive over.

You leaned back into the seats, arms grasping the strap of your handbag tight as the moment to face your family and close ones drew closer.

Objectively, your little hometown was very pretty.

Trees lined the major roads, small clusters of buildings interjecting the greenery to spread business to the good people. And as tense as you were, your mind couldn’t help but pick out the differences.

Boutiques were newer and flashier, the diners you remembered now expanded to add cafes or banquets. The town hall was an imposing as ever, only a new marble fountain added to the square in front of it now.

By the time your cab entered the section of the suburbs where you had grown up; your back was straight, neatly aligned with the window. If you had been dreading the homecoming before, it was all gone; replaced with an odd form of resignation.

You lugged your bags out and paid the taxi driver with cold hands, winding bloodless fingers around the handles to pull them up the drive way towards your open door.

The house was full, open and bustling – a normal day for when your mother threw one of her success parties. She was one of the famous people in the town, her career as a landscaper and home decorator for big names making her in turn the man source of revenue and attraction for the town.

It had been both a source of pride and embarrassment to you in your teens. Mainly because your mother insisted on these parties each and every time one of her projects turned out well. But then, as you grew you realized that this is why your mother was important to the town.

She was more than half the money earned and the social events of the calendar.

Inside the house, small clusters of people gathered here and there, in the living room, the kitchen, the dining space. You stood at the door; feeling more exposed than you ever had here but moved in quickly, lest one of them notice you in the doorway and start blabbering about it.

Of course, the three big bags that you carried more than made up for it.

One of the groups of women nearest you turned their heads in synchrony, taking double looks as you passed by before the murmurs began.

How could you tell?

Well because, gossip usually lowers ones’ volume. And each group you passed stopped conversing before muttering arose in its place.

You cut across the living room to your father’s den. Here, there were all men, hands cupping your dad’s cut glasses of scotch but thankfully no one mentioned you dumping your bags right by the door and walking back out.

Your hands fiddled with your scarf, wondering where your family was in their own party but you were loathing asking one of the guests.

Even as you convinced yourself to walk over to one of the ladies by the window sofa, a figure walked past opposite you, a handful of trays of cocktail bites and glasses on them. You jumped, watching as the woman placed the trays on the coffee table, smiling at the people before she turned…and spotted you.

Your sister’s eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering before quick steps led her closer to you.

“____?” She asked, almost checking if it really was you.

You smiled wryly, hand still tangled with your scarf. “Hi Sana, yes it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” She threw herself at you, arms wrapping around your neck to draw you into a warm and nearly forgotten embrace. You stood in her hold for a few seconds, managing to pat her back before she was pulling away, eyes glistening at you.

“Oh god, don’t cry,” you whispered immediately.

“Shut up, these are happy tears; my little sister is home! Hang on; I’ll go get Mom and Dad.” She turned on her heel before you got another word out, mouth parted as she disappeared into the house.

You stood rooted to the spot, hoping against hope she brought your dad first. You just knew your mom would start bawling and then all the neighbors and her social circle would start hovering like the pack of vultures you had the low opinion of them as.

It was unfair and very rude of you, yes, but you couldn’t help but remember half the rumors and gossip that had come from none other than these same people when you had first left. Sympathy or well wishes from them now, would only make you more disgusted.

It had made you keep your own mother at a distance, seeing as she was probably the source of their information.

Thankfully, you knew you could always depend on your dad.

A no-nonsense and rational person, he was only guilty of being extremely in love with your mother. You knew he only bore these parties for her sake and of course your sister, Sana’s.

So when you saw Sana come back, with both your parents you still heaved a relived sigh.

“____, my god, you’re really here.” Your mother was the second to hug you, your father following.

“We didn’t think you would make it this year too.” Your dad said.

“Yeah, it’s been hectic…a lot…for the last couple years.” You repeated the same lies you’d been spouting for two years now. You had spoken the same lines into your phone, in your emails over months and it came much easier while speaking them to their faces.

“Very hectic for a well-established firm, ____, you could’ve asked for a leave, I’m sure office policy allows that.” Your dad said in that logical baritone that rendered most arguments moot.

“That is actually how I got away, Namjoon insisted.” You said; not completely untrue.

“Well, I for one am very happy my little girl is back to me. You’ll stay for a bit, won’t you?” Your mother stroked your hair back from your face.

You smiled tightly at her, thinking of the weeks Namjoon had generously piled on you out of respect for your relentless working for two years under him.

“Yes.”

You caught Sana try and push in, her eyes seeking yours even as your mother squealed in jubilation. “Perfect, we are going to have to throw you a coming home party.”

“Y/M/N,” Your father said lightly. “We are at a party now.”

“Yes, but ____ deserves her own night.” Sana put in before grabbing your hand. “Come on,” she dragged you away from your debating parents.

“Not a lot has changed I guess.” You spoke drily.

“Yeah, maybe, listen I think we need to –”

Sana was cut off by a gasp of your name, your head swiveling to see Park Jimin, one of your old friends gaping at you.

It was a whirlwind of reunions and emotions as people gathered around you, astonished that you’d come back without any mention of it.

“Yeah, I – I guess, it’s a surprise.” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, going over the faces of your childhood to college friends.

Many things had changed while you were gone, true – to the town, to the people and even to your friends but one thing you were glad to see…they hadn’t cut you away completely. Yes, your interaction with them had been reduced to the odd Facebook and Twitter chats and the occasional emails and texts here and there but they still looked…happy to see you.

Park Jimin and his twin, Jihyo had been the first ones to come to you, Jihyo hugging you tightly enough to make you wince. She had been your roommate in college; she probably knew you as well as Sana did – maybe even better. She had introduced you to Jimin and the three of you had been inseparable throughout your college life.

Jimin had apparently been friends with one of your childhood friends, Kim Taehyung.

You were not so shocked to know he was now married, living next door to you with his wife, Nayeon. Sweet and charming, she hugged you like her husband.

“It’s almost like I already know you,” she explained to your unsure smile, “they talk about you so much.”

“Ugh, I’m already worried.” You cringed.

“They were all nice things don’t worry. We had to put down a couple old gossips down here and there, though.” Jimin came to defend his friend.

You glanced at them curiously.

“Oh yeah, it was just old gossipy hags around the town, don’t worry about it. People moved on from you pretty soon to a Miss Mina. She’s a spinster, which apparently is a sin.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “She lives a few houses from us.”

“Also, I think your mom told that friend of hers, Dahyun to stop people gossiping about you. They were task-forcing the town. It was fun to watch.” Jimin added.

A sudden wave of affection for your mother rose up in you, before being quelled by the reminder that she must have done it to protect her own image.

You shrugged then, picking up a glass from one of the trays to take a sip of your mother’s homemade cocktail – fruity and simple on your tongue.

“Enough about me, what about you all?” you pointed at Tae and Nayeon, “Married with a house,” your finger moved to Jimin, “Sports coach,” then Jihyo, “Choreographer,” you stopped.

“What about the others, any news?”

“Not really, we are the ones who still live here you know. Plus, no offense to your mom, but I doubt folks would leave their city jobs to come to her parties.” Jihyo muttered; exchanging a glance of solidarity with you before her eyes widened suddenly.

“What?” you asked.

Her eyes quickly went to her brother, Jimin’s eyes a little more slow on the uptake but they widened too…before repeating the process – albeit comically – with Taehyung.

“What is wrong with you all?” You asked again.

“Um, ____, did Sana tell you -?”

Jimin paused nervously, refusing to look at you as he fiddled with the rim of his glass.

“Tell me what?”

He looked helplessly at his sister. Jihyo hesitated before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Listen, ____, while you were gone” -

She broke off, her eyes darting over your shoulder and stuttering to a stop.

In that moment of her silence, the conversation behind you was clearer.

Or rather, one particular voice was…

Low and deep – soft morning grumbles came back to you – muffled conversations from behind you made you turn around.

It was a voice you would know anywhere. It was one that haunted your dreams, one that crested the ache in your heart on particularly bad days…

It was one you would know beyond a void.

Min Yoongi stood directly across from you, in your home, undoing his coat and removing his scarf, conversing lowly with your sister.

Something she quickly muttered to him had him freezing, long nimble fingers stopping in the unknotting of his scarf.

And then as if he could feel your gaze, could feel your presence, the reason why you left everything behind looked straight up at you, eyes locking across a room…just like the day you had first seen him.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 109

Happy Spooptober, everyone!

I’ve been planning since about February to do another camping trip this month, for the season.  I was super fortunately back in May to have some stories left over to share, that I didn’t have the opportunity for last time.  So thanks go to @catolicabuena for your submission, and to @dierotenixe for the PERFECT character to add to this chapter.

As always, thanks go to @zazen-rabbit, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog for being the beta readers and cheering section I need every day, no matter what.

As a reward for the clear, focused argument Charly gave in favor of Shalt-kri’i/Ekomari hostilities being over cultural misunderstandings earned her a reward of her choice.  I don’t know what Arthur expected, but part of me expected her to ask him something like throwing the class a party, showing up to teach class in sparkly footie-pajamas.  Her response, instead, left me convinced there was a conspiracy between her, Conor, and other mysterious parties to keep track of the Terran holidays.

“It’s almost Halloween,” she immediately pointed out. 

How? How did she say that so certainly? I wasn’t even sure it was Friday.

Oblivious to my thoughts, she tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Today’s Tuesday - “ See!? “Which means Halloween is just under two weeks away? I think?”

“Your guess is probably better than mine,” I admitted. “Between the extra long days, artificial light, and consistent temperatures, I have no idea anymore.”

“She’s spot on,” Tyche confirmed, without even looking up.  We were sitting in my living room, digging into ice cream while all the guys were at work.

“How - “ I sputtered. “How are y’all keeping track of this?”

Tyche rolled her eyes, while Charly snagged my wrist and shook it. When my datapad popped up, she gave me the deadest stare I had ever seen on her face. “There is a calendar on this thing. You do know that, right?”

My face and neck burned so hot, I was surprised my hair didn’t catch on fire. “I keep it on the daily view, so I can see all my appointments.”

“Which is why she has me and Alistair,” my sister pointed out lazily before scooping up another spoonful of dessert. “By the way, this pumpkin ice cream is pretty good.”

I nodded, having had a scoop earlier.  We had been trying every flavor we could think of.  

True to form, Charly’s was a screaming purple that honestly scared me, sprinkled with gummy bears and some kind of acid-green syrup. Every time she leaned my direction, I couldn’t repress the flinch. “Pumpkin is a good point. We should go camping again, and carve pumpkins.”

I could almost feel my ears pick up. “You mean like jack-o-lanterns?”

“Duhhhhh,” she scooped up a large enough bite to convince me it probably wasn’t toxic. “I know we can’t have open flames in the lab, but we can still put emitters in them.”

“Where are we even going to get pumpkins in time?” Neither woman would look at me. “What did y’all do?”  I sighed.

“We did nothing,” Tyche insisted, chin jutting out stubbornly. “Now Sam….”

An audible smack sounded when I dropped my forehead to my palm. “How big?”

Charly gave me the widest puppy-dog eyes she could. “How big are what?”

“The pumpkins…”

“Pretty big,” Tyche smirked. “I don’t think I’ve seen even you carve any this big, honestly.”

I wasn’t a professional carver by any means, or even competitive, but I had done some pretty big ones in the past, so I was a little excited to see these.

 A couple nights later, sure enough, several of us were carrying our camping gear to the now-less-eerie clearing where our previous camping trip had taken place.  Even though Sam had decided not to join us, we were greeted by the sight of six enormous pumpkins around the edges of the space.  In awe, I approached one and ran my hand over it - I actually had to lift my hand, seeing as the thing came nearly up to my hips. “How long has he been growing these?” I asked.

“Just over three months?” Conor huffed, setting down our gear. “The things love our best guess of Von’s environment, turns out.”

“No shit,” I whispered before clearing my throat. “I don’t think we have large enough containers for the guts and everything in these.”  The deal with camping in the Lab was that we had to take out everything brought in with or for us.  While Grey agreed to allow the jack-o-lanterns to decorate the area for the next two weeks - ostensibly as a study of decomposition - if we couldn’t remove the waste from the pumpkins, we couldn’t carve them.

Something that felt like plastic beaned me in the face. While I rubbed my face, I glanced down at my feet where whatever-it-was fell. 

Maverick started apologizing before I could figure out what I was looking at. “Oh god, Sophia, I’m sorry! I meant to toss that on top of the pumpkin!”

With a joking scowl, I glanced at the vegetable between us. “How bad does your aim have to be to miss that thing?”

“Are you okay?”

“Only if you tell me what just hit me in the forehead?”  I tried leaning over to pick them up again, but Conor beat me to it.

“They’re composting bags,” Maverick admitted. “I brought them just in case. They were the only thing large enough and portable enough to at least get in here.”

“It looks like a roll of garbage bags,” Simon pointed out skeptically, poking the roll of pseudo-plastic Conor was holding.

Conor smiled and shrugged. “Pretty similar.”

Soon, we were spreading out and setting up our gear in  a familiar pattern. Just as the last bit of gear was stuffed into the tents or spread on the ground, Antoine’s head snapped up and over his shoulder. “Does anyone else hear that?”

Silence fell as we strained our ears to listen.  The others started looking around, searching for something, before I was able to actually catch what they were hearing.  Finally, I was able to hear what sounded like music, but it was in a minor key that sent shivers up my spine.  It was another minute or so before I could make out words drifting through the trees. 

“ -  a year, and then

A few weeks, doubled, and tripled again,

A fire was struck by a warrior’s band

Meant for food, warmth, and a place to stand”

“What the - “ Tyche started wandering toward the music, clearly expecting us to follow. “It’s beautiful, but so sad.”

Reluctantly, I followed, reminding myself that this was a lab, that the faerie ring we were standing in was manufactured as a prank.

 “Yet one bough too many was placed inside

The flames roared to life as they screamed and cried

Tore down the trees as the warriors fled

And only ceased by the river’s bed

 The warriors slain, charred skulls and bone

Have remained in the forest for years, alone

Yet a magic imbued in their ashen remains

That entered a child who hid in great pain”

 I glanced over my shoulder, and saw about half our group behind me, including - “Arthur, why do you have your sword?”

“Because it’s steel,” he shrugged, like that actually answered my question. “Which means it has iron in it, and we’re in space, so any fucked up space-fae might not know the difference.”

 “In order to warn those who may stay

In the trees embrace, and walk away

The girl reads the thoughts of those who stand

On the ashes of noses, bowels, and hands

 She sends them away with a haunted scream

That tears into souls with a power unseen

No one has entered who has not fled

Only to drown in the river’s bed”

 Because that line was reassuring as I realized we were getting toward the artificial lake. Totally want to hear about drowning in a river bed, on a Halloween camping trip, sang by a creepy voice I didn’t recognize.  A voice that we were steadily getting closer to, no less.

 “For what place is safer from fire and flame

Than the rushing of water, a power untamed

The danger evaded, the human is saved

As their lungs are filled with a liquid depraved

 To step foot in the forest is to invite death

For though the child has drawn their last breath…”

 Tyche came to a sudden stop, both hands abruptly on her hips.  She glanced back at me, one eyebrow arched, and twitched her head toward the lake.  The voice was incredibly close to us at this point, so I peeked past her as carefully as I could.

Even in the low light of the BioLab during simulated-night, I saw a bright gleam of silver trailing through the water, interrupted only by a thick, red-gold cable draped halfway down.

