#acquire some human compassion idiot

[anotherpapercut]

I just want to say I have absolutely 0 sympathy whatsoever for anyone complaining about anything homeless people do. oh you saw human shit on the ground?? hmm maybe it's because THEY DONT HAVE A TOILET. oh you saw someone cleaning themselves in a public restroom? maybe because THEY DONT HAVE A FUCKING SHOWER. oh no a homeless person is living in a tent and you think it's ugly?? CRY ABOUT IT IN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE. oh my goodness homeless people sleeping on the ground and they're in your way!!!! yeah THEY DONT HAVE A BED

if seeing homeless people bothers you that much then good news! you have some choices! 1) let them all live with you in your house! 2) start pressuring your local government to stop criminalizing the homeless and start giving them financial and medical assistance! 3) shut the fuck up and die!

[indigobackfire]

May I ask you a question: why do you like Diego and Ismelda? I'm not their hater, just neutural on them, but I can't get why some people like them.

Oh that's okay, nice of you to ask (some people would just attack). (Please excuse the length and any misspellings).

For starters, I have a tendency to like unlikable characters, yes as simple as that. No, no characters like Merula who you're supposed to hate or be enemies with, but characters supposed to annoy or make the person interacting/reading roll their eyes. That's how I made some of my best friendships in school.

I won't go in depth why I chose them to ship with my ocs (I encourage you to go through my shipping tags if you'd like) also because it's a whole other topic and I'll end up writing a bible here. I'll try as much as I can not use headcanons cause those will mean nothing to you, but I think is worth to say what I, Bee, think of them is not what my MC thinks of them and I would say she has a rocky start with these two as anyone.

First Ismelda.

I guess my liking if Ismelda gets a bit deeper than just liking a character I find nice, I actually see some of my school experiences on her. I wasn't emo doing grusome comments at all, but I was this outcast who thought of herself as this unappealing, unattractive, and uninteresting person who almost everyday wished she could be homeschooled because I just didn't have the patience to witness other people's bullshit. I wrote sad poetry for people just like her! I took 6 years in the same school to finally find a real friend because the others kept leaving me.

So in some points I can't help but sympathize with what she's going through. Being alone, seeing the only friend you have slip away to someone you can't possibly compete with - I was not an MC in school, I was Ismelda! -, being unattractive in a place where everyone looks at least cute, getting the side-eye for going against the grain. I have no sister, no negligent family, but as human I can empathize with her troubles.

Besides points I can sympathize with, I like some of her attitude of screw everyone and what everyone thinks, which is a perspective I sort of took after years of being laughed at. On the gruesomeness aspect, my last fandom, that I'm still in, is Hannibal, so I'm not unfamiliar to gruesome and cannibal jokes, characters being terrible to each other and we still shipping them and joking about them, and idk stabbing people? In media ofc xD

Also HER BARK IS MUCH HARSHER THAN HER BITE. People often comment negatively about her on the things she says, but it's obviously for shock value, when threat appears she's pissing her pants and it's not fooling anyone. It's hilarious to me like watching a lil baby puppy trying to seem threatening, sometimes we even place a finger on their mouth so they can bite us softly.

The 'haha I wish Voldemort was back' is her being at the same time an idiot, a product of her house (let's not forget at this period in time Slytherin is full of straight up DE kids with DE ideals), and unknowledgeable about what it all means. She hasn't been, as far as I know, directly affected by the 1st Wizarding War like Barnaby or Merula - those two literally had their stupid ass parents taken away.

I also like to watch JC try poorly to build her an arc. The placing of Crushed for example is off, happening after many dating SQs, but is there her arc begins - she has a stiff moral compass that gets a lil loose after that -, then we have the Sphinx club where she's way less hostile, the Quibbler SQ where they do all sorts of weird stuff to her but I wanna talk about it another time, and the Great Cook Off where she actually apologizes for overreacting. She's not a fully baked character, she's a caricature of the emo girl and I like to watch her development, and even when there's no visible development, I find humor.

I don't like everything she does or everything she says - but I don't even like Barnaby a 100% of the time - but I know it's fertile ground where a great character can grow.

As for Diego this might be shorter because I've known him for less time in the game.

Diego is extroverted, he's confident, and he's always eager to help. People's problem with him comes mostly from he's flashy, he has a grandiose sense of self, and that he s flirty. And none of those things are aspects I take trouble with.

I've said before, this talking in third person, calling himself 'great', 'the best' is a way of asserting himself to himself and others. And there's nothing wrong with that as there's nothing wrong with being a shy introvert. So far, he has placed himself high without ever placing someone down and he gives praise where praise is due.

As being flirty, which people really seem to hate and I really see no harm. Is not like he tried to kiss MC or said something inappropriate. I find it quite endearing actually. I'm gonna guess JC wanted to make him a Don Juan but landed on Johnny Bravo and I'm here having a laugh about it.

The 'omg he thinks he's the best but but MC never lost a duel to him' argument is so stupid to me, because the duels we do value nothing, if we lose a duel the game makes you pay to do another one as many times as we need. The value is in things known and said, Diego is literally a dueling instructor - probably placed as such by Flitwick. Unfortunately when we duel him is not like the game allows us to lose, is different from Penny's potion making, where she makes it while we sit and watch and even before we see her doing a potion, we're told she's the best at it and she's knows she is.

Diego has shown to be, besides his more prominent characteristics, to be thoughtful, always willing to help, and enthusiastic. He never shies away from the blame, he encourages others, and he's eager to listen to others. But like Ismelda he's really underdeveloped and underused.

One point to make would be his personality vibes with my MC's personality. She's an extrovert, she likes to think she's desired, she takes pride in the abilities she acquired along her curse breaking.

To conclude, do I think you should like them? It'd be nice for me to have someone to talk about them with, but it's not about what I want. You don't have to like them, all I ask from people is respected, specially on other people's content. I have characters I don't like in the game (I didn't max out Tulip on purpose, and Andre who was starting to grow on me had a big reset lately), so I won't try to force them down your throat, but you won't see me dragging them down.

Your ask was why I like them and if all said wasn't enough, the simple answer is they're both ridiculous and the make me laugh and smile. I'd like to have them as friends.

[victoodles]

Exhibitionist (Low Honor Arthur x Female Reader)

Back again and nastier than ever. Hope y’all enjoy! Find it here on AO3

Warnings: Rated N for Nasty (smut smut smut!)

Kieran Duffy had finally started acclimating into the Van der Linde’s dynamic. More comfortably than he expected thanks to you. Your hospitality paired alongside your boundless compassion had been nothing short of a saving grace to him since he became a “honorary guest” within the confines of the camp.

The gang held nothing but contempt for him, seeming to take pleasure in taunting him relentlessly as a former O’Driscoll. And for the more aggressive members, roughing him up without any fear of repercussions.

Not you. No, despite your secure place within this self-proclaimed family you had shown him nothing but kindness.

While bound to a post at the gang’s camp in Horseshoe Overlook, not even trusted enough to relieve himself in the woods, you would sneak out to him. Just before daybreak while the rest of the camp slept, bringing him cups of water and small pieces of stale bread. You'd apologize profusely that you couldn’t acquire something more substantial to help him regain his strength.

Kieran could never muster up the courage (nor the energy) to tell you that your goodwill alone was more than enough to reinvigorate him. Speaking to women was never his strong suit. More often than not he found himself red in the face, unable to meet your tender gaze.

After each of these encounters he could’ve sworn he saw Arthur Morgan pulling you away to his tent. He always looked rather cross with you, whispering what Kieran assumed were reprimands in your ear.

Arthur was Dutch’s primary enforcer - a brute of a man to say the least. If he knew what you were up to in the wee hours of the morning, he didn’t voice his displeasure. To his leader or any other gang member for that matter. Kieran had hoped you weren’t finding yourself at the opposing end of Arthur’s rage because of him.

If you were, Kieran truly was a pity of a man because he could do nothing to defend your honor.

Now the gang was residing comfortably by the lake side of Clemen’s Point, and Kieran had been granted the simple liberties of unrestricted movement around camp. While the mistreatment from the others didn’t subside, being able to sit next to you on his own accord was enough to make up for the incessant ridicule.

On his luckiest days, he would see you sitting by the shoreline with your toes teasing the edge of the gentle waves. Your hair always in a loose braid and gentle gusts of wind would blow stray tendrils in a way that framed your face so perfectly. A faint smile adorned your lips as you idly thumbed through an unknown book, seemingly without a care in the world. Your life was surrounded by bloodshed, yet your exterior gave no hint to the world you truly resided in.

Kieran had never seen a sight more brilliant. He didn't dare to interrupt you though; he would just soil the tranquility of the moment being the bumbling fool that he was. He was more than content just to be a silent onlooker.

Much to his credit he had tried to express his feelings, albeit it not with words. Kieran could never find the courage to verbally affirm how he felt towards you.

When he was finally allowed to leave camp without supervision, Kieran had gone directly to the general store in Rhodes. He bought a fine, silk ribbon for you, already imaging the fabric dancing in the breeze, complimenting your beautiful locks.

He could barely keep his composure as he gifted it to you, pathetically stuttering through an explanation of how he thought the color would suit your complexion.

You had laughed so sweetly in response; Kieran could only compare it to the tinkling of bells. And in return you had earnestly thanked him for thinking of you. His mouth hung open in response, looking like the human embodiment of a fish out of water.

Sentences, words, language. It had all eluded him.

It was all so simple in theory-just tell you that he was sweet on you and take it from there. As enchanting as you were, something else caught his attention however.

Only a few feet away, he could make out Arthur’s form as he intently watched the two of you. Every muscle in Kieran’s body went rigid as he saw the ferocity in Arthur’s eyes. One wrong move and the wolf would pounce, tearing his throat clean out.

Kieran was well aware that Arthur trusted him as far as he could toss him, but did he really expect any harm to befall you by simply talking to him?

It not only amplified his apprehension towards the man, it also struck him as rather peculiar. Arthur did seem to keep a closer eye on you in contrast to any of the other women. But it never seemed driven by any sense of affection. Maybe he was just imagining things but it almost seemed carnal in nature.

Kieran decided to stop humoring the thought and diverted his attention back to caring for your horse. The fondness you had for your spotted Appaloosa, Moonstone, was unparalleled. He remembered fondly when he first properly groomed her and the only way you found you could express your gratitude was with a heartfelt embrace.

His heart nearly ceased beating. And what a way to die, in the arms of an angel.

With deft fingers, he braided the mare’s mane just the way you liked it. As an added surprise he wove some wildflowers into it. White daisies aptly looking like stars against her stark black hair.

He vividly pictured the smile you would give him in return. Your happiness palpable, sweet as honey. Maybe, just maybe, you would reward him with a kiss on the cheek.

Wishful thinking, but a man could dream.

Speaking of, he was wondering where you had run off to. He hadn’t seen you since breakfast which struck him as odd. Your bow was still in your tent so you hadn’t gone hunting with Charles, and he couldn’t find you at your usual spot by the lake.

Strange, perhaps you had gone into town with one of the other girls?

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard soft, almost muffled, gasps coming from the woods just beyond the outskirts of the camp. Stranger and stranger. Had Jack wandered too far from his mother’s side, tripping as he chased squirrels in the forest? It wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

Or worse, had someone discovered their little hideaway and was attempting to kidnap one of the notorious Van der Linde’s? Bounty hunters had become a persistent problem since the gang’s shootout fiasco back in Valentine with Leviticus Cornwall.

Mustering up what little bravery he had, Kieran decided to investigate in an attempt to discover the origin of these sounds. He was a Van der Linde now, and even though that meant very little to most of the gang, he would still do what he could to protect all of them.

Trepidatiously, Kieran advanced towards the tree line, careful to avoid any stray branches that would alert this potential intruder. As he continued on, the noises had escalated into airy moans and staccatoed breaths. Dread surged through him, blood running cold at the sheer implication that a bounty hunter could be having his way with one of the girls.

He prayed to God above that wasn’t the case, that his fear was misplaced. But doubt weighed heavy on him that a pair of lovers would find themselves all the way out here for a lascivious romp.

Kieran took shelter behind a tree as he mentally prepared himself for what was waiting just beyond. It had slipped his mind to bring a gun along with him - not that any of the men would even lend him one to begin with. He had only his fists to rely on (and that wasn’t very reassuring to say the least).

But once he heard another whimper resonate from the clearing, there was no time to turn and run. With one final deep breath, he turned to peer from his cover to see what he was actually up against. He soon found his heart lurching up into his throat.

No one was being taken advantage of, that was explicitly clear.

There you were on your back - hair wild and loose splayed out behind you in the grass. Your skirt had been hiked up, fabric pooling around your waist with your drawers discarded and leaving you bare. A deep crimson flush warmed your cheeks as a painfully familiar name fell from your lips.

“Arthur,” you mewled, your legs resting on Arthur’s broad shoulders. Your rear was slightly elevated and supported by his free arm, with his tongue deep in your cunt. He smirked against you, giving you a few more languid licks before pulling away from you with your slick glistening on his lips.

“Sweet as a peach, and all for me,” his voice was rough with unadulterated lust as he looked down at you in your pleasure-filled haze. It gave Arthur immense gratification to know he was the only one who could do this to you. And he was going to be the only one who ever would.  

Kieran knew he shouldn’t be watching, it was countless forms of wrong. But he was too riddled with shock to even move an inch.

The woman he had been pining over all this time was Arthur Morgan’s.

The intensity of Arthur’s lingering gazes. Foreboding glares he would send Kieran’s way when he dared to speak to you a moment too long - it all clicked into place. He originally believed that the outlaw was just doing his job to protect you from the “big, bad O’Driscoll”.  When in actuality, it had run much deeper than just that.

Arthur didn’t want him encroaching on his territory - on his woman.

As Arthur began to resume his place between your legs once more, Kieran caught his attention. Unbeknownst to you however, remaining in ignorant bliss beneath Arthur.

Fear wracked through Kieran, now having been discovered. But if he was furious, Arthur’s eyes gave no indication. Kieran waited for him to rush over and beat him within an inch of his life. You would likely never speak to him again for peeping during their heated moment of congress.

Unexpectedly, Arthur just devilishly smirked at him before delving his tongue back inside of you earning him another rapturous moan. Arthur would teach this lovesick idiot who you belonged to - show him what he could never attain.

Arthur wasted no time teasing you with his ministrations, quickly dragging the flat of his tongue up and down your slit. You found yourself getting wetter and wetter as he continued his relentless, rapid cadence (much to his delight).

His tongue plunged deeply inside of you, reveling in the way your muscles lightly clenched around him. He thrust the tip of it in and out of your soft warmth and you keened. Your fingers found their way to his hair once he started feverishly sucking on your clit, occasionally flicking it with his tongue.    

Kieran was in disbelief-he couldn’t believe such wanton cries were coming from you of all people. He had heard men with working women occasionally in hotels, but never had he heard such raw, undiluted desire like this before in his life.

Again Arthur broke away from you, replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, tracing feather-light circles around your entrance while his thumb hovered just tortuously above your clit.

“Look at you darlin’, such a pretty girl,” he whispered huskily, letting his fingertips slip into you ever so slightly. He looked back to Kieran before adding, “My girl.” A sentiment that was more so a statement of fact, laced with a silent threat that he should never dare forget.

“Y-yours,” you panted, breasts heaving as he began applying pressure with the pad of his thumb to your clit. He hummed in response, clearly pleased with your answer. And he rewarded you accordingly, sinking his fingers into you up to the knuckle.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he pulled out of you for a moment before slamming back in, “mine.” He continued this unabated rhythm, his arm around you keeping your wriggling hips still in his firm grasp.

“Whose,” thrust, “are," thrust, “you?”

You desperately tried to suppress your cries being so close to the camp, but to no avail.

“Yours!”

The pressure in the pit of your stomach, sending waves of heat throughout your body, was becoming unbearable. You wanted to beg Arthur for your release, but in your current state you knew your wishes would just come out as an incoherent mess. Besides, he always gave you what you wanted. One way or another.

Arthur hummed in satisfaction, withdrawing his fingers from you once more despite your discordant protests. “Good girl,” he praised lowly, a shiver making its way up your spine at his approval. A man of little patience, Arthur was ravenous and could only be satiated by your delectable essence.

He didn’t think himself an accomplished man, but the way he could make a delicate woman like you sing with his touch alone, he considered himself up there with those great composers that Dutch fancied listening to.

With haste, Arthur sank three digits back into you and began a once again unabated pace with his tongue finding a familiar place on the tender nub at the apex of your womanhood. He lapped at it greedily, moving his head left and right in perfect tandem with the movement of his fingers.

The sensations were like pure Hellfire surging through your veins. And if Arthur was the devil incarnate, you would gladly let him envelop you in his flames time and time again.      

Arthur could sense you were on that beautiful precipice, so close to spectacularly breaking. Your toes curled on his shoulders and hands clutched the ground below with white knuckles. He glanced up once more, and fueled by a twisted sense of pride, was delighted to see Kieran had not left with his tail between his legs.

Shamelessly, Arthur shot him a wink. Assuring when you came, the name that fell from your lips would remind that fool that you would never utter anything so fine in his direction. Arthur was not left disappointed.

You finished with a silent scream, hoarsely chanting his name repeatedly like a passionate mantra as he eagerly drank up your climax.

Kieran had seen nothing Arthur didn’t want him to, and with shame heavily apparent on his face and a throbbing problem within his jeans, he scurried away like the coward he always knew he was.  

