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mhevarujta · 3 years

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Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

“Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them.

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

#shadow and bone #rule of wolves #row #zoya nazyalensky #the darkling #aleksander morozova #sab meta #row meta

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madsdefencesquad · 3 years

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The semi-companion piece to Kevin's one and it's all about Mads, of course. Dedicated to Kevison Nation (every single fudging one of you) and to @flythesail and @penny259 (your comments have me weeping haha 😚). Also on ao3.

A little into Madison Pearson by x (with additions) Summer 2026

I first met Madison Pearson a year ago at George Clooney’s 65th birthday celebrations in Perthshire, Scotland in a fashion closer to that of long-travelled friends who haven’t seen each other in years than that of complete strangers who just so happened to enjoy the same foodie indulgence (bacon-wrapped dates, anyone?). Despite the grandeur of the guests present at the lavish affair – politicians, laureates, philanthropists and A-list celebrities (including her own husband actor Kevin Pearson) – Madison Pearson had the kind of invigorating energy that just drew absolutely anyone in.

Perhaps it was the enchanting mix of contained excitement and understated class she exuded that will warm you upon beholding up close, or perhaps it was the charm of a more loquacious woman of California mixed with the rare intelligence of a world-traveller. Either way, despite the taxing social waltz her husband took her throughout the night bumping elbows with the elites, Madison was one of those people who truly left a lasting impression.

Squeezed next to her in the back of a cab, Madison is head-to-toe in Temperley London x Axel Arigato (vintage-inspired nautical jumpsuit and platform suedes) en route to a baking class where her five-year-old twins Nick and Franny are waiting for her to join them along with their father.

“I was supposed to get changed,” she says, lamenting on her attire worn for a meeting with some West Chester development executives that’s perhaps too luxurious for an afternoon of mixing flour and butter and sugar. “But you have to make at least a bit of an impression, right?”

Madison has been the powerhouse head honcho of the Pearson family business, Big Three Homes, since its establishment three years prior. With a solid background in business management and a surefooted ability to navigate the mores of an ever-changing property development landscape, it was no question that Madison would rise up to the challenge of breaking into the market with a business model founded on family, philanthropy and sustainability.

Despite growing up largely independent without people close enough to call family, Madison has also found the means to speak about her experiences in an effort to encourage and give hope to the younger generation of girls and young women who may be going through an ongoing battle between themselves and their self-worth.

“I never felt enough,” she says of the origins of her battle with her eating disorder that began when she was still in middle school. “I look at Franny and she’s so small and carefree and I want to give her everything I never had, but I know that even that won’t be enough unless she herself realises how worthy she is of all the good and all the love that she deserves.”

We pull up outside the baking studio and she brightens at spotting her husband and twins’ silhouettes behind the frosted glass windows. Nick and Franny almost topple over their stools as they rush to overwhelm their mother while their father scrambles to keep his heart rate down—a close call with their foreheads hitting the edge of the marble benches as they got down will just about do it.

Even with her petite frame, Madison carries the twins like she’s just holding a bag of groceries. Unsurprisingly, both Nick and Franny are as enamoured of their mother as she is of them and are on the verge of complaining when put down just as Kevin, grinning ear to ear, envelops Madison in his huge arms—to be fair, he’s always been quite remarkably chiselled but the Tom Ford sweater and those tailored jeans (chosen by his wife “of course” as Kevin credits) is a different level altogether. He leans down to give her a kiss.

Back in Perthshire a year ago at the Clooney extravaganza, I caught up with the married couple the day after the festivities over a traditional Scottish breakfast as we overlooked the highlands of the Gleneagles.

Perhaps unlike the Clooneys, who were still entertaining their guests from all over world, the Pearsons were much more relaxed within their own family bubble. Having just celebrated Kevin’s twin sister’s wedding three days prior with close family and friends, the pair was grateful to spend some quality time with each other and their twins without the need to be anything but present.

From my perch, Kevin and Madison were the kind of couple that were very much “old souls”. They held an affection for each other that is rooted from sincere fondness and adoration for each other—they converse like deep friends and trade wits like secret lovers. And despite the media attention of the adorable moments shared online (often by the social-savvy actor), Madison is uncompromising when it comes to the privacy of their children.

While the twins dipped in and out of the table pilfering scones or taking over their mother’s green juice, neither one of their parents were the least bit bothered by the constant attention they need to provide such a rumbunctious pair.

“They’re so funny,” Kevin said, a careful eye on little Nick who was staring at the whipped cream on his tiny finger like he was contemplating on wiping it on his dad’s face.

I do recall having a good laugh when I accompanied the family on a tour of a nearby 17th century castle and little Franny, a copy-and-paste of her mother, pointed at a wood-cut table decoration of what looked to be intertwined lovers and confidently yelled, “That’s mommy and daddy!”

The fierce mama bear of the Pearson household of four (Madison sometimes calls her husband “kid number three, but don’t tell him that or he’ll get ideas of trying for another!”), remarks that forging her own path away from her husband’s spotlight had been remarkably easy, and she gives much of the credit to the rest of the Pearson clan who all treasure family more than anything.

Even with the notoriety of her brother-in-law, rising political star Randall Pearson, who currently serves in the Philadelphia municipality and is on track for a career in congress, Madison says that quality time to rest and recuperate is a must.

“[My sisters-in-law] and I have a girls weekend every other month when we can where we literally book ourselves a gorgeous Airbnb and just glamp down. I’m talking sleep-ins, endless mimosas, spa sessions… you name it! It’s the kind of getaway that [our husbands] get really jealous for.”

And upon being reminded, Kevin, now sporting Franny’s tiny chef’s hat, shakes his head at his wife conspicuously as if in reprimand that he most definitely should be included in the gals’ next glamping session despite him being, well, not a gal.

While Nick proudly counts five of about a thousand sprinkles that are scattered on his side of the bench, Madison congratulates him with a warmth and pride that is infectious enough to make you think that she’s proud of you too. And despite her husband’s very obvious possessiveness over her—you could count only one occasion where the actor is not at arm’s length from her—when Madison focuses her attention on you, it’s not difficult to believe that this powerhouse woman could truly do absolutely anything.

“She is that and more,” Kevin says about his wife. “Sometimes I can’t believe that this is my life. Our life! Like, she’s mywife, and these two are our kids. It’s just wild! I’m grateful, just grateful.”

Despite the doubts and fear that had been Madison’s constant companions for most of her life and especially going into adulthood, there is a fierce resilience in her that she could only credit her dear grandmother Frances—her own daughter having been named after her.

“She always believed in me,” she recalls, an eye on the twins squatting by the oven watching their creations rise. Despite the deep grief and loss that are quite intimately shared by the married couple, Madison says that it has only made them more resolute in loving their children and each other as best as they possible can every day.

“You just don’t know when it’s your time,” she says. “So, Kev and I make sure that there are no ‘next times’ when it comes to our family.”

When I had asked Madison about Big Three Homes back in Scotland, she squealed at the origin story of its founding, which started with Kevin’s late father Jack Pearson having asked his wife Rebecca to start the business together as partners.

Although Jack’s tragic and unexpected passing put an indefinite hold to this dream, its fulfilment through his son Kevin and through Madison is a testament to the kind of legacy that Jack Pearson had begun through his kids.

“I mean, it started off as more of a passion project for Kev,” Madison says. “But we knew it was always going to be something really special. Especially because his first project was the house that Jack had wanted to build for his mom. And when Kevin had this wonderful idea of bringing the family together to start the business and he asked me to be a part of it, how could I have said no!”