“Their soul remains as though chained to the ground,” Nixe smiled with her eyes as she wound the song to a close. “And they’ll tear you apart until you are drowned.”

“Very funny,” Tyche half-scolded. “You did that on purpose.”

A lazy flick of her tail accompanied a cool glance over the surface of the water. “Perhaps,” she replied calmly. “And perhaps not. I often swim at night. And I like to sing, it’s in my nature.”

“But a song about ghosts, and vengeance, and drowning?”

“I’m a siren, Administrator Reid.” A bright flash of teeth that my brain told me were sharper than I knew they were. “All of my songs are about love, and revenge, and how else do sirens take revenge?” Another lazy splash. “I can’t exactly burn people at a pyre.”

“I loved it!” Charly spoke up from behind me. “We’re camping for Halloween, so it was perfect!” I had to admit, at least to myself, that she had a point.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one. From over my shoulder, I heard Arthur murmur “Siren or not, you’re insane.” A brief pause. “But I love the spooky music…”

I couldn’t be certain that she heard the comment, but Nixe’s eyes suddenly snapped over my shoulder to the side where it sounded like Arthur was standing. “Iron has no effect on me, Educator,” she stated firmly, flicking her tail to make a point. “But I mean none of you any harm, so please put the blade away. One near-death experience is plenty, thank you.”

A metallic rasp told me Arthur had acquiesced. “Apologies, I didn’t know it was you.”

“Were it anyone else, you still wouldn’t need that sword.” She tilted her head. “I would be there first.”

“Okay!” I interrupted, trying to break the tension. “Nixe, we’re camping and carving pumpkins.  Did you want to join us?”

Another smile, this one less terrifying. “I appreciate the invitation, but I have plans tonight.  I do apologize for interrupting your evening.”

“We were just surprised,” Charly explained. “But it was beautiful and perfect and thank you!”

With a nod, Nixe turned her body toward the artificial lake. “I am glad the song was appreciated.  Good night.”

<< Prev   Masterlist   Next >>

[w-ngs]

jan21

hello 2021! you did not get off on a good start. let’s try and be a little better, okay?

i didn’t read much this month (and probably won’t be for a long while because of school), but it was a wild month. well, you’ll see.

***

crooked kingdom, leigh bardugo — oh my god???? i completely forgot that i read this before i left for school and almost didn’t include it in my monthly wrap-up????? how dare i forget this masterpiece.

it was great. i loved it. i think overall, i preferred 6oc because heist stories are my guilty pleasure. but romance-wise... let’s just say kaz and inej have made it to my top 10 ships. but also i read through this so fast because i had to finish it before i left that half the story is kinda just not in my brain lololol

the most intriguing part of the entire story was the anti-wraith. her character kind of came out of nowhere, and i’m not really sure she had much of a purpose than being someone who could physically match inej. i guess she was also anti in the sense that she had no respect, just ruthlessness, which is the opposite of inej and what she stands for. but i don’t know if the anti-wraith was significant enough of a character to really be considered a foil.

i don’t really give spoiler warnings because hardly anyone reads these other than myself lolol but big spoiler ahead. skip the next paragraph if you don’t want to know. cuz i accidentally spoiled it for myself before reading and i kinda ruined it for myself lmfao.

poor matthias. he was there, and then he was gone. i feel terrible for nina. they were finally on the same page, and then he had to act all saint-like and trigger some idiot into killing him. and matthias finally came to terms with what he’d been taught and what he was trying to teach himself (#charactergrowth), so he wrapped things up neatly for himself before the bye-bye. but nina, she finally got her guy on her side and they were supposed to change the world together. sigh.

and of course, we got kaz. he’s my favorite. how could he not be, with his trauma and desire to overcome it but not letting it define him and still maintaining that evil genius act he’s so good at. it definitely hit harder in this story, the extent of his trauma. it made him more real, too. both sides of him coexist, and one could not exist without the other. he’s crazy, in nearly all senses of the word. also crazy in love, the mfing idiot. ugh, i love vulnerable kaz. i love what inej brings out in him, how she knows just how hard to push without driving him over the edge. also i saw a tiktok (this app is gonna come up a lot more in the next few reviews fsjdsdfkjdf) with a photo of them kissing with a towel between their mouths because he can’t touch her but he desperately wants to and what a perfect solution is that their... bathroom scene had me holding my breath. or at least taking very shallow breaths. it was intense. so intimate, i felt like i shouldn’t even have been there. ugh, the cute little babies. uwuwuwuwuwu

one last note. leigh bardugo is a very good writer, plot and characters and all. everything flowed much more smoothly in this book, and once again i was impressed by the detail provided. you go girl. i can’t wait to see the tv series development.

a 10/10.

***

the shadows between us, tricia levenseller — literally what did i read lmaooo. this is my first tiktok book recommendation. and it. was. boring. boring characters that didn’t make much sense. boring plot. i skimmed it after the first 50 pages cause it was so boring. that’s it bye.

a 3/10.

***

manacled, senlinyu — um. wow. i literally......... even hours after finishing it my brain is still ridiculously scrambled. edit: it’s about a month later and sometimes random scenes and images still pop in my head for no reason and then i feel all twisted inside again. i love it.

so, this is not a published book but a dramione fanfiction on ao3. i don’t read fanfics that often anymore, mainly because i’d rather read other things, not because i don’t like them. but i found this one because a tiktok that showed the illustrations in the story and i was so blown away by the fact someone would illustrate an entire fanfic that i just had to read it. and i have no regrets. it’s kinda long and a biiit wordy for me at times but holy shit that hit like a mother trucker. and i haven’t read dramione in ages, not since... years. so this really hit different.

the illustrations are beautiful. they’re what dragged me into the story in the first place, so, of course they are. but i’d literally spend minutes looking at every detail in amazement at how perfectly the emotions were captured and the lighting casting the perfect shadows and just… everything. i know nothing about drawing but my eyes were truly blessed.

i think integrating the handmaid’s tale with the hp world was ingenious. i would never have expected that. and wow. the relationship between the two, it’s…….. i can barely put it in words in my mind, and it’s even harder to articulate on paper. complex, but at the same time not, simply the desire for the other to stay alive. timeless. destructive. their only defense from the harsh reality of their situation. desperation at its most desperate, their one and only survival method. depressing. it’s so depressing. i was so sad, the angst almost too much at times.

the flashbacks were insanely intense. and i thought the handmaid section was bad. it was awful to read. i could hardly bear it, it was so dark at times i didn’t know how either of them got through it all. i mean, they barely did. the near-death scares, the constant need to create a blank slate within yourself in order to not overwhelm yourself with crushing emotions… wartime sometimes has a tendency to sound romantic, but theirs wasn’t anything near romantic, and i appreciate that the author chose to be very real about it.

at the beginning, and in the middle when we went through the flashbacks, i was afraid the love would be toxic. and, well, it kind of was at some points. but in a time like that and a situation like theirs, it would be hard to not have a toxic relationship. i was glad that in the end theirs was a good love, the kind that sustained and kept them alive and got them through until the very end, because it was what they needed from each other. and, of course, my favorite part of it all was draco’s ceaseless possessiveness that only seemed to grow, never fade. i love simpy men.

they deserve each other. i was afraid at the end they wouldn’t, that one of them would die—that draco would die because hermione basically did once already for him, so he would have to “return the favor”—also she was pregnant so there was no way she’d be the one to die—idk many theories. but at the end i’m so glad they both ended up alive. after everything, they deserved it.

i did nothing for two days straight but read this book. except eat. and barely sleep. and i have no regrets.

a 9/10.

***

bloodlines, richelle mead — dang. i used to be obsessed with vampire academy when i was in middle school. i even watched the terrible movie that released because of it. and now i can’t believe i really thought that was peak literature lmfaooooo

i remember adrian being such a funny and interesting character that i picked up bloodlines to see if it was gonna be as good as i remembered it was. i was disappointed. it was just... well let’s just say there wasn’t enough to get me invested in the characters as i used to be. i think what it was is that adrian’s characterization was so weak. he wasn’t as ~quirky~ as i remembered him to be haha. the plot was also way too slow-paced, and a little too easy to guess. maybe if i was 12 again i’d be going crazy over it like i used to. but i’m not a pre-teen anymore and my brain craves stuff along the lines of manacled—destruction, death, angst that wants me to pull my own heart out to stop it from hurting.

a 5/10.

[uncultureddirt]

Waiting (3/3) - Mark Lee fic

~REQUESTED~

“I have to do something about this.”

PART ONE ||| PART TWO

He thumbed through the book recklessly, quickly passing over the dog-eared pages and sighing helplessly. Mark told himself that he didn’t know why he felt so frantic to get this project done. It was Friday night; he knew he had the entire weekend. He really wasn’t worried about finishing it. No, his mind was whirling for another reason. Subconsciously, he was denying how he felt and attempted to avoid confronting his emotions again. He tried to direct his energy into something productive to distract himself, which ended up being his English project.

But as he held the book in his hands and stared at the words before him, his distraction began to fail. He was reading the words, but not understanding them. All the letters and blobs of ink seemed to collide, come together at the edges, bounce off each other, and nothing registered in his head. 

And then his plan collapsed altogether, because his mind replayed the concluding moments of class that day anyways. 

After a long class of writer’s block something finally came to him; an idea had finally danced across his brain. He began writing frantically as the fear of this thought escaping him had presented itself and there wasn’t much time left before the dismissal bell would ring. But mid-sentence he was stopped, the thought was gone. He forgot it altogether. It wasn’t because he had a poor memory; he was just easily distracted, and something more important had taken hold of his attention. 

Mark felt your eyes on the side of his face. He felt your stare. He noticed you stopped writing and out of the corner of his eye became aware of your gaze shifting to him. He fought with himself to ignore it, and act like he didn’t notice. But, truthfully, he enjoyed being the center of your thoughts for a while; he wanted to prolong that experience. The downfall of that wonderful feeling was that he couldn’t focus. He imagined you looking at him, thought about what you were thinking, and played over hypothetical situations in his head where he would turn to you and apologize, telling you what he was truly thinking. His mind was swimming far from the once relevant sentences on his page; he had drifted too far from the land and was lost completely at sea. Lost completely in the thought of you. It was funny; he appeared not to care, or not to notice, when the reality was entirely different. 

He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present, back to his room with Romeo and Juliet held tightly in his grasp. 

~

You walked into Darten’s class on Monday morning silently and wondered if Mark finished his section of the presentation. 

You were a bit of a control freak when it came to group projects, always making sure everything is beyond perfect, but this time you did not have the slightest clue what Mark prepared. Maybe he didn’t prepare anything at all. 

You saw him walk in and sit down, fumbling through a stack of index cards. You saw his mouth moving as he flipped through them. You could tell he was nervous. 

‘I guess he did prepare something.’ 

You sat back and watched as the presentation before you commenced. You couldn’t recall what Luke and Jamie had talked about. For all you knew, the whole thing could have been in French. You spent the time somewhere else. Your mind drifted to laying on the back of your car. You swore you could feel the breeze dragging over your skin, and as you stared up you were met with a clear sky, the sun bathing what felt like the whole universe. You turned to your left to see his face, Mark’s face, and he was smiling. He was happy. He placed a hand on your cheek and looked to your mouth. You felt your stomach swirl. A light feeling had consumed you and held you hostage. You wanted to stay there. Remain in your hazy daydream. You wanted it to be real. But as Mark began to bring his face to yours, you were brought back to the classroom.  

The sound of clapping filled your ears. You looked around, seeing your classmates begin to applaud as Luke and Jamie took their seats. You were confused for a moment, then utterly disappointed. You looked across at Mark, hunched over his cards.

That’s all it ever was. A daydream.

“Y/n, Mark.” Mr. Darten called out. 

You looked across the room and met eyes with Mark.  

Smiling softly, you nodded. ‘Maybe that would chill him out.’

You and Mark made your way to the front of the room. You stood in front of Mr. Darten’s computer and began typing, searching through his shared documents to find your presentation. 

‘Sorry if this is basic Darten’

‘Found it,’ you said internally. You had named the document, and you thought it was a national treasure, ‘Wow I’m funny.’

“Y/n stop laughing at yourself and start presenting please,” Mr. Darten said, teasing you from the back of the room. He had his feet on the desk in front of him and his signature mug held tightly in his hand. 

You moved next to the board, opposite of Mark. He looked flushed as he bent the index cards in his hand, trying to outlet his nerves. You noticed. 

You were first to talk, so you began, “Hello guys, today we will be talking about probably the most recognized Shakespeare work, Romeo and Juliet. Our goal was not to bore you with the plot, nor revisit ideas you’ve heard every time the names Romeo and Juliet exited your mouth,” you made eye contact with Darten and raised your eyebrows as if to say, ‘told you so’. 

You tapped the title slide to bring you the actual presentation. You weren’t the best public speaker, but you felt good this time. Confidence had washed over you and you spoke neatly, with clear inflection and perfect articulation. You began delivering your findings passionately, walking through thematic elements and symbols in a way you hoped was different and appealing to listeners. 

You reached your last slide and stumbled on your words slightly as you remembered the boy standing next to you. He would be speaking in a few short seconds. Your content was running out, and it was time for you to pass over the stage. You clicked the next slide; it turned into a photo of a girl sitting in front of a window. There were no words, just the picture. You turned your head slightly. You had no idea what he prepared. 

He glanced at the white cards in his hands, and then he tucked them into his pocket. “I chose to look at characters, and uh, how their external actions, remarks, even physical appearances correlated to what they were, uh, feeling on the inside.”

He began speaking about the photo on the screen and did so for the next seven pictures. He analyzed each photo gently, touching upon the subject’s face and aligning it with their internal thoughts and emotions. Each picture was to represent a character in the story, and it all matched elegantly. The words flowing from his mouth were colorful and potent; they filled the room in a way you’ve never experienced. Who was this boy? Since when was he so knowledgeable? Since when did he understand feelings so well?

He tapped the screen once more and two photos came up, side by side. It was a boy laying in a field, his face touched by the sun. He seemed calm and relaxed. Peace was flowing within him. Next to the first image was the same photo, but it was dark. The sky was cloudless, but absent of stars. The boy lay beneath the blank sky, and he no longer looked tranquil. Without sound or expression, a coldness was conveyed through the picture; a sadness stained the screen. 

You looked at Mark as he spoke. You no longer felt like you were a part of this project, you were an observer, a member in the crowd. 

“Romeo’s a very interesting character to me. Upon my initial reading I um, I was confused why he was so dramatic. He seemed fragile and conflicted. In Shakespeare’s time, men were never traditionally portrayed as weak, let alone their cause of weakness being inflicted by a woman. It was very different, and I couldn’t understand why he was so, uh, soft I guess?” Everyone laughed quietly at Mark’s word choice, and you did too. He started again, “Romeo was experiencing love and heartbreak, two things that can’t really be seen, but can be strongly felt. The only way to properly express this was to completely defy the norm and break the toxic male archetype. By showing a male acting this way, Shakespeare properly depicts the power love has on an individual.”

You weren’t sure if you were dreaming. You couldn’t tell if your brain had drifted helplessly back into your hazy daydream. Mark, who couldn’t say ‘hi’ to you now, was standing before a group of people and describing the depths of love? You shifted your weight, moving back and forth as you listened to him speak. His words were entering your ear softly, and then a string of words, so familiar to you, exited his lips. 

 “I mean love does make you act all strange.”