~

A handful of days had come and gone since Kieran had stumbled upon you and Arthur during your moment of...intimacy.

Kieran had become dramatically more skittish since then - especially around you. The rest of the gang paid him little mind despite this. He couldn’t look you in the eye without recalling you in such an indecent state: smooth legs exposed, your sensual cries during your throws of passion, the way you looked when you ca-

“Kieran?” Your melodic voice had broken him out of his exceedingly inappropriate trance - about you no less!

His ears turned beet red, threatening to bloom into a deplorable flush on his cheeks. You cocked your head to the side, seemingly puzzled, as you waited for him to compose himself.

“M-Miss?” He blubbered, attempting to cover his embarrassment with his hand.

“I was just checking to see if you were alright. You’ve been a little...off recently.” Bless your heart and endless supply of empathy for those around you. “Are you sick,” you asked in earnest, reaching out to determine if he perhaps had a fever.

Kieran stumbled away from your touch leaving you shocked, oblivious to what prompted such a dramatic reaction.

“I’m f-fine Miss, don’t you w-worry none about me,” he floundered through his excuse. He became even more short of breath as Arthur came up behind you, placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

As if expecting him, you looked back and gifted him a small smile, expression softening in his presence. He nodded his greeting to you in kind.

“Mr. Morgan! Are we still on for our hunting trip? I’ve been hearing rumors of a pure-white fox just shy of Rhodes and they sound promising,” you explained enthusiastically and Arthur gave a low chuckle in response.    

“Course’. Why don’t you go get your things, I’ll be right with ya.” With that, you headed back towards your tent. Not before giving Kieran a farewell wave, leaving the two men alone with one another.

Arthur stared him down, his expression passive as Kieran all but trembled in his boots unsure of what was to come. A wolfish grin played on his lips and a laugh rumbled in his chest like thunder, further unnerving Kieran.

Arthur broke the tense silence first.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, O’Driscoll,” he stated bluntly, reveling in Kieran’s extreme anxiety. Flabbergasted with a nervous sweat forming at his brow, Kieran was completely at a loss for words.

Arthur sneered and began making his way past him, stopping at his side only to discreetly whisper something in his ear.

“If I so much as suspect you thinking ‘impure’ thoughts about my woman, I’ll personally see you gelded.”

[tetsuocommittee]

Those images had truly left a mark.

A pretty impactful mark for a fleeting moment, taken from pieces of salvaged footage.

Perhaps a little too impactful, but that was just how he had interpreted it.

He was just a child at the time.

A child who possessed a couple of unusual abilities, such as bending cutlery and sometimes guessing what others were thinking.

Not very impressive, but still unusual enough to make his own family shun him.

They had told him that it wasn’t okay. That people would say he was cursed. That people would fear him, distance themselves from him.

It just wasn’t okay.

And, for a while, he believed it. He hung his head in shame, and repressed that shunned, unwanted part of himself.

Until he appeared.

With his crimson cape and his ruthless glare.

Lord Akira.

The one he had heard so much about. The one who had returned from death itself.

Not even getting his former remains buried and secured had stopped him. He had found a way.

He had found a way to acquire a new body, a new form, and continue his mission of purging the world.

And then presumably perish, once again, in that great ball of light and destruction.

The child hadn’t been around to see any of those things. They had come to him as stories, and later images from all that surviving evidence.

Those impactful images. The ones that finally confirmed that Lord Akira was real.

And Lord Akira had, once again, spared the world instead of obliterating it for good.

Because Lord Akira did actually have a merciful side.

Because Lord Akira used to be just a child with unusual abilities, just like himself.

A human who was given the power, the overwhelming responsibility of purging the world, of putting it out of its misery.

It was so tragic.

And it could have been himself.

Or rather, it could still be himself.

Perhaps…

Perhaps he had been anointed by Lord Akira since his first incarnation, and indirectly witnessing the second one had been a fated reminder.

Perhaps Lord Akira was no longer able to take an earthly form, or it would at least take a bigger effort than before if he retried.

Perhaps Lord Akira just wanted him to understand that there was nothing wrong with him, that his abilities were no curse, but rather a blessing.

Either way, those images had motivated him. Those images had inspired him.

The prospect of gathering enough power to subjugate everyone and everything in his path, just by looking at them…

It filled him with joy.

“It is important to consider that Lord Akira has caused great harm… but not everybody was harmed.” he said, with an eerie tranquility “It was a teaching. A warning. He has given us time to recover, and learn… but we did not listen. And that is why a second warning was required. A final warning. If a new strike is provoked, it will not be just a warning anymore. Lord Akira is losing his faith, and his human compassion. We must begin to move forward. We must begin to learn, for the world as we know it might be facing its very last chance. We must stop… this corruption…”

Kai groaned, and reached out to change the channel, but Kei was still holding the remote.

“Oh, come on! Just how much more of this scumbag are we gonna have to sit through? Isn’t it already obvious that he’s either an idiot or high?” he complained.

“Koichi Uchida.” replied Kei, making him raise an eyebrow.

“Huh?”

“His name is Koichi Uchida. I usually wouldn’t even bother with someone who… preaches like this, but he seems to have a large following…” she explained, then turning away from the screen to look back at him “And enough influence to have his own block on television, which is very concerning if you ask me. Especially after some of those followers claimed that he has ‘miraculous abilities, granted by Lord Akira himself’…”

Kai observed her for some seconds before answering.

“You don’t think he could, like… actually have those, do you?”

Kei frowned gravely.

“It’s possible.”

Her intuition was telling her so. And she hated it.

“Well, here we go again then!” sighed Kai, leaning back on his chair “Good thing Kaneda and Makiko must be miles away already…”

And now Kei was the one raising her eyebrows, noticing that starkly bitter tone.

“…You’re still upset with Kaneda, aren’t you?” she inquired.

“Aren’t you?” he scoffed, crossing his arms behind his head “He said he would let us help him, and then bailed again! Because he’s too full of himself for that shit or whatever!”

“It’s just difficult for him…” she reflected, giving him that worried look that had been gradually becoming the norm “And we can’t keep pushing him, because that will only make him evade us even more. We have to be patient.”

“Maybe that’s why he left in the end, because he got sick of us…” he concluded, deflating into a sadder demeanor.

And Kei replied almost immediately, almost reassuringly.

“I wouldn’t put it like that.” she said “I do think he might have needed a breather, but not precisely from us. He might have been tired in general. He said it himself, there’s been a lot going on… He might have wanted to clear his mind, do some self-discovery… and finding Makiko might have been his cue.”

Kai had been slowly shifting his gaze from the floor to the ceiling while listening, as if processing her response thoroughly, to then finally turn back to her.

“…From destiny?”

Kei seemed to ponder for a bit, and then shrugged vaguely.

“Maybe. Who knows…”

And that clearly didn’t do much, because Kai looked back down.

He always had been the most optimistic of the three, even despite the fact he had endured his own share of hardships, but now he was starting to fracture.

And it was just discouraging to see.

So discouraging that it was making Kei become encouraging in return. It was making her want to keep trying to show, maybe even welcome some optimism herself.

“Just wait, Kai, we will be okay.” she continued “Kaneda will be back, and he will be ready to accept our help by then. I’m sure of it…”

“……………..”

Kai looked back at her.

And he actually didn’t quite buy that, but smiled anyway. Slightly.

“Thanks, Kei…”

And Kei smiled as well, before turning back to the television, since something had just caught her attention.

Something behind the ghastly preacher that was still there, spewing nonsense.

“We must acknowledge our mistakes.”

It was a mural.

“We must acknowledge our corruption.”

A mural depicting a familiar looking figure.

“We must repent.”

A mural depicting an unsettlingly familiar looking figure.

“We must submit, and beg…”

With a crimson cape and a ruthless glare.

“…for Lord Akira’s divine salvation…”

Then Makiko opened her eyes with a gasp.

She was back on the train.

And next to a mildly startled Kaneda.

“What? What is it?” he inquired, leaning forward “Bad dream?”

And the train wasn’t looking hazy anymore. The other three or four passengers weren’t creepy shadows anymore either.

Yet, she had to blink and look around to fully convince herself.

“Makiko…?”

She even stared at her hands, before eventually turning to him.

“Where are we, Mister Kaneda?” she inquired herself, and Kaneda checked through the window.

“Still pretty far, I think…” he replied “These guys just love living in the middle of nowhere.”

“I see…”

Then Makiko looked away again, and placed her hands on her lap while gently swinging her legs.

“Sooo…” continued Kaneda “Everything alright then? No bad dreams?”

And she shook her head.

She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want it to linger.

She had already hassled him enough.

“I was just wondering…” she began, but then trailed off.

Which naturally didn’t work, since Kaneda had already heard enough.

“Yeah? Wondering what?”

And Makiko could only shrink regretfully.

“Am I bad…?” she muttered.

And suddenly her surroundings were becoming hazy again.

“Miss Kei is your friend… Miss Kei is your friend, right? I got mad at her, I got mad at your friend…”

Suddenly she was catching glimpses of cracks. Cracks on the windows, cracks on the walls.

“And Mister Kaisuke got mad too…”

Where those real cracks? Was it her? Was it her again? Or was it just another dream?

“Mister Kaisuke got mad, I know…”

But she was awake…

“It was me…”

Was she dreaming awake?

“It was me…”

Then Kaneda touched her shoulder, and everything reshaped itself back to normal.

Makiko turned, just in time to meet his protective intent as he proceeded to put his arm around her.

“No, you’re not.” he replied “You’re not bad. You just can do things that are hard to understand, and hard to handle. Anyone in that situation would get mad, hell, I would. It just sucks. But that’s not you…”

And Makiko seemed to get it to some degree, but still tilted her head a little.

“That psychic shit, I mean… That doesn’t define you, okay? If you can blow someone up but you don’t want to, that’s what matters. What you do with it, or what you don’t do…”

That was what those weird kids had said back then, wasn’t it? Something along those lines.

“And what you already did is in the past.” he continued “You’re sorry and you don’t want to do it again. And that’s what matters.”

And Makiko was so grateful for it.

Makiko was so relieved, so moved, that she decided to cast the awkward hesitation aside and outright hug him.

“Oof!” smiled Kaneda, taken by surprise but then promptly hugging her back “It’ll be okay, we’ll be okay…”

“Thank you for being my friend, Mister Kaneda…” she muttered.

And he could feel his heart shuddering, as the train kept advancing through the countryside.

Until the countryside turned into a rocky bank, and the train turned into flowing water.

And now it was a stream.

A stream that was still advancing with the same steadiness, before the concentrated gaze of a woman.

A young woman wearing a modest robe, and calmly kneeling on the shore.

“There you are.” said an incoming second woman, who was also wearing a modest robe “I knew you’d be here. You’ve been acting strange all morning.”

“I told you she had a feeling, a gut feeling.” added a third woman, approaching from behind, and also wearing a modest robe.

“I think you mean premonition.” corrected the second woman, and the third woman shrugged.

“Gut feeling, premonition, same concept.” she said, putting her hands on her hips as she turned to the first woman “So? What is it?”

And then the first woman seemed to react, even though she was still facing away from them.

“Someone’s coming.” she said.

The second woman raised an eyebrow.

“Who?” she asked.

“A man.” answered the first woman “He’s dressed in leather, and looks conflicted. I believe he comes from the city.”

“The city!?” exclaimed the third woman “My goodness, that’s a long way! What could he be seeking in this neck of the woods?”

“Guidance.” answered, once again, the first woman.

“Of course…” sighed the second woman “They’re all the same, always bringing their urban problems and their suffocating urban energy with them.”

“Not for him, though.” clarified the first woman “There’s a child with him.”

And then she frowned.

“A child, alright…” said the third woman, rubbing her chin “And what’s this child like?”

Then the first woman began to stand up.

“Anomalous.” she stated, making the third woman blink in astonishment.

“What?” she mouthed.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.” added the second woman, in a slightly annoyed manner.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” replied the first woman, as she finally turned around “There’s definitely a disruption, though. That’s what will bring them here.”

“Well, in that case…” said the third woman “Let’s do our best to help, yes?”

“Hmph…” scowled the second woman “They better don’t cause any trouble.”

“Oh, Miki, you’re always so sweet to outsiders.” jeered the third woman, and the second woman just gave her a stern look.

“It’s called being careful, Mozu. Maybe you should try it sometime.” she replied.

Then the first woman approached, pressing her palms together as if praying, or begging.

“I know it would be hard for you two, but could you please not do this now?” she said “We might be about to confront a serious situation, so we have to focus.”

“Right, right…” said the third woman, also known as Mozu “Sorry, Sakaki. It’s just so fun to tick her off… but yeah, you can count on me. This could be our most interesting mission so far!”

“Sorry, Sakaki.” repeated the second woman, also known as Miki “I can’t speak for her, but I will stay alert.”

“Yes. Thank you. Let’s return then.” concluded the first woman.

Also known as Sakaki.

And they did indeed return, quickly and resolutely.

There was so much to do, and so little time, but at least it was a sunny day.

[dragonfics]

Thanks (again) to @itsladykit I was inspired to write some silly rom-com style TwistedHoneyMoney. The exact words that started it were “Twist/Rus, Cash/Rus, Twist/Cash love triangle (the kind that ends in polyamory, but starts with a rivalry between Twist and Cash)”. How was I to say no to a good old-fashioned love triangle? (Especially one with a Tale-verse monster sandwiched between to Fell-verse idiots).

Relationships: TwistedHoneyMoney (Twistfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus/Purple Swapfell Papyrus) (The poly relationship is not yet established in this chapter)

Summary:  Fell-verse monsters have a strange method of courtship—one some might deem a little unorthodox (or, in the words of certain monsters—undignified). Then again, it takes a fool (or two) to underestimate the duplicity of a Tale-verse monster. After all, isn’t it always the ones you least expect?

Tags: Non-explicit sexual content (this chapter), flirting, teasing, unconventional courtship

Warnings: Nothing serious, but this may come across as a sort of “cheating” (though no one is in an established relationship). Everything is consensual however, and the rivalry is in good-spirits (for the most part). But... they are assholes. I’m not even going to try and deny it.

Just two chapters for this one! It was meant to be a one-shot, but I went completely overboard with the “courtship”. (I would also like to apologise to anyone waiting on the next chapter of Argent Night. Unfortunately, I’ve been a bit swamped with uni stuff, so I’ve had to delay the update. I’m hoping to get the next chapter out by next weekend.)

With that all out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

~Beneath the cut~

When the Barrier had broken, and monsters had reached the Surface, it had soon become apparent that certain members of their race were more suited to life among humans than others. While many monsters settled comfortably into their new lifestyle, some found themselves struggling to adapt to the everyday norms of human society.

“Public transport? What a concept! Why on earth would I travel out in the open where anyone could attack me without warning?”

These more ill-fitted monsters were dubbed ‘Fell-verse’ by the gentler portion of their cohort, given the widespread notion that they were merely ‘fallen’ versions of the average monster.

Naturally, the Fell-verse monsters were not pleased with this distinction, and chose to name the softer members of their species ‘Tale-verse’—as an act of petty revenge (in their own eyes, at least).

“Utter airheads, the lot of them! Waltzing around as if life is some sort of fairy-tale.”

But despite a few initial disagreements, the Tale-verse and Fell-verse monsters soon came to develop a sort of fondness of each other (though neither would ever admit it openly). Though they still butted heads occasionally, their fascination with each other took over many early misgivings.

Compassion, joy, and zest were all fairly foreign concepts to many Fell-verse monsters. So it came as quite a shock to them when the Tale-verse monsters displayed such things so openly. Words like ‘naivety’, ‘absent-mindedness’, and even ‘stupidity’ were thrown around by some. Others, however, found themselves quite enthralled by the sweeter monsters, and many Fell-verse monsters were soon to be seen wandering the streets in the company of Tale-verse monsters.

And indeed, the Fell monsters weren’t the only ones intrigued by their counterparts. Many Tale-verse monsters derived amusement from the brash behaviour of Fell-verse monsters. More than once, a Tale-verse monster would have to explain the common social etiquettes of human society to a Fell-verse monster.

“He wasn’t trying to kill you, he was just offering you a drink.”

And, as time took its course, the question of Tale-verse and Fell-verse monsters entering ‘intimate relationships’ with each other arose. At first, the mere suggestion was met with utter indignance.

On the Tale-verse end, one often heard comments such as: “Utterly absurd! Can you imagine actually trying to tame one of those creatures long enough to have relations with it? I, for one, am content to let them ravage each other instead of those of us with a little dignity!”

And, on the Fell-verse side of things: “yeah, i guess i’d fuck a—heh—tail-verse or two. but, like, do they even know what they’re doin’? … do they know what fuckin’ is?”

Yet for all the doubts and naysaying, nature inevitably took its course, and soon, relationships between Fell-verse and Tale-verse monsters came to be—rare, though they were.

It soon came to the attention of the Tale-verse monsters however, that their Fell-verse counterparts had a fairly… abnormal method of courtship. Many seemed to lack the charisma acquired to ‘woo’ the Tale-verse monsters—a fact they made up for in blunt, unashamed forwardness. And though this approach had its benefits (most Fell monsters weren’t overly fond of small-talk), its success rate was fairly laughable. As it turned out, Tale-verse monsters tended to expect a little more decorum from their suitors.