Kevin makes a point to say though that even if the idea of Big Three Homes originally came from his parents, its fulfilment is as much a part of his and Madison’s own story as it is his parents’. And choosing to have Madison work alongside him wasn’t just the best choice (given how much of a boss she is), but it was the only choice he ever wanted or considered.

“I know this is cliché, but I can’t stand not being with her,” Kevin says. “I made a point of this when our twins were born, and I meant it!”

Madison and the family split their time between California and Pennsylvania both for Kevin’s work and for the business, but nowadays, it’s more of an 80-20 split in favour of the east coast.

When asked about a career path carved away from her hometown in California, Madison says fondly, “It surprises a lot of people when I say this but I’m actually an east coast girl.”

This fun fact translates quite well in Madison’s day to day. She could turn any conversation into an erudite discussion, and she will utterly beguile you with her knowledge of books and literature—her constant companions when she can sneak away to her own personal Taj Mahal, a stunning Japanese garden in the backyard of their Pennsylvania home which Kevin built especially for her.

As the Pearsons continue to make a splash in the world of construction, politics, arts and entertainment—a rare mix indeed for a family in the spotlight—Madison is determined to continue writing a story with her husband and her children that she never had growing up.

With the twins happily destroying their creations by the mouthfuls, Madison promises that another visit is a must and perhaps this time, she can show us a collection of Kevin’s baby photos coupled with her own personal commentary to boot.

And who would say no to that.

#kevison #kadison #kevin and madison #still not over that kadison tag but loving it coz yes to more madison yeeeeee #I tried to not let Kevin get away with being gushy but he keeps taking over!!#lezbereal he's in too deep we get it boyy #I need to do a combined one because Uncle Nicky and some of the fam has to feature am I roighttttt #anywhoo hope y'all enjoy this <3 #this is us #tiu #kevison fanfics #kevison fanfic #tiu spoilers #I know most of the deets won't be canon after season 6 but whatever I do what I want #kevin pearson #madison this is us #madison pearson

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twothumbsandnostakeincanon · 4 years

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👀😤😏 @stetervault

The moment Stiles stood up and the bandages fell off him, he realized something was wrong.

He was off balance, dramatically so, movements weighted too far forward. He stumbled, crashing into Melissa. His mind was an angry nest of confusion and fear, unaware of why he felt so unbalanced, unsure if the nogitsune was actually gone, and unsettled at the idea that his pack hadn’t known whether he was him or not.

Melissa caught him around the waist, steadying him in time to hear the gasps behind him. He twisted around to see what was going on, only to find everyone staring at his back, mouths open. He craned his neck around, looking at his back with an unimpeded view.

Unimpeded.

No feathers tickling his nose. No wing joint blocking his sightline.

Nothing.

He looked up at the others, convinced that this must be another trick of the nogitsune. Another hallucination to play with him, to bring chaos to his mind.

One by one, they stared back at him, pity in every face. Exactly as Stiles imagined his worst nightmare would go. The nogitsune took its cues from Stiles’ own mind, maybe this was all made up and taken from himself-

His eyes reached Peter. His face was unusually grim. He looked back at Stiles, no sign of a cold smirk or cutting grin anywhere. He simply looked at Stiles, serious, a hint of grief in the set of his mouth.

It was real.

Stiles screamed.

Three years later, he still thought it would have been easier to handle if the nogitsune had left scars. Something, anything as proof that his wings had once existed. Had once surrounded him, keeping him warm and lifting him from the earth, wings that looked exactly like his mother’s.

He only had pictures of either now.

But no. The skin of his back was smooth and unmarked. He’d taken to telling the people he slept with that it was a birth deformity. The lie was never discovered- after all, they would have had to stay for at least a second night to find out, and Stiles would never allow that.

Most of the time he wasn’t even around by the next morning, already on his way to the next town with the next job.

Besides, sometimes he almost believed the lie himself. He was so far divorced from his former life that it felt like someone else’s memories.

He’d found benefits to being wingless. The effort he had to make to re-learn balance had carried him into the kind of grace and stealth that could be very lucrative, when used correctly. Most attacks come from the sky, dropping in suddenly from any direction; and absolutely no one would dare to escape on the ground, where one might be so easily caught.

Unless one was Stiles.

So he took jobs, and did them under the noses of those who looked skyward, convinced that the only worthy threat could come from there.

The jobs were dubiously legal at best, but that didn’t matter. Not when any possible future law enforcement career had been stripped from him the moment he lost his wings. Instead, he used his comprehensive knowledge of the law to break it more effectively.

Not at the moment, though.

At the moment, he was having a perfectly legal cup of coffee, in a perfectly respectable Starbucks, so Seattle-generic that he wondered if his client would be able to pick it out from the other three Starbucks on the street.

He sipped the cold brew, back to the wall, no one paying enough attention to him to notice the missing wings. It was relaxing, not being noticed. Not being stared at. He slouched back further onto the wall.

He was mid-sip when the door opened again. His eyes flicked over, looking for the identifier his client had said he’d be wearing.

A red and white striped pocket square in a vest.

He also wore sunglasses and a well-tailored jacket, hair styled fairly long.

Definitely longer than the last time he’d seen him.

“God fucking damn it, Peter,” Stiles sighed.

Peter took a seat across from him, taking off his sunglasses and folding his wings behind him.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?” he chided, reaching out to snag the cold brew from Stiles’ hands, until Stiles stabbed him with the coffee stirrer.

“What do you fucking want?” Stiles said aggressively, no longer comforted by the wall at his back, but trapped by it.

Peter frowned at him as he picked splinters out of his hand.

“I want to hire you. Or did you not actually read the last email I sent?” He raised a judgemental eyebrow.

Stiles stared at him flatly.

“I don’t believe that you've ever had a single motivation for doing something in your life. Your plans have so many layers that they’re hidden in plain sight by pretending to be lasanga. What. Do. You. Want.”

Peter smiled brightly.

“You caught me. Dual motivation. I wanted to steal the Deschamp Bestiary, and your coffee.” He reached out again, faster this time, and managed to snatch it, taking a long sip.

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose.

“In all seriousness,” Peter continued, “I want that bestiary, not only because it’s a one of a kind book worth millions, but also because it’s currently in the hands of a dangerous family. A dangerous family absolutely full of bastards.”

Stiles looked up at him.

“And you need me, specifically, to help you do that,” he said, obvious skepticism in his tone.

“I did mention that they were bastards, right?” Peter said lightly, taking another sip. “Awful bastards. With bastard tight air security. No one drops into their compound without being killed.”

Stiles sighed, clearly able to see where this was going.

“I need someone competent in ground infiltration. And you, my dear, are the most competent on the market right now.” The look he gave Stiles was heavy lidded, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation.

Stiles wasn’t sure it was entirely for the upcoming job.

He chewed on his lip, internally debating.

As a general rule, Stiles took any job that would fuck over a hunter. He had enough grudges left over from high school to make it worth it. He also generally took any job with a high enough payout.

However, he didn’t take jobs from people he’d helped murder once. In general.

“What are you even doing in Seattle?” Stiles asked, delaying his decision.

“I live here,” Peter answered, swirling the coffee a little, trying to get cream up from the bottom.

“You left Beacon Hills?” Stiles said, actually surprised.

“After you left, I hardly had anything keeping me there,” Peter sniffed delicately. “You were the only worthwhile member of that pack. Besides, McCall started getting a little too friendly with Eichen House... I could only assume that would not end well for me.”