Your eyes widened and you stared at the floor in front of you. It all was coming back, the day at Sunbelt’s. Your conversation in the parking lot, the way he laughed nervously when he talked, and how the wind pushed his messy hair back. Every detail about that day came back with those words. 

“Your thoughts can switch very easily. You can move from a place that feels warm and inviting, to one that feels familiar, but changed and cold, like these photos. The boy isn’t changing his location, it’s simply the time of day; the passing of time can transform a place and transform feelings. A confident boy like Romeo, faced with love and heartbreak, acts strange. He fumbles his words, he spends his days thinking of her, he can’t seem to focus because she, uh, Juliet, is uh all he sees,” he paused for a moment and you looked over, noticing his face grow red. Slowly you realized it wasn’t the book he was talking about. After recollecting his thoughts, he concluded the presentation and smiled softly. 

 “I mean love does make you act all strange.”

His words replayed themselves once again. 

You looked back at Darten who nodded approvingly. You knew you guys killed it, but you had no clue how. Your dialogue was limited for weeks, but you guessed that Mark’s mind wasn’t as absent as it appeared. He must have been thinking about it a lot, and it showed. You were happy for him. You wanted to tell him, but you didn’t know how. 

‘Holy shit, Mark. What in the hell just happened?’ you thought to yourself as you went to sit down. You sat at your desk antsy to talk to him, to ask him questions, to say sorry for being so short with him. You wanted to say so much, but you didn’t know where to start. 

~

“Hey!” you shouted at Mark. You were walking to your car after class and you noticed him quite a bit ahead of you. You didn’t mean to yell, it just escaped you, impulsively. 

He turned around, confused at first, but once seeing you he looked slightly surprised. 

“Hey!” he called back. 

You furrowed your brows as he stood frozen, “I don’t like yelling, can you come here?” Your voice grew louder as a car passed by you, concealing your words. 

“What?” he shouted back.

“Mark come here!” you yelled. 

He mouthed an ‘oh’ before lightly jogging towards you. 

Once you two stood face to face, it became too real. All the words you had inside vanished. You felt your heartbeat quicken as you stared at his face, your ears swirling with the words from his presentation. You didn’t know why, but you were slightly out of breath, “Um, where did all that come from? Like all that you said?” 

He pulled the index cards he was flipping through before and handed them to you. 

You felt frustrated, “No like where in your head did all that come-?”

He interrupted, “Go to the one that says ‘last’.”

You flipped through the cards, confused as to whether he really understood what you were asking. Your eyes gazed over his messy, boyish handwriting until you saw the card he was talking about. Every card preceding it was packed with markings and covered in highlighter, but this one was almost empty. Your eyes scanned over the words slowly.

‘Talk about your feelings.’

You looked up at him. His face was serious, maybe even partially embarrassed. Mark kept his eyes fixed on the gravel. His heart was racing, you just had no idea. You opened your mouth to say something, but his voice beat your words. 

“It’s what I wanted to say to you. I guess it was harder to say to your face than to the class,” he stopped and looked at you, "because uh, they think I’m talking about something fictional written on a page by some old guy, something I don’t feel for them. It’s hard when you’re looking at me. I guess I was waiting for the right time, and then the right time became an excuse because I was scared. I started to forget what I was even waiting for.”

You felt your heart burning a hole through your chest. He was only confusing to you because he was confused with himself. He was wrapped up in a feeling he didn’t know how to feel, nor how to express. 

You felt words exiting your mouth; you weren’t sure who was controlling them, your brain suddenly worked separately from your body. “Your presentation was perfect. I secretly hoped it wasn’t about the book,” he laughed and looked down, “and it’s all okay. I like you Mark, even when we didn’t talk. I still liked you.” 

He bit the inside of his mouth to stop from smiling, “I like you too.” 

The air was still after he said it, but not in an awkward way. You both were basking in the words that still sat in the air. Words that you both waited for so long to hear. There existed some sort of comfort within all the silence, within the faded sounds of cars leaving the parking lot, within the cloudy voices of kids walking out of the school, within the small space between you and Mark.

The End.  

[beeblackburn]

Pretender Reads A Little Hatred, Part I, Chapter Two

Forwards and charging onward! Goes without saying spoilers ahead for the entirety of The First Law works beyond the keep reading. Read at your own risk.

Chapter Title: Where the Fight’s Hottest Point-of-View: Leo dan Brock

In battle, Leo’s father used to say, a man discovers who he truly is.

The Northmen were already turning to run as his horse crashed into them with a thrilling jolt.

He smashed one across the back of the helmet with the full force of the charge and ripped his head half off.

He snarled as he swung to the other side. A glimpse of a gawping face before his axe split it open, blood spraying in black streaks.

.. And what Leo is is a Northman in Union clothes. If we’re less generous with him, he’s Leeroy Jenkins. He’s, with respect to FlynnLevy on TheFirstLaw’s reddit, Leoroy Jenkins!!

A lance shattered, a shard flying into Leo’s helmet with an echoing clang as he wrenched away. The world was a flickering slit of twisted faces, glinting steel, heaving bodies, half seen through the slot in his visor. Screams of men and mounts and metal mashed into one thought-crushing din.

With a title like Where the Fight’s Hottest, we were going to get a fight. This chapter’s first half’s all fight and blood, and, man, there’s that crispness and visceral impact of Abercrombie’s battle prose. I make no bones in saying that he’s hands-down one of the genre’s bests, as far as I’ve read. Abercrombie just knows how to make a blow crunch and chop off a limb and make you feel it, be part of the moment. 

And this is a great example of it. Just read how claustrophobic this feels, how much only Leo can register hearing because his helmet’s visor won’t let him register any sight beyond the minute glints and flickers of battle. It’s mostly hearing, because Leo himself can’t see past his slit and Abercrombie appreciates a good tightness of voice. All sound and fury in a storm of violence.

A horse swerved in front of him. Riderless, stirrups flapping. Ritter’s horse. He could tell by the yellow saddlecloth. A spear stabbed at him, jolting the shield on his arm, rocking him in his saddle. The point screeched down his armoured thigh.

Riderless, huh. My god, is Ritter another battle-idiot? At least Leo stays on his horse to slaughter the Northmen! Aside from that, let me draw more attention to the way Abercrombie breaks down his sentence structure: short sentences and multiple commas, each carrying their immediate action, because the battlefield’s not a place where long stretches of thought can occur without a man trying to bash your brains in.

He gripped the reins in his shield-hand as his mount bucked and snorted, face locked in an aching smile, flailing wildly with his axe on one side, then the other. He beat mindlessly at a shield with a black wolf painted on it, kicked at a man and sent him staggering back, then Barniva’s sword flashed as it took his arm off.

Stour Nightfall’s standard. So, does this mean Rikke and Leo are going to meet, considering Uffrith won’t predispose her to Stour and Stour won’t be sweetened by Leo’s loving ax to his men’s heads?

He saw Whitewater Jin swinging his mace, red hair tangled across gritted teeth.

1. Whitewater? So Jin’s born near the Whiteflow? Hm, I wonder if it’s a Name like the other Named Men or just a geographical name. I’m hedging on the latter, but it’s an interesting thought. 2. Red hair, huh. I’m not crazy enough to assume that’s Vitari’s Cas (why would he be up North, anyway?) but, given this is a story where the next generation will be focused on, I’m definitely looking carefully for redheads.

He pointed at Stour Nightfall’s standard with his axe, black wolf streaming in the wind. He howled, roared, throat hoarse. No one could hear him with his visor down. No one could’ve heard him if it had been up. He hardly knew what he was saying. He flailed furiously at the milling bodies instead.

Someone clutched at his leg. Curly hair. Freckles. Looked bloody terrified. Everyone did. Didn’t seem to have a weapon. Maybe surrendering. Leo smashed Freckles on the top of the head with the rim of his shield, gave his horse the spurs and trampled him into the mud.

This was no place for good intentions. No place for tedious subtleties or boring counter-arguments. None of his mother’s carping on patience and caution. Everything was beautifully simple.

In battle, a man discovers who he truly is, and Leo was the hero he’d always dreamed of being.

Well! Leo’s certainly no Jezal. He’s a far more wild and battle-hungry shit, and, in some ways, that comparison both elevates and damns Leo. He’s certainly got the glory-hounding that Jezal had, except backed with some legit battlefield competence right away, but at the same time, there’s something terribly more... hidebound about Leo in a way that Jezal wasn’t at the start. Jezal was a noble ignorant pissant because he just wholesale bought into his station and the assumptions that came with it until reality beat him down later.

Leo’s actively killing people and just loving it. Loving being a hero, loving being a leveller of men, loving the simplicity of battlefield politics, one ax swing at a time.

It makes him a more specific character, writing-wise, compared to the more vacuous nature of Jezal at the start, but my god. Leo is no thinking man here. If anything, the remark of heroes and all this battle fury in him makes me think there’s quite a bit of Gorst in Leo before my first thought that he was the next generation’s Jezal (something that I think holds sort of true, Jezal was also an unthinking dumbfuck who thought he was the best ever).

Time will tell if Leo grows past that...

He swung again but his axe felt strange. The blade had flown off, left him holding a bloody stick. He dropped it, dragged out his battle steel, buzzing fingers clumsy in his gauntlet, hilt greasy from the thickening rain. He realised the man he’d been hitting was dead. He’d fallen against the fence, so it looked as if he was standing but there was black pulp hanging out of his broken skull, so that was that.

Hah! I’ve always wondered how axes blades can stay on, despite so much abrasion and blows. I’m glad to see this, for a change. And, man, those beautiful short sections in-between commas, so many quick beats of actions that don’t linger in the moment.

Also, sheesh, Leo. Was there a thought you ever had before you swung.

The standard-bearer was a huge man with desperate eyes and blood in his beard, still holding high the flag of the black wolf. Leo spurred right at him, blocked axe with shield, caught him with a sword-cut that screeched over his cheek guard and opened a great gash across his face, carved half his nose off. He tottered back and Whitewater Jin crushed the man’s helmet with his mace, blood squirting from under the rim. Leo kicked him over, tearing the standard from his limp hand as he fell. He thrust it up, laughing, gurgling, half-choking on his own spit then laughing again, his axe’s loop still stuck around his wrist so the broken haft clattered against his helmet.

A fight’s some messy shit, guys. It ain’t pretty, and Abercrombie gets across that ugliness while writing some really entertaining, quick-paced, in-the-moment battles, another reason why his fight scenes whip.

Leo ached all over: thighs from gripping his horse, shoulders from swinging his axe, hands from gripping the reins. The very soles of his feet throbbed from the effort. His chest heaved, breath booming in his helmet, damp, and hot, and tasting of salt. Might’ve bit his tongue somewhere. He fumbled with the buckle under his chin, finally tore the damn thing free. His skull burst with the noise, turned from fury to delight. The noise of victory.

No one gets out unscathed or without being downright exhausted. When you’re down with where the fight’s hottest, you end up paying prices for being in the middle of war’s forges, hot and spent and full of fire in your throat and body all over. Though, Leo shoves the costs for the victory in the moment...

He almost fell from his horse, clambered up onto the wall. Something was soft under his gauntleted hand. A Northman’s corpse, a broken spear sticking from his back. All he felt was giddy joy.

No corpses, no glory, after all. Might as well regret the peelings from a carrot. Someone was helping him up, giving him a steadying hand. Jurand. Always there when he needed him. Leo stood tall, the joyful faces of his men all turned towards him.

Ugh. He’s worse than Jezal in some ways! Just sees all the glory, the honor, and the victory and doesn’t mind all the dead he made to get it. Admittedly, they were enemies, and their goal’s likely to kill him (Northmen, am I right), but man, Leo’s really got a toxic attitude to violence and the comparison to Gorst only grows stronger from here, given Gorst’s attitude towards loving violence, no matter the butchered meat.

And it certainly makes him a succinct counterpoint to Rikke, who, at least, felt bad for killing someone. That’s practically a unicorn in the Circle of the World. Leo? He’s all for the violence, unthinking violence. He fits comfortably into the typical fabric of the Circle of the World far more. And I don’t think Leo’s coming out of this better than Rikke, personal liking-wise, despite Rikke having tropes I was never predisposed to.

“The Young Lion!” roared Glaward, climbing up beside him and clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, making him wobble. Jurand stretched out his arms to catch him, but he didn’t fall. “Leo dan Brock!” Soon they were all shouting his name, singing it like a prayer, chanting it like a magic word, stabbing their glittering weapons at the spitting sky.

“Leo! Leo! Leo!”

In battle, a man discovers who he truly is.

He felt drunk. He felt on fire. He felt like a king. He felt like a god. This was what he was made for!

1. Welp. There’s that old familiar Jezal arrogance. Leo and Jezal definitely share some character DNA by both being vainglorious nobles wanting to prove themselves for want of glory and honor. 2. Leo dan Brock, huh? That just means we might get Finree and Hal down the road!! Hell yeah, Finree was one of the best parts of The Heroes! I’ll definitely take more of her!

In the lady governor’s tent, they were fighting a different kind of war. A war of patient study and careful calculation, of weighed odds and furrowed brows, of lines of supply and an awful lot of maps. A kind of war Leo frankly hadn’t the patience for.

A problem with every battle: you got to attend to the stuff in-between the battles, the sheer contrast between the simplicity of a battlefield, the quick beats of action sentences, and the longer sentence structures Abercrombie uses here, full of adjectives and attention to the minutiae, and making it clear Leo’s no longer part of a battle and has enough space of mind to deride all the complications of life past a fight.

The glow of victory had been dampened by the stiffening rain on the long trudge up from the valley, doused further by the niggling pain from a dozen cuts and bruises, and was almost entirely smothered by the cool stare his mother gave him as Leo pushed through the flap with Jurand and Whitewater Jin at his back.

She was in the midst of talking to a knight herald. Ridiculously tall, he had to stoop respectfully to attend to her.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, FINREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

I really love the implication that Finree commands enough respect that others have to meet her eye-level instead of her having to crane up at others. She’s done well for herself in the years to come, I’m so proud!

“We don’t need the king’s bloody help!” snapped Leo as soon as the flap dropped. “We can beat Black Calder’s dogs!” His voice sounded oddly weak in the tent, deadened by wet cloth. It didn’t carry anywhere near so nicely as it had on the battlefield.

“Huh.” His mother planted her fists on the table and frowned down at her maps. By the dead, sometimes he thought she loved those maps more than him. “If we are to fight the king’s battles, we should expect the king’s help.”

“You should’ve seen them run!” Damn it, but Leo had been so sure of himself a few moments ago. He could charge a line of Carls and never falter, but a woman with a long neck and greying hair leached all the courage out of him. “They broke before we even got to them! We took a few dozen prisoners …” He glanced towards Jurand, but he was giving Leo that doubtful look now, the one he used when he didn’t approve, the one he’d given him before the charge. “And the farm’s back in our hands … and …”

His mother let him stammer into silence before she glanced at his friends. “My thanks, Jurand. I’m sure you did your best to talk him out of it. And you, Whitewater. My son couldn’t ask for better friends or I for braver warriors.”

Snrrrk. With good reason, Leo. On a serious note, there’s definitely an efficiency of characterization here and you can tell the dynamic between Finree and Leo here, just from this: the sensible mother and the charging-bull heir. A part of me wants to pity Leo because if Black Dow couldn’t budge Finree after she was kidnapped, what chance do his brash and immature words have?

But, at the same time, wait, that fight was just for a farm? I’m getting ASoIaF flashbacks here, and none that suggest anything good of Leo’s sense of priorities. Not that I expected better of his decision-making, but yeesh.