Another trait which seemed prominent among Fell-verse monsters, was the (sometimes mildly aggressive) tendency towards competitiveness. And in the case of seduction, this often led to the unabashed art of bragging of one’s conquests. It soon became a point of pride, for one to be able to say that they had been intimate with a Tale-verse monster. After all, what sort of social prowess must one possess to be able to seduce such an enigmatic creature?

 Twist, a skeleton monster (and one of very few, at that), could make no claim to possessing any degree of subtlety or finesse when faced with social encounters. What he didn’t lack however—was confidence. While he’d never been one to brag (at least, not explicitly), his list of Tale-verse conquests was to be admired. Whether it was his words or his reputation—few could be sure—but Twist seemed to possess a knack for charming his way into the beds of Tale-verse monsters.

Cash, another Fell-verse skeleton, could make similar proclamations about his sex-life—and he did. Though a little shy of Twist’s level of confidence, Cash was a very proud monster, and took great strides to ensure the word of his prowess spread as far as was possible. Though he lacked Twist’s charm (and for Twist, ‘charm’ was probably a generous descriptor), he certainly had no shortage of affluence. When his wits failed him, he always had his wealth to fall back on (and it served him well).

But, as it stood, neither Twist nor Cash were quite satisfied with the list of successful Tale-verse endeavours to their names. There was one they would have liked to add—a monster they’d both had in interest in for quite some time.

Rus was a Tale-verse skeleton—and a rather fascinating one at that (in the shared opinion of Twist and Cash, in any case). Though Tale-verse through and through, Rus was rather a curiosity for the two Fell skeletons. He smiled—a lot—yet there was something behind his smile that left the mind wondering. The smile was by no means false, but it held a certain degree of ambiguity, which stirred an element of uncertainty—and intrigue—in the Fell-verse skeletons.

Being of the same ilk, Twist and Cash saw in each other a competitor for Rus’s affections. While both had yet to make a move on him, the tension between them had been present for a long time. And it was on a warm Friday night—at one of the skeletons’ weekly gatherings—that these tensions rose to a head.

****

Twist was a monster who made it his mission to spend as much time in public as his schedule allowed. So when the Tale-verse skeletons had proposed a weekly ‘pub night’—a visit to their neighbourhood’s local watering hole—Twist had been one of the first to speak up in favour of the idea (in spite of many of the other Fell-verse skeletons’ protests to the ‘Tale-verse nonsense’). And once the tradition had begun, Twist had become one of the few (if not the only) to attend every single gathering.

And this week was no different. He sat at the bar, sipping his drink and observing the other patrons (monsters and humans alike) chatting and laughing away. It was a relatively quiet night, and only a few of the skeletons had deigned to show up. Rus and Cash were both in attendance, and as it stood—very much occupied by each other.

Twist watched, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, as Cash made his very best effort to hold Rus’s attentions. They were seated in a booth along with two of the other skeletons—Red, and Blackberry (Twist’s brother). But neither Rus nor Cash were paying much heed to the other two, sitting a little closer to each other than was perhaps necessary for an ordinary conversation.

But Twist knew it would be a while still before Cash was ready to make his move. The set of his shoulders was tense and anxious, and he barely seemed able to maintain eye contact with Rus for more than a few seconds. Twist would have been more than eager to indulge himself in the entertaining activity of watching Cash squander each passing opportunity to seduce Rus for the entire night—but, Twist wasn’t known for his patience, so after downing the remainder of his drink, he stood and crossed the bar.

As he approached the booth, Rus and Cash both looked up (the latter appearing a little less than pleased at the intrusion). “Heya, Tale-verse,” Twist addressed Rus, grinning.

“twisted,” Rus greeted in response.

Cash was giving Twist an apathetic glare, and Twist lifted a challenging brow-bone before returning his attentions to Rus. “Y’know, ‘m feelin’ a little pent up—ya wanna head back ta my place fer a couple a’ hours?”

Twist knew he was taking a risk; though this very direct method of enticement had worked in the past, Rus was difficult to read. Cash, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his bewilderment. “for goodness sake, twist, ya can’t just—”

“sure,” Rus responded, standing. Cash blinked, clearly stunned (in truth, Twist couldn’t claim to be any less surprised, but he refrained from revealing as much). Rus shot Cash a smile. “i’ll see you later, moneybags.”

Cash seemed to be struggling to find words, looking crestfallen as Twist slung an arm over Rus’s shoulders, pulling him against his side. “Don’ worry, Patches, I’ll take good care a’ him,” Twist said, knowing full well that the nickname embarrassed Cash to no end.

True to his nature, Cash blushed a pale shade of violet, ducking his head and turning his covered eye away. Twist chuckled, and pressed his teeth to the crown of Rus’s skull. “Ready ta head off then, sweetheart? I’m as good as they say, promise,” he added, with a wink.

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” Rus said. “and if you prove to be better—maybe i’ll even consider fucking you again.” Twist took no small amount of delight in the smug grin he was able to cast in Cash’s direction as he led Rus from the bar.

Needless to say, he’d won.

 And, as it turned out, Rus was just as profound a partner as Twist had been hoping (more so, even). His stamina was surprising for someone of his HP, and he made very little effort to keep himself quiet (which Twist appreciated immensely). He was also astoundingly more attentive than Twist had been expecting—leaving Twist more satisfied than he could have hoped for.

As they lay beside each other on Twist’s mattress, Twist couldn’t help but grin to himself. “Gotta say, Tale-verse, I’m impressed,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“i’d be offended if you weren’t,” Rus replied, smirking. He rolled over, pressing himself against Twist’s side and resting his head on his shoulder. “you weren’t half bad yourself.”

Twist was somewhat startled by the gentle display of affection—and had to remind himself for a moment that Rus was a Tale-verse monster. Well, though unfamiliar, it certainly wasn’t anything Twist was opposed to. After a moment’s hesitation, he returned the gesture, wrapping an arm around Rus. It felt… nice.

The pleasant haze of their afterglow was broken by the dull buzz of Rus’s cell phone. Casting Twist a sheepish grin, he untangled himself from his arms, turning over and answering the call. “heya, cash. what’s up?”

Twist froze in disbelief. Why would Patches be calling now…?

“what am i doing…?” Rus turned to cast Twist a wink. “something unfathomably stupid.” Twist stifled a snort, but watched Rus carefully. There was no chance Cash was simply calling for a friendly chat; his motivations were undoubtedly less than honest. “hmm, your place?” Rus’s response to whatever Cash had said confirmed Twist’s suspicions. “tell you what—why don’t you give me an hour? that work?” Rus stifled a snort, his gaze flickering to Twist. “yeah, i’ll shower first, you asshole. see you soon.”

For a moment, Twist had to remind himself not to gape. He stared at Rus as he hung up, struggling to hide his bewilderment. “Yer… meetin’ up with Patches?” he asked cautiously, ensuring he hadn’t misunderstood the phone call.

Rus flushed slightly, but smiled, his eyes darting away from Twist. “yeah… something wrong with that?”

Twist blinked, trying to comprehend the situation. While Cash’s intrusion was not unexpected—Rus’s agreement to his offer certainly was. Still, Twist wasn’t one to back down so easily—though he couldn’t stop Rus from engaging with Cash tonight… he could certainly delay him. “We still go ‘n hour, don’ we?”

Rus shrugged. “i suppose.”

“Good.” Grinning, Twist rolled them over, straddling Rus’s hips. He leaned down, kissing the surprised look off Rus’s face. “’Cause I’ve got a few more things I’d like ta do ta ya before ya go.”

Twist considered it a victory that Rus didn’t have time to shower before he left.

 Twist made sure to awake before sunrise the next morning. His bones ached pleasantly from the previous night’s activities, and his magic felt considerably warm and settled. After a quick breakfast, he made his way to the nearest bus stop. He was at Cash’s house before seven. Not bothering to ring the bell of the ridiculously pricy penthouse, Twist waltzed inside—noting that Cash seemed to have forgotten to lock the front door. He certainly must have been eager.

To Twist’s surprise, Rus was sprawled out on one of the lavish sofas in the living room, fast asleep. Cash was nowhere in sight. Shooting a cautious glance at the staircase, Twist approached Rus, placing a light hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Tale-verse,” he whispered, as Rus blearily opened his eye sockets. He blinked at Twist in surprise, a hint of amusement in his features.

“twisted… couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rus murmured through a yawn.

“Nah.” Twist grinned, climbing onto the sofa beside Rus. “Patches made ya sleep on the couch?” he questioned, lifting a brow bone.

“who says we were sleeping?” Rus asked, smirking.

Twist chuckled, leaning in. “Wanna not sleep some more?”

Rus snorted. “you sure have a way with words, twisted. do you want me to suck you off or eat you out?”

Twist grinned, feeling victorious. Leaning in, he pressed their teeth together, satisfied by Rus’s soft hum of appreciation. “How ‘bout both?” he murmured, nipping at Rus’s jaw.

Rus drew away to regard him with dubiety. “now you’re just being greedy.”

“Why waste a mouth as exquisite as yers on jus’ one form of oral?”

“well now, how can i say no to such a sweet-talker?”

Twist couldn’t decide if he was more satisfied by Rus’s performance, or the look on Cash’s face when he emerged at the top of the stairs to find Rus with his head between Twist’s legs.

 A week passed without incident (sexual or otherwise), and it wasn’t until the skeletons’ next gathering that Twist saw Rus and Cash again. The day was hot, and Twist was thankful for the cool air-conditioning inside the bar. What he was not so thankful for however, was the sight of Cash and Rus huddled beside each other in one of the corner booths.

By all appearances, things seemed fairly normal (but, perhaps, for their proximity to each other). But as Twist drew closer, he came to notice a rather strange expression on Rus’s face. He looked almost pained, and light beads of sweat dotted his skull. It was only when Twist caught Cash’s expression—an almost vindictive grin—that he realised something more was at play.

Any other monster would have shied away the moment they caught whim of what was going on between the two skeletons—but Twist wasn’t just any monster. Shame was something relatively foreign to him, and without qualm, he sat down beside them, shooting Cash a broad grin. “Heya, Tale-verse—Patches—what’re ya up to?”

Rus’s eyes went wide, a heavy blush sinking into his features. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Cash cut in, leaning over to regard Twist with a challenging tilt of his head. “not much. i was just givin’ rus a hand with somethin’. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Rus blushed deeper as Cash’s teeth grazed his neck, but he nodded (a little breathlessly), remaining silent.

Twist observed them, projecting unfazed amusement despite the frustration Cash was igniting within him. “Well,” he said, shrugging with casual indifference and leaning back, “don’ stop on my account.”

“we weren’t,” Cash growled, and Rus whimpered softly, turning to bury his face in Cash’s chest. But Cash stopped him, holding him at bay with his free hand (the other was currently… occupied). “nah, love. i want ya ta look at him. go on. turn around.”

Rus stared at Cash for a few seconds, tears leaking from the corners of his eye sockets, before turning hesitantly to look at Twist. Cash pressed his teeth to Rus’s acoustic meatus, whispering something too quiet for Twist to hear. But given the sudden heated look that crossed Rus’s features—it wasn’t difficult to guess the nature of Cash’s words.

Twist knew walking away would be admitting defeat, but he still felt thoroughly put on the spot. Embarrassment wasn’t really an emotion he was familiar with, yet he could feel magic tingling beneath the surface of his bones. Rus’s expression was an enticing mixture of bliss and discomposure, his eyes straying from Twist’s face, and his cheeks glowing. Though Twist would normally be more than inclined to enjoy the display, Cash’s complacent smirk was very off-putting.

He relinquished to sit and watch, forcing his features to appear neutral, until at last Cash pressed his hand over Rus’s mouth to muffle his cries, and pulled away. “you were perfect, darlin’,” Cash murmured, running his tongue over Rus’s neck, while keeping his gaze firmly locked on Twist. “gonna go wash my hands,” he said, sliding out of the booth and casting Twist a triumphant smirk. “don’t worry, love, i took good care of ‘im.”

Twist watched Cash go, pressing back the retorts he itched to speak. When Cash was out of sight, Twist turned to Rus, who still looked a little flushed. Shuffling over, Twist traced his fingers over the back of Rus’s hand playfully, leaning in to murmur, “Need me ta take ya home, Tale-verse? I can give y’a ride.”

Rus glanced at him, lifting a brow-bone. “you don’t drive,” he pointed out.

“Not that kinda ride, sweetheart.”

By some miracle, Rus agreed. Twist was more than obliged to continue his rivalry with Cash—indeed, he was rather delighted. The competition was thrilling—seeing the mix of outrage and frustration on Cash’s face every time Twist gained the upper hand was immensely satisfying. Not to mention, Rus was a damn good fuck.

****

Cash had never been one for socialising. He tended to avoid human (and monster) interaction as much as physically possible, and spending time in the presence of crowds was a peeve of his. He had been one of the first to reject the bullshit Tale-verse suggestion for a ‘weekly hang-out’. In fact, the first time he had attended had only been at Twist’s unrelenting insistence.

He had attended every one since.

Cash liked Rus. He liked talking to him, being around him, touching him. He was all sweet smiles and soft whispers and subtle glances that made Cash feel wanted. So on that warm Friday night, Cash’s soul had leapt a little when Rus had chosen to sit beside him. Him—and not that Twisted asshole who kept shooting them glances from across the bar. Cash made sure to establish the fact that Rus’s attentions were his for the night. He shuffled close to him, leaned in, and did his best to smile and engage.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to get the right words out—hell, he could barely look at Rus without blushing. And before long, Twist was standing beside their booth, his body angled in such a way that flaunted the sharp curve of his hip and displayed just a sliver of his clavicle. His eyes were on Rus, but Cash caught the brief smug glances in his direction.

When Rus left with Twist, it felt as if a dagger had embedded itself in Cash’s chest. His fists trembled at his sides, and he could do little but stare at the hard oak of the table as his magic boiled. He caught a glimpse of Blackberry’s smug half-smile across the table, and snapped his head up, teeth gritted. “somethin’ to say, berry?”

Blackberry sighed, sounding almost pitying. “You’re not going to win against him, Cash,” he stated simply.

Irritated, Cash cast a glance at Red, who merely shrugged in concession. “yeah, uh, sorry bud. the twisted’s got ya beat by a mile an’ a half.”

Cash stared at both of them for half a minute before standing abruptly, marching for the door without so much as a ‘goodbye’. He seldom bothered mustering the energy for petty competitions—but Twist somehow seemed to know just which of his buttons to push, and Cash was nothing if not stubborn. He would not be losing this.

 Relief flooded Cash when Rus picked up on the other end of the line around an hour later (a very small part of him entertained the idea that Rus had been hoping Cash would call). And Rus’s unfaltering agreement to come over sent Cash’s soul aflutter. He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he hung up, wishing more than anything that he could see the look on the Twisted bastard’s face.

When Rus arrived an hour later, he was looking a little dishevelled. “you smell like sex,” Cash remarked, letting him in.

Rus hummed in agreement, crossing the room and flopping onto one of the plush sofas. “uh… yeah. that’s normally what happens when you have sex.” Cash felt a sick pit settling in his chest, and he grimaced. Seeming to sense his discomfort, Rus quickly shook his head, smiling. “but… feel free to try and prove me wrong.” His tongue danced over his teeth, and Cash felt warmth pooling in his groin.

After pouring them both a glass of his most expensive champagne, he sat beside Rus, who seemed more than grateful for the drink. “are you trying to get me drunk, cash?” he asked, lifting a brow-bone in teasing.

“i’m trying to give you the treatment you deserve,” Cash told him, smoothly. His breath stuttered as Rus’s hand glided slowly up his femur, settling just beneath his pelvic inlet.

“fuck me on this sofa, and i’ll consider myself treated,” Rus purred, pressing his teeth against Cash’s neck. Though Cash normally turn his nose up at the thought of sullying his pristine couches—he decided to make an exception for Rus.

And oh, was he glad he did. Though fucking Rus was sweet and gentle, it was nothing like Cash had imagined it to be. Though Rus was soft and considerate—he was by no means submissive. Even as Cash pounded into him, he could feel Rus guiding his movements, encouraging him, whispering words of praise and adoration.

When Cash came, it was with tears in his eyes, and Rus’s name falling from his mouth. He flushed at how embarrassingly quickly he had reached his climax, but Rus seemed unconcerned, almost immediately curling up against him and falling asleep.

A little startled at the unreserved display of trust, Cash carefully pried himself out of Rus’s arms, gathering a blanket and draping it over him before hurrying upstairs, his cheeks burning. A small bloom of pride unfurled inside him—where Rus had only remained with Twist for a mere hour, he had chosen to stay with Cash for an entire night (even if he was only sleeping on his sofa). Cash almost considered joining him, but decided against it, the thought a little daunting.

Needless to say, the fury and despair he felt at finding Twist in his living room the next morning with Rus’s face buried in his crotch—was unfathomable. Cash vowed nothing short of bitter revenge in return.

 A week later, he delivered on his promise.

The blistering heat of the day did nothing to quell the heady agitation of Cash’s magic, and he was more than grateful when he found Rus sitting in their usual booth alone at the bar. Sliding in beside him, he pushed his misgivings to the back of his mind, and slung his arm over Rus’s shoulders, leaning into him. “bit warm today, isn’ it?” he remarked, satisfied by the look of surprise on Rus’s face.

“i—i suppose it is,” Rus said, seeming a little taken off guard by the physical gesture. This delighted Cash, and he tugged Rus closer. He could feel the heat radiating from his body, and dared to indulge the idea that Rus might be just as horny as he was.