Stiles snorted, unsurprised that Scott would work with Eichen House to get Peter put away.

“I have a pack here now-” Peter continued.

“Wait,” Stiles interrupted. “You have a pack or you’re part of a pack?”

Peter briefly flashed red eyes in response. Stiles groaned.

“Who did you kill?” he demanded. He had a vague idea of Peter killing Scott on his way out of town, and if that was what had happened, he was absolutely not taking the job. He didn’t want to touch Beacon Hills nonsense with a ten foot pole.

Peter looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“You don’t think I’m worthy of True Alpha power, Stiles?” he said, beseeching.

Stiles brandished the coffee stirrer again, face deadly serious. Peter laughed.

“Deucalion,” he finally answered, adjusting his wings until they hung more loosely over the back of his chair.

Stiles relaxed. Peter smiled in amusement.

“I’ve had nothing to do with Beacon Hills for almost as long as you have,” he said, voice quieter, more sincere. “I really, truly contacted you because you’re the best person for the plan, and my plans are always the best. The fact that I get to see you again is just a bonus.”

Stiles sat back, face impassive as he searched Peter’s.

Peter hadn’t once brought up Stiles’ non-existent wings, despite that being the reason Stiles was available for the job at all. He didn’t glance over Stiles’ shoulder, looking for the thing that wasn’t there. He looked Stiles in the face, as if that was the only place he wanted to look.

Damn it.

“Alright. I’ll do it.”

#it was too good to leave alone lmao #also I don't think I've ever fully written a heist??#I kinda want to??#I might add to this 👀#angst #wingfic #featheruary #pre-steter #steter #1.5k words #again #stetervault #tumblr fic and kinda fic #this blog needs a tag for my bullshit

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tywriteskpop · 5 years

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Shatter Me (Im Jaebum Oneshot)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

AN: This was inspired by the music video Shatter Me by Lindsey Stirling.

Edit made by my friend Milky!

His labored breath came out in visible puffs from the cold air around him, straining his lungs as he ran through the darkening woods. The sun was setting fast, and he was nearly out of time. He should have figured it out sooner, put the pieces together to find you quicker. His fear of failing grew, anxiety overwhelming him as a trickle of tears trailed behind him. He shouted your name as he neared the cave hidden deep in the forest, hoping you’d hear his cry.

A sob left your lips when you heard the desperate panic in his voice. You could no longer move your legs, frozen where you stood. You shakily raised your hand to press it against the wall of your imprisonment. He had finally run through the mouth of the cave entrance, making you smile one last time through the tears rippling down your cheeks.

But he was too late. The sun had set, and you took a final breath before your body was completely encased in the crystal. He ran straight to the wall, a wail of anguish echoing inside the cavern. He had failed you, and he could only blame himself. Sinking to his knees, his vision blurred from crying, he could only gaze up at your frozen figure, trapped inside a crystallized dome. He could only think about how it should have been him.

Your bored gaze stared blankly through the frosted window. The snow was heavy this time around, marking another year of a frozen spring. The town was quiet, most of its residents having gone on vacation to escape the frigid temperatures. And yet here you were, stuck with managing your parents’ café during the slowest of seasons. Only a few customers took refuge in the warmth of the cozy cottage, savoring their hot drinks before they were ready to brave the harsh weather outside.

“It seems to get worse every year.” Your ears honed in on the conversation a few patrons were having nearby. “Eventually there’ll be nothing left of this town.”

A dark haired girl shook her head sadly in response to the boy. “At least we have the option to leave,” she said. “The Apprentice is forbidden to leave this land. I feel sorry for him.”

“Well you shouldn’t,” another boy snapped. “He fell in love with a human. And because of his stupidity, this land is cursed.”

You winced from where you stood, but continued pretending that you couldn’t hear them.

“Hey, watch your mouth!” the first boy hissed. “It didn’t matter if it was a human or a castor. That kind of discrimination isn’t ethical.” He placed a few bills on the table and the three customers rose from their chairs. “Thank you for your service!” He told you on his way out.

The girl waved goodbye with a small smile, and the second boy followed behind them begrudgingly. You said and waited for them to pass the threshold. Walking around the counter, rag in hand, you went to their now empty table and began cleaning up, pocketing the spare change with gratitude.

A heavy sigh left you as you glanced around the empty cottage. It was getting late, and the few residents left in town were now in the comfort of their homes. You were jealous of those who were able to rest at home with their families. And you were also jealous of those who were able to venture out of town. Your parents never took you with them when they went out of town, leaving you in the care of your sickly grandmother. It was gradually getting to the point that you were taking care of her instead.

Your mind went blank as you recalled the legend your grandmother told you while you were growing up, your instincts taking over as you continued to clean. She always told you the story of the Apprentice, a young castor who had fallen in love with a human girl. His master had forbade it, yet they continued to see each other. And because of his insubordination, the Apprentice was cursed by his master.

“But I don’t understand, Grandma. Why were they cursed?”

“Well, back in that time, humans and castors had a very strained relationship. And because we are born without magic, the casters lived with a mindset that they were superior beings.”

“But they loved each other, right?”

“Yes, they did. And that is why the Apprentice still searches for his beloved’s soul to this day.”

You never knew what she meant. The Apprentice was cursed to an eternity of life, to suffer with the guilt of losing his beloved. All of his anguish covered the town in a thick layer of snow and ice, his magic overwhelming those who resided in the cottages below Forest Peak. In the center of the dying forest was Crystal Cavern, a cave formed by stalagmites and walls of colorful crystals. Despite the possibility of acquiring riches beyond belief, no one dared to venture to the cavern, fearing the grief stricken wrath of the Apprentice who still resided there.

You hadn’t noticed how long you were standing there, lost in your own thoughts. It wasn’t until the small bell above the entrance dinged that you snapped out of your reverie. You jumped slightly, startled by the sudden noise, and continued cleaning without giving the customer a glance.

“Kind of late to be wandering around, isn’t it?” you asked softly. “I was just about to close up shop.”

“Sorry.” His voice was low, tired, and smooth. “I don’t normally come out to public eye.”

To say you were confused would be an understatement. You looked up at his strange words, taking in his appearance carefully. You didn’t recognize him, which alone is unusual considering how small the town was. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, a sudden rush of power surrounding you. You might have been human, but even you could sense a caster as powerful as this one.

“Who are you?” you asked quietly.

The man hesitated, his eyes travelling over your form steadily. It was then you noticed the pain hidden in his dark irises. The dull life in his eyes matched the dark shade of his hair. You couldn’t tell if he was dangerous, opting to rely on your instincts and stay put.

“If I tell you, you may run from me,” he answered mournfully.

Your suspicions grew, not knowing what to do or say to the man. His cryptic speech sparked a sense of curiosity in you, and with that came a fear of the unknown. You struggled to push the strange feelings to the back of your mind, but before you could offer your hospitality, he spoke again.

“I only came to see you,” he said. “I’m sorry if I caused you any inconvenience. Goodnight, Y/N.”

Leaving you stunned where you stood, he turned away from you with a lingering glance and walked out the door. You should have been startled, wary, or even frightened by the fact that this stranger knew your name. But something in his voice told you that you had nothing to fear from the man, and you couldn’t help but hope you crossed paths with him again soon.

Your hands moved leisurely as you settled your grandmother into bed, covering her with two comforters to battle the freezing temperatures outside. You were quiet, your mind still on the stranger you met earlier at the café. Before you could turn off her bedside lamp, she reached up and gently took your hand into hers.