Jin slapped a heavy hand down on Leo’s shoulder. “It was Leo who led the—”

“You can go.”

Jin scratched sheepishly at his beard, showing a lot less warrior’s mettle than he had down in the valley. Jurand gave Leo the slightest apologetic wince. “Of course, Lady Finree.” And they slunk from the tent, leaving Leo to fiddle weakly with the fringe of his captured standard.

Look on the bright side, Leo, at least you’re not the only one who can be cowed by your mother.

His mother let the withering silence stretch a moment longer before she passed judgement. "You bloody fool."

(Winces) I saw that coming too, and Abercrombie’s got a gift for the sharp dialogue. The succinct one-liner.

“Great leaders go where the fight’s hottest!” But he knew he sounded like the heroes in the badly written storybooks he used to love.

Ah, that good ol’ shading of lesser fantasies. And, yes, Leo, you are kind of a dumb, brash hero from a lesser fantasy conceptually, but that’s the thing: Abercrombie’s not gonna let you be comfortable being just that. Finree’s there to make sure of that, narrative-wise, if nothing else. That’s part of why I read Abercrombie: watching him deconstruct, contort, and twist these character archetypes and poking them with sharp steel from all angles.

“You know who else you find where the fight’s hottest?” asked his mother. “Dead men. We both know you’re not a fool, Leo. For whose benefit are you pretending to be one?” She shook her head wearily. “I should never have let your father send you to live with the Dogman. All you learned in Uffrith was rashness, bad songs and a childish admiration for murderers. I should have sent you to Adua instead. I doubt your singing would be any better but at least you might have learned some subtlety.”

Damn, Finree, no pulling punches, I see! All that frankly needs to be said, but I get why Leo feels his courage turn to jelly before the dominant personality Finree is to him.

Also, this does explain why Leo’s the way he is because there is no way Finree wouldn’t have cut down Leo’s growing ego to manageable size, had he still been with her. Though, whoa. Leo was sent to the Dogman?

That. That means Leo and Rikke probably already know each other. Um. Damn, I can’t see them getting along, not with the way Leo is now, but, at the same time, Finree’s already pressed against the walls, military-wise, and Uffrith’s scorched to ash. They might not have a choice, but to work together...

“Won what? A worthless farm in a worthless valley? That was little more than a scouting party, and now the enemy will guess our strength.” She gave a bitter snort as she turned back to her maps. “Or the lack of it.”

“I captured a standard.” It seemed a pitiful thing now he really looked at it, though, clumsily stitched, the pole closer to a branch than a flagstaff. How could he have thought Stour Nightfall himself might ride beneath it? 

Yup, ASoIaF flashbacks. Except, where GRRM doesn’t really sell out the better parts of the actors there, Abercrombie here is just pitiless with how much Leo gets dragged for rashness and being drunk on songs and war.

“Listen to what you’re told. Learn from those who know better. Be brave, by all means, but don’t be rash. Above all, don’t get yourself bloody killed! You’ve always known exactly how to please me, Leo, but you choose to please yourself.”

Careful, Finree, you might drag your son away from him climbing Mt. Ego. We don’t want him exercising sensible judgment, god forbid. Admittedly, Finree sounds pretty “my way or the highway,” but, at the same time, she’s hardly wrong and knows her son well enough to cut him down to size.

"You can’t understand! You’re not …” He waved an impatient hand, failing, as always, to quite find the right words. “A man,” he finished lamely.

She raised one brow. “Had I been confused on that point, it was put beyond doubt when I pushed you out of my womb. Have you any notion how much you weighed as a baby? Spend two days shitting an anvil and we’ll talk again.”

SNAP. My god, Finree’s just a treasure trove of cutting quips here. Though, good to know, at least, Leo knew that dismissive remark was lame as shit. Wish he stopped short of saying it though. Masculine egos getting chopped down makes my day, especially since Leo’s basically mini-Gorst now.

“Like your friend Ritter looked up to you?”

Leo was caught out by the memory of that riderless horse clattering past. He realised he hadn’t seen Ritter’s face among his friends when they celebrated. Realised he hadn’t even thought about that until now.

“He knew the risks,” he croaked, suddenly choked with worry. “He chose to fight. He was proud to fight!”

“He was. Because you have that fire in you that inspires men to follow. Your father had it, too. But with that gift comes responsibility. Men put their lives in your hands.”

Had? Is Hal retired or something? He shouldn’t be that old. Maybe he got a war disability and can’t perform his military duties anymore? Where is he?

And, the thing is, Leo, you’re in charge of them. You can’t keep Leoroy Jenkins-ing all over the place and pretend it’s going to work out because...

His mother’s face had softened. That made him more worried than ever. “He’s with the dead, Leo.” There was a long, strange silence, and outside the wind blew up and made the canvas of the tent flap and whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

... There’s a price to charging into a fight. Always.

No corpses, no glory. He sank onto a folding field chair, captured standard clattering to the ground.

Another facet of what I love about Abercrombie’s writing? These re-contextualized echoes, always there to pound the POV in the head about how their earlier selves were so naive and foolish until reality snapped its jaws against them. It’s a cleverness of structure I love.

“He has a wife …” Leo remembered the wedding. What the hell was her name? Bit of a weak chin. The groom had looked prettier. The happy couple had danced, badly, and Whitewater Jin had bellowed in Northern that he hoped for her sake Ritter fucked better than he danced. Leo had laughed so hard he was nearly sick. He didn’t feel like laughing now. Being sick, yes. “By the dead … he has a child.”

"I will write to them.”

“What good will a letter do?’ He felt the stinging of tears at the back of his nose. ‘I’ll give them my house! In Ostenhorm!”

“Are you sure?”

“Why do I need a house? I spend all my time in the saddle.”

Okay, I’ll stop ragging on Leo and give him this: he’s got a far bigger heart than Jezal did at the beginning. He’s a bit of a shit to his friends unintentionally, but once he sees he’s fucked-up horrendously with his friend, he’ll give generously for it. Too little, too late, but at the same time, that’s far more than Jezal ever did back at his start. It makes for a nice dichotomy of Leo being a savage, battle-hungry warrior and too much heart. Leo’s that very thoughtless friend who overcompensates when he fucks up and can’t argue out of it.

"You have it in you to be a great man, but you cannot let yourself be swept off by whatever emotion blows your way. Battles may sometimes be won by the brave, but wars are always won by the clever. Do you understand?”

Intense Bayaz vibes here.

“Good. Give orders to leave the farm and pull back towards the west before Stour Nightfall arrives in force.”

“But if we fall back … Ritter died for nothing. If we fall back, how will that look?”

She stood. “Like womanly weakness and indecision, I hope. Then perhaps the rash heads on the Northmen’s side will prevail and pursue us with manly smiles on their manly faces, and when the king’s soldiers finally arrive, we’ll cut them to pieces on ground of our choosing.”

Ha ha, clever, clever, playing onto their prejudices in order to cut them down. However, I don’t think Black Calder, if I’m right on my theory with him as Stour’s father, will play that easily to that game, given he knows a thing or two about playing weak and docile for advantage...

Also, this reminds me of this saying from Stolicus:

“The ground must be a general’s best friend, or it becomes his worst enemy.”

So, just good military sense, or has Finree read Stolicus? I don’t remember her having read any military geniuses by name in The Heroes, but since she’s taking charge, I imagine she had to brush up, if being Kroy’s daughter didn’t already get her used to a military chain of command and tactics.

She had her soft voice, now. “It was rash, it was reckless, but it was brave, and … for better or worse, men do look up to a certain kind of man. I won’t deny we all need something to cheer for. You gave Stour Nightfall a bloody nose, and great warriors are quick to anger, and angry men make mistakes.” She pressed something into his limp hand. The standard with Nightfall’s wolf on it. “Your father would have been proud of your courage, Leo. Now make me proud of your judgement.” 

... Wow, I am slow. Hal’s dead, isn’t he. Why else would she say this if Hal could just tell Leo himself somewhere else? Damn. That’s kind of a blow, considering Hal was a pretty decent guy, and this world sorely needs more decent people. How did he die? I suppose illness or was he called out for the Union-Styria War? 

Though, this does explain a lot, like why people defer to Finreee on face value, considering Leo’s probably... wait a second. (consults the timeline) He... should be, at the very least, over eighteen, if not twenty. Why isn’t he already Lord Governor? 

It’s interesting that Finree uses a similar hot/cold method of parenting as she did with being a wife to Hal. Withhold a certain amount of affection so, when she actually does let it out overtly, it has more power over the beloved one. Also, Finree, that might be true, but the men who worship Leo probably aren’t worth that much beyond a sword hand. I guess, when you’re short of men, you want anyone who can lift a sword though. (sighs)

He trudged to the tent flap, shoulders drooping under armour that felt three times heavier than when he arrived. Ritter was gone, and never coming back, and had left his weak-chinned wife weeping at the fireside. Killed by his own loyalty, and Leo’s vanity, and Leo’s carelessness, and Leo’s arrogance.

“By the dead.” He tried to rub the tears away with the back of his hand but couldn’t do it with his gauntlets on. He used the hem of the captured standard instead.

In battle, a man discovers who he truly is.

And you’ve discovered you’re a softer heart than you realize, Leo. That’s not really a bad thing. Just means the world hasn’t beaten you down enough yet. At least you know that now...

“Nothing I didn’t deserve.” But Leo managed to smile a little, too. Just for the sake of morale. No one could deny they all needed something to cheer for.

It grew louder as he raised that rag of a standard, and Antaup swaggered forwards, throwing up his arms for more noise. One of the men, no doubt drunk already, dragged down his trousers and showed his bare arse to the North, to widespread approval. Then he fell over, to widespread laughter. Glaward and Barniva caught Leo and bundled him high into the air on their shoulders while Jurand planted his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes.

The rain had slackened off and the sun shone on polished armour, and sharpened blades, and smiling faces.

It was hard not to feel much better. 

... Oh, you little shit. Ritter just disappeared from your mind, didn’t he, didn’t he. Were the aesthetics of idealized military really enough to prevent Ritter from entering deeper into your thick skull? Well, I suppose Leo really does share character DNA with Jezal. Two steps forward, one step back! 

Like, Leo is definitely an incisive riff on the Original Trilogy because he’s both a lot better and worse than Jezal back then: way more open heart and earnest, less cowardice, classist contempt, and petty humiliating of others than Jezal... also more toxic masculinity and unthinking recklessness that’d make a bull say “whoa, my fellow bull, slow down.”

My god, I’d bang Leo’s head against a wall, if I knew it’d do more than break the wall.

As a conclusion, the first half of this chapter is a treat for the battle-lovers, I’ve went over how Abercrombie’s prose really sinks into you and lets you feel the weight and blow of every swing and crunch, but it’s the second half that shines all the more for me: the dampening cold after the fight’s heat, the messiness after the battle and it makes for a symmetrical structure, compared to Rikke’s first, which was good, but if we’re talking purely chapter craft, I might be more included to say this one’s better.

Though, I will say, I’m not warming to Leo the same way I did with Rikke, even despite how many tropes in her I was ready to be opposed to. Leo’s not a vain cock in the way of Jezal, character-wise. He’s close, but he’s a specific kind of meathead that I just shake my head at. He’s definitely a stronger-written character and he’s not that shitty a guy by comparison, but ugh.

Leoroy Jenkins.

PART I

Chapter One: Blessings and Curses Chapter Two: Where the Fight’s Hottest Chapter Three: Guilt Is a Luxury Chapter Four: Keeping Score Chapter Five:  A Little Public Hanging Chapter Six: The Breakers Chapter Seven: The Answer to Your Tears Chapter Eight: Young Heroes Chapter Nine: The Moment

[royal-writer]

A Garden Flourishes

Yes a lot of this was absolutely inspired by prompts and ideas from Ammy I won’t deny that. But not all of it. Good it feels so good to write Essamon again.

Essätha twisted her mouth up and down with confusion. The paper in her hands crinkled as she looked over the sketchy design; turning it over to the left and the right. The drawing looked like any other fungus to her. A bulbous cape shape that drooped low with a thick steam.

“I don’t see what the big deal about this thing is. It looks like any mushroom to me.”

To her left, Amon cleared his throat softly. Her eyes shifted over, watching as he adjusted the rolls of his sleeves. Her eyes naturally drifted over up to his face, finding the neutral restraint in his expression. His level-headed gaze made sweeping gestures over the ground, and up to her where the sunlight struck his features perfectly.

“Addison’s blood are saprophyte that have a lot of health benefits, actually,” explained the nobleman. “The scribble the man offered us is hardly accurate; on average they have very flat caps and more girth on the stalk. Their tops will be a brilliant red tapering into a pinkish hue, with a brownish-pink shoot.”

She gave a quiet snort in response. “Yeah, I heard him going on about the potion. I’m just hoping I pick the right kind of red mushroom, and not something poisonous.”

A brief glimmer of hesitation came upon the Briarton Lord. His lips formed a thin line as he fidgeted with the edges of his cloak.

“If you’re feeling uncertain, perhaps let me take a look before grabbing something. The only known specimen similar would be a fly agaric, but their caps are speckled with white spores that is distinctly different. Still there are toxic or hallucinogenic properties to many fungus, and if you feel at all uneasy, I might be able to identify… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Realizing that she was staring with her mouth slightly agape, Essätha snapped her jaw shut and offered a polite grin. She drank in the vision of his flustered appearance. A deep burgundy color arising over his face and the rounded edges of his black pupils as he shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze.

Trying to withhold her giggles, Essie murmured gently, “I just find it fascinating how broad your mind is. You seem to know a little about everything. I appreciate the offer, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

Amon gave a gruff note in response. His hand twisted into his collar, loosening it from his throat as he muttered: “I wasn’t always considered so gifted.”

“Well no one is born with intelligence, you earn it. Besides,” her own cheeks grew rosy as she swallowed nervously, “I think you’re wonderful- I m-mean it’s wonderful or I suppose, you’d have to be wonderful to, to know so much uhm… It’s an endearing quality, that’s all.”

A lope-sided grin greeted her. A splash of unease settled into a steady appearance of warmth and calm. He tentatively reached out to her, placing a hand upon one of hers that held to the edges of the parchment.

“I appreciate that, Essätha, thank you. You’re not disappointed to be working mushroom hunting with a half-wit un-masculine scholar?”

“Firstly, you are no half-wit scholar. Secondly, no I am not. I consider myself very lucky. I get both a brilliant huntsman and well-read man at my side. I’ll be both safe, and in good conversation. Thirdly, if anyone were to taunt your manhood simply for understanding plant-life, they should be ashamed. I think it’s a both a useful trait to avoid deadly plant-life and adorable, because you can distinguish specimens and grow your own gardens and crops. I’m fairly sure I got the best partner in this search. I appreciate the brawn as much as the brain.”

The rough calluses on Amon’s hand folded gently over her own. There was such care in his grasp that her heart leaped and stammered against his touch. His thumb pattered a swirl against the back of her hand. It stalled her of air; looking up into the magnificent gallant traits of the handsome Lord’s complex. Her fingers craved to stroke through the depths of his black hair and comb the sections that fell over his his face to better gaze upon all the imperial shaping of his features.

A twinkle glistened in his gaze from the dappled sunlight. Much of his blush began to dissipate, leaving only a wash of faded red behind.

“You think too high of me. A man with too much time and his head stuck in volumes of books is not so impressive.”