He turned his head to press his teeth to the angle of Rus’s jaw, feeling a shudder go through Rus as he scraped his teeth over the bone. “hmm… you smell delicious, y’know that?”

Rus’s breath hitched as Cash’s fingers found the waistband of his pants, teasing at the base of his spine and iliac crest. “i—the others might be here soon,” he murmured, his breathing beginning to quicken.

“do you want me ta stop?” Cash asked, pausing.

“i don’t… n-no.”

“good,” Cash breathed, his fingers finding the pool of magic which had settled at Rus’s pelvic inlet. “because i really don’t want ta stop… and besides, pretty sure the twisted asshole is the only one showin’ up today.”

Rus pulled away slightly to glance at him, a brow-bone lifted in skeptical amusement. Cash flushed a little, suddenly wishing he hadn’t spoken. But to his surprise, Rus only grinned and leaned close to whisper, “well then, we’d better put on a damn good show.”

By the time Twist arrived, Rus was barely short of a mess of sweat and magic in Cash’s hands (or, hand, rather). The sudden expansion of Twist’s eye-light didn’t surprise Cash, and he smirked as he caught Twist’s gaze. He was a little surprised when Twist sat down beside them—even more so when he remained where he was after it became obvious that Cash wasn’t stopping.

Cash heaved Rus closer, wrapping his free arm around his chest possessively, and whispering obscene words against his skull. Throughout the encounter, he refused to release Twist’s gaze—the bastard needed to learn that Cash wasn’t one to accept defeat so easily. For once, Cash found himself struggling to read Twist’s expression. His eye would occasionally stray to Rus’s face, but for the most part, he seemed to be having difficulty keeping it off Cash.

When Rus came, Cash pressed his hand over his mouth to silence him, despite the rowdy chatter that filled the bar. He allowed Rus barely a moment to catch his breath before leaning in to smooth his tongue over Rus’s neck. “you were perfect, darlin’,” he breathed, softly, carefully gauging Twist’s response. To his disappointment, Twist appeared (for the most part) unaffected by the display, but for the pale flush of magic around the spiderweb cracks of his eye socket. Giving Rus’s femur a gentle squeeze, Cash stood. “gonna go wash my hands.” He glanced at Twist, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “don’t worry, love, i took good care of ‘im.”

As he walked away, Cash preened at the way Twist’s jaw clenched—just a little. Though he knew this competition of theirs was far from over, he couldn’t help but revel in his small victory. While he was more than enjoying the pleasure of Rus’s company, he was beginning to find himself quite thrilled by Twist’s small slips in composure. The idea of seeing him fall apart completely was… more than intriguing.

****

The feud between Twist and Cash continued for weeks. With Rus as their weapon of choice, they tormented each other to no end—going so far as to interrupt one another in the midst of their ‘revenge schemes’. One positive at least, was that Rus seemed to have no complaints in regards to the arrangement. If he had any reservations about his role in Twist and Cash’s rivalry, he made no mention of them. Truth be told, he appeared a rather enthusiastic participant.

But, one Friday night at the bar, their antics were brought to a rather abrupt end.

Twist’s hand had somehow found its way up the back of Rus’s shirt, and he had his fingers curled around Rus’s spine—a predicament Rus seemed quite satisfied with. Particularly when coupled with the feeling of Cash’s sharp fingers on his ribs. The look on his face was something akin to deep bliss—though the same could not be said for Twist and Cash. Over Rus, they shared a piercing glare, each determined to outdo the other.

It was only when Edge (who had been observing the endeavour in silent distaste after being quite forgotten by the other three skeletons) loudly declared, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Rus—would you just pick one of them?”—that Twist, Cash, and Rus all came to a simultaneous halt, looking up at Edge in surprise.

Immediately, Twist and Cash exchanged a frantic glance. In the midst of all their attempts to best each other, not once had it occurred to them to simply ask Rus which of them he preferred. And suddenly, all attention was on the Tale-verse skeleton, who faltered beneath the gazes of the other three. “w-well…” he stammered, averting his gaze.

“… well?” Cash was quite literally sitting on the edge of his seat, his fingers clenched around the corner of the table. “which of us is it?”

Rus shook his head, releasing a quiet, humourless laugh. “look—it’s not that easy. i—”

“C’mon, Patches,” Twist interjected, shooting Cash a dubious grin. “It’s obviously me. Ya can’ even last more than a couple a’ minutes.”

Fuming, Cash opened his mouth to snap back at Twist—but Edge quickly cut in, sighing. “Aggrandising your own sexual prowess isn’t going to achieve anything, Twist,” he said, sharply, silencing Twist. “It’s precisely how the two of you landed yourselves in this dilemma in the first place… Rus?” Something unspoken seemed to pass between Rus and Edge—an understanding beyond what Twist or Cash had the capacity to comprehend in that moment.

Rus glanced between Twist and Cash anxiously, resting a hand on each of their arms. But their surprise at the unexpected gentle contact was nothing compared to when Rus quietly confessed, “i… i want both of you.”

[juuls]

Got any stuckony recs?

YES! Absolutely yes!

My apologies this took until today. I had a busy weekend and had to rest a lot, but I’m here now. :) Also, I don’t have my old bookmarks list (long story) so I’m having to go through and look for my favorites, old and new. Long process! (This took me over four hours, though I was doing a few other things as well. Still, I’m a bit of a slowpoke.)

See below the cut for some of my favorites, and don’t forget to leave kudos and comments (even just an “I liked this!”) for the authors, to let them know their hard work is appreciated!

(If someone knows an author’s Tumblr handle, let me know or tag them so that I can edit this rec list and tag them appropriately!)

Equilateral by FestiveFerret @festiveferret

It was the way Steve had said, “I found him,” the desperate, agonized hope, that had Tony replying with, “Bring him home,” without any hesitation.

But now, now he was hesitating like fuck.

Penny Candy and Sparklers by StrivingArtist @striving-artist

James Buchanan Barnes: formerly the Winter Soldier, formerly Captain America’s right hand man, formerly a sergeant, formerly a dock worker, formerly Stevie’s best friend…. currently a glorified prisoner of Prince T’Challa…. had trouble wrapping his head around all those former selves. He spent too much time thinking about all the bits of him that he kept gluing back together to pretend he was a person anyone would want to keep. He spent even more time picking at the cracks, pointing the flaws out to himself. Only thing he did more than that was make sure no one else noticed how far he was from human.

So, James Buchanan Barnes, who didn’t know what to call himself, who didn’t know how to go forwards, agreed, and moved back into the tower where his best friend lived with a husband orphaned by the Winter Soldier.

Hide A Heart of War by RayShippouUchiha @rayshippouuchiha

“You’ve got war in your heart boy,” Howard sneers, “don’t ever try and pretend to be anything but what you are.”

Tony feels the familiar burn of a flower mark being etched into his skin but he doesn’t look, doesn’t try and check to see what it is. Instead he keeps his eyes on Howard and his hands cupped around his bleeding mouth and nose.

Of Spiders and Super-Soldiers by AuddieAussie (Juulna’s note: I come back and read this all the time when I need some family feels and a smile. :))

After the hell that was Ultron and the Sokovia Accords, Tony doesn’t blame the team for wanting nothing to do with him. To make up for past mistakes, Tony disappears into his lab and focuses on using his money and brains to provide the Avengers with more fancy tech than they’ll ever need. By doing this, he also doesn’t have to worry about Steve’s grim frown, Bucky’s hateful gaze, or everyone else’s cold annoyance.

For six long months, this formula worked, but then fate decided to be a Loki-like dick and Tony wasn’t sure how it happened, but in the span of one week, he’d somehow acquired a kid.

and you needed someone to show you the way by SailorChibi @tsuki-chibi

Tony knows what the team really thinks of him. It’s a delicate balance: they tolerate him because of his money and his toys, and he gets to stay on the team and fight with them. He’s okay with that. So long as he hides the fact that Steve’s and Bucky’s names are written on his skin in the most embarrassing act of one-sided love affection ever, everything will be fine.

It just figures that a fantastically stupid villain, a kidnapping plot and a video camera will bring Tony’s well-kept secret out into the open.

The Mechanic, The Soldier, and The Captain by AvocadoLove (Juulna’s note: this is sad)

HYDRA need a replacement for Zola’s genius, and they have years worth of experience breaking and brainwashing a good man into something they can control.

Beware of Super Soldiers And Their Enticing Laps by Confused_Emo

Tony’s eyes shifted back toward the remaining occupants of the room only to realise there was literally no space in the sitting area for him.

This apparently was the best time for Bucky to make suggestive gestures, as the soldier patted his thigh lasciviously, “Why don’t you come sit on my lap, plenty of space right here.”

Just Far Enough by TheSopherFly (Juulna’s note: please read the tags. This is triggering and sad and angsty but fucking phenomenally well done and one of my all-time favorites… And I don’t like angst at all.) 

Tony couldn’t honestly remember how long it had been like this. Probably since the day he’d called T’Challa and offered his help. At first it had just been compulsive self-denial: you can’t eat until you’ve drafted your opening remarks, until you’ve finished your research, until you’ve rewritten every last colon and comma and apostrophe in those Accords so that everyone can come home.

Those goals had been realistic. Lately, they’d become impossible. Until everyone forgives you. Until you forgive yourself. Until you make up for every bad thing you’ve ever caused.

He was fine. He was coasting in a dangerous place, but he was fine. He wasn’t taking it too far - just far enough.

Trinity by cinaea (immediately followed by pt. 2: Volition)

He’s become the kind of monster he all but died trying to stop.

A D/s, soul-bond AU set in modern day. More than two years ago, Bucky Barnes was lost during a Howling Commandos mission and captured by HYDRA. He and fellow prisoners Clint and Natasha—all submissives—are treated as slaves and forced to carry out terrorist attacks for their masters. An attack by the Avengers enables their escape but leaves Bucky with an incomplete soul bond to two superheroes.

Vowing to never be imprisoned again, Bucky and his friends go on the run from HYDRA, from law enforcement, and from the two dominants who will do anything to find him.

Don’t Tell Pepper by Crematosis

Tony convinces Steve that it is totally okay to include Bucky in their relationship because nobody will ever know. They’ll keep it a secret from the team and they’ll absolutely keep it a secret from Pepper because she’ll only yell at them.

Like most of Tony’s good ideas, it comes back to blow up in his face.

Underneath the Mistletoe by DreamcatchersDaughter @dreamcatchersdaughter

5 times Tony gets caught underneath the mistletoe and one time he doesn’t (and thank fuck for that).

and another like it by the same author:

Christmas Kisses (aka Sam is So Done With Your Shit)

Their mutual pining is driving him crazy, but its okay cause Natasha’s got a plan.

The Colors That Bind Us by yasminakohl @stuckonstoney

When Steve Rogers was six a boy saved him from a bully, then sky went from white-gray to brilliant blue.

When Bucky fell, the world stayed colorful and everyone told him it was because of the serum, he believed them.

When he woke from the ice and he finds the black and white he’d expected years ago, sixty-six years ago it seems, he’s crushed.

Now there’s color again, this time it comes with amazing reds and golds.

Until he wakes up and his sky is brilliant and his color mate is trying to kill him, his first color mate.

Will Steve ever be able to have his blue, red and gold?

The Melting, the Spark, and the Suffocation by btBatt @batterology

“So, Bucky,” he said, clapping his hands. “You ready to change the lives of asthmatic little punks everywhere?” Bucky sent a skeptical look Steve’s way.

“It seems to be my calling in life,” he said. Steve just smiled. He looked a little like he was having a moment, one of his oh-my-God-I-have-Bucky-back moments, so Tony smiled too.

“There are worse things,” Tony mused.

“Hear, hear,” Natasha said.

The Limitations of Wax by RayShippouUchiha @rayshippouuchiha (Juulna’s note: This has been untouched for quite a while but there are separate WiPs being written and branched off of this – and completed – that are fantastic, and the core character study in this fic is fantastic so I still recommend it.)

Toni Stark grows up with the tale of Icarus swirling in the back of her mind. Instead of taking it as a precautionary tale about hubris and overreaching she decides it’s more about the limitations of wax.

Years later when she builds herself wings of her own she makes sure to build them out of better material.

Difficult Conversations by yumekuimono @yumekuimono

HYDRA had brainwashed their Asset into silence, and then muzzled him to boot. It’s not that surprising that Bucky no longer considers talking to be one of his strong suits. So why does he keep having to have difficult conversations?

Or, the road to loving Tony Stark is never an easy one. (Juulna’s note: Eventual/Pre-OT3)

Strip it Down by Batfink

“Think about who you’re talking to Bucky. I am the technology king. What you’re asking me to do goes against everything I hold dear.” Tony looked positively distraught.

Bucky slid his hand onto Tony’s cheek, tilting his head until their eyes met. “Crying, Tony. Over the fucking washing machine.”

Giving a Friend a Hand by neunundneunzig (seasidesunset)

Bucky gets Tony’s help dealing with… anatomy malfunctions, and it turns into much more.

Operation: Knuckleheads by FestiveFerret @festiveferret

Bucky is enjoying his new, post-Winter Soldier life at Avengers Tower, until he discovers that the constant tension between Steve and Tony was caused by a recent (and mysterious) breakup. Determined to make his friends happy, Bucky gives himself a new mission: figure out what went wrong, and get these two idiots in love back together again.

Compass Heading by antigrav_vector @disco-pinecone

So… It’s complicated. Steve went and got himself killed on a mission, and, somehow, in the aftermath, Tony ended up getting together with Barnes. He’s still not entirely sure how that happened, really, but he’s not about to question it too hard. He’s enjoying it too much.

Then, because the universe loves turning his life upside down, they find Steve. It’s been two years, and things have changed, but Tony still cares about the asshole, and that, right there, is a problem.

Too Damn Short by MrShyRockstar

“I’m too short for this shit.”

This literally sums up this little ficlet. Tony’s too short, Steve is clearly (to anyone with eyes *coughnottonycough*) pining, and Bucky is just watching everything with exasperated amusement. That is all.

Put Your Arms Around Me, Hold Me Tight by StarSpangledBucky

Tony and Bucky desperately need to sort out the kink in their relationship, before they both lose Steve, or one of them does. It isn’t until the second week Steve is away on a mission that Tony goes through a nightmare, and Bucky decides to comfort him. From there, it gives them a chance to talk. And by the time Steve comes back, he’s more than satisfied by the results.

Minefields by arianapeterson19 (Juulna’s note: Please heed the tags! Content is triggering for abusive relationships.)

Being in an abusive relationship was a bit like needing glasses. He didn’t realize it until the damage was done.

Funny how people assume only men can be abusive.

And a new fic by a new author I would like to recommend to people to read:

Lonely Boy by thereddame @the-red-dame

Tony gets a visit from a Tony from a different universe and she needs him to help keep her children safe until Girl-Tony can kick some HYDRA ass. She’s being pretty tight-lipped about the father but he’s got a sneaking suspicion it’s Steve. Hey, maybe he can get ‘best babysitter in the universe’ award after this? 

I’m sure since you are sending me an ask you know about my fics (though maybe not my oneshot), but I’ll list them anyway. ;)

Necrosis by Juulna

Necrosis (from the Greek νέκρωσις “death, the stage of dying, the act of killing” from νεκρός “dead”)

Tony always thought he’d die first, of the three of them. He’d accepted it, even. Hell, he wasn’t even sure that Steve or Bucky coulddie. Shows how much he knew.

Hanging From a Cross of Iron by Juulna

Toni Stark never - not even once - had a soulmark appear. Not one she can remember, at any rate. But when one finally appears, and the date of her rendezvous seems impossible to meet, does she decide to move on with her life, and forget the words written upon her skin?

Of course not. She’s Toni fucking Stark. Making the impossible possible is practically her family motto.

Well… there we go! I hope that that suffices for recommendations? If you want some more, I’m happy to provide them! Happy reading, and don’t forget:

Leave the authors your love in the form of a kudos and/or comment!

MUAH! xoxo

[othercat2]

Fic: Eriond: be the Rogue of Hope 2/?

==>Taiba: prepare a meal for your guest

It would have to be something simple. You weren’t quite sure what he’d be able to eat. (The only reason you knew he was even “he” was because Eriond had said so. “He” was only superficially like a human, the closer you looked the more differences become apparent. There was nothing about “him” that seemed male or female to you.) He’s strange, and a monster, but not mad the way the monsters in Ulgo are. (When you were living in the caves, you had a feeling Ulgo were the mad ones, given the proprietary concern and bizarre affection they had for the creatures who drove their ancestors underground when the world was cracked.)

You heat up some broth, and poach four eggs in it. When they’re done, you ladle them into a bowl, and set the bowl on a tray. You cut a few slices of bread, and add them to the tray, along with a small bowl of honey.

You carry this to Elgin’s bedroom, where your guest is staying. You knock before entering the room, and hear something that might be an acknowledgement. The guest is awake and sitting upright with one of Elgin’s books in his lap. He had been studying the illuminations, you thought. “Taiba,” the guest says. He closes the book (his fingers marking his place) and makes a gesture as if he wants to return it.

“I don’t mind if you look at it,” you say, though you know he doesn’t understand you. You set the tray down on his lap. “Breakfast,” you tell him.

The guest smiles, and says something that might have been some variety of “thank you.” He taps his chest and says something, and then something else in no language you’ve ever heard.