“What troubles you, dear?” she asked. “You’re fairly quiet tonight.”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Just wondering if mom and dad are having a grand ole time.”

Your grandmother hummed and patted your hand softly. “Don’t blame them for not taking you with them, child. They would if they could.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand. What’s stopping them?”

“Well for one thing, who would keep me company?” The old woman laughed at her own joke, making you smile at her attempt to make you feel better. “But truly, Y/N, there is a power surrounding your soul that keeps you tailored to this land.”

“My soul?”

Your grandmother motioned for you to lean closer to her, as if what she would tell you was too dangerous to say too loud. “When you were first born, your parents tried to bring you outside of town. But the harsh winters of this place prevented them from crossing the town’s border. Iced roads, landslides of snow, any obstacle that could have happened. Something is keeping you here, dear.”

“So I can never leave?” you said incredulously. A scoff left your lips as you sat back. “Of course. Just my luck.”

“I believe your soul is in search of something, dear Y/N,” she continued. “Your other half.”

“What, my soulmate?” you shook your head. “Grandma, there hasn’t been a recorded connection for years. Soulmates are a myth now.”

She gave you a gleeful smile as she snuggled herself into her blankets. “Perhaps. But it’s fun to think about, isn’t it?”

The following week passed by without any strange occurrences. Customers came and went, you were nearly done with the latest book you picked up, and the spell store down the road experienced another explosion from a potion gone wrong.

The weather had gotten worse, and you were experiencing a quiet day. After being open for four hours, only two patrons had come through. You could blame the snow, probably, so you decided to close early and venture home. Your boots crunched the snow beneath your feet, falling snowflakes landing gently on your head. You were exhausted from the boredom you experienced, your eyes practically closed as you walked the mundane path towards your house.

Your senses kicked in and opened your eyes right before you ran into someone, narrowly sidestepping them to avoid hitting them. “Sorry,” you apologized.

“Watch where you’re going, human.”

You looked up and narrowed your eyes at the boy in front of you, the same boy from the café a few days ago. Instead of snapping at him like you wanted to, you opted to continue on your way silently. You didn’t want to get into a mess, no matter how much you wanted to defend yourself.

A rough pull on your arm sent you sprawling on the ground. You mentally thanked the snow for cushioning your fall as you glared up at him. Two of his friends stood beside him, different people from the ones you saw with him before. They looked just as aggressive as he did, and you had a sinking feeling that you should have stayed at work.

“Pathetic pieces of garbage!” The boy lifted his leg and slammed his foot down, kicking you harshly. You reacted immediately, trying to guard yourself and taking the blow to your arm. A yelp of pain echoed in the otherwise still air, your anger and fear growing at your helplessness against magic users. “Humans are just scum. The reason why we’re stuck in this hellhole of a wasteland.”

The torment of their degrading words and bruising blows carried on for what felt like hours, albeit only minutes. Every time you felt like you had a chance of reprieve to escape, another one of them continued the onslaught. “One of you go get a curse,” you heard him order.

As one of them turned away, he was suddenly thrown across the road, landing in a heap amongst the snow. The beating stopped finally as the other two castors turned to see their friend’s assailant. You took the opportunity to crawl away from your attackers, cringing at the soreness in your limbs and stomach as you clawed at the snow around you. When you managed to get a safe short distance from them, you saw a new figure through the blur of tears shrouding your eyes.

“You still need potions to use your magic,” he taunted. “Such a shame for a descendant of Klaes.”

The leader growled in frustration as he picked himself up and stomped back to his place between his followers. “It was your distasteful love for humans that cursed this land,” the bully castor sneered. “Now you come into our territory where you are not welcome, all to save a worthless creature again.”

The man said nothing. He didn’t even look at the castors. His eyes scanned you carefully until they met your own, and his heart broke at the desperation he saw clouding your gaze. You felt embarrassed at having to be saved, but you were also grateful he arrived when he did. And judging by the words the castor spoke, you now knew who this stranger was.

“Who are you to judge a living creature’s worth when you yourself bring shame to castors throughout history?” the Apprentice remarked.

“You know I am the blood of Klaes and you dare talk back to me?”

The Apprentice took no threat from the castor’s words and simply smirked. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned away from the trio and instead focused his attention on your battered form. He knelt in from of you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. Your arm was sore from the beating you endured so you flinched, but his touch was comforting and warm in the otherwise frigid air.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The deep look in his eyes showed genuine concern and even anxiety. You were about to answer him, tell him you were fine, but movement behind him caught your attention. The castor had thrown something at the two of you.

Time slowed down in that moment, silencing your impending shout to alert him. The Apprentice stood straight as he spun around, merely holding out his arm towards the object, the palm of his hand exuding a powerful force. The object, which you now saw was a bottle filled with questionable liquid, was forced back in the opposite direction. The barrier that he had conjured expanded, giving the castor little time to protect himself with his arms. The bottle broke on impact, dousing the castor with whatever the substance was, and the barrier forced all three of them to be thrown away into the snow.

The vibrations in the air had faded as the Apprentice rested his arm back to his side. Your curiosity getting the best of you, you pushed yourself to sit up and look around the Apprentice, wanting to see what happened to your assailants. They were groaning in pain, the knockback from the force field having been strong enough to disorient them. As they struggled to find their bearings, fumbling to get back on their feet, you heard the leader of the bullies mumbling to himself in confusion.

When he looked up, he looked lost, eyes moving rapidly between his friends and his surroundings. “What’s happening?” he asked. “Who are you? Where am I?” He panicked, jumping back when his friend reached out for him. “Don’t touch me! Who are you!?”

The castor didn’t wait for a response. He turned tail and ran away, ignoring the calls of his friends who desperately shouted his name. They gave chase, hoping to catch up with him, and eventually the three of them faded into the distance.

The Apprentice chuckled lightly and turned back to you, reaching out for your hand. You took it without question, allowing him to help you to your feet. You had many questions on your mind, so many that your swirling thoughts were almost enough to distract you from the pain you endured. Almost.

You winced when you felt the soreness of your bruising skin. Before you could reflexively reach over to hold onto your side, his hand was there. A cool feeling spread over your weakened muscles, and you could practically feel the bruises disappear as the skin cells repaired themselves. He was healing you, giving you strength. But you know that magic always had a cost.

He had seen the worry in your eyes and gave you a small smile. “Don’t worry. I’m old enough to know not to overdo it.”

You wanted to ask how old, but you were afraid you’d offend him. Instead you asked, “How did you do that?”

“Hmm? That was nothing. Even amateurs could pull something like that off. Those guys are just weak. They give castors a bad reputation.”

“And the bottle?” you inquired. “Why did he…”

He moved his hand to your arms, working on your more serious injuries. “Temporary amnesia potion. It’ll wear off.”

You remained silent for a few moments, allowing him to finish his mending. After a final scan over you with his eyes, he deemed you healthy enough. The two of you stood there, unsure what to say to one another or what to do.

“How did you know?” Your voice was so small, he almost didn’t hear you.

The Apprentice’s facial expression hadn’t changed, but you could sense his hesitation. He didn’t want to answer you, or rather he was afraid to answer you.

“Can I at least know your name?” you asked. “I can’t exactly call you the Apprentice forever.”

At your small attempt of a joke, he gave you a small grin. “Jaebum.”