“Or perhaps you think too low of yourself,” she countered with a cocky smile.

When he passed her a doubtful glimpse, the Yuan-ti added on firmly: “Not all choose to learn, or to better their understanding of the world and its horizons, but you have. You work your mind, as you do your body. Both are important. I think it says a lot that you tended to feeding all portions of yourself. It rounds out your characters. You use both to win the battle. You use both to care for and look after the best outcomes for those you protect. Learning might not seem impressive, but what you do with it can be. It’s amazing the knowledge you hold. You’re very brilliant m’lord; I’d trust your insight, instinct, and intelligence any day with great appreciation.”

Chuckling quietly, Amon brought her hand closer. His words came through a soft exhale as he praised: “It doesn’t matter what anyone says to counteract you, does it? You always have a thousand well-placed phrases to dispute them.”

“There is no dispute, m’lord, I am simply correct and I know this.”

“You most certainly are, Essie,” he agreed, guiding her hand further up. “My apologies for doubting you.”

If her heart had fluttered before, it absolutely danced now. A feather-light kiss brushed against her knuckles as Amon bowed his head in an apologetic display. She swallowed; finding it difficult against the hammering of her pulse beating so rapidly through her veins.

As her hand was released, Essie brought it nervously back to the paper. She began nervously folding the creased edges together once more. It was a poor attempt to hide her shakiness. The very least it did was give her an excuse not to stare directly towards him. How just a small peek at him made her head dizzy, her knees weak and wanting to collapse. A light feeling entered her chest and by the gods, the angel’s sang a chore about him.

Men should not be allowed to be so pretty. Amon most certainly should not be allowed so many miraculous qualities. It made being around him nearly impossible. Where did the wonderful qualities about him end? He was sharp, inventive, kind, hard-working, trustworthy, fearless, observant, funny, charming…

“By any chance, did you ever hear the tale of how Addison’s blood came to be?”

Tucking the folded scrap into her pocket, Essätha gave a shake of her head as she dared to glance back up to the gentleman.

“I’m afraid I do not, m’lord Amon.”

For all the amusement that had been in his appearance when he’d kissed upon her hand, the slate had been wiped clean. He stared at her for a few breathes, his gaze searching. A fraction of awe began to dawn on him, and the nobleman appeared to shake it down before he answered.

“They say that when the world was new, Pelor aided in the creation of humans. He created a woman so lovely, the gods themselves fought over her. Pelor, too, became deeply infatuated with her. A feud began the likes of which had never existed. Those on the planet and those in the heavens; men and women were entranced by the pure essence of this woman’s divine beauty.”

“Eventually, the gods tried to ascend her into their heavenly realm,” he continued; his voice dropping a few levels. “However Vecna; a wizard who obtained godhood, snapped his fingers and destroyed her. Some will swear he was jealous, some stories say he despised her looks, and other tales are written to say it was just his madman quality to try burning the joy of all people to the ground; and if it meant taking the life of the maiden to cause all the suffer, so he would do so.”

“And with her death,” Amon sighed, “the woman’s… remains fell upon the earth; painting the earth crimson with her blood and what was left of her body. From the woman; Addison’s, remains the earth fed upon her and birthed a new plant. The mushroom has a healing property either in honor of her, or because of her for she was as beautiful on the inside, as she was on the out.”

As Amon grew silent, she stared past him with her nose slightly wrinkled. All of that, just to gain a woman’s favor? What did she think of all of this? What a burden, she must have thought to have carried when not just one, but multiple realms, deities, and people were hurtling themselves into fights for your hand.

“That sounds… awful. That poor woman.”

“It is a shame,” he agreed softly. “I’m sure she had much more to give the world than just her appearance.”

She nodded slowly in response, looking away. This whole experience now felt ten times more dreadful. If one were to believe such a legend, they were harvesting a plant that was in creation to a completely unnecessary and horrible death. It made the simple looking mushroom seem both sinister and depressing now.

Essätha hoped the woman; if she was real, could forgive them using the fungus born from her unfortunate demise to create healing elixirs.

“Gods must have grown sightless, wiser in their control, or must have a pact not to meddle in mortal’s lives anymore,” Amon whispered, stepping past her. “I couldn’t imagine the endless battles they’d have in your name for a chance at your hand. It would be a catastrophe… A simple man wouldn’t stand a chance.”

A startled rush of head bloomed suddenly in her face. With a choking sound for air, she studied Amon’s backside as he continued walking ahead without her, checking the leaf litter and along tree bases as he went.

By the gods, what did he mean? Was that some sort of admittance? A joke? A compliment but in mean’s of other men? What was the point of that?

What if she didn’t want a god, she wanted to argue. What if I don’t want a god? What if all she wanted; all I wanted, was one good, honest, ‘simple’ man? One with a good heart. One that, one could hope, would have plenty of love to share…

Her lips shook, and she reached up to nervously fiddle with the bangs hanging to frame the outline shape of her face. Unwilling to voice her questions, she rummaged low on the banks of the forest floor, hoping for signs of a reddish growth.

From the corner of her eye, she could make out Amon kneeling low. His head turned slightly in her direction and he stared. No shame, no remorse, just a quiet unspoken interest lingering in the air.

She turned her face away to continue half-haphazardly studying the undergrowth, before risking her face bursting into flames beneath the handsome Lord’s hopeful regard of longing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was frustrating just to be sitting around all day. There was nothing ‘relaxing’ about wasting time at some patrician’s estate, waiting around to see if the cultists would strike again. They should be out there doing something. With as many people as they had in their group, at least half of them could be out trying to gather evidence and reports on the whereabouts of these villains while the other half sat on their areses.

The only good that came out of all of this was that she was given the opportunity to be alone. With a lush cultivation of plant-life out back, Essätha found plenty of space to wander in silence.

There were rows of colorful buds and blooms. Flowers that reached for the sky, and others slunk low. Various textures and designs, so many things to fill the flowerbeds to the point they spilled into the walkway. It was a spacious acre of greenery, with no shrub or plant standing over four or five feet. It seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to hide well out here from sight, but it didn’t let her guard drop.

She greeted the agriculturists with a respectful ‘hello’ as she passed, eyeing them a bit while they worked. Her mind held to each face best she could. She hoped none of these people to be the help of some nasty creed, but thought best to try memorizing their features just in case.

A few rows away, Essie spotted the estate owner’s young son admiring the garden. His upturned face lit with joy as he caught her eye, waving an ecstatic hand her way.

The sun’s rays played off his cream garments and cool umber skintone wonderfully. As Essätha turned the corners of the garden, she made note not of his shining eyes staring with anticipation upon her, but upon the shadowy figure hidden close to the princely boy’s side.

“Miss Essätha-”

“Master Lucas,” she greeted with a nod and smile. Her head inclined slightly to the right, glancing over the figure that stood beside him.

The other nobleman was slightly hunkered down, examining the plants. His face showed some distaste for the root system of one of the small hedges, which appeared to be entangled and popping out of the soil as another nearby brush tried to ensnare it’s position in the ground. The slightest breeze ruffled the sections of hair that hung lower against his face, which he pushed aside with an absent hand.

Her smile shone in her words as Essätha mouthed quietly, “M’lord Amon.”

The nobleman grunted, leaning back on his heels as he raised a squinty-eyed look up to her.

“Ah. Yes, your compatriot Amon thought it would be wise to have some sort of security if I was to leave the building.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Essätha stated with a smile. “Lord Amon’s simply looking out for you. Wouldn’t want someone snatching you up now, would we?”

As she spoke, the Yuan-ti woman stepped around the duke. The man appeared to deflate to the lack of recognition offered his way as she offered out a hand to Amon. He offered a broad smile in response, grasping upon her palm with a gentle grip as she helped hoist him back up.

“Thank you, Essätha.”

“My pleasure, m’lord.”

It took Amon a minute to gradually let go of her hand. Essie brought it nervously up to her face, pushing the hair out of her face that the small gusts tried to blind her with. From beneath her lashes, she looked up shyly into the quirky handsome smile the Briarton Lord offered her.

“Ahem,” Lucas coughed, taking hold of her arm gently. “I now have you here, Essätha. I feel quite safe in your presence. Perhaps we could enjoy the privacy of the garden together?”

She snorted, giving a short airy laugh to the man’s suggestion. Beside her, Amon gave a narrow-eyed glance to the side and shifted his jaw unpleasantly.

“I appreciate the praise, but I’m not the safest person to be with. If you want security, you won’t get much better than Amon. He’s a true fighter. I’m simply a parlor trick of a woman, nothing more.”

Lucas opened his mouth to respond, but Amon headed the charge first as he cut in: “Essätha, do not tell this man lies. You are a skilled sorceress. Your casting abilities and spells take on an art form. There is a raw power to your magic that cannot be denied or argued.”

Her cheeks blushed faintly. Fumbling for her words, she turned her face from him to Lucas as the later finally put his own voice to action.

“You see? Amon agrees you are capable. We should be safe alone.”

Exhaling a breath, Essätha passed the young man a smile. Her eyebrows pulled down in a sign of uncertainty as he ran his hand over her arm, dropping it away from her to beckon with his fingers for her to take his hand.

“Well, I feel much safer with Lord Amon around…”

This time she couldn’t miss the shade of disappointment on the young heir’s face. It was small and brief, before he controlled his features masterfully. His pain closed up, and Essätha felt immediately bewildered and ashamed. She’d only responded with honesty. Of course she wanted Amon around, why would anyone want to discourage his presence?

She gave a small gasp as Amon lightly placed his hand upon her shoulder. He moved to retract it, but she reached back to place her hand over top of his.

A glimpse over her shoulder, and the eclipse over her heart fell away. The heat in her face burned with an inferno as she smiled, meeting the sea of blue she found herself lost swiftly in.

Lucas made a sound in the back of his throat, and their hands dropped away, the moment lost. It left a strange feeling of cold in her soul as their eyes tore awkwardly apart to stare separate ways.

“Miss Essätha, if I may-”

She peered back at the aristocrat as he spoke up, spotting him plucking a flower from upon a large leafy stalk. He’d barely raised it towards her, when Amon’s arm shot out to block her frame.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Emerald Expanse Lord snapped. “Essätha, don’t accept that flower.”

The younger nobleman knitted his eyebrows together. He opened his mouth to explain, but Amon stepped forward, gently coaxing her back.

“It was a gift-”

“That is foxglove, you dolt,” Amon fumed. “Handling the plant alone can drop your heart-rate. What are you trying to do, hurt her?”

“I- I didn’t know-”

“You don’t know what’s in your own garden? Pelor boy, don’t touch anything then.”

Infuriated, the lad ground his teeth together. He dropped the bloom, taking a step forward and straightening his posture as he hissed: “It was an honest mistake!”

Amon curled his lip. Essätha gazed between the two of them, dumbstruck by their explosive fury. Each of them were rigid and tense like a bowstring ready to pop, or let lose an arsenal of arrows.

“What would you give to her next? Hooker’s lips? Clitoria?”

“Amon!” Essätha gasped. Part of her was astonished by his venom, and the other part shocked to hear such vulgar names. There couldn’t possibly be plants honestly named that…

“It sounds like you’d be well experienced in such names,” the man coolly responded. He adjusted the layers of his clothing to try appearing nonplus to the attack on his smarts. It didn’t settle well, with his flared nostrils and slits for eyes.

“A true gardener would know a vast variety of plants, and what is in his garden. Like how you shouldn’t have camellia in the same flowerbed as periwinkles like you do; they need different soil types.”

Swatting Amon lightly on the shoulder, Essie passed an accusing look up at him. He seemed to lower his haunches; so to speak, and relaxed his posture. Though he didn’t appear any more or less pleased, he looked off to the side with a huff.

Sighing, she dropped her head politely to the adjacent man as she murmured, “Master Lucas, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s not you who should be sorry, miss Essätha.”

“You’re right,” Amon agreed quietly. “It should be the one offering potentially dangerous plants in a poor attempt at courting.”

“I will certainly never try to do miss Essätha any intended harm,” Lucas shot back in a gravely low tone. “What would you have given her? A rose? Commoner ideals.”

Hoping the two bickering nobles would unruffle their feathers when parted, Essie reached out and tugged upon Amon’s wrist. He begrudgingly budged, but did not remove his glare from upon Lucas as they stepped around him.

“Roses are traditional,” Amon grumbled softly. “There’s nothing wrong with roses.”

“Typical-”

“Although,” he drawled, grounding his feet. For a horrid moment, the Yuan-ti woman thought for sure they were going to gripe into another confrontational argument but as she tossed a cross look up to the Lord, she realized his sights were still solely upon her. An endearing smile, and awaiting pupils moving over her face the moment she looked up to him.

“I would search years for a kadupul plant, for her.”

A curious silence followed his words. Finally, Lucas resented with an irate tone to ask the question both he and Essie had been thinking.

“What is a kadupul plant?”

Smugly, Amon raised his voice as he explained: “A plant that flowers only every four or five years. It blooms only at night, and by day the petals wilt and cascade to the ground. Pick it, and the delicate petals fall apart. It’s a very rare and hardly witnessed flower; priceless, you might say. Much like Essätha herself.”

She knew her mouth was hanging open, so she clasped a hand over it to try hiding her shock. It didn’t, of course. Her eyes were wide as saucers as she looked out into the garden. The whole world seemed strangely brighter than it had just a few moments ago.

Who could respond to something like that? Gods she must look stupid. She fidgeted her hands in front of herself with a timid energy. That was the compliment that overruled all compliments; said with clear sincerity and warmth. But if that’s how he thought of her, then…

“I’m going back inside,” Lucas bitterly spoke up. “Enjoy the garden view.”

“I’ll definitely be enjoying the view,” Amon murmured.

Despite knowing exactly where the cliché statement was going to lead, Essätha focused her peripherals on the frame of a proper, dignified man at her side. Sure enough, the Illiad Patriarch had his face turned towards her.

As the sound of stomping feet carried down the path, she jolted as Amon’s arm moved beside her. It created a hooked impression close to his side, as he waited with a patient, hopeful expression.

“Would you care to enjoy the garden with me?”

She cast a shy gaze up to Amon while linking her arm through his. Her cheeks puffed up; reaching out to give him a gentle shove with her other hand.

“That wasn’t very nice, m’lord.”

“He was going to give you a poisonous flower; was I supposed to just let him?”

“I meant everything after the lethal foxy flower thing you said,” she stated, clutching her fingers to the bend of his elbow.

He gave a rough exhale, glancing up to the sky as his free hand reached up to scratch his beard. In the very next breath, he responded: “Foxglove. It was foxglove… And yes, I suppose you’re right. I was just frustrated. I have a feeling these people picked random plants they thought were nice, and threw them together without knowing the standards they require to raise. I’m not sure if their gardeners are aware of what they’re handling. Some of these could cause someone or a pet to become very ill. It’s irresponsible.”

“Well if that’s how you feel, maybe we should browse while we walk so you can mark things incorrect?” she teased.

He gave a quiet chuckle at that, slowly nodding his head as though the thought appealed to him.

She thought of asking him about his other hostilities, but bit her tongue. Or if he’d meant what he said, about the rare couple-year blooming flower.

But it all seemed so surreal. Maybe it was just the spur of the moment thought. Maybe he was just trying to show off his field of knowledge (which, truth be told, she could stroke the man’s ego for hours on given the chance). It felt like the moment had hardly existed, even just mere seconds ago.