“His name is ‘Signless,’” Mara’s voice says softly in your mind. “He also thanks you for the food.” Signless spoke further. “He also asks if you would assist him in learning the language.”

“Ask him if he’d be willing to teach me his language,” you say. You give “Signless” words in the language that everyone in the world seems to use, and he gives you words in his language. You’re extremely curious about the name, but have no way to really question him. Some of the words are hard to pronounce, but Signless is patient, and it isn’t hard for you to patient as well. You name the food items, the utensils, as many items as Signless indicates, all through breaking his fast, and sometime after.

Relg makes an appearance an hour later, standing in the doorway, watching you with a little smile on his face. “I see he’s awake,” Relg says quietly.

You nod. “Relg, this is ‘Signless,’” you say, and watch the curious tilt of your husband’s head. “Signless,” you say in an approximation of the name you heard. “This is my husband Relg.”

Relg nods at your guest. “Hello Mister Signless,” Relg says. “You’re welcome to stay here and recover.”

Signless speaks, and Mara translates this. “He says that he thanks Taiba and you for the hospitality,” Mara says so you both can hear. Mara chuckles softly. “He also says he hopes that Eriond has not volunteered you against your consent.”

“Eriond’s a very good boy,” you say, over Relg’s stunned and earnest “will of the gods of course he’s welcome,” speech. The speech sputters into Relg’s “I can’t believe you said that,” look and horrified silence. (It’s nice that you still haven’t lost your touch.) “He wouldn’t have ordered us,” you say. You can sense Mara translating. “The condition you were in, we never would have said no,” you add.

“He thanks you for your kindness,” Mara translates. “Also, he won’t admit it, but he’s very tired.”

“Tell him we’ll leave him to rest, Father?” you ask as you gather up the empty tray.

“Of course my child,” Mara murmurs.

You head out into the hallway, trailed by your husband. “Darling husband,” you say in Ulgo. “I know you’ll explode if you don’t shout about it, but wait until we’re on the verandah, you’ll frighten our guest.”

“I’m not going to shout,” Relg says in Ulgo, amused and also a little exasperated. “I’m used to your ways and reasons, and know well how you love to make my heart stop.”

You laugh at that, and leave the dishes for Ulma in the scullery. “Eriond is a very good boy,” you say.

Relg sighs at you. “He’s a God,” Relg says, lips twitching with his amusement. He’s trying not to laugh. He does have a sense of humor, you’ve learned. A very subtle one that is apparently amused by what he calls your “blunt spirituality and terrifying approach to philosophy and theological concepts.”

“A very young one, one I remember having to look for his shoe in the middle of an army camp,” you point out. “Always the same shoe, and always just long enough for me to stop worrying about…whatever I was worrying about because I was too busy trying to find the damn thing.”

Relg, smiles gently at you, obviously amused by the idea of your searches among the campfollowers’ tents. Ugh. At least you made female acquaintances that weren’t flighty noblewomen mooning over warrior-princes, flouncing like giddy mad things or having histrionics over their husbands. (The last you could almost sympathize with. You were sick with fear and worry for Relg and very little could distract you from it.) You’d met laundresses, seamstresses, tradeswomen, nurses and cooks. You had met prostitutes and soldiers’ women and wives from many nations and learned a great deal from the experience. (You still receive regular mail from many of the women who could read and write. A few of them had even settled in Maragor with you and Relg after the war.) And then there was Lady Polgara, who was kind, though in an indifferent, distant way that was almost as upsetting as the flighty noblewomen.

“All right, a very young God,” Relg says. “But it seems strange.” He makes a frustrated little gesture. “The nature of his concern.”

“It doesn’t seem strange to me,” you say. “You wouldn’t think to worry about something like that though.”

Years and years ago he would have said something like, “no one should worry about what their God commands.” But that was years ago, and he’s learned a great deal since then, so he frowns thoughtfully instead. “He is not moved by blind trust in the Gods,” Relg says. “And he doesn’t presume that others would be.”

“And takes care that his presence is welcome, and not a burden,” you say. “Though he’s also an idiot; where did he think he was going to go if we said yes, we were being forced to take him in?”

==>Signless:  recover and learn the backstory of your hosts

Within a few weeks you’re well enough to get around on a crutch thoughtfully provided by your hosts. You learn a great deal about them, and their little community. It’s a village of somewhere between two and three hundred adults and wigglers, many of them you learn, escaped slaves. Your hosts Taiba and Relg are the leaders of the community. They tell you of how they met, a story adjacent to a fantastical tale full of prophecy, sorcery and war, and how the village was founded.

It’s a harrowing tale, full of personal grief and small triumphs, translated by Mara, who has his own part in the tale, speaking of his grief at the destruction of his people, and his rage against Destiny Itself. Taiba was a slave rescued by a sorcerer-led band of questors, of which Relg had been a member. Taiba had been grieving over the death of her daughters, determined to somehow get revenge against the priests who had sacrificed them, only to be caught in a cave in. Relg, who had a psionic talent for phasing through rock had been sent to rescue her, which he’d been at first unwilling to do due to religious feelings related to purity and impurity.

(Caught up in the story as you were, at learning this, you had glared balefully at Relg, much to the cackling glee of his matesprit. Apparently you are not the first to be outraged by this.)

The story continues with the questors’ reckless flight to safety, pursued by soldiers and enemy priest-sorcerers. Taiba spoke of her confusion and fear, and her surprise that one of the sorcerers knew her language, a language only she and her mother had spoken. Relg spoke of his own confusion and how Taiba shattered his long held prejudices and assumptions about the world. They both talk about their slowly growing feelings for each other, and you are touched, though also a little confused.

“It seems almost as if you would have been pitch,” you say thoughtfully. “Though I suppose it could have as easily been pale as red.”

This causes some confusion to your hosts. “Pitch?” Taiba asks when she hears the translation of your words. “Red?”

“I would have expected a romance based in rivalry and arguments, where each is challenged to change and improve,” you say. “‘Pitch’ or ‘kismesis,’ is what it’s called among my kind.”

“And red, and pale?” Relg asks.

“Red is matesprit, a love based in compassion and protective caring,” you explain. “Pale is moiraillegiance, which is romance based in kindness, advice and the calming of anger. There’s a fourth, called ‘Ash,’ or auspicticism, which is diverting or otherwise stopping two angry people who shouldn’t be kismesis because they’re terrible together from killing each other.”

“Oh, that sounds more complicated than an Arendish romance,” Taiba says. “I don’t think we really have such fine distinctions.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s very specific to my kind. Our society in many was depends on quadrants in order to form social ties. We tend to be solitary, except for our quadrants, and those who we interact with through our quadrants.”

After the war against the “Dark God,” Relg and Taiba “married” and came to Maragor, the ancestral homeland of Taiba’s people. They built a home and began raising children with the assistance of friend acquired during the war and Relg’s people, the “Ulgo.” (The Ulgo were rather fascinating. They lived entirely underground and had become somewhat adapted to living in the darkness, which somewhat explained the construction of Taiba and Relg’s home, which was partially built into a hill.)

You ask many questions, and learn a great deal about your hosts and this world. Relg and Taiba ask you questions in return, and you tell as much as you feel comfortable telling them. They are very kind, and don’t press you when you come to things you can’t speak about, but you do tell them about your family, and about your childhood. They are very curious about your descriptions of technology, (which they don’t assume to be magic) which may or may not disprove Troll Arthur C. Clark.

As you get better and it’s easier to move around, you attempt to help with chores. You assist with dinner, help in the kitchen garden and ask lots of questions. Taiba and Relg have many children from adults to little wigglers, all of them curious and full of questions themselves. You quickly pick of the language, and bits of two other languages that Relg and Taiba’s family speak: Marag and Ulgo. (You’re a little curious about how there’s a mostly universal language, but the only scholars are “Toldnedran monks” who run a small school in the village, and Relg. Relg’s area of expertise is not the spread and development of language, and the monks who seem to have various areas of knowledge are still trying to wrap their heads around your existence after your one meeting with them.)

Eriond is not around during this time. He went somewhere called “The Vale of Aldur,” and from there, went to Mishrak ac Thull. (Mara is not at all mysterious about Eriond’s doings. Apparently Eriond went to talk to Aldur about you. Your presence is apparently somewhat controversial. The trip to Mishrak ac Thull was apparently to rescue Grolims.) At your query, you learn that “Grolims” are a priestly caste, and Thulls violently hate them, apparently for very good, absolutely valid reasons.

==>Eriond: ride through the desert on a Horse with no name

You’re being escorted by Thull soldiers back across the Mishrak ac Thull/Cthol Murgos border with would-be Grolim missionaries. The Grolim have all of their fingers and toes and haven’t had their tongues cut out, so this is a major victory. It took a lot of fast talking, and You think the Queen Mother is warming to You, so everything went well.

You wait until the Thull have pulled the Grolim out of their saddles, cut their bonds and gags, and led the horses back across the border before You dismount from Horse. The Grolim drop to their knees, praising You and asking for mercy. Horse snorts and nuzzles at Your shoulder, sending You amused, flitting thoughts about scraggly desert asses. “Desert asses have more sense,” You tell Horse, making sure your voice is loud enough for the Grolim to hear.

The Grolim cringe. A few of them start explaining, a few of them start begging for forgiveness. You pat Horse’s neck until they come to a more or less natural stop. The only one who hasn’t said a word is the single priestess, Tsubai. “You’re the only one I’m disappointed in,” You tell her.

The Grolim relax, because Grolim, decades after Your brother’s death are still dogs who have been beaten too much and immediately try to avoid blame by blaming others. You cut off any “it was her idea, I was led astray,” accusations with a brief exertion of will. Tsubai bows her head. “If it helps, Lord, I wasn’t attempting to proselytize, and I wasn’t caught until later.”

She had been disguised as a wealthy Nadrak merchant’s daughter, working on a plan to bring Thullish midwives to Gar og Nadrak to teach Nadrak midwives and physicians. It was a good plan, and a worthwhile goal. Thull medical knowledge was a well-kept secret that needed to be shared. “Tsubai, you have agents,” You tell her. “Agents who are not Grolim. You almost ruined your own mission. Fortunately, the Queen Mother was willing to keep the project going, even if a Grolim was behind it.”

“There was a difficult bit of negotiation,” Tsubai says. “In my arrogance, I thought I could manage it myself.”

You sigh. “Tsubai, what am I going to do with you?”

Tsubai gives You an impish look. “Forgive me?”

“I’ll consider it,” You tell her, amused. “The reason I’m disappointed with her,” You tell the other Grolim, “Is that she shouldn’t have been caught in the first place.” You go ever and help Tsubai to her feet. “I’m not disappointed in you, because that would be like being angry that bees sting.”

The two younger Grolim flinch. The three older Grolim sulk.

“The Thull do not want Grolim in their country,” You tell them. “Urgit won’t back Grolims going into Mishrak ac Thull, Zakath won’t do it, the Nadrak hate you just a little less than the Thull do. That should be enough of a deterrent to going in yourselves.”

“But how may we spread word of your glory, Master?” Rutegar, one of the older Grolim asks.

“There are already those who speak of me in Mishrak ac Thull,” You say patiently. “They just aren’t Grolim.”

“But we are Your priests,” Chorach, one of the younger Grolim says.  

“My fallen brother treated them as beasts,” You say. “Of all the tribes of Angarak, they were the lowliest and most downcast. And You were His butchers. There are many still alive who remember the horrors they lived through. It will take time for them to accept you as something other than walking nightmares.”

“But you sent her?” Rutegar asks.

“I sent myself,” Tsubai says. “Thull midwives have a most excellent talent, that the physicians and midwives of Gar og Nadrak would greatly benefit by.”

“What talent?” Rutegar snorts. “They breed like pigs, their women are sows in--” Rutegar stops talking and his hands fly to his throat as he chokes.

“Tsubai, no,” You say firmly.

Tsubai unclenches her fist. “I hope the rest of you ‘missionaries’ didn’t think of the Thull you preached to as the Green Rank does,” she says in a grim tone.

They had the typical opinions other Angaraks had for Thulls, but I wasn’t going tell Tsubai that. “Perhaps you could instruct them, on the way to Rak Urga?” You suggest. To the other Grolim you say, “all of you are under Tsubai’s authority. You’re to walk to Rak Urga, and report to the Hierarch there.”

“Master,” Tsubai protests faintly.

You smile at her. “Penance,” You tell her brightly. Tsubai makes a face at You, but bows in acknowledgement. You create tents and enough supplies for the journey, and sort of “encourage” them to actually obey Tsubai and the restrictions of their punishment. You didn’t want them to acquire horses, or accept rides or other assistance. They were going to walk, and Tsubai was going to shout at them.

You mount Horse and journey back through the mountains toward the Vale of Aldur. You don’t stop to stay at the cottage or your brother’s tower on your way back. In the mountains just outside of Maragor, Your brother Mara contacts You with news of Signless. “He’s healing well, and seems to be making friends with Taiba and Relg,” Mara tells You.

“Good,” You say. “Let him know I’m returning, and tell him I’m sorry I wasn’t there to greet him when he awoke.”

“I will.” Mara says. He shows You images of Signless recovering, interacting with Relg and Taiba, their children, and the people of their village. Influenced as they are by Ulgo culture and customs, Relg and Taiba’s people are remarkably unafraid of Signless’ appearance. The Ulgo are unafraid of monsters, who they consider to be brothers, even though the monsters in turn have more or less forgotten UL in their madness, so Signless might be something of a wonder to them. A “monster” who isn’t mad.

Something about Thull: okay, so in the Belgariad/Mallorean story canon, Thull women stay constantly pregnant in order to avoid being chosen as sacrifices. They also have the largest “quota” of sacrifices, which is another reason they stay constantly pregnant, but never mind that. Other nations consider Thull to be bestial and inhuman and very stupid, which is agreed to by the Narrative. My strong feel, based in some headcanoning from @violent-darts is that Thull have really, really good midwives/medical practices given the survival rate of children and mothers. (For language reasons I’ve decided that Angarak nation/caste names are both singular/plural, though canon was generally attaching -s at the end.) 

Grolim tend to be power-hungry backstabbing little shits, even the ones who have converted, or “converted.” They are massively dysfunctional and Eriond is at His wit’s end with these idiots.

Tsubai is only Grolim because her mother was, more or less. She is actually half Nadrak, her mother having successfully ditched her family for a slightly less dysfunctional one after the death of Torak, when she married a Nadrak merchant. Tsubai’s mom then gleefully killed her indignant and homicidal relatives who tried to murder her or her husband. her husband had the most awkward fear boner.

Writer reserves the right to maintain Canon’s irritating tendency toward “racial stereotypes are absolutely true genetic/phenotypical essentialism” where funny.

This chapter is largely an excuse to write Relg/Taiba domestic fluff. Because Relg/Taiba domestic fluff is pure and necessary.

Also, the Ulgo who leave the caves to hunt and gather food/resources are also the most ridiculous Steve Irwin naturalists. Ulgo in general love their monster upstairs neighbors like kids love dinosaurs. (Not seen in the Mallorean or Belgariad: Ulgo kids have stuffed Algroths and Eldrakyn toys, and little wooden and clay models of Hulgrin and dragon and unicorn. All the monsters okay. All of them.)

Previous Chapter.

[rebelrecovery]

Book Notes

I really love the School Of Life books, which I think are all written by Alain de Botton, an author who I also love. They are written in a very philosophical, psychological and insightful way. This one is particularly excellent. 

Below is what particularly resonated for me...

Our capacity to understand our adult selves may depend on reaching back and making sense of a range of awkward and, at points, traumatic childhood events. We might discover that we were, in the background, deeply furious with, and resentful about, certain people we were meant only to love. We might discover how much ground there was to feel inadequate and guilty on account of the many errors and misjudgements we have made.

PRIVILEGE:

Money cannot on its own be the reliable guarantor of ‘privilege’ that it would, in a way, be simpler to imagine it was. It is true privilege when a parent is on hand to enter imaginatively into a child’s world; when they have the wherewithal to put their own needs aside for a time in order to focus wholeheartedly on the confusions and fears of their offspring; and when they are attuned not just to what a child actually manages to say, but to what they might be aspiring yet struggling to explain. It is privilege when a parent lends us a feeling that they are loyal to us simply on the basis that we exist rather than because of anything extraordinary we have managed to achieve; when they can imbue us with a sense that they will be on our side even if the world has turned against us and can teach us that all humans deserve compassion and understanding despite their errors and compulsions. It is privilege when parents can shield us from the worst of their anxiety and the full conflicts of their adult lives; It is privilege when parents don’t set themselves up as perfect or, by being remote and unavailable, encourage us to idealise or demonise them; it is privilege when parents can bear our rebellions and don’t force us to be preternaturally obedient or good and when they themselves reliably seek to explain, rather than impose, their ideas.

TRIGGERS:

Each of us is the recipient of an emotional inheritance, largely unknown to us, yet enormously influential in determining our day-to-day behaviour – normally in rather negative or complex directions. A lot in our inheritance works against our chances of fulfilment and well-being because its logic does not derive from the present; it involves a repetition of behaviour and expectations that were formed and learned in childhood, typically as the best defence we could cobble together in our immaturity in the face of a situation bigger than we were. Unfortunately, it is as if part of our minds has not realised the change in our external circumstances; it insists on re-enacting the original defensive manoeuvre even in front of people or at moments that don’t warrant or reward it. 