You tested his name, the sound flowing from your lips easily, as if it was familiar to you. A flash of remorse lit up in his eyes, and he stepped back, the snow crunching under his boot. You knew he was leaving, but something was pulling you to him. You fought it, arguing with yourself that he was still a stranger. But when he turned his back to you, you panicked.

“Thank you,” you said quickly. “For helping me.”

He paused in his step, fighting the urge to face you again. It pained him to look at your face, all of his memories rushing back to him, good and bad. But he couldn’t ignore you. Everything was his fault, and he couldn’t bear to treat you like a stranger.

He spared you a fleeting glance over his shoulder. “You’re welcome,” he told you. But as he walked away, he kept speaking, so low that there was no possible way for you to hear him. “I won’t fail again.”

The temperature dropped further as the days continued. People were beginning to evacuate in fear of the town being buried in snow. You hadn’t opened the café for a few days, choosing to take care of your grandmother instead. You tried to keep a positive attitude, the two of you cheering each other up with stories and jokes. But you knew it was only a matter of time as you watched her health deteriorate.

One day she had given you the crystal she always wore around her neck. You felt a lump in your throat as you couldn’t shake the dark feeling that this was her way of saying goodbye for the last time.

“This was given to me by a gifted castor,” she had told you. “It was charmed to keep me in good health until it was my time to leave this world. I don’t need to tell you that I’ve been sicker than a dog with a cold, my dear. My time in this world is up.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, fidgeting with the hem of her blanket. “You’re just having an off week.”

Your grandmother chuckled and placed the crystal in your hand, closing your fingers around it tightly. “I hope it will lead you to your other half.”

Two mornings later, you had woken to find that she had passed peacefully in her sleep. You were alone now. Your parents hadn’t made contact with you, seemingly having abandoned you. You had no friends to look to, and the town was practically deserted. Only a few castors remained, and you the only human.

You rarely left home, afraid that the castors would take advantage of you. After the doctors had left with your grandmother’s body, you had lost contact with other people. You didn’t know what to do, but you refused to resign yourself to a frozen life. It was probably a bad idea, and part of you feared it, but you boldly decided to leave the town.

You stood at the town line, gazing uncertainly at the road leading out. Nervous eyes scanned your surroundings, looking for anything that may go wrong on your way out. You were afraid that your grandmother was telling the truth, that something was keeping you here. You could only hope that whatever tied you down had the mercy to free you before you froze to death in this empty society.

Just as you were about to step over the line, a barrier stopped you. It didn’t harm you, just prevented you from continuing onward. You touched it with your hand experimentally, seeing a ripple surround the air in front of before becoming invisible once again.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You spun around with a gasp, surprised when you saw it was Jaebum. You panted and gave him a short glare. “What are you doing? Let me pass.”

“You and I both know you can’t leave this land,” he said.

“Yeah? And how do you know that?”

He didn’t reply. Instead he stared at you, or moreso stared at the crystal around your neck. “I’m sorry about your grandmother.”

Instead of giving you answers, this man only gave you more questions. It was growing tiresome, and your frustration was at its peak.

“How do you know my grandmother? Why can’t I leave town?”Every question that flooded your mouth was matched by another step toward him. “How did you know my name before? Why are you following me?” You finally stood in front of him, tears falling down your face. “Why won’t you answer my questions?”

The pained look on your face pulled at his heart. It was too much information for you to handle right away. He was afraid to scare you away. But he couldn’t bear the thought of you hating him.

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

With no other choice, you opted to follow him. He led you to the forest hanging over the frosted town. You’ve never ventured this far from home, but you could hardly call it a forest. The trees were simple twigs with tiny stick branches. No leaves or foliage graced the wilderness with its green color. There were no animals, having no chance of survival in these cold temperatures for so long. The forest was long dead, struggling to hold onto what little life it had left.

“Why are you taking me here?”

Jaebum sighed, his shoulders slumped. “I’ve known your grandmother since she was a little girl. I’m the one who gave her the charm that hangs from your neck.”

Subconsciously you reach up to touch the crystal, thinking briefly about your grandmother and how much you missed her. “You gave her this?”

He nodded. “The crystal is a shard from what you call Crystal Cavern. It’s enchanted, so to speak.”

“To keep the wearer in good health,” you surmised, remembering what your grandmother told you about it.

“Yes, well, it wasn’t always.” The air became thicker as you continued to the center of the forest. “The crystals from that cavern grow with the purpose to absorbing the life around it. That’s why this land is frozen over, dying, until eventually there will be nothing left. But the charm you wear was enchanted to do the opposite.”

“Why are you bound here?” you asked again.

At this point, you had come to the mouth of a cave. Crystals of various color grew from every corner and crevice. It seemed as if several had been broken at the cave’s entrance to keep it open.

“Because she is.” His voice broke, making you look up at him. His eyes were red and watery, for he was trying his hardest to fight back the sadness that was overtaking his emotions.

Stepping cautiously into the cave, you gazed in awe at the sight of a brightly lit crystal dome in the center of the cavern. It was frosting over, making the inside barely visible for you to make out. But you could faintly see the outline of a woman, one who was completely encased with the crystal that covered every surface and wall in the cave itself. A hidden force urged you closer, but your fear kept you at a distance.

“That story,” you muttered, “about you being cursed.”

“Master Klaes forbade it,” he explained. “I defied him. And thus, he took her. He made her an example. And now because her soul is bound here, my soul is tethered. I’ve lived over several lifetimes, unable to end my suffering or move on.”

You were sure your heart was breaking for him, overcome with sadness. No one deserved to live a life of agony and suffering like he was forced to.

“Is she…”

“No,” he coughed, swallowing a lump in his throat as his breath caught. “She held on for as long as she could. But she died a long time ago.”

You closed your eyes with remorse. “I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure why you were sorry, or why you felt so overwhelmed by emotion.

“Part of her soul is still trapped inside that hollow crystal.” Jaebum went to stand before the dome, placing his hand against the surface to match hers. “If her soul isn’t freed, then the town will die.”

You felt there was more to his story. “And you?” you dared to ask. “What will happen to you?”

A dark, humorless chuckle left his lips. Without facing you, he removed his jacket, revealing the thin shirt underneath. “Once she disappears completely, my body will become dust.”

You covered your mouth in horror, short gasps leaving your lips. As he lifted the bottom of his shirt, you could see the cracks in his skin forming at the small of his back, expanding over his shoulders and around his waist. He was like living glass, his skin shattering bit by bit.

“Jaebum…” Tears filled your eyes at the horrid sight of his ailment. “How-”

“Everything tethered to this land will cease to exist,” he said, pulling his jacket back over his arms.

“But there’s a way to stop it, right?” you demanded. “There’s always a way to break a curse.”

He shook his head. “The only way to break it is to unite the broken halves of her soul.” He gazed longingly at the frozen woman, memories passing through his eyes.

A thought occurred to you, clicking into place in your mind, and you wondered why you hadn’t figured it out before. “You still haven’t explained why I’m bound to this town,” you said in a shaky voice.

His head dropped, guilt covering his features like a mask. As he turned to face you and lifted his eyes to meet yours, he said, “I think you already know why.”

You don’t know why a sudden terror shook you to the core. You had no reason to fear Jaebum. But the irrational part of your mind told you run, and you listened. You fled, leaving him alone in the cavern. And as you ran in a panic, you failed to witness the tears trailing down his face or hear the tormented sobs echoing amongst the crystals.