With an encouraging hand, she felt she was floating down the walkway as Amon began to point out different plants to her. All the while, sneaking out facts; or voicing his unhappiness to their treatment or how their colors were off due to their environment.

Essätha just smiled, nodding along to his comments or asking her questions. Even the ones that made her feel stupid, that he answered without so much as a snicker. Calm and understanding; present in the moment as she was.

By the Gods, if it didn’t make her want him even more.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It didn’t matter anymore.

They all knew.

Everyone knew her for the failure she was. What she had done, where she’d come from, what she was capable of. The string of messes left behind. The people who trusted her and found themselves torn to pieces. By Hell’s Gates even she was surprised; hearing her father was alive and existed out there somewhere. There was someone out there who should have; could have been there for her her whole life and found it easier to be absent.

They had built up a trust in her. Friendship. Family. She even thought; she almost believed, that maybe, there was something…

A soft rapping echoed against the door.

Essätha stilled, burying her face further into the comfort of her pillows and blankets. Given enough time, they would go away. Their persistence would stop.

“Essätha? Could you open the door, please?”

A muffled groan echoed in her throat. Grabbing a fistful of the sheets, Essie yanked them partially up over her head.

There was a sigh outside the door. She could hear the quiet thud of Lord Amon’s boots as he paced up and down the hall.

They never left.

He paced up and down the hall relentlessly. Sometimes there was silence, as he came to a halt before the door. Then the pacing would begin again, and he would sigh once more.

She could imagine his hand pushing through his hair with frustration. The illuminated candle light from the hall moving over his eyes. The shift and grind in his jawline. The way he would breath out heavily and rub a hand over his face, against his whiskers, and stare at the door.

The hours of the night grew longer. Still she could hear his feet dragging.

Tilting her head, she drew out her voice in a hiss: “Go to your room.”

Amon’s pacing came to a halt, and a whispering voice pressed to the door: “After I’ve spoken to you. Essätha, please… You never gave up on me. I’m not giving up on you.”

Her lip wobbled. Tucking her face into the nearest pillow, she let out a quiet sob. Every muscle strained. Grabbing for the edges of the cushion, she howled with grief into the mattress.

All that remained of her pride was a wounded animal, licking scars that healed in disjointed fractures. Too many years of swallowing her hollow desolation. All she ever did was try to keep the past beneath her; try to keep the taint of her touch from breaking anything or anyone else. She’d finally began to feel like the strings that controlled her no longer existed.

It no longer felt so. Spiraling out of control; down the drain through the hole into a void.

As the shuffling began again in the hall, Essätha gradually clawed her way to the edge of the bed. Her face was dry; her eyes not red with tears that she could not find. But her insides ached, and as she got to her feet and crept for the door, she shook. She hesitated.

She didn’t recall grabbing the doorknob, but it did indeed open into the dimly-lit hall with candlewax lanterns turned low.

Amon stood perfectly silhouetted into the doorframe. His head angled down; staring into her shrank form as she looked upon the floor.

“I have nothing to say-”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Essätha,” the nobleman retorted swiftly. “You were defending yourself.”

She grabbed for the edge of the door, but Amon placed his hand against it. It moved as she pulled it forward; but slowly. He would let her shut him out, if she wanted. But he would continue to wait outside her door, with shadows under his eyes, until he had gotten it out.

“And now I’m trying to defend all of you from me,” she snarled. “So if you would just please-”

“I’m not afraid of you, Essie.”

There was reassurance in his voice. A soft lull; certain and gentle. She didn’t shy away from his touch as he took hold of her hand, removing it from the door to run his fingers along tenderly.

She snorted. “You should never trust a snake, m’lord.”

“That is like saying you should not trust an Illiad, because of the misconceptions of a father.”

“There is a difference. Snakes bite. They strike. They can be poison-”

“No snakes strikes without giving a warning,” he countered, stepping closer. “And you’re no one’s poison. You were alone with the world standing against your survival. The man was trying to kill you, Essätha, you were defending yourself.”

“What about the man at the dock, or the boy at the river, or the boy in the fire-”

“Those were accidents; you had no intentions of hurting anyone. It’s not your nature. It’s not because of what you are. I’ve never met someone who would do anything to save a life. You think you’re indifferent to it all, or that some part of you is wrong for what happened but you’ve been robbed of a life you should have had. By Pelor’s Light, Essätha, you are not what people have written you out to be.”

The weathered hands that held to her own let her go. She plunged into icy waves; drowning for a brief moment before the warmth returned. Carefully holding to her face, Amon gently encouraged her to lift her head up to meet his eyes.

“Look at me, Essie. Do I look afraid to you?”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, shaking her head.

A small smile formed on his face. The broad shape of his rough fingertips circled beneath her wet eyes. Incomprehensibly soft; it seemed to make the tears spill over more as her breath labored.

“You are just a flower, hiding your light deep in your roots. You didn’t know how you would bloom; you could not see as you did, chasing the sun even on your darkest days that as you opened up to the world how beautiful you came to be.”

“You have a kind and inspiring heart of beauty, Essätha,” Amon murmured as he wiped away tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry the world has mistreated it so. You deserve much more then what it handed you; much, much more. But I promise: I’m not here to hurt you. I won’t turn away from you. I am here for you, whenever you want me, always.”

In the ugliest, most distrustful, frightened part of her mind a voice whispered that he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t possibly mean it. No one wanted to stay. No one wanted her. No one wanted the trouble, the baggage, the constant looks over the shoulder. No one was capable of sticking it out. She couldn’t blame them for it either; she was a mess. Fueled with quiet insecurities, a big mouth, enough sass and pride in all the strangest places to drive anyone crazy.

Yet even the most doubtful sounds in the back of her mind doubted themselves. There was an earnest look in the worry carved in the sculpture of his gorgeous face. He stroked away her tears with cautious fingertips; as if touching her too roughly would bring her pain. Such honest intentions in his words; such devote affection in the graze of his hands.

She crumbled. She cracked.

All the words she wanted to hear; all the understanding she prayed to have. None of it she expected of him. None of it she dared to want far or wide; only wishing her mother was there, with her innocent sense of self and ability to see good and love in all things. That had been her unattainable dream. Never guessing the reality of it could ever come from anyone else.

When she thought she would collapse, Amon let go of her face to hold her in close. When there was no more strength in her legs, and she hung limp in his arms and her face pressed into his shoulder, he cradled her. The strength in his arms never wavering. The softness of his breath tucked against her ear as he whispered soft words of encouragement she could only just barely make out as she wept against him.

It felt like releasing a lifetime of guilt and shame. Which, essentially, is exactly what it was.

And with it, an empty place inside of her began to fill with something entirely different and overwhelming all at once. A seedling erupting from it’s shell all at once; showered in tears and warmth and light so that it flourished all at once.

It was thrilling. It was scary. It was overwhelming and felt like utterly too much for her heart to contain.

In that moment, she knew she loved him far more then she could have ever imagined. It had been there, hiding, growing, hidden beneath the crushing weight of buried doubts. When the rocks were cracked, the life took off across vast parts of her heart and soul until there was no greater feeling to reside so safe and snug in his arms.

How ever was she going to live without him, she no longer knew. And that petrified her more than any monster, villain, or lonely night ever could.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

From the relative safety of the balcony, Essätha looked down upon the courtyard with an easy smile. The sun was bright and high in the sky, and the days were finally growing warm enough to take off the spring cloak and let the gusts of warmer air caress over bare shoulders. The air smelled of fresh life, and an unfortunate aroma of manure.

Though the later was an unappealing scent, it wasn’t going to last long. A week at most once they got the spread and weathering going, along with some cedar chips mixed in to try keeping out unwanted pests.

The very best part about it was, of course, the view. Placing her arms upon the banter, Essie leered down at Amon’s shirtless frame as his spade hit the ground. He’d remove a pile of dirt, pitch it aside, and continue the pattern until he was satisfied with the depth. A wonderful dappling of sweat, just barely visible in the light.

Every God could come crawling out from their cosmos and realm to shame her, and she’d simply shrug. What could you do? With a body like that, her Lord have mercy. It was an enticing view, and she had a wonderful view from up here The muscles in his back shifting, the firmness of his arms, the ripple in his shoulders, the taut physic, the slight tummy, his chest hair, dear Gods.

Her tongue darted out as she let out a hum of appreciation, pressing her legs restlessly together. The only way to get a better look was to have him front and center. She’d caress her hands all over him; nice and slow, leisurely. He’d try to touch her and she would tut him gently, pushing his hands away and like the gentleman he was, he would obediently let her have her fun with him. He’d groan her name; raspily begging to stroke her, to kiss her, anything. And she’d smile sweetly; trying to ignore the hunger that gnawed at her lust, and press her lips over every inch of him until they were both panting and-

While swiping a handkerchief across his forehead, Amon looked up to catch her staring from her perch on the second level. His smile was all teeth; almost feral.

“Care to come down here and lend a hand, my lady?”

She didn’t know what was hotter: her face, or the friction between her legs.

“That depends,” she called back down, “Will I need to remove articles of clothing?”

A maiden down below tending to another flowerbed visibly jumped, and her choked laughter rose up into the sky.

To his credit, Amon didn’t seem the very least bit discouraged or humiliated. If anything, he seemed to only grin broader as he hitched the shovel over his shoulder in a pose that was something you’d expect out of a brothel to entice lady’s.

“Unnecessary, but preferred,” he announced loudly.

She stuck her tongue out in his direction, a goofy grin on her face. Ridiculous man. He was going to need a proper bath when he was all said and done; glistening with sweat, smelling like the garden, and grass, and of dirty man…

Just to tease him; knowing she still had a brassiere beneath her thin shirt, Essie lifted her arms and tore the garment off to toss it down upon his smiling face.

“I’ll be right down!”

Essätha had barely turned when Amon ripped the apparel from his face, crying back up to her, “I think you forgot to take off the most important part!”

“No I didn’t!” she laughed, shaking her head.

He was utterly, totally, and completely ridiculous.

She wouldn’t have the love of her life any other way.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first blooms of their renovated garden were beginning to come in. The colors spanned the spectrum's of the rainbow. Most were common; the reds, pinks, whites, and yellows of hardy, well-known species. Others were more rare; blues and purples here or there.

With a pout, Essie stared the spot where she had planted her own flowering plant. The plot was small; a test space she’d picked out just for her. She’d done all the research herself, refusing any and all help Amon tried to offer.

She wanted to prove to herself, and everyone else, that she was more then capable of gardening all by herself.

No matter how much she stared at the green leaves bursting forth now from the ground, it did not grow any faster. It seemed to taunt her now. She had began life, but could she continue to make it thrive?

A shadow fell over her, and her small sprout.

“Still staring at it?”

“Yessss,” she grumbled, reaching up without looking to paw at her husband. “Now step aside, m’lord, it needs sun!”

Amon gave a quiet chuckle, scooting close to her side. She leaned away from the hand brushing along the curls against the side of her head until it became a distraction. Her eyes darted up to him as she tried to pull away, but he lightly grasped upon her shoulder.

“Just a second.”

Drawing her eyes up at an angle, Essätha could make out the frills of an elaborate deep maroon carnation. It rested in the edge of her vision as the Illiad heir slipped the steam neatly behind her ear, so that the radiant peek bloom neatly displayed for all the world to see.

Much like the blossom, her face changed a rich shade of red.

“Are you using me to show off your perfectly pruned flowers now?” she teased.

Amon gave a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. He leaned in, skimming his nose against hers playfully as she giggled.

“The flower is an accent for you, my darling Essätha, not the other way around,” he promised, placing a kiss upon the tip of her nose.

“Could have fooled me,” she sighed, casting a dejected look down to the dirt.

Coaxing hands reached up, softly cupping her cheeks to bring her focus back to the shining gaze of his dark eyes.

“Give it time, my dear. All things start small. It’ll grow.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better, or have you been sneaking out here tending to my zinnia when I’m not around?”

“Neither. Well, the first perhaps a little. But I believe in you, Essie. Give it a chance. It’ll prosper before you know it.”

Her eyes softened gradually. Much like their love and their lives, it might be a struggle, but if she nurtured it just right, it would grow.

She had all the tools at her disposal. The sun, the ground, daily watering, and Amon’s help if all else failed. He’d taught her much on what to check for overwatering; how to properly make a drain and what was too loose or too firmly packed around the root systems. She’d learned about replanting and transplanting; of what to examine in the colors of the leaves and so much more.

She’d spent days reaching each and every volume she could find on basic gardening, and then found the one plant she was sure she could handle. No help, just what she learned and read up on.

This zinnia would live, dammit. She was going to make sure it lived.

“You are so sweet,” Essätha purred, reaching up to take hold of her beloved husband’s face. She pet along the shape of his sideburns, dragging his face down to softly press her lips to his.

An appreciative growl greeted her. Before she knew what was going on, Amon bent lower at his knees and placed a hand to the back of hers, knocking her off her feet with a yelp and into his arms.

“For goodness sake, m’lord-”

“No more plant watching,” he half-scolded half-laughed. “It’s past lunch time. You should get a bite before we our guests arrive for the land negotiations.”

“Uggghhhh why did you have to remind me,” she wailed with forced desperation, throwing her head back dramatically as the deep, humbling laugh she cherished pressed into her side. A roll of laughter followed his own from her; peels and giggles and little snorts as Amon rubbed his face into the bend of her neck, tickling her with his beard as he kissed her sensitive skin.

The little plant stood a little straighter as they walked away; reaching for the sun as it seemed to sway to the sound of laughter.

Or perhaps, simply to the light breeze. Who was to say?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Essätha placed the watering can back into the small cellar space with a faint smile on her face. She reached up, wiping her brow of specks of sweat as she gave a satisfied sigh. Hands on her hips, dirt beneath her fingernails, and smears now against her forehead where she had just wiped.

Her zinnia was growing larger every day now. Maybe it was going to actually survive, after all. But it didn’t appear to be budding yet.

Still, she held on to hope. If she could come back from her hellish life, and her tiny seedling had made it through an unexpected frost, then it could take on anything!

She’d barely turned to step out through the heavy wooden door back into the courtyard when a soft whining captured her attention. Her eyes turned down, spotting the droopy muzzle and beady dark eyes staring up at her.

Hanging from Caesar’s maw was a row of trimmed freesia, in a multitude of arranged colors.

“Oh gods,” she whispered in a hush, bending down to take the mouthful from Caesar’s maw. They were coated with strings of drool and some of the steams crushed; unsalvageable in a vase unless someone cut more off.

There were further freesia however, all tucked beneath the mastiff’s collar. As she reached to pull them out, Caesar finally gave in to a full-body shake, sending both flowers and petals flying in every direction.

Essätha raised her eyes with her tenderly raised bouquet in hand, spotting Amon staring just on the other side of the courtyard with an eager little smile.

Flushing pink beneath his gaze, she brought the blossoms to her face to sniff the faint fragrance as Caesar snuffled her side.

There was no question in her mind if it was possible to love someone more and more each and every day. Even when she was sure she couldn’t possibly love him any more; that there was no more room from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she always found room to wiggle in a little more. Because with each new dawn and dusk, she found something more to love; a little more to appreciate, a new swelling sensation in her chest that made all things feel at ease and warm and happy.

Of all the parts and pieces of her heart, soul and life, he was the part she loved the very most.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A shriek loud enough to wake the dead pierced the air. She frolicked, she jumped, she danced with eager joy. Her heart, how it sung! There was nothing more delightful than this, the sweet success of victory!