RELATIONSHIPS:

Our psychological histories strongly predispose us to fall for certain types of people – and to avoid others. We look for people who in many ways re-create the feelings of love we knew when we were small. This can predispose us to look in adulthood for partners who won’t necessarily simply be kind to us, but who will – most importantly – feel familiar; which can be a subtly but importantly different thing. We may be constrained to look away from prospective candidates because they don’t satisfy our yearning for the pain we associate with love. We may describe someone as ‘not sexy’ or ‘boring’ when in truth we mean: unlikely to make me suffer in the way I need to suffer in order to feel that love is real. Rather than aim for a transformation in the types of people we are attracted to, it may be wiser to try to adjust how we respond and behave around the occasionally difficult characters whom our past mandates that we will find interesting. Many of us are highly likely to end up with somebody with a particularly knotty set of issues which trigger our desires as well as our childlike defensive moves. The answer is not to conclude the relationship, but rather to strive to deal with the compelling challenges with some of the wisdom of which we were not capable when we first encountered these in a parent or caregiver.

SELF-LOVE:

We may well be able to meet conditions, but we can’t quite forget the desire to be loved without them, simply for being ourselves, in all our original messiness and confusion. One will have to put extra effort into the delicate task of finding oneself valuable and worthy outside of achievement, not because of anything one has said or done, but just because one exists – which should always, of course, have been enough.

We should start to wonder how a self-loving person might behave, and try to look at matters as if they were in our shoes. When panic descends, we should try to reassure ourselves not with logical arguments about the grounds for hope, but by wondering what a person who did not loathe themselves might be thinking now. If we could reduce the element of internal punishment and attack, how would the situation appear?

PEOPLE-PLEASING:

The people-pleaser is someone who feels they have no option but to mould themselves to the expectations of others and yet harbours all manner of secret and at points dangerous reservations and resentments. They are terrified of the displeasure of others. This almost invariably involves an early experience of being around people – usually a parent – who seemed to be radically and terrifyingly incapable of accepting and forgiving certain necessary but perhaps tricky facts about their child.  Perhaps our father flew into volcanic rage at any sign of disagreement. To present an opposing political idea, to suggest we wanted something different to eat, to be frank about our tiredness or anxiety, could threaten us with annihilation. There may have been a desire to keep a depressive parent in a good mood and to avoid adding a further burden to what seemed like an already very difficult or sad life. To survive, we needed to be acutely responsive to what others expected us to do and say. The very question of what we might really want became secondary to an infinitely more important priority: manically second-guessing the desires of those on whom, at that time, our lives depended. 

We might find three paths out from these difficult patterns of people-pleasing. The first relies on reminding ourselves that our colleagues, partners and friends are almost certainly very different from the people around whom our anxieties evolved in childhood. Most humans can cope quite well with a bit of contradiction, a dose of unwelcome information or an occasional rejection, delivered with requisite politeness. The other is not going to explode or dissolve. We learned a very particular habit of relating to the world around a group of people who were not representative of humanity as a whole. 

Secondly, we need to acknowledge the inadvertently harmful side-effects of our behaviour. We may genuinely have good intentions, but we are endangering everyone by not speaking more frankly. At work, we aren’t doing anyone a service by withholding our doubts and reservations. And in love, there is no kindness in staying in a relationship simply because it seems the other might not survive without us. They will, but we will have wasted a lot of their time through our sentimentality. 

Finally, we can acquire the confidence to be artful about the difficult messages we have to impart. As a child we couldn’t nuance the messages we wanted to send out. We didn’t know how to craft our raw pain and needs into convincing explanations. Now, it is open to us to be firm in our own views – but extremely genial as well. We can say ‘no’ while indicating that we feel a lot of goodwill; we can say someone is wrong without implying that they are an idiot. We can leave someone, while ensuring they realise how much a relationship meant to us. We can – in other words – be pleasant without being people-pleasers.

CRITICISM:

Criticism is never easy. To learn that others judge us to be foolish, perverse, ugly or unpleasant is one of the most challenging aspects of any life. However, the impact of criticism is hugely variable – and depends ultimately on an unexpected detail: what sort of childhood we have had. The clue to whether criticism will be experienced as merely unpleasant or wholly catastrophic lies in what happened to us many decades ago in the hands of our earliest caregivers. For the more wounded among us criticism takes them straight back to the primordial injury. An attack now becomes entwined with the attacks of the past and grows enormous and unmanageable in its intensity. The boss or unfriendly colleague becomes the parent who let us down. Everything is pulled into question. Not only was the work subpar, but we are a wretch, an undeserved being, a piece of excrement, the worst person in the world, for that is how it felt, back then, in the fragile, defenceless infant mind. 

Knowing more about our tricky childhoods provides us with a vital line of defence against the effects of criticism. It means that we can be on our guard, when we are attacked, against raising the stakes unnecessarily. We can learn to separate out the verdict of today from the emotional verdict we are carrying around with us and always seeking to avoid with the use of current events. We can learn that, however sad the attacks we are facing, they are nothing next to the real tragedy and the effective cause of our sadness: that things went wrong back then. As a result, we can direct our attention to where it really belongs; away from today’s critics and towards the unconvinced parent of yesteryear. We can forgive ourselves for being, in this area, through no fault of our own, fatefully sensitive – and, in essence, mentally unwell.

LACK OF AUTHENTICITY:

in our earliest years, we were denied the opportunity to be fully ourselves. That is, we were not allowed to be wilful and difficult; we could not be as demanding, aggressive, intolerant and unrestrictedly selfish as we needed to be. Because our caregivers were preoccupied or fragile, we had to be preternaturally attuned to their demands, sensing that we had to comply in order to be loved and tolerated; we had to be false before we had the chance to feel properly alive. As a result, many years later, without quite understanding the process, we risk feeling unanchored, inwardly dead and somehow not entirely present. Perhaps our mother was depressed, or our father was often in a rage. The result is that we will have learned to comply far too early; we will have become obedient at the expense of our ability to feel authentically ourselves. In relationships, we may now be polite and geared to the needs of our partners, but not for that matter able properly to love. At work, we may be dutiful but uncreative and unoriginal.

In the hands of a good therapist, we are allowed to regress before the time when we started to be False, back to the moment when we so desperately needed to be True. In the therapist’s office, safely contained by their maturity and care, we can learn – once more – to be real; we can be intemperate, difficult, unconcerned with anyone but ourselves, selfish, unimpressive, aggressive and shocking. The therapist will take it – and thereby help us to experience a new sense of aliveness which should have been there from the start. The demand to be False, which never goes away, becomes more bearable because we are regularly being allowed, in the privacy of the therapist’s room, once a week or so, to be True.

OVER-ACHIEVMENT / IMPOSTER SYNDROME:

To place high expectations on someone who still struggles with their coat buttons can, paradoxically, leave a child feeling hollow and particularly incapable. Unable to sense any resources within itself to honour the hopes of those it loves and depends on, the child grows up with a latent sense of fraudulence – and a consistent fear that it will be unmasked. It winds up at once grandly expecting that others will recognise its sensational destiny – and entirely unsure as to why or how they might in fact do so. The Golden Child cannot shake off a sense that it is very special – and yet cannot identify within itself any real grounds why it should be so. Its underlying longing is not to revolutionise nations and be honoured across the ages; it is to be accepted and loved for who it is, in all its often unimpressive and faltering realities. It wishes, as we all do, to be seen and accepted for itself; to have its faults and frailties forgiven and acknowledged, rather than denied or glossed over. 

A life does not need to be golden in order to be valuable; that we can live in baser metal forms, in pewter or iron, and still be worthy of love and adequate self-esteem.

The cure for over-achievement involves pausing to address the psychological wounds that made hard work feel like the only defence against intolerable trauma. The recovering over-achiever should allow themselves to feel compassion for their earlier self, acknowledging how much they wish could have gone differently and grasping how their present so-called successful personality has been shaped as a response to grave wounds. The cure for over-achievement lies in mourning and analysis in an atmosphere of love. The over-achiever may eventually come to believe that they deserve a place on Earth whether they work or not. They are not there just to perform. The greater need is to connect and to understand.

SPLITTING: 

The baby splits off from the actual mother a second ‘bad’ version – whom it deems to be a separate, hateful individual, responsible for deliberately frustrating its wishes, and in the process, protecting the image of the good mother in its mind. There are, in the baby’s mind, two people at large: one entirely good, the other entirely bad. 

The tendency to ‘split’ those close to us is always there; for we don’t ever fully outgrow our childhood selves. In adult life, we may fall deeply in love and split off an ideal version of someone, in whom we see no imperfections and whom we adore without limit. Yet we may suddenly and violently turn against the partner (or a celebrity or a politician) whose good qualities once impressed us, the moment we discover the slightest thing that disturbs or frustrates us in them. We may conclude that they cannot really be good since they have made us suffer – and that the only logical verdict is that they are appalling. We may find it extremely hard to accept that the same person might be very nice and good in some ways and strikingly disappointing in others. The bad version can appear to destroy the good one, though (of course) in fact these are really just different and connected aspects of one complex person. 

It’s a huge psychological achievement to accept other humans in their bewildering mixture of good and bad, their capacity to assist us and to frustrate us, their kindness and meanness – and to see that, far more than we’re inclined to imagine in our furious or ecstatic moments, most people belong in that slightly sobering, slightly hopeful grey area that goes by the term ‘good enough’. We should be gently reminded that no one we can love will ever satisfy us completely – but that this is never a reason to hate them either. We should move away from the naivety and cruelty of splitting people into the camps of the awful and the wondrous, to the mature wisdom of integrating them into the large collective of the ‘good enough’.

BREAKDOWNS:

One of the great problems of human beings is that we are far too good at keeping going. We are experts at surrendering to the demands of the external world, living up to what is expected of us and getting on with the priorities, as others around us define them. We keep showing up and being an excellent boy or girl – and we can pull off this magical feat for up to decades at a time, without so much as an outward twitch or crack. Until, suddenly, one day, much to everyone’s surprise, including our own, we break.

A breakdown is not merely a random piece of madness or malfunction; it is a very real – albeit very inarticulate – bid for health. It is an attempt by one part of our minds to force the other part into a process of growth, self-understanding and self-development which it has hitherto refused to undertake. If we can put it paradoxically, it is an attempt to jumpstart a process of getting well, properly well, through a stage of falling very ill. The danger, therefore, if we merely medicalise a breakdown and attempt to shift it away at once is that we will miss the lesson embedded within our sickness.

The reason we break down is that we have not, over years, flexed very much. There were things we needed to hear inside our minds that we deftly put to one side, there were messages we needed to heed, bits of emotional learning and communicating we didn’t do – and now, after being patient for so long, far too long, the emotional self is attempting to make itself heard in the only way it now knows how.

Our emotional drive is made up of two strands: the first is a will towards ever greater and deeper connection; the second comprises a will towards ever greater and deeper self-expression. If the drive to emotional growth continues to be unattended, and perhaps even unknown to us, it can short circuit our whole lives in a bid to be heard. Fed up with waiting, it may simply throw us into a paralysing depression or lock us into a state of overwhelming anxiety.

THERAPY:

Therapy is a tool for correcting our self-ignorance in the most profound ways. It provides us with a space in which we can, in safety, say whatever comes into our heads. The therapist won’t be disgusted or surprised or bored. They have seen everything already. In their company, we can feel acceptable and our secrets can be sympathetically unpacked. As a result, crucial ideas and feelings bubble up from the unconscious and are healed through exposure, interpretation and contextualisation. We cry about incidents we didn’t even know, before the session started, we had been through or felt so strongly about. The ghosts of the past are seen in daylight and are laid to rest. 

Transference is a technical term that describes how, once therapy develops, a patient will start to behave towards the therapist in ways that echo aspects of their most important and most traumatic past relationships. A patient with a punitive parent might – for example – develop a strong feeling that the therapist must find them revolting, or boring. Or a patient who needed to keep a depressed parent cheerful when they were small might feel compelled to put up a jokey facade whenever dangerously sad topics come into view. 

We are, many of us, critically damaged by the legacy of past bad relationships. When we were defenceless and small, we did not have the luxury of experiencing people who were reliable, who listened to us, who set the right boundaries and helped us to feel legitimate and worthy. When things go well, the therapist is experienced as the first truly supportive and reliable person we have yet encountered. They become the good parent we so needed and never had. In their company, we can regress to stages of development that went wrong and relive them with a better ending. Now we can express need, we can be properly angry and entirely devastated and they will take it – thereby making good of years of pain. One good relationship becomes the model for relationships outside the therapy room. The therapist’s moderate, intelligent voice becomes part of our own inner dialogue. We are cured through continuous, repeated exposure to sanity and kindness. 

We need, to get fully better, to go back in time, perhaps every week or so for a few years, and deeply re-live what it was like to be us at five and nine and fifteen – and allow ourselves to weep and be terrified and furious in accordance with the reality of the situation. It is on the basis of this kind of hard-won emotional knowledge, not the more painless intellectual kind, that we may one day, with a fair wind, discover a measure of relief for some of the troubles within.

‘GOOD’ VS ‘BAD’ CHILDREN:

The so-called good child has inside them a whole range of emotions that they keep out of sight, not because they want to, but because they don’t feel they have the option to be tolerated as they really are. They feel they can’t let their parents see if they are angry or fed up or bored because it seems as if the parents have no inner resources to cope with their reality; they must repress their bodily, coarser, more volatile selves.

The so-called bad child knows that things are robust. They feel they can tell their mother she’s a useless idiot because they know in their hearts that she loves them and that they love her and that a bout of irritated rudeness won’t destroy that. They know their father won’t fall apart or take revenge for being mocked. The environment is warm and strong enough to absorb the child’s aggression, anger, dirtiness or disappointment.

The good child is heading for problems in adult life, typically to do with excessive compliance, rigidity, lack of creativity and an unbearably harsh conscience that might spur on suicidal thoughts. The naughty child, on the other hand, is on the way to healthy maturity, which comprises spontaneity, resilience, a tolerance of failure and a sense of self-acceptance.

What we call naughtiness is really an early exploration of authenticity and independence. As former naughty children, we can be more creative because we can try out ideas that don’t instantly meet with approval; we can make a mistake or a mess or look ridiculous and it won’t be a disaster. Things can be repaired or improved. We can hear criticisms of ourselves and bear to explore their truths and reject their malice. We should learn to see naughty children, a few chaotic scenes and occasional raised voices as belonging to health rather than delinquency – and conversely learn to fear small people who cause no trouble whatsoever.

GUILT:

We don’t merely suffer the consequences of our early wounds. We are also often left feeling that, despite our distress, we’re not entitled to compassion or help, because – after all – nothing too bad happened. A fairer way to look at the situation is to move beyond either excessive blame or bravery – and to consider that we have been involved, together with our parents, in a tragic situation. No one meant for problems to occur. No one was evil. Nevertheless, serious damage did unfold. Without anyone meaning for this to happen, parents radically misunderstand their children and vice versa.

The parent fails to keep in mind the complexity of the inner world of the child, and children are very poorly equipped to explain the nuances of their emotions. The child’s picture of the parent is equally skewed and partial. If a parent is grumpy, the child sees the sullen face, hears the curt answer or a raised voice and assumes that they themselves must be the cause. It’s impossible for the child to imagine that the parent might be beset by a feeling that they didn’t know where their career was going, that they were under too much pressure at work or that they would never have a happy love life.

CONCLUSION:

It can take an immensely long time to realise emotionally, rather than merely intellectually, that the scripts we are following were formed many years before in circumstances that no longer apply. Becoming an emotional adult means learning to acquire a much wider repertoire of behaviour towards other people. Someone in authority can be mistaken; we can annoy someone and survive; we can calmly state what has hurt us and be heard.

[simonalkenmayer]

Greetings Simon! I have registration tomorrow. This is surreal. I'm starting high school in less then two weeks. I'm very weirded out. I wanted to say ty for posting really delicious pictures of food and interesting tidbits! Your blog helped me during the summer and I hope it does during my school year. Have a good night / day!