You sat against the window sill of your quiet cabin, an untouched cup of cold tea sitting in front of you. It was hot at one point, having brewed it hours ago. But you were so lost in your thoughts about the curse and everything you learned that you lost any interest in filling your stomach. A blizzard had developed overnight, no doubt from Jaebum’s anguish, and you felt at blame for it. How long did he have left?

With the castor on your mind, you almost failed to hear the loud banging against your front door. Your instincts made you alert, and you hesitated to leave your room. Instead you quietly tip toed to your door, pressing your ear against the wood to listen.

“Find the human,” you heard a frighteningly familiar voice. “Once she’s dealt with, he’ll finally kick the bucket. And we’ll have our town back.”

Your heartbeat sped up, thumping rapidly against your chest. You tried to control your breathing, looking for any sort of solution to get yourself out of this mess. You set your eyes on your only escape route, the window. You had no time to second guess yourself as you heard loud footsteps stomping down the hallway towards your bedroom. It was now or never.

Quickly you opened the window and leaped through it, making a beeline for the forest without looking back. You could faintly hear the castors shouting at each other, pressing you to go faster. The harsh winds and snow made it difficult, but you couldn’t let it stop you. Your life was at stake. You could only hope the blizzard would confuse them and turn them to a different direction.

Your legs were sore, the muscles in your calves and thighs becoming overworked. Your breath was becoming shorter, the cold winds freezing your lungs with each gasp of air. You were running on pure instinct of survival now, your destination premeditated in your mind. The closer you got to Crystal Cavern, the harder it stormed. You just needed to get to the cave, the eye of the storm.

When the cave was finally in sight, it was as if the blizzard went into slow motion. The wind stopped. Each individual snowflake moved at a snail’s pace. With your index finger, you lightly poked at a flake, moving it aside. This somehow caused a reaction, and a pathway opened for you to safely pass into the eye of the storm. Your breaths came out in visible puffs of air as you moved forward, finally breaking past the blizzard. Almost like it was switched back on, the blizzard raged on behind you, your hair flying wildly from its harsh winds.

Each step you took towards the cave was threatened by your shaky legs. Your body was weakening tremendously, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the weather or the curse. You looked up, finding the sun nowhere to be seen. The blizzard made it difficult for you to tell what time of day it was, but by the darkening sky above you, you could only assume it was nearing sunset. Something within you was shocked into hurried panic, and you wasted no more time and ran into the cave.

“Jaebum!” Your footsteps echoed in the crystallized cavern as you came to a halt. A shimmer of rainbow color gleamed across the gemstone surfaces, it practically blinded you. You almost didn’t see his unconscious form slumped against the far wall. “Oh god!”

You ran to him and dropped to your knees. He was unconscious, his breaths short and heavy. The cracks in his skin had spread up along his neck and over his face. He was dying. If he died, the town was done for. And you…

You stood up and looked at the dome, anxiety and fear filling your chest as your eyes became red with unshed tears. With evenly paced steps, you found yourself standing directly before the crystallized barrier. You could see more clearly inside than before now that you were closer. The frozen woman inside had her hand pressed against the wall, as if reaching out for someone. She looked exactly like you.

The wind outside howled and screeched as the blizzard strengthened. Trees were uprooted and twisted in mid air as if several tornados had taken refuge within the already chaotic storm. You gasped when a decrepit log crashed against the mouth of the cave. Your heart jumped and in a quick revelation, you placed your hand against the crystal wall, right where hers touched on the other side.

A loud vibrating boom surged from the contact, a strong power coursing through you and spreading across the land in waves. You couldn’t hold on for long as the immense power forced you back. You cried out in shock as you land on the cave floor and skidded across the ground. Winds circulated inside the cavern, rushing in every direction until they escaped through the cave’s entrance. And moments later, everything stilled.

Silence. The storm was no longer howling outside, and the power that surged from the dome had receded. Steady breathing was the only sound echoing off the walls.

Jaebum’s eyes fluttered open, groaning at the soreness he felt throughout his entire body. He blinked several times to gradually clear away his blurry vision. The first thing he noticed gazing up at the ceiling of the cavern was that the crystal had gone, disintegrated into a mist that clouded the entirety of the cavern. He sat up hurriedly, patting away at his body for any sign of break in his skin. Nothing. He was healed.

When he looked up, he saw that the dome that had once held his beloved prisoner was now gone, and she had vanished. Getting to his feet quickly, he took two hasty steps to where the dome once was before he saw a bundle in his peripheral. He looked over and saw you curled into yourself, lying unconscious on the ground.

“Y/N…” Jaebum stumbled towards you, collapsing to his knees before you, and hastily pressed two fingers to your neck. Feeling your strong pulse made him sigh in relief. He gently moved his arms beneath you, situating you until he had you secure in his arms. Getting to his feet, he carried you outside.

Jaebum had to look away as he crossed the threshold of the cave entrance, the sun’s brightness taking him by surprise. The warmth that he felt on his face was foreign, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. For so long he was cursed to remain in a frozen wasteland of sorrow. And now, looking around at the beautiful green and lively forest, he felt his heart burst with elation and relief.

The warmth of the sun made you fidget in his arms, and he looked down in time to see your eyes flutter open. He noticed a change within you, something he felt with you in your past life. The missing piece of your soul had returned to you, and now you had returned to him. Your eyes were lighter as they gazed up at him, recognition flashing across your sight.

“Jaebum.” You reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck, a dry sob leaving your trembling lips. “You suffered so much, all alone. I’m sorry.”

A heartfelt laugh rumbled in his chest as he hugged you close to him. “Nonsense. You broke the curse, Y/N.”

He set you down on your feet, holding your hands in his almost possessively. You both turned toward the village, seeing it completely reborn anew with the appropriate spring time environment. Winter was finally over.

“Now we can live the life we were meant to.”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 jaebum #im jaebum #kpop #kpop scenarios #got7 jb #got7 fluff #got7 angst #kpop fanfic

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maddie-grove · 5 years

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Bi-Monthly Reading Round-Up: March/April

PLAYLIST

“Hey, Little Songbird” from Hadestown (The Wager)

“New Slang” by the Shins (Spinners)

“Auto de Fé” from Candide (October Wind)

“Let’s Generalize about Men” from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure)

“Juice” by Lizzo (Shrill)

“Love’s Been Good to Me” by Frank Sinatra (Sex and Violence)

“Heroes” by David Bowie (Cracker Jackson)

“Listen to Her Heart” by Tom Petty and the Hearbreakers (The Cybil War)

“Satellite of Love” by Lou Reed (The T.V. Kid)

“Distant Shores” by Chad and Jeremy (Love’s Willing Servant)

“Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod?” by the Mountain Goats (The Cartoonist)

“Ghost World” by Aimee Mann (Summer of the Swans)

“Floating Vibes” by Surfer Blood (Not the Duke’s Darling)

BEST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Wager by Donna Jo Napoli (2010): Don Giovanni de la Fortuna, a nineteen-year-old nobleman in medieval Sicily, loses his entire fortune to a tidal wave and soon finds himself on the brink of starvation. That’s when the Devil comes knocking with an offer: endless money for the rest of his life if he doesn’t bathe, cut his hair, shave, or change his clothes for three years, three months, and three days. This is a retelling of a lesser-known Sicilian fairy tale and, next to the sublime Breath, it’s Napoli’s best work. Instead of taking the easy route of making Don Giovanni a stupid brat who learns to be nicer and more frugal, she complicates things by making him sweet and resourceful from the beginning, as well as callow and somewhat thoughtless. (His first action after seeing the damage wrought by the tidal wave is to go out and help bury the dead for three straight days.) This makes the message of the book more powerful; if someone deep-down good and intelligent can stand to think more about others and help the less fortunate, then clearly that lesson applies to everyone, not just the worst sort of rich people. Don Giovanni’s unprocessed grief over his long-dead parents and longing for human connection are also very affecting.