The door that lead into the cellar opened, and a wide-eyed Amon stared out into the yard.

“Essie? What in Pelor’s name- I thought someone was hurt-”

“Amon Amon Amon Amon Amon, look!” Essätha squealed, bounding across the lawn to dash over to him. He leaned back, taken by surprise as she grasped his hand and dragged him out from the manor. When he no longer resisted her tugs, she spun and danced with his hand lightly holding to hers, with his eyebrows drawn together with uncertainty.

Pulling her heart’s desire over, she stood before the clustered plant filled with buds. Only, one had opened to form the first zinnia flower. It’s magnificent petals soared upward in a lush shade of violet.

“Look!” she cheered, grasping his hands. “Look I did it! I did it! It’s alive and it’s blooming I made it grow! I did that all by myself!”

Just as quickly, she let go of his hands to twirl in a circle. Her fists balled up into fists, punching the air with success as she giggled and chanted a series of ‘yes’s with eagerness.

Lord Amon tore his gaze from her, to the flower, and back again. His heart tightened reflexively to her joy; so merry and filled with life. He found himself impulsively smiling to her own happiness as it reflected in his own.

���You’ve raised Green Bean and more then half a dozen people,” he teased, reaching out for her hand. “This is what excites you?”

“To be fair, you were all technically adults already,” Essie laughed; following his train of thought. “And this is different. I’ve never gardened before! It’s amazing. I took a tiny seed, and I made a big plant!”

A hearty laugh escaped the Lord of the Emerald Expanse. Her glee was infectious. The things that made her so overjoyed were at times, unexpected. But there was nothing better than to see her explode into such radiant energy. When happiness colored her, it changed everything. The atmosphere of the world seemed to change. Colors grew brighter. Paintings that seemed to leer were suddenly smiling. Plants grew taller; the sun shone brighter, the clouds disappeared and all things, by Pelor’s name, all things felt possible and right in life.

Slipping his fingertips between her own, Amon joined her in swinging around in wide, dramatic circles. He listened to her laughter; pure and sweet and innocent. Delighted so completely by something such as a flowering plant.

He couldn’t be more proud of her.

He couldn’t be more happy for her. With her. Along side her.

As her energy tapered and her steps grew wobbly and dizzy, his beautiful Essie still giggled as he pulled her in close to wrap his arms around her. Dragging in the faded scent of soap in her black hair as he rested his chin upon her, and kissed the crown of her head.

He rocked her back and forth in the grass. Soft laughter still bursting forth randomly from her lungs; nested into his ribcage as she buried her face against him.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked upon the zinnia, and then back down to the strong, gentle, beautiful woman in his arms. His heart swelled enormously in his chest, pressing another kiss upon her forehead.

“Congratulations, my love. You did a marvelous job.”

“I utilized what you taught me,” she muffled into his shirt. “I treated it with sunshine, clean water, respect, dignity, and a lot of tender, love, and care.”

Amon chuckled faintly at that, rubbing his palms up and down the length of her spine. Turning his head slightly, he rested his cheek against her, humming softly as his arms grew tighter just as his throat did.

Silly woman, he scoffed to himself. Didn’t she knew she was the one who taught him many of those things in the first place? There would be no Lord Amon without his Lady Essätha. She was gardening before she was aware of it. Replanting and rejuvenating his ashen fields with a flurry of life, light, and endless pollinating butterflies and bumblebees thriving within his soul with each new love he found for her; making a perfect field of flora just for the two of them. A perfect world, all their own.

There was nothing else he wanted out of life. This wondrous love; his sweet angel, and the happiness they grew, together.

[yes-dal456]

10 Habits That Will Dramatically Improve Your Life

In Hans Christian Andersen’s fable The Red Shoes, a young girl longs for a pair of pretty red shoes. She ultimately tricks the blind woman who cares for her into buying her a pair. Her love for the red shoes causes her to give them priority over the more important things in her life, and, as often happens in fables, karma is not on her side. The shoes become firmly stuck to her feet and force her to dance non-stop, to the point where she almost dies from exhaustion and starvation.

We can scoff at the little girl’s foolishness, but, in real life, we often do the same thing—we chase after the things that we think will make us happy and don’t realize that we’re heading down a dangerous path.

One study found that the people who experience the greatest job satisfaction aren’t the ones in the big, fancy offices; they’re the ones who approach their work as a calling, even when that work involves menial labor.

Another study found that simply seeing fast-food logos makes people impatient. It’s not that there’s some intrinsic characteristic of fast food that makes people impatient; it’s the habits we’ve come to associate with fast food, such as always being on the run, eating on the go, and never slowing down enough to enjoy a healthy meal, that bring out our impatience.

We have to be very careful in choosing our pursuits, because our habits make us. Cultivating the habits that follow will send you in the right direction. They’ll help you to lead a more meaningful and fulfilling life, whereby you cultivate the best within yourself.

1. Stay away from people who erode your quality of life. If merely seeing a logo for a fast-food company can make you feel impatient, just think how much more impact a toxic person can have on your life. They might be unhappy about your decision to stay away from them, and they might tell you very loudly just how unhappy they are, but isn’t avoiding them worth the cumulative effects of years of their negative influence? There are always going to be toxic people who have a way of getting under your skin and staying there. Each time you find yourself thinking about a coworker or person who makes your blood boil, practice being grateful for someone else in your life instead. There are plenty of people out there who deserve your attention, and the last thing you want to do is think about the people who don’t matter.

2. No more phone, tablet, or computer in bed. This is a big one, which most people don’t even realize harms their sleep and productivity. Short-wavelength blue light plays an important role in determining your mood, energy level, and sleep quality. In the morning, sunlight contains high concentrations of this blue light. When your eyes are exposed to it directly, it halts production of the sleep-inducing hormone melatonin and makes you feel alert. In the afternoon, the sun’s rays lose their blue light, which allows your body to produce melatonin and this starts making you sleepy. By the evening, your brain doesn’t expect any blue light exposure and is very sensitive to it. Most of our favorite evening devices—laptops, tablets, and mobile phones—emit short-wavelength blue light brightly and right in your face. This exposure impairs melatonin production and interferes with your ability to fall asleep, as well as with the quality of your sleep once you do nod off. As we’ve all experienced, poor nights’ sleep has disastrous effects. The best thing you can do is to avoid these devices after dinner (television is OK for most people, as long as they sit far enough away from the set). 

3. Appreciate the here and now. Gratitude is fundamental to peace and happiness—not wealth, glamour, adventure, or fast cars, but simple appreciation for what you have. Just because you can’t afford champagne and caviar doesn’t mean that you never enjoy a meal. Hot dogs and beer on the back deck with your friends taste just as good. So, don’t fool yourself into thinking that you need something that you don’t currently have in order to be happy, because the truth is that if you can’t appreciate what you have now, you won’t be able to appreciate the “good life” if you ever get it.

4. Realize that things aren’t always as you perceive them to be. This goes along with appreciating the here and now. That person you envy because they seem to have the perfect life might be dealing with all kinds of problems behind closed doors. That “perfection” could be a total mirage. Your employer’s decision to move the office might seem like a huge hassle when you first hear about it, but it could end up being one of the best things that ever happens to you. You’re not omniscient and you’re not a fortune-teller, so be open to the possibility that life might have some surprises in store, because what you see is not always what you get.

5. Get started, even though you might fail. Most writers spend countless hours brainstorming their characters and plots, and they even write page after page that they know they’ll never include in the books. They do this because they know that ideas need time to develop. We tend to freeze up when it’s time to get started because we know that our ideas aren’t perfect and that what we produce might not be any good. But how can you ever produce something great if you don’t get started and give your ideas time to evolve? Author Jodi Picoult summarized the importance of avoiding perfectionism perfectly: “You can edit a bad page, but you can’t edit a blank page.”

6. Get organized. People joke about new ideas being in short supply, but I think that the one resource that’s really scarce is spare time. Do you know anybody who has some? Yet we waste so much of it by not being organized. We touch things two or three times before we do something with them (like tossing the mail down on the counter then moving it to the table so we can cook dinner) and once we’ve put them away, we spend even more time looking for them. Have a place for all of those little things you need to take care of when you get a minute, whether it’s your child’s permission slip for a field trip or an overdue bill, and then get to them in a timely manner; otherwise you’ll be searching through a huge stack of stuff for the one thing you need.

7. Start a collection of the things that truly resonate with you. Have you ever come across a quote or a meme that so perfectly summed up your feelings that you wanted to keep it forever? You know that it’s in one of those coats you wore five winters ago, and you really hope it’s not the one you gave to Goodwill. When you come across something that resonates with you—whether it’s something that expresses who you are or who you want to be—have a central place to keep those gems. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a spiral notebook, a leather binder, or a folder on Evernote, have a place to collect the things that matter so that you can revisit them regularly.

8. Do something that reminds you who you are. We all joke about having “me” time, but what is that, really? It’s making time for those activities that we feel most authentically ourselves doing, when all the masks are off and we can just be. Whether it’s going for a run or dancing around with your 80s favorites blaring at top volume, make time for those moments. They’re incredibly rejuvenating.

9. Say no. Research conducted at the University of California in Berkeley shows that the more difficulty that you have saying no, the more likely you are to experience stress, burnout, and even depression, all of which erode self-control. Saying no is indeed a major self-control challenge for many people. “No” is a powerful word that you should not be afraid to wield. When it’s time to say no, emotionally intelligent people avoid phrases like “I don’t think I can” or “I’m not certain.” Saying no to a new commitment honors your existing commitments and gives you the opportunity to successfully fulfill them. Just remind yourself that saying no is an act of self-control now that will increase your future self-control by preventing the negative effects of over commitment. 

10. Stick to realistic goals. How many people start January by proclaiming, “I’m going to lose 30 pounds by March!”? Big, scary, crazy goals can be incredibly inspiring—until you fall short, and then, instead of inspiration, you’re left with disappointment and guilt. I’m certainly not suggesting that you stop setting goals that push and challenge you, just that you try to stick within the bounds of reality.

Bringing It All Together

Your character is determined by your attitude and how you spend your time, and so is happiness. Stop chasing the things that you think will make you happy, and start realizing that your peace and happiness are entirely up to you.

Ever tried any of these habits? Please share your thoughts in the comments section, as I learn just as much from you as you do from me.

If you’d like to learn more on this topic, consider my book Emotional Intelligence 2.0.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2mVaodr from Blogger http://ift.tt/2nlZDni

[chpatdoorsl3z0a1]

10 Habits That Will Dramatically Improve Your Life

In Hans Christian Andersen’s fable The Red Shoes, a young girl longs for a pair of pretty red shoes. She ultimately tricks the blind woman who cares for her into buying her a pair. Her love for the red shoes causes her to give them priority over the more important things in her life, and, as often happens in fables, karma is not on her side. The shoes become firmly stuck to her feet and force her to dance non-stop, to the point where she almost dies from exhaustion and starvation.

We can scoff at the little girl’s foolishness, but, in real life, we often do the same thing—we chase after the things that we think will make us happy and don’t realize that we’re heading down a dangerous path.

One study found that the people who experience the greatest job satisfaction aren’t the ones in the big, fancy offices; they’re the ones who approach their work as a calling, even when that work involves menial labor.

Another study found that simply seeing fast-food logos makes people impatient. It’s not that there’s some intrinsic characteristic of fast food that makes people impatient; it’s the habits we’ve come to associate with fast food, such as always being on the run, eating on the go, and never slowing down enough to enjoy a healthy meal, that bring out our impatience.

We have to be very careful in choosing our pursuits, because our habits make us. Cultivating the habits that follow will send you in the right direction. They’ll help you to lead a more meaningful and fulfilling life, whereby you cultivate the best within yourself.

1. Stay away from people who erode your quality of life. If merely seeing a logo for a fast-food company can make you feel impatient, just think how much more impact a toxic person can have on your life. They might be unhappy about your decision to stay away from them, and they might tell you very loudly just how unhappy they are, but isn’t avoiding them worth the cumulative effects of years of their negative influence? There are always going to be toxic people who have a way of getting under your skin and staying there. Each time you find yourself thinking about a coworker or person who makes your blood boil, practice being grateful for someone else in your life instead. There are plenty of people out there who deserve your attention, and the last thing you want to do is think about the people who don’t matter.

2. No more phone, tablet, or computer in bed. This is a big one, which most people don’t even realize harms their sleep and productivity. Short-wavelength blue light plays an important role in determining your mood, energy level, and sleep quality. In the morning, sunlight contains high concentrations of this blue light. When your eyes are exposed to it directly, it halts production of the sleep-inducing hormone melatonin and makes you feel alert. In the afternoon, the sun’s rays lose their blue light, which allows your body to produce melatonin and this starts making you sleepy. By the evening, your brain doesn’t expect any blue light exposure and is very sensitive to it. Most of our favorite evening devices—laptops, tablets, and mobile phones—emit short-wavelength blue light brightly and right in your face. This exposure impairs melatonin production and interferes with your ability to fall asleep, as well as with the quality of your sleep once you do nod off. As we’ve all experienced, poor nights’ sleep has disastrous effects. The best thing you can do is to avoid these devices after dinner (television is OK for most people, as long as they sit far enough away from the set). 

3. Appreciate the here and now. Gratitude is fundamental to peace and happiness—not wealth, glamour, adventure, or fast cars, but simple appreciation for what you have. Just because you can’t afford champagne and caviar doesn’t mean that you never enjoy a meal. Hot dogs and beer on the back deck with your friends taste just as good. So, don’t fool yourself into thinking that you need something that you don’t currently have in order to be happy, because the truth is that if you can’t appreciate what you have now, you won’t be able to appreciate the “good life” if you ever get it.

4. Realize that things aren’t always as you perceive them to be. This goes along with appreciating the here and now. That person you envy because they seem to have the perfect life might be dealing with all kinds of problems behind closed doors. That “perfection” could be a total mirage. Your employer’s decision to move the office might seem like a huge hassle when you first hear about it, but it could end up being one of the best things that ever happens to you. You’re not omniscient and you’re not a fortune-teller, so be open to the possibility that life might have some surprises in store, because what you see is not always what you get.

5. Get started, even though you might fail. Most writers spend countless hours brainstorming their characters and plots, and they even write page after page that they know they’ll never include in the books. They do this because they know that ideas need time to develop. We tend to freeze up when it’s time to get started because we know that our ideas aren’t perfect and that what we produce might not be any good. But how can you ever produce something great if you don’t get started and give your ideas time to evolve? Author Jodi Picoult summarized the importance of avoiding perfectionism perfectly: “You can edit a bad page, but you can’t edit a blank page.”

6. Get organized. People joke about new ideas being in short supply, but I think that the one resource that’s really scarce is spare time. Do you know anybody who has some? Yet we waste so much of it by not being organized. We touch things two or three times before we do something with them (like tossing the mail down on the counter then moving it to the table so we can cook dinner) and once we’ve put them away, we spend even more time looking for them. Have a place for all of those little things you need to take care of when you get a minute, whether it’s your child’s permission slip for a field trip or an overdue bill, and then get to them in a timely manner; otherwise you’ll be searching through a huge stack of stuff for the one thing you need.

7. Start a collection of the things that truly resonate with you. Have you ever come across a quote or a meme that so perfectly summed up your feelings that you wanted to keep it forever? You know that it’s in one of those coats you wore five winters ago, and you really hope it’s not the one you gave to Goodwill. When you come across something that resonates with you—whether it’s something that expresses who you are or who you want to be—have a central place to keep those gems. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a spiral notebook, a leather binder, or a folder on Evernote, have a place to collect the things that matter so that you can revisit them regularly.