Ah, how wonderful! You are progressing to a new era! Allow me to give you some very safe advice, if I may. I know I never went to High School, but I can imagine certain things from what I have seen.1. You will get from your education what you put into it. If you are bored, or find the work assigned to be dull or unimaginative, then challenge your instructor to give you different assignments. Make suggestions. Learn, and try not to confuse the learning portion of school with the human stupidity portion. In the classroom, try to focus on the class. Because High School is only 4 years? And those people near you will one day grow up and realize they should have handled things differently.2. You aren't there to learn information. I'm sure you will acquire some, but unless you can teach it to someone else and cement it into your mind, you'll forget half of it over the next summer. What you are there to learn is how you're meant to think. How to approach a college course. Recall that in university, professors do not take excuses. The work is either done or not, and usually these classes only base the grade on approximately three assignments and so forth. Math is to teach you logic. Science is to teach you analysis. History is to give you perspective. Literature is to give you the ability to take in information and put it out similarly. Do not become annoyed with minutia. Retain that larger picture.3. Enjoy yourself. This will be one of the freest moments of your life, so do participate in as many enjoyable social activities as possible. I know that School have clubs, and dances, and events. Go to as many as you can. Even the ones that you might not enjoy. Trust me when I say, you will want to look back on these last moments of childhood and find them full of experience. This is actually true of all stages of human life, but I think this one (only around for about seventy years) is a unique aspect of modern culture that evolution never accounted for, so you might as well pack it full of activity.4. Children are idiots. When I use that word I mean entirely that their brains are not functioning. The rational portions shut down for restructuring during puberty. So do know that about yourself and others any time you encounter bullying or emotional moments. Retain also the knowledge that bullies are using their victims to self medicate. They want to mock you to feel better. And likely their difficulty, the thing causing them to seek this medicine, is horrible. Add the stress of the high school environment (as I said, unnatural for humans evolutionarily speaking) to whatever they are enduring, and you almost ensure they will have to seek out some respite. The best way to encounter a bully is to confront the root of the problem openly and directly. If someone calls attention to a feature of yours, like you weight, then they are likely hyperaware of physicality. This means they are very nervous about their own, which likely means that insecurity is augmented by someone in their family - calling them only or poking fun at them. So take your capacity for compassion and channel it into action. If a bully calls you fat, ask them if there is someone in their life who makes them feel uncomfortable about their weight, because it seems they are extremely anxious about such things. Do it as calmly and stoically as you can, but do it, because it brings everyone watching back to the rational, and to the truth that everyone, even the bully knows. Always "call out" this type of behavior: judging someone for a quality you possess. And if you encounter situations fraught with negative behaviors like racism, sexism, or bullying, always make it clear that you don't tolerate that in your company. These sorts of actions on your part demonstrate your confidence and authority among a group of addlepated children. 5. I recommend also that you make friends with people outside your circle or clique. Teenagers, due to their odd mental state, are social animals with exclusivity complexes. They look around themselves constantly and grasp for sameness. Don't do that. It's a coping mechanism. You don't need it.6. Don't gossip.I hope these pieces of advice are already quite a part of your being, and that you don't ever have to defend yourself. I hope that you learn and enjoy and pack every moment full of joy. I am very happy to have been of service to you, and of course shall continue to be, so long as you need it.Go have fun.4

[halfincubus]

tagged by @soulfulspikethekiller tagging: @whoawhatwhoa @ghoshts @pauldrons

1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest?

It’s either my Famous Five collection or my Agatha Christies. My grandad gave me both around the same time, so I’m not sure which I started reading first.

2. What is your current read, your last read and the book you’ll read next?

The last book I read was The Knife of Never Letting Go (And I’m never going to let go of the shitty way that book killed the dog, not touching that pointlessly miserable series again) and I’m probably going to start reading Cormoran Strike next because my friends recommended it and I’m a glutton for murder mysteries.

3. Which book does everyone like and you hated?

I have a fair few books that still make me Angry, many of them from the Victorian novel period I was forced to study in uni. Madame Bovary stands out as a novel full of boring twats who don’t know what they want and all they do for like 300 fucking pages is have their heads in the clouds. Why is it a fucking classic, it’s so damn irritating. If we’re talking about more modern novels I particularly despise that Fever series by Karen Marie Moning. The ‘romantic’ lead in that is honestly such an arrogant unloving knobhead I don’t understand why he’s allowed to exist. To say nothing of the GROSSNESS of many different aspects of the way females are treated… yeah I would say if you value yourself as a woman just don’t read it.

4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?

I bought the first two instalments to Anne Rice’s vampire books since I loved the film Interview with the Vampire. I remember trying to read it at one point but I think I got bored 1/5 of the way through and never tried again. I think I’ve grown too out of my vampire phase to read it now.

5. Which book are you saving for “retirement?”

War and Peace, Crime and Punishment, Les Miserables. Any one of those massive classics that everyone is supposed to read but is just too long and requires too much brainpower after a long week at work to bother with.

6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?

Let it be known that I have never once looked at the end. I am pure and disciplined in this. I’m not even tempted.

7. Acknowledgements: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?

They can be interesting, and lovely. Karen Chance’s recent one was for the fans and I loved it. Same for the last Harry Potter book, however many years ago it came out, I remember it because it included an acknowledgement to the fans. Definitely worth perusing when you’ve finished an amazing book and don’t know what to do with yourself for like a week (which is when I start absentmindedly flicking through the entire book).

8. Which book character would you switch places with?

It would have to be a character that can do magic and cool stuff like that, but without all the difficult lifeyness of a Harry Potter character. I think I’d be someone from The Worst Witch, like one of the minor characters that never gets in trouble.

9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?

Yeah, who doesn’t? All my Cassie books remind me of summer holidays because that’s when I like reading them the most. My Japanese murder book Out reminds me of the girl in my history class who lent it to me. My Agatha Christies remind me of my grandpa (who still loves the odd Poirot episode). I have lots more, too many to list.

10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.

I entered a random giveaway and won an advanced reading copy of RTS. I don’t know how many people entered but I was one of the first to win, which is pretty cool.

11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?

No. I lent my sister When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit once and she left it on the plane. I’ve never let anyone have one of my books since.

12. Which book has been with you to the most places?

I think my Catch 22. Before I got my Cassies, that was my go-to book to read on holidays and any free time I had. I don’t even know how many times I’ve read it, it’s so good.

13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?

I thought Winter’s Tale was stupid for the longest time (and I still think Leontes is a massive idiot) but when I had to study it again in uni I found its familiarity oddly comforting. It wasn’t ten years, but hey, I’ve only just reached that milestone.

14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?

I can’t remember that sort of thing unfortunately, even if I did ever find anything. I’m sure I’ve never found anything odd, I mostly buy new books.

15. Used or brand new?

Brand new. I don’t have anything against used books but I guess it’s just easier for me to buy new?

16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?

Never read one [shrug]

17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?

Lord of the Rings might actually be better than the books. You know what, it is. The books had some funny things that weren’t in the films, yes, but they also had useless stuff like Tom Bombadil that were thankfully cut out. The films made me FEEL SO MUCH. I FEEL SO ALIVE WHEN I MARATHON LOTR.

18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?

I’m gonna go ahead and copy Mai here because I TOO LOATHE ‘2005 Pride and Prejudice’ WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING IT WAS TERRIBLE THE CASTING WAS TERRIBLE IT WAS ALL WRONG WRONG WRONG WHY DOES EVERYONE LOVE IT IT WAS AWFUL COLIN FIRTH IS THE ONE AND ONLY SUPREME DARCY. Also Northern Lights (Golden Compass) was so perfectly casted (except for Lyra) and then they just fucked up the entire film’s adaptation idk I think maybe the book was just meant for TV more than film, like Harry Potter.

19. Have you ever read a book that’s made you hungry, cookbooks being excluded from this question?

God all of the Famous Five books ALWAYS had food and even though it described stuff that was gross in theory like ‘tongue’ I would get hungry and salivate because it was so deliciously and meticulously written.

20. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?

Oh man any one of my supertrash gang are 100% trustworthy.

book meme 2

1) Do you have a certain place at home for reading?

My bed, most often.

2) Bookmark or random piece of paper?

I have homemade and bought bookmarks, I practically collect them.

3) Can you just stop reading or do you have to stop after a chapter/a certain amount of pages?

It’s very difficult for me to stop reading once I get a good rhythm going. It’d be like stopping your dinner in the middle of your meal and going out for a walk or to do chores and it’s just weird I can’t do it. If I’m really in love with the book I’ll go without food and sleep lol

4) Do you eat or drink while reading?

Depends how much I’m into the book. If I’m really enjoying it, I’ll forget to do basic human functions like that haha (see above). If I can manage to tear myself away for a few minutes I’ll grab some easy insta-food like bananas or snacks and eat while I read.

5) Music or TV while reading?

NOTHING. THERE MUST BE ABSOLUTE SILENCE. But once I get into the book you could fly a plane into my room and I wouldn’t notice.

6) Reading at home or everywhere?

Has to be somewhere I can be mostly by myself and I’ve got at least an hour of peace ahead. If in public, only on a long journey and I have nobody sitting next to me on a seat.

7) Reading out loud or silently in your head?

Silently. I don’t think I ever read out loud, even when I was a child.

8) Do you read ahead or even skip pages?

I might sometimes come upon a scene that makes me go UUUGGGGHHH but I will struggle through it rather than skip ahead. I might read it faster and with less attempt at full comprehension though (rest in pieces Mircass scenes)

9) Breaking the spine or keeping it like new?

Fuck keeping it new, you need to break in the spine so your hands don’t hurt when you’re reading it.

10) Do you write in your books?

Nope. They made us do it for high school but it always felt wrong to me on some level. I couldn’t just 100% focus on reading if I had a pen in my hand the whole time. I’m starting to do it with my kindle though, I like it there.

[cinaflower]

I don’t feel bad

That I have something to say, and I’m going to say it until I’m heard.

Those of us who have fibromyalgia are this growing sorority of sisters and some brothers, bound by our own determination, struggles, symptoms, and desire to be heard. 

As a group we are invalidated, misunderstood, undervalued, mistreated, laughed at, scorned, blamed, and treated like we are somehow unworthy because of what we endure. 

Some of us were born with disabilities, illnesses, syndromes, handicaps, diseases and some of us acquired them along the way, through no fault of our own, some of us after an accident, botched surgeries, a bad illness, or some traumatic event of mind or body which activated something in our brains to go berserk. 

We have been or are all kinds of different people, of all ages, with all sorts of accomplishments, abilities, skills, and intelligence, and this came into our lives like the most unwelcomed of visitors. It’s changed us, for good or bad, and the only way to live through it is to accept that this is part of us now. 

The lack of faith from those around us, that somehow we aren’t as sick as we say, that we aren’t as exhausted or as much in pain as we are baffles me. 

If I was respected, loved and admired as a professional, mother, wife, child, successful intelligent human before my illness, why did my illness suddenly make my life not real or valid, and why is my voice so irritating to your comfort? Do you know how much we all hold in, don’t share, don’t want to bother anyone, how much we suck up, and pretend to make others feel okay around us? 

When you see our pain, it is because it is unbearable. It is when we can’t take it anymore, can’t hide it anymore, it’s too loud to quiet, and we’ve learned how to deal with all the other kinds of pain, the daily bullshit and symptoms of being us has become a new normal. 

Do you think we enjoy the pain, the burning, stabbing, shooting, aching, throbbing, stinging, pain? My muscles and joints, my head and my jaws, my back and my neck, my entire spine, and my bones hurt all the time. I’m astounded and excited when I don’t hurt, it’s like, what the hell is going on? Pain and confusion, exhaustion and lack of stamina is my new normal. 

Could you “well” people deal with that day in and out? You can’t imagine, but it could happen to anyone, unfortunately it happened to us, the warriors and goddesses who manage to live despite feeling half alive, trying to live and laugh, play and love, give and make a living while feeling like we’re falling apart. 

We have stomach issues, explosive diarrhea that could kill a moose, or constipation you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. We have headaches and ear problems, nerve damage, and our brains don’t work right. We can’t think straight or remember things, we can’t speak clearly because our brains can’t keep up. We itch and barf, and can’t move our crazy spazzed out muscles.

We have trouble with filtering out noises, smells, stress, emotions, along with our physical pain, and anxiety builds that makes it hard to function at times. It’s like being buried under layers of rocks and being expected to be like everyone else while carrying those rocks on our backs. 

We spoonies and fibrowarriors band together however we can to support each other because the world refuses to understand, to sympathize, empathize, give us the compassion, support and understanding we’d give you if you were unwell. 

Suddenly, we’re devalued, cast aside, marginalized, joked about, discredited, disrespected, and treated like we’re making this shit up. It can’t be that bad, right? What you know about us is the worst parts, we suck up the rest. You don’t know what we fight or how hard, you don’t know how fierce and strong and determined we all are to make it through another day, trying to find some joy and purpose and meaning just like everyone else. 

We deserve to be heard, supported, respected, valued, validated and treated like we matter. Everyone does, despite what they go through, it is part of the human condition to suffer sometimes, but we are suffering all the time in varying degrees with all sorts of syndromes, illnesses, and disabilities that keep us from being who we hoped to be. We’re stronger than anyone knows because we’ve had to accept that what we wanted to be might not be attainable now, and we have to reinvent ourselves based on how we suffer and how we overcome. 

We manage what we can, do what we can, try as hard as we can, more than any well person can understand, we live with unbearable burdens, fight against the odds, and are smiling, laughing and finding purpose through the pain. We’re more capable than you’ll ever know and we deserve admiration for persevering through things you don’t want to accept. This is our reality. 

We don’t want pity, handouts, patronizing, fake acting or to be treated like we’re idiots. Being sick doesn’t make you stupid, we are not less of a person because we’re sick and struggle. Not understanding other’s suffering makes you ignorant and oblivious. 

Listen to us. Believe us. Respect us. Have faith in us, in our reality. Give us credit for what we can do. Help us through the rough times. Look for the real person behind the symptoms and issues and problems. All of us humans are doing the best we can. We with fibromyalgia are doing, feeling, being the best we can. Behind our smiles is a world more torturous than you’ll ever know, and we wouldn’t want it for you, because it’s made life so much harder for us. We all deserve the understanding of each other, the kindness and the effort to allow us to be who we are. 

[luv-engineering]

Should be required reading for horse owners! If you have a horse, this book will completely change any ideas you had on how to take care of your horse. I am 70 years old, and thought for many years that "the way it was always done" was really good! WRONG!!! I really felt like an idiot for not questioning the status quo. I was even married to a farrier, and would shoe my own horse, and thought we were doing the right thing. WRONG again!!! This is truly one of the life changing books for a horse owner! You will rush outside and hug your horse and apologize to him for the way you have been treating him, even though you thought it was right! I have the book on my Kindle, and bought this paperback just to loan to other horse owners. Go to "soul of a horse.com" to see the other books, and lots of videos and other information. Go to Amazon

I was not really impressed. While I agree with ... I was not really impressed. While I agree with a majority of his horse ownership points, I find it obnoxious that someone who has only been around horses for 2 years all of a sudden knows everything. Also, he mentions more than once that he owns 6 horses and only keeps them in a small 1.5 acre steep sided, rocky pen with only a shelter big enough for 3 horses....are you kidding me?? Very obnoxious. Go to Amazon

A must have book! Absolutely changes perspective on horse care. Since incorporating some of these techniques and husbandry my horses and I are much happier and our relationship has delightfully become more bonded and open. I HIGHTLY recommend for anyone who wants to have a better relationship with their horses and have given several as gifts to first time horse owners. Go to Amazon

Life Lesson #1: Don't buy the wrong book If you edit out all the extraneous material in this book, i.e., "I'm an important movie director," "I bought this big house with horse stalls so naturally we had to fill them with SOMEthing and that's how we wound up with horses," "I watch Monty Roberts videos a lot," and "I read that part in Monty's book where he talks about the Indians following a herd of horses all over and thought it would make a good script so here goes...," what's left would make a nice couple of paragraphs on the dust cover of Monty Roberts' next book. Too bad that didn't happen. Go to Amazon

A must read for every horse lover! If you have a horse, are thinking of getting a horse or just spend time around them, then The Soul of a Horse is a must read. Joe Camp is a wonderful advocate for horses, their care and the wild horse lifestyle. Not only does Mr. Camp share valuable information about horses, their behavior and their care in a straightforward way, he also tells a wonderful story of the connection he experienced with one of his horses. Go to Amazon

Just as I expected. Joe Camp has embraced the Natural Horsemanship philosophy and has the ability to teach those who read his book not only that but a whole lot more. This ultimately makes both the life of the horse and of Joe so much better. Over the last year and a half I have been fortunate enough to board at a barn of a tried and true Natural Horsenmanship trainer and she has made an amazing difference for Duke and me. We came to her as an older rider who had lost her confidence and a really great horse who had no confidence in the human race what so ever. It seemed as though he expected nothing good from any human. Through the Natural Horsemansip philosophy, she has taught us both a great deal. Me, to be able to gain his trust and to have confidence in that and his ability to trust me. We have come so far, have a long way to go, but I have no doubt we are becoming a great team, Go to Amazon

Kind of what I thought Even thought I have been around horses my whole life I FINALLY have my OWN horse. Trying to learn as much as I can I am sure there are those out there that have forgotten more than I'll ever know. I was recommended this book by a few "horse" people so with an open mind I bought the book and actually finished it in about a week. I agree, and can understand, just about everything that was said in this book. Once again being new and wanting to learn MOST of what is said and done in this book I really do follow, little alfalfa, the natural trimming of the feet, "talking" to your horse and lets just say the list goes on. I have a three Y.O. Quarter Horse Bay colt and either I am the luckiest SOB on the planet or I have got my act together when it comes to training. Go to Amazon

Newbie Must! This book is great because I've just acquired my 1st horse (as a 65 yr old!), & Joe & his wife's story is from that perspective of a total newbie horse "owner(s)". His verification of what the great Natural Horsemanship trainers say is the necessary mind-set & how to go about training from that view is such a welcome relief for my anxieties of this awesome responsibility! But not much different from raising kids (if you survived that OK!) -- they're just weren't a 1000 lbs! Do your homework; mistakes will be made. But if truly done from love, compassion, patience & above all, the horse's point-of-view, it will come out fine! If you're new to horse "ownership", or about to be, I highly recomment! Go to Amazon

Five Stars Fodder for the TRASH Great Read Not recommended Four Stars Change how you think of caring for your horse The Soul of a Horse & Born Wild...a MUST READ TOGETHER! Five Stars A must read for horse people! Five Stars

[imagoquotes]

ABDUL KALAM QUOTES:

Below you can find the inspiring Abdul Kalam quotes with images, these all quotes & thoughts are collected from several books, audios & websites like Wikipedia.