WORST OF THE BI-MONTH

Spinners by Donna Jo Napoli and Richard Tchen (1999): In medieval-ish Scotland, a poor tailor longs to marry his sweetheart, a spinner, but her father will only consent if the tailor can show he’ll be a good provider. The tailor tries to make a dress that appears to be made of gold and succeeds; however, he still loses his sweetheart to a rich miller and his health to a magic spinning wheel (as one does). Years later, the sweetheart’s daughter, now a skilled spinner in her own right, finds herself in trouble when a king gets the wrong impression about her being able to spin straw into gold. File this one under “cool idea, half-assed execution.” After a certain point, Napoli seems to run out of her own ideas and just follows “Rumpelstiltskin” to its original conclusion. This wouldn’t be great for any fairy-tale retelling, but the ludicrous “Rumpelstiltskin” needs more reworking than most. Also, the tailor’s sweetheart is such an ableist tool! I’d get it if she chose the rich miller out of concern for financial security, but she just dumps the tailor because the magic spinning wheel basically gave him a supernatural stroke and she thinks it made him evil? You can do better, baby!

REST OF THE BI-MONTH

The Cartoonist by Betsy Byars (1978): Alfie Mason, a quiet eleven-year-old, takes refuge from his unhappy family in the tiny attic of his ramshackle house, drawing faintly absurd cartoons. Then his ne’er-do-well older brother Bubba loses his job, prompting a way-too-excited Mrs. Mason to decide to renovate the attic into a bedroom...so Alfie barricades himself in the attic and throws the family into chaos without saying a word. I first read this book when I was eleven, and even then I found it deeply upsetting. Mrs. Mason seems incapable of seeing anyone but Bubba as a full human being, and she never regrets hurting Alfie or her daughter Alma in order to benefit her eldest. The best Alfie and Alma can do is call her out on it--Alfie through his silent protest, Alma by finally standing up for herself and her little brother--and try to move on. It’s certainly an unvarnished message for a middle-grade novel, but it’s not a bad one, given that some parents are just like that.

Shrill by Lindy West (2016): In this memoir, Lindy West reflects on her personal experiences with fatphobia, the general strangeness of having a human body, abortion, the ethics of comedy, and Internet trolls, among other subjects. This book was genuinely inspiring and amusing to me at a time when I greatly needed a lot of confidence and some laughs, and for that I am eternally grateful. The humor can feel very social-media-circa-2015, but there are worse things than a book capturing a specific moment.

Cracker Jackson by Betsy Byars (1985): Eleven-year-old “Cracker” Jackson Hunter realizes that Alma, his beloved former babysitter, is being physically abused by her husband. Even though his divorced parents forbid it and Alma herself warns him against angering her husband, he tries his best to help her, with mixed results. By all rights, this middle-grade novel should be a tonal mess--Jackson and his best friend Goat get involved in some legit Wacky Schemes--but instead it’s a moving portrait of a kid who has to deal with gut-wrenching adult realities while also navigating sixth-grade drama. I also loved Jackson’s three parental figures. They’re all flawed--Jackson’s mom is a worrywart about stuff that doesn’t matter, his dad can’t hold a conversation with him without lapsing into Dracula impressions, and Alma sometimes treats him more like a peer than a kid--but they all clearly care about him and try to make things okay.

Not the Duke’s Darling by Elizabeth Hoyt (2018): Years ago, a horrific murder and a dubious attempt at revenge tore apart the lives of Christopher Renshawe and Lady Freya de Moray. Now he’s a widowed duke with severe claustrophobia and a blackmailer on his case, while she’s an undercover spy for a secret society of Scottish witches who help women. (Awesome.) (Also some of them are lesbians.) When they end up at the same house party, she vows to keep hating him for wronging her family, but does that last long? No, because they’re reasonably good at communicating and can appreciate each other’s goals! This spooky Georgian romance didn’t knock my socks off, but it’s a good start to Hoyt’s new Greycourt series and it has a light touch with the serious issues it handles.

Mrs. Martin’s Incomparable Adventure by Courtney Milan (2019): Violetta Beauchamps, a sixty-nine-year-old* bookkeeper, is cheated out of her pension by her landlord boss. In desperation, she hatches her own retirement plan: swindling Bertrice Martin, a wealthy seventy-three-year-old widow, by pretending to be her insolvent nephew’s landlady. Bertrice has refused to pay her nephew’s debts on principle, but she’s willing to make an exception if Violetta will help pester him into vacating his lodgings. Shenanigans and old-lady romance ensue. This mid-Victorian-set romance novella is like an ambiguous image (for example: that picture that’s either a vase or two faces in profile). Look at it as the tale of two L.M.-Montgomery-style elderly women falling in love, and it’s delightful; look at it for deep social commentary, and it’s pretty simplistic and sometimes even callous. I enjoyed it, but it only works on certain levels.

Summer of the Swans by Betsy Byars (1970): Lately, fourteen-year-old Sara Godfrey has been feeling awkward and out of charity with everyone: her absentee father, her plainspoken aunt, her beautiful older sister, the other kids at school, and even her little brother Charlie, who has been mostly nonverbal and easily disoriented since sustaining serious brain damage during a childhood illness. When Charlie goes missing in the night, though, her only thought is to find him. Despite loving Byars, I avoided this Newberry winner as a kid because it looked kind of boring. It is a little sedate in a classic-American-coming-of-age-story way--part “The Scarlet Ibis,” part Judy Blume--but I still loved Sara, who is always ready to throw down, and I found the depiction of Charlie to be surprisingly sensitive for the time. (The language is outdated, but the passages from Charlie’s POV aren’t condescending, plus he isn’t killed off, as I initially feared.) The descriptions of the coal-ravaged West Virginia countryside are also very evocative.

The TV Kid by Betsy Byars (1974): Lenny, a preteen living with his single mom at the kitschy Kentucky motel she owns, struggles in school and has no friends. (His family moves around a lot and he probably has a learning disability.) He has two sources of solace: watching TV and sneaking into the abandoned lake houses in his neighborhood. One day, though, his favorite hobbies get him into trouble. This was one of my favorite Byars books as a kid, even though I was not familiar with the TV landscape of 1974. I liked it a little less this time, but not because it was dated; instead, I was disconcerted by how pro-getting-bitten-by-a-rattlesnake it is. Also, a significant portion of the story is devoted to a child suffering horrible pain from a snakebite, which is harder to take as an adult reader. Still, it’s got some of that classic Byars melancholy.

The Cybil War by Betsy Byars (1981): Eleven-year-old Simon has had a crush on his classmate Cybil for years, because she does awesome stuff like advocate for more active roles for girls in the yearly school pageants. He’s not inspired to act on his feelings, though, until his awful best friend Tony decides he likes Cybil and starts talking shit to her about Simon. There’s a lot to like about this book. Cybil, with her nonchalant confidence and kindness, is a wonderful character, and Simon’s thorough admiration for her is adorable. I also like how Byars ties Simon’s complicated feelings about his deadbeat dad to his efforts to navigate small-scale fifth-grade drama; both weigh heavily on him, and Byars is never condescending about this. Yet the book’s not Byars’s best, mostly because of the lack of generosity towards Cybil’s fat friend Harriet and, to a lesser extent, Tony.