8. Do something that reminds you who you are. We all joke about having “me” time, but what is that, really? It’s making time for those activities that we feel most authentically ourselves doing, when all the masks are off and we can just be. Whether it’s going for a run or dancing around with your 80s favorites blaring at top volume, make time for those moments. They’re incredibly rejuvenating.

9. Say no. Research conducted at the University of California in Berkeley shows that the more difficulty that you have saying no, the more likely you are to experience stress, burnout, and even depression, all of which erode self-control. Saying no is indeed a major self-control challenge for many people. “No” is a powerful word that you should not be afraid to wield. When it’s time to say no, emotionally intelligent people avoid phrases like “I don’t think I can” or “I’m not certain.” Saying no to a new commitment honors your existing commitments and gives you the opportunity to successfully fulfill them. Just remind yourself that saying no is an act of self-control now that will increase your future self-control by preventing the negative effects of over commitment. 

10. Stick to realistic goals. How many people start January by proclaiming, “I’m going to lose 30 pounds by March!”? Big, scary, crazy goals can be incredibly inspiring—until you fall short, and then, instead of inspiration, you’re left with disappointment and guilt. I’m certainly not suggesting that you stop setting goals that push and challenge you, just that you try to stick within the bounds of reality.

Bringing It All Together

Your character is determined by your attitude and how you spend your time, and so is happiness. Stop chasing the things that you think will make you happy, and start realizing that your peace and happiness are entirely up to you.

Ever tried any of these habits? Please share your thoughts in the comments section, as I learn just as much from you as you do from me.

If you’d like to learn more on this topic, consider my book Emotional Intelligence 2.0.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mVtDUh

[imreviewblog]

10 Habits That Will Dramatically Improve Your Life

In Hans Christian Andersen’s fable The Red Shoes, a young girl longs for a pair of pretty red shoes. She ultimately tricks the blind woman who cares for her into buying her a pair. Her love for the red shoes causes her to give them priority over the more important things in her life, and, as often happens in fables, karma is not on her side. The shoes become firmly stuck to her feet and force her to dance non-stop, to the point where she almost dies from exhaustion and starvation.

We can scoff at the little girl’s foolishness, but, in real life, we often do the same thing—we chase after the things that we think will make us happy and don’t realize that we’re heading down a dangerous path.

One study found that the people who experience the greatest job satisfaction aren’t the ones in the big, fancy offices; they’re the ones who approach their work as a calling, even when that work involves menial labor.

Another study found that simply seeing fast-food logos makes people impatient. It’s not that there’s some intrinsic characteristic of fast food that makes people impatient; it’s the habits we’ve come to associate with fast food, such as always being on the run, eating on the go, and never slowing down enough to enjoy a healthy meal, that bring out our impatience.

We have to be very careful in choosing our pursuits, because our habits make us. Cultivating the habits that follow will send you in the right direction. They’ll help you to lead a more meaningful and fulfilling life, whereby you cultivate the best within yourself.

1. Stay away from people who erode your quality of life. If merely seeing a logo for a fast-food company can make you feel impatient, just think how much more impact a toxic person can have on your life. They might be unhappy about your decision to stay away from them, and they might tell you very loudly just how unhappy they are, but isn’t avoiding them worth the cumulative effects of years of their negative influence? There are always going to be toxic people who have a way of getting under your skin and staying there. Each time you find yourself thinking about a coworker or person who makes your blood boil, practice being grateful for someone else in your life instead. There are plenty of people out there who deserve your attention, and the last thing you want to do is think about the people who don’t matter.

2. No more phone, tablet, or computer in bed. This is a big one, which most people don’t even realize harms their sleep and productivity. Short-wavelength blue light plays an important role in determining your mood, energy level, and sleep quality. In the morning, sunlight contains high concentrations of this blue light. When your eyes are exposed to it directly, it halts production of the sleep-inducing hormone melatonin and makes you feel alert. In the afternoon, the sun’s rays lose their blue light, which allows your body to produce melatonin and this starts making you sleepy. By the evening, your brain doesn’t expect any blue light exposure and is very sensitive to it. Most of our favorite evening devices—laptops, tablets, and mobile phones—emit short-wavelength blue light brightly and right in your face. This exposure impairs melatonin production and interferes with your ability to fall asleep, as well as with the quality of your sleep once you do nod off. As we’ve all experienced, poor nights’ sleep has disastrous effects. The best thing you can do is to avoid these devices after dinner (television is OK for most people, as long as they sit far enough away from the set). 

3. Appreciate the here and now. Gratitude is fundamental to peace and happiness—not wealth, glamour, adventure, or fast cars, but simple appreciation for what you have. Just because you can’t afford champagne and caviar doesn’t mean that you never enjoy a meal. Hot dogs and beer on the back deck with your friends taste just as good. So, don’t fool yourself into thinking that you need something that you don’t currently have in order to be happy, because the truth is that if you can’t appreciate what you have now, you won’t be able to appreciate the “good life” if you ever get it.

4. Realize that things aren’t always as you perceive them to be. This goes along with appreciating the here and now. That person you envy because they seem to have the perfect life might be dealing with all kinds of problems behind closed doors. That “perfection” could be a total mirage. Your employer’s decision to move the office might seem like a huge hassle when you first hear about it, but it could end up being one of the best things that ever happens to you. You’re not omniscient and you’re not a fortune-teller, so be open to the possibility that life might have some surprises in store, because what you see is not always what you get.

5. Get started, even though you might fail. Most writers spend countless hours brainstorming their characters and plots, and they even write page after page that they know they’ll never include in the books. They do this because they know that ideas need time to develop. We tend to freeze up when it’s time to get started because we know that our ideas aren’t perfect and that what we produce might not be any good. But how can you ever produce something great if you don’t get started and give your ideas time to evolve? Author Jodi Picoult summarized the importance of avoiding perfectionism perfectly: “You can edit a bad page, but you can’t edit a blank page.”

6. Get organized. People joke about new ideas being in short supply, but I think that the one resource that’s really scarce is spare time. Do you know anybody who has some? Yet we waste so much of it by not being organized. We touch things two or three times before we do something with them (like tossing the mail down on the counter then moving it to the table so we can cook dinner) and once we’ve put them away, we spend even more time looking for them. Have a place for all of those little things you need to take care of when you get a minute, whether it’s your child’s permission slip for a field trip or an overdue bill, and then get to them in a timely manner; otherwise you’ll be searching through a huge stack of stuff for the one thing you need.

7. Start a collection of the things that truly resonate with you. Have you ever come across a quote or a meme that so perfectly summed up your feelings that you wanted to keep it forever? You know that it’s in one of those coats you wore five winters ago, and you really hope it’s not the one you gave to Goodwill. When you come across something that resonates with you—whether it’s something that expresses who you are or who you want to be—have a central place to keep those gems. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a spiral notebook, a leather binder, or a folder on Evernote, have a place to collect the things that matter so that you can revisit them regularly.

8. Do something that reminds you who you are. We all joke about having “me” time, but what is that, really? It’s making time for those activities that we feel most authentically ourselves doing, when all the masks are off and we can just be. Whether it’s going for a run or dancing around with your 80s favorites blaring at top volume, make time for those moments. They’re incredibly rejuvenating.

9. Say no. Research conducted at the University of California in Berkeley shows that the more difficulty that you have saying no, the more likely you are to experience stress, burnout, and even depression, all of which erode self-control. Saying no is indeed a major self-control challenge for many people. “No” is a powerful word that you should not be afraid to wield. When it’s time to say no, emotionally intelligent people avoid phrases like “I don’t think I can” or “I’m not certain.” Saying no to a new commitment honors your existing commitments and gives you the opportunity to successfully fulfill them. Just remind yourself that saying no is an act of self-control now that will increase your future self-control by preventing the negative effects of over commitment. 

10. Stick to realistic goals. How many people start January by proclaiming, “I’m going to lose 30 pounds by March!”? Big, scary, crazy goals can be incredibly inspiring—until you fall short, and then, instead of inspiration, you’re left with disappointment and guilt. I’m certainly not suggesting that you stop setting goals that push and challenge you, just that you try to stick within the bounds of reality.

Bringing It All Together

Your character is determined by your attitude and how you spend your time, and so is happiness. Stop chasing the things that you think will make you happy, and start realizing that your peace and happiness are entirely up to you.

Ever tried any of these habits? Please share your thoughts in the comments section, as I learn just as much from you as you do from me.

If you’d like to learn more on this topic, consider my book Emotional Intelligence 2.0.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://huff.to/2nlUo6V

[chpatdoorsl3z0a1]

10 Habits That Will Dramatically Improve Your Life

In Hans Christian Andersen’s fable The Red Shoes, a young girl longs for a pair of pretty red shoes. She ultimately tricks the blind woman who cares for her into buying her a pair. Her love for the red shoes causes her to give them priority over the more important things in her life, and, as often happens in fables, karma is not on her side. The shoes become firmly stuck to her feet and force her to dance non-stop, to the point where she almost dies from exhaustion and starvation.

We can scoff at the little girl’s foolishness, but, in real life, we often do the same thing—we chase after the things that we think will make us happy and don’t realize that we’re heading down a dangerous path.

One study found that the people who experience the greatest job satisfaction aren’t the ones in the big, fancy offices; they’re the ones who approach their work as a calling, even when that work involves menial labor.

Another study found that simply seeing fast-food logos makes people impatient. It’s not that there’s some intrinsic characteristic of fast food that makes people impatient; it’s the habits we’ve come to associate with fast food, such as always being on the run, eating on the go, and never slowing down enough to enjoy a healthy meal, that bring out our impatience.

We have to be very careful in choosing our pursuits, because our habits make us. Cultivating the habits that follow will send you in the right direction. They’ll help you to lead a more meaningful and fulfilling life, whereby you cultivate the best within yourself.

1. Stay away from people who erode your quality of life. If merely seeing a logo for a fast-food company can make you feel impatient, just think how much more impact a toxic person can have on your life. They might be unhappy about your decision to stay away from them, and they might tell you very loudly just how unhappy they are, but isn’t avoiding them worth the cumulative effects of years of their negative influence? There are always going to be toxic people who have a way of getting under your skin and staying there. Each time you find yourself thinking about a coworker or person who makes your blood boil, practice being grateful for someone else in your life instead. There are plenty of people out there who deserve your attention, and the last thing you want to do is think about the people who don’t matter.

2. No more phone, tablet, or computer in bed. This is a big one, which most people don’t even realize harms their sleep and productivity. Short-wavelength blue light plays an important role in determining your mood, energy level, and sleep quality. In the morning, sunlight contains high concentrations of this blue light. When your eyes are exposed to it directly, it halts production of the sleep-inducing hormone melatonin and makes you feel alert. In the afternoon, the sun’s rays lose their blue light, which allows your body to produce melatonin and this starts making you sleepy. By the evening, your brain doesn’t expect any blue light exposure and is very sensitive to it. Most of our favorite evening devices—laptops, tablets, and mobile phones—emit short-wavelength blue light brightly and right in your face. This exposure impairs melatonin production and interferes with your ability to fall asleep, as well as with the quality of your sleep once you do nod off. As we’ve all experienced, poor nights’ sleep has disastrous effects. The best thing you can do is to avoid these devices after dinner (television is OK for most people, as long as they sit far enough away from the set). 

3. Appreciate the here and now. Gratitude is fundamental to peace and happiness—not wealth, glamour, adventure, or fast cars, but simple appreciation for what you have. Just because you can’t afford champagne and caviar doesn’t mean that you never enjoy a meal. Hot dogs and beer on the back deck with your friends taste just as good. So, don’t fool yourself into thinking that you need something that you don’t currently have in order to be happy, because the truth is that if you can’t appreciate what you have now, you won’t be able to appreciate the “good life” if you ever get it.

4. Realize that things aren’t always as you perceive them to be. This goes along with appreciating the here and now. That person you envy because they seem to have the perfect life might be dealing with all kinds of problems behind closed doors. That “perfection” could be a total mirage. Your employer’s decision to move the office might seem like a huge hassle when you first hear about it, but it could end up being one of the best things that ever happens to you. You’re not omniscient and you’re not a fortune-teller, so be open to the possibility that life might have some surprises in store, because what you see is not always what you get.

5. Get started, even though you might fail. Most writers spend countless hours brainstorming their characters and plots, and they even write page after page that they know they’ll never include in the books. They do this because they know that ideas need time to develop. We tend to freeze up when it’s time to get started because we know that our ideas aren’t perfect and that what we produce might not be any good. But how can you ever produce something great if you don’t get started and give your ideas time to evolve? Author Jodi Picoult summarized the importance of avoiding perfectionism perfectly: “You can edit a bad page, but you can’t edit a blank page.”

6. Get organized. People joke about new ideas being in short supply, but I think that the one resource that’s really scarce is spare time. Do you know anybody who has some? Yet we waste so much of it by not being organized. We touch things two or three times before we do something with them (like tossing the mail down on the counter then moving it to the table so we can cook dinner) and once we’ve put them away, we spend even more time looking for them. Have a place for all of those little things you need to take care of when you get a minute, whether it’s your child’s permission slip for a field trip or an overdue bill, and then get to them in a timely manner; otherwise you’ll be searching through a huge stack of stuff for the one thing you need.

7. Start a collection of the things that truly resonate with you. Have you ever come across a quote or a meme that so perfectly summed up your feelings that you wanted to keep it forever? You know that it’s in one of those coats you wore five winters ago, and you really hope it’s not the one you gave to Goodwill. When you come across something that resonates with you—whether it’s something that expresses who you are or who you want to be—have a central place to keep those gems. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a spiral notebook, a leather binder, or a folder on Evernote, have a place to collect the things that matter so that you can revisit them regularly.

8. Do something that reminds you who you are. We all joke about having “me” time, but what is that, really? It’s making time for those activities that we feel most authentically ourselves doing, when all the masks are off and we can just be. Whether it’s going for a run or dancing around with your 80s favorites blaring at top volume, make time for those moments. They’re incredibly rejuvenating.

9. Say no. Research conducted at the University of California in Berkeley shows that the more difficulty that you have saying no, the more likely you are to experience stress, burnout, and even depression, all of which erode self-control. Saying no is indeed a major self-control challenge for many people. “No” is a powerful word that you should not be afraid to wield. When it’s time to say no, emotionally intelligent people avoid phrases like “I don’t think I can” or “I’m not certain.” Saying no to a new commitment honors your existing commitments and gives you the opportunity to successfully fulfill them. Just remind yourself that saying no is an act of self-control now that will increase your future self-control by preventing the negative effects of over commitment. 

10. Stick to realistic goals. How many people start January by proclaiming, “I’m going to lose 30 pounds by March!”? Big, scary, crazy goals can be incredibly inspiring—until you fall short, and then, instead of inspiration, you’re left with disappointment and guilt. I’m certainly not suggesting that you stop setting goals that push and challenge you, just that you try to stick within the bounds of reality.

Bringing It All Together

Your character is determined by your attitude and how you spend your time, and so is happiness. Stop chasing the things that you think will make you happy, and start realizing that your peace and happiness are entirely up to you.

Ever tried any of these habits? Please share your thoughts in the comments section, as I learn just as much from you as you do from me.

If you’d like to learn more on this topic, consider my book Emotional Intelligence 2.0.

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2mVtDUh