SHORT NAME: Abdul Kalam, APJ

FULL NAME: Avul Pakir Jainulabdeen Abdul Kalam

NICKNAME: Missile Man of India, People’s President of India

BORN:15th October-1931, Rameswaram, Tamil Nadu-India.

DIED:27th July-2015 (Aged 83), Shillong, Meghalaya, India.

AWARDS: Padma Bhushan, Padma Vibhushan, Bharat Ratna (India’s highest civilian honour), Indira Gandhi Award for National Integration, etc.

BOOKS: India 2020,  Wings of Fire, Ignited Minds,  My Journey: Transforming Dreams into Actions,        Turning Points: A journey through challenges, You Are Born to Blossom, Reignited: Scientific Pathways to a Brighter Future

ABDUL KALAM QUOTES WITH IMAGES:

“your Birth could have been an incident but your death should be history”

“Patience is more than just having the ability to wait.It’s about your attitude While you’re waiting”

“We should not give up and we should not allow the problem to defeat us”

“If you want to shine like a sun, first burn like a sun”

“Let us sacrifice our today so that our children can have a better tomorrow”

“You have to dream before your dreams can come true”

“Science is a beautiful gift to humanity; we should not distort it”

“To succeed in your mission, you must have single-minded devotion to your goal”

“You see, God helps only people who work hard.That principle is very clear”

“The bird is powered by its own life and by its motivation”

“Look at the sky. We are not alone. The whole universe is friendly to us and conspires only to give the best to those who dream and work”

“Small aim is a crime; have great aim”

“Life is a difficult game. You can win it only by retaining your birthright to be a person”

“If four things are followed – having a great aim, acquiring knowledge, hard work, and perseverance – then anything can be achieved”

“Poetry comes from the highest happiness or the deepest sorrow”

“Man needs his difficulties because they are necessary to enjoy success”

“Excellence is a continuous process and not an accident”

“To become ‘unique,’ the challenge is to fight the hardest battle which anyone can imagine until you reach your destination”

“War is never a lasting solution for any problem”

“Creativity is the key to success in the future, and primary education is where teachers can bring creativity in children at that level”

“The youth need to be enabled to become job generators from job seekers”

“Great dreams of great dreamers are always transcended”

“Do we not realize that self respect comes with self reliance”

“Be more dedicated to making solid achievements than in running after swift but synthetic happiness”

“India should walk on her own shadow – we must have our own development model”

“Great teachers emanate out of knowledge, passion and compassion”

“I was willing to accept what I couldn’t change”

“As a child of God, I am greater than anything that can happen to me”

“My hair grows and grows; you cannot stop it that fellow grows, it grows wild”

“No religion has mandated killing others as a requirement for its sustenance or promotion”

“One of the very important characteristics of a student is to question. Let the students ask questions”

“Ultimately, education in its real sense is the pursuit of truth. It is an endless journey through knowledge and enlightenment”

“The purpose of education is to make good human beings with skill and expertise. Enlightened human beings can be created by teachers”

“No sanction can stand against ignited minds”

“Climbing to the top demands strength, whether it is to the top of Mount Everest or to the top of your career”

“For me, there are two types of people: the young and the experienced”

“While children are struggling to be unique, the world around them is trying all means to make them look like everybody else”

“Smart habitation is an integrated area of villages and a city working in harmony and where the rural and urban divide has reduced to thin line”

“I firmly believe that unless one has tasted the bitter pill of failure, one cannot aspire enough for success”

“I was a disadvantaged child from a non-educated family, yet I had the advantage of being in the company of great teachers”

“Educationists should build the capacities of the spirit of inquiry, creativity, entrepreneurial and moral leadership among students and become their role model”

“There has to be a global mission of human progress”

“My view is that at a younger age your optimism is more and you have more imagination etc.You have less bias”

“India can live without nuclear weapons. That’s our dream, and it should be the dream of the U.S. also”

“Building capacity dissolves differences. It irons out inequalities”

“Those who cannot work with their hearts achieve but a hollow, half-hearted success that breeds bitterness all around”

“All wars signify the failure of conflict resolution mechanisms, and they need post-war rebuilding of faith, trust and confidence”

“Writing is my love. If you love something, you find a lot of time. I write for two hours a day, usually starting at midnight; at times, I start at 11”

“Nations consist of people. And with their effort, a nation can accomplish all it could ever want”

“Developing nations want to become developed nations”

“Life is hard but not Impossible”

“Unless India stands up to the world, no one will respect us. In this world, fear has no place. Only strength respects strength”

“When a nation is surrounded by weaponized nations, she has to equip herself”

“Never stop Learning, because life never stops teaching”

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection”

“Everyday new day is another chance to change your life”

“Alphabet ‘O’ stands for ‘OPPORTUNITY’, Which is absent in YESTERDAY, available once in T’O’DAY and thrice in T’O’M’O’RR’O’W. Never Lose HOPE..”

“Sometimes you have to go through the worst to get to the best. Give time some time”

I don’t know how my story will end, but nowhere in my text will it ever read… “I GIVE UP”

“Small steps in the right direction are better than big ones in the wrong direction”

“Richest wealth is wisdom. Strongest weapon is Patience. Best Security is Faith. Most effective tonic is Laughter & Surprisingly all are free.”

“Everything happens for a reason. That reason causes change. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes It’s hard But in the end it’s for The best.”

“We always work for a better Tomorrow.But When tomorrow comes, instead of enjoying,We again think of a better tomorrow! Let’s Have a better today”

“A tree that wants to touch the sky must extend its roots into the earth. The more it wants to rise Upwards,the more it has to grow downwards.So to rise in life, We must be down to earth,humble & grateful.”

“Remember that people will always question the good things they hear about you,and believe the bad ones without a second thought”

“Do a 100 things RIGHT and someone will still point out the 1 thing you did WRONG”

“POSITIVE THINKING is not only about EXPECTING the best to Happen. But it is also about ACCEPTING whatever happens is for The BEST”

“In life no one will remember how you Looked ,Walked,Talked or what you did. Everyone just remembers you by the way you made Them feel when they were with you”

“When we are Wrong & we surrender, It means we are Honest! When We are in Doubt & We surrender, It Means We are Wise! but When We are Right & we Surrender It Means We Value Relations”

“You are responsible for your HAPPINESS, If you expect others to make you happy, You will always be DISAPPOINTED”

“Being defeated is often a temporary condition; giving up is what makes it permanent Never Stop trying.Be POSITIVE & THINK POSITIVE”

“A door is much smaller compared to the house, A lock is much smaller compared to the door. A key is the smallest of all,but a key can open entire house!! Thus a small, thoughtful solution can solve major problems”

“KNOWLEDGE will give you power, but character will give you RESPECT”

“Our Parents were Patient when we are young, no it’s our time to be patient during their old age”

“Do the right thing,even when no one is looking its called integrity”

“If people say something bad about you,judge you as if they know you,Don’t feel bad just remember Dogs bark if they don’t know the person”

“Mind and Umbrella have one thing in common, they are useful when they are open; otherwise they increase our Burden”

“Life is not a music player to listen your favorite songs.It is a radio,you must adjust yourself to very Frequency and enjoy whatever come in it”

“The winners are those who learn to take full responsibility for their actions.The losers are those who blame others for their failures”

“Expecting & Accepting are two sides of life. Where expecting ends in tears,While accepting makes you cheer.Accept life the way it comes”

“Good Decisions comes from experience,but experience come from bad decisions.This is life.So don’t worry for any mistake.Go ahead & learn from them”

“Rumours are created by haters,spread by fools and accepted by idiots”

“Never stop chasing your dreams, life can take you from zero to hero In a fraction of time”

“Your best teacher is your last Mistake”

“We cannot change the past, but we can start a new chapter with a happy ending”

“Don’t declare holiday on my death, Instead work an extra day if you love me”

“Don’t depend too much on anyone in this world because even your own shadow leaves you When you are in darkness”

“Beauty attracts heart,but Character attracts soul”

“Whatever you do,good or bad, People will always have something negative to say”

“Stop trying to change someone Who doesn’t want to change”

“Stop Giving chances to someone Who abuses your forgiveness’

“Stop walking back to the place Where your heart ran from’

“Stop trusting their words and ignoring their action’

“Stop Breaking your own heart”

“Sometimes saying sorry is the most difficult thingon earth. But its the Cheapest thing to save the most expensive gift called Relationship”

“Umbrella can’t stop the rain but can make us stand in rain. Confidence may not bring success but gives us power to face any challenge in life”

“Wrong is wrong, even if everyone is doing it Right is right,even if no one is doing it’

“Success is When your signature changes to Autograph”

“If you want to shine like a sun. First burn like a sun.”

“If you fail,never give up because F.A.I.L Means “First Attempt In Learning”

End is not the end,In fact E.N.D Means “Effort Never Dies”

If you get No as an answer, remember N.O means “Next Opportunity”

“One best book is equal to hundred good friends but one good friend is equal to a library”

“I am not handsome but i can give my hand to someone who need help. Because beauty is required in heart not in face”

Speak 5 lInes to yourself every morning 1.I am the Best 2.I can do it. 3.God is always with me. 4.I am a winner. 5.Today is my day.

“Don’t take rest after your first victory because if you fail in second,More lips are waiting to say that your first victory was just luck”

“success is a journey,not a destination”

“You cannot change your future,you can change your habits.And surely your habits will change your future”

“When writing the story of your life, Don’t let anyone else hold the pen”

“The best brains of the nation may be found on the last benches of the classroom”

“Sometimes,it’s better to bunk a class and enjoy with friends,because now,when I look back,marks never make me laugh, but memories do.”

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us While we live”

“Never ignore a person who loves you,cares for you,misses you.Because one dau,you might wake up and realize that you lost the moon while counting the stars”

“Honest relations are just like water no colour, No Shape,No place no taste,But still the most important for Life”

“Never judge someone. you don’t know their story”

Theory of Life When flood comes, the fish eat ants. But when water dries, the ants eat fish. Life gives chance to everyone. Just have to wait for our turn.

“Black colour is sentimentally bad, but black board makes the student’s life bright”

‘A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking,because her trust is not on the branch but on it’s wings”

“Work hard in Silence, let your success be your noise”

“Being positive does not mean ignoring the negative. Being Positive means overcoming the negative”

“Relations are like electric currents. wrong connection will give you shocks throughout your life,but the right ones will light up your life”

“Love your job but don’t love your company, because you may not know when your company stops loving you”

“2 get” and “2 give” creates many problems. (just double it) “4 get” and “4 give” solves many problems.

“A positive mind finds opportunity in everything. A negative mind finds fault in everything”

“Life is like a book Some chapters sad,some happy, and some exciting.but if you never turn the page.you will never know what the next chapter holds’

“Never forget two people in your life. The person who lost everything jsut to make you win [your father] The person who was with you in every pain [your mother]”

“Sometimes you will never know the true value of a moment until iit becomes a memory”

http://imagoquotes.com/love-quotes-2/

      Top 127 -A.P.J Abdul Kalam Quotes ABDUL KALAM QUOTES: Below you can find the inspiring Abdul Kalam quotes with images, these all quotes & thoughts are collected from several books, audios & websites like Wikipedia.

[sarahburness]

Our Words Have Power (So Speak Kindly To and About Yourself)

“I monitor my self-talk, making sure it is supportive and uplifting for myself and others.” ~ Louise Hay

Three years ago, I ended up with no work in a foreign country. I was almost depressed, as I didn’t know what to say when people asked questions about my profession. The idea of making no income injected my mind with a wide repertoire of worries, fears, and concerns.

I was lost and stuck, and the way I was labeling myself at the time felt quite painful: unemployed. Not only did it look like I had a serious problem to deal with, I was starting to feel like I was a problem, myself.

We all perceive the reality of our experiences filtered through our own lenses, the expectations we set on ourselves and others, and our individual system of belief. To some people, being unemployed is a fact. Not good or bad, normal or abnormal, right or wrong. To me, it held a strong negative connotation. In a world that generally validates our self-worth through what we do for a living, being left with no work made me feel like a total failure.

Thanks to Wayne Dyer, one of the spiritual teachers who helped me grow into who I am today, I managed to change my perspective and see things in a much different light. Here’s what I remember him saying in an interview on YouTube: “Your only problem is your belief that you have a problem. When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”

His words spoke to me from the inside out. It came like thunder: a wake-up call that was going to shift my entire experience. The moment I decided to look at the situation from another angle, everything changed.

I decided to eliminate the world “unemployed” from my vocabulary, and I went for more empowering words instead. I was “job hunting,” and “looking for better employment opportunities” while being “in transition to a new career.”

Those feelings of frustration and sadness, which came with a deep sense of unworthiness and identity loss, got replaced by a much cleaner space of possibilities, hope, and curiosity for a fresh start.

By changing my perspective and the language I was using to describe my experience, I stopped feeling like a victim. Things were not imposed on me any longer, and I had power.

All of a sudden, I could see the bright side of the situation. When I was busy with work, always running somewhere, working overtime to reach goals and fulfill my duties, I so much wanted to get more time. When I was left with no job, I accused life of being unfair. It wasn’t.

I realized I had all the time in the world—and what a precious gift that was, because time never comes back! I had enough savings to rely on and a supportive husband, as well. And I had a dream to pursue—to do soul work with people and make this world a much better place. One year later, I got certified as a coach.

Today, I know that was a real blessing in disguise. “Unemployed” was not a weakness, but an opportunity for me to grow professionally and build a new career from scratch.

I have also learned that failing with anything doesn’t make me a failure, because I am not what I do. Being left with no work was an experience, and it didn’t have to define me or lower my self-worth unless I allowed it.

One more time, Wayne Dyer was right: I am a “human being,” not a “human doing.”

You see, the thoughts we think and the words we speak have tremendous power. Words are a form of energy, and their vibration has a high impact on the way we feel and think; they can either empower us or put us down.

I invite you to try the following exercise: think of a situation in your life that looks like a problem. Stay for a moment with that and get mindful of how that feels in your body.

Now, think of the same situation as if that was an issue or a topic for you to brainstorm, reflect, and deal with. Can you see the difference and how much lighter you feel?

You’ve done nothing else but replacing the word “problem” (which feels like a burden, something heavy for you to carry) with “issue” (much lighter, something that you could find a solution to).

When I was a child, my mother advised me always to pay attention to my words. “One can kill or save another with only one word,” she said. I didn’t get what she meant at that time, but now I do.

Looking back on my life, I came to realize I spent many years punishing myself with disempowering words about who I was. Thinking I wasn’t good enough, perceiving myself as a failure when I was making mistakes, taking myself for granted, unable to acknowledge my achievements, as if “anyone could do that” or “it wasn’t anything big or special.”

“Stupid me!” “I’m not good enough.” “I’ll never get this.” “This is too big for me.” “I am average.” That’s how the voices in my head used to sound.

Years later, thanks to the beautiful work of Louise Hay, I have learned that being mindful of my self-talk is one of the best forms of self-care and self-respect.

“You’ve been criticizing yourself for years, and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.“ ~Louise Hay

I knew I would have never told my best friend what an idiot she was for doing this or saying that. And if she were to consider herself ugly or stupid, I would have never encouraged such an idea. I would have supported her in the best way I could.

It took me a while to understand how unfair I was to myself: talking to others kindly and showing them compassion while putting myself down every day. Just like everyone else, I was also a person, worthy of being seen and listened to, appreciated, understood, forgiven, respected, acknowledged, nurtured, and loved.

The day I stopped making myself small with my self-talk, my life transformed, and here’s what I know to be true today:

I am whatever I believe myself to be. If I think I am smart, beautiful, ugly, or stupid, that’s what my reality becomes. We all get to shape our own story by the way we feel, act, and think.

Besides that, I don’t have any weaknesses; I only have areas for growth.

While I am aware of the things I need to work on (do less and be more, become more patient and sometimes calmer, talk less and listen more and so on), the very fact that I have replaced the word “weakness” by “area for growth” is empowering. Like everyone else, I am on a journey called Life, and that’s all about learning.

My husband and I moved to Mexico a few months ago. We can understand Spanish, but neither of us can speak it. I could see this as a weakness, but I choose not to. This is nothing but an area for growth: we are both going to acquire new skills, expand our knowledge, and grow as individuals. We’ve already started to take lessons.

The words we use in our everyday life have power. They can either destroy or build relationships with ourselves and other people. Getting mindful of our self-talk is one of the best forms of self-love and self-compassion. Let us choose our words wisely.

“Language shapes our behavior, and each word we use is imbued with multitudes of personal meaning. The right words spoken in the right way can bring us love, money, and respect, while the wrong words—or even the right words spoken in the wrong way—can lead to a country of war. We must carefully orchestrate our speech if we want to achieve our goals and bring our dreams to fruition.” – Dr. Andrew Newberg, Words Can Change Your Brain

And now, I would like to hear from you. If there were one single disempowering word for you to eliminate from your vocabulary, what would that be?

About Sara Fabian

Sara Fabian is a women’s career and empowerment coach and inspirational speaker, on a mission to help professional women to discover their unique strengths, gifts and talents, boost their confidence, find their calling and live a meaningful life of purpose. For weekly inspiration, subscribe to her free newsletter at sarafabiancoaching.com or follow her on Facebook.

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The post Our Words Have Power (So Speak Kindly To and About Yourself) appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

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