Sex and Violence by Carrie Mesrobian (2013): Seventeen-year-old Evan doesn’t do serious relationships, instead preferring to hook up with girls and ghost them when he starts having feels. (His family moves around a lot and he’s got some trauma.) Then one girl’s jealous ex orchestrates a horrific assault on them both, leading Evan’s distant widowed dad to take his traumatized son back to their Minnesota hometown. It turns out okay. I liked this novel a lot more once I accepted it as an intentionally messy coming-of-age novel, rather than an issue novel...but it was still a little too messy for its own good. I felt like I was supposed to condemn Evan for having casual sex, something that’s both morally neutral and natural enough for a teen who moves every year, yet the narrative all but endorses his contempt for lower-class girls. I was also uncomfortable with the revelation that Evan was a survivor of statutory rape. It seemed like he was being punished by the narrative only for hyper-sexuality that clearly stemmed from trauma--with a physical assault with some strong sexual implications, no less--but let off the hook for his thoughtless middle-class-boy prejudices. I did feel for him, though, and that carried me through most of the book.

October Wind by Susan Wiggs (1991): In late-fifteenth-century Spain, Cristóbal Colón (aka Christopher Columbus) tries to convince Queen Isabella to fund a westward expedition. Meanwhile, nobleman Joseph Sarmiento learns an enormous secret about his background and must decide whether to alter the course of his life. During this time, Rafael Viscaino, a young scribe, strives to rise in the world while his friends, aspiring doctor Catalina and cheerful but troubled half-Roma Santiago, have their own struggles. This historical novel (which just barely qualifies as a romance) has a lot of potential, but it wastes too much time on Columbus and Isabella, plus it gives them more credit than they deserve. Wiggs should’ve focused on Joseph, the sexiest and most likable character, and made more of his eventual relationship with Anacaona, a Guanahani woman. Or else she should’ve just made it a poly romance with Rafael/Catalina/Santiago, which she comes this close to doing.

Love’s Willing Servant by Avis Worthington (1980): Left penniless by her father and betrayed by her childhood sweetheart, Lettice Clifford decides to take herself to her sister’s home in colonial Virginia and get a rich husband. She’s surprised to find herself sharing a ship with Geoffrey Finch, a neighbor who has been betrayed by his evil twin and sold into indentured servitude. When his indenture ends up getting bought by her brother-in-law, they grow closer, but multiple creepy people and Bacon’s Rebellion threaten their love. Maybe I’ve just seen too much, but I was pleasantly surprised by the relative inoffensiveness of this Old School romance. Geoffrey is a reasonable person, there’s not a sexual assault every other chapter, and the racism issues are more “the black characters should be more central” than “this is just a defense of slavery” or “calm down with the n-word, Quentin Tarantino.” These small mercies aside, I also enjoyed the absolutely bonkers plot and the use of historical details. I didn’t care much for Lettice, though, because she’s usually either boring or kind of a dick.

*Nice.

#books #reading #theme of the bi-month: his family moves around a lot #rewritten because tumblr ate it

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throne-of-no · 6 years

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Rin Reads & Rants about: Catwoman: Soulstealer – Chapter 3

I’m finally back y’all! I finished my rough draft and now am ready to tackle this without the fear of ruining my writing image. LETS GO!!!!!

So, chapter 3 starts off 2 years later with this:

She was a ghost. A wraith

Which…sigh ok it’s a really stupid start with those dramatic words and honestly, the book should have STARTED here? We could have gotten those first two chapters in flashbacks or something but…I digress.

We then get a description of her and she looks different y’all now.

The four-inch beige heels that clipped so nicely against the steps as she descended were just the start of the changes to her. The long golden-blonde hair, the manicured nails, and the suntanned skin were the next.

Lol so two things: She is now the blonde assassin that Sarah loves to write about. And she is now TANNED. She was PALE the first two chapters, but how boring is PALE gotta be suntanned!

Then Selina splooges on about her finely tailored clothing and all that which just made my eyes roll.

This entire beginning in my head is being read in an announcer voice like “WITH HER SUPER EXPENSIED CLOTHING AND NEW LOOK, SELINA IS BACK IN GOTHEM!” No? Just me? Ok

Selina then thinks about the League of Assassins and how they were bigger than any street lord and were such a ‘veritable force’ n stuff. It’s all very thrill stuff guys and totally doesn’t feel like utter info dumping.

She (Selina) flashed them a wave and a smile white and bright enough to light up the Gotham Skyline.

Yeesh I can’t hold all this badassary flowing from our lead rn. Help me.

Selina reached the sedan and the driver holding the door open for her. It took years of training to hold back her nod of thanks, to make herself ignore the urge to meet his eyes in a minimal greeting.

He didn’t care to introduce himself. Didn’t do anything. Well trained not to be a presence but an instrument.

Uh, fuck you Selina. Why wouldn’t you thank the drive for picking you up? Also, the driver should be saying hi or hello ma’am. Who tf trains a driver to say nothing but open doors and drive people around without greeting them politely? Like, any limo driver would be like. “Good evening ma’am.” And yeah, celebrities normally are asses and don’t respond, but why tf would a driver be trained to be silent???? Like, this ain’t the middle ages when such jobs and the people who were in them were thought to be literal dirt to walk on. This is the 20 first fucking century where people are usually decent human beings to one another. Good grief.

Also, just in case you forgot, Selina has waxed golden legs now—forget those pale things they were 2 years ago!

Selina then goes into full detail of what makeup she is using and what she currently wearing and how. Something that was totally needed and I’m glad to have been enlightened by this. There is nothing better to read than her entire face updo.

Selina stroked a hand down the silky-smooth leather of the Birkin beside her. The bag, the shoes, the clothes, the jewels—all were loaded symbols. Literally. And also, passports veritable golden tickets into the circles of society who dwelled above those eking out a living on the streets of Gotham City.

Sarah thinks we’re so stupid that we can’t figure out that its symbolism that Selina, who was born and raised in the bad parts of town, is now wearing all the fancy stuff. Thanks Sarah for holding my hand for I am a stupid reader.

Nature is all about balance, Nyssa al Ghul, her mentor and personal instructor during her time in Italy, had once purred to her. Tip too far in one direction and it will always find a way to right itself.

Gotham City had been tipping too far toward the rich and corrupt for a long, long time. She’d come home to right it once more.

Uh….if we’re talking about in terms of like a scale….no. It would just fall to the heavier side. Now, if it crashed down and said things fell out of it then the other side would be heavier….That isn’t how this works. That’s not how any of this works.

Also…. she’s planning on infiltrating the rich side….hoow exactly and then do what...exactly? Is there a plan? Can someone tell me the plan…please?

She (Selina) peer out through the gaps in the steel beams of the bridge toward the muddle-blue waters of the Gotham River. How many bodies would be swimming in it by the time she was finished here?

LOL WHAT THE FUCK? First of all is she planning to just throw ALL the bodies she kills into this specific water? I don’t know how effective that would be. Pretty sure they would catch on what you’re doing there. Also, from the sound it…you’re infiltrating the rich, you’re not…killing them all? Or am I totally missing this plan you have failed to explain to me?

The brutal training at the League of Assassins had taught her many, many things. Had killed that street-raised desperate girl, leaving her somewhere at the bottom of a ravine in the Dolomites. Had drained that girl away into nothing, along with the blood of men who Nyssa and other had taught her how to bring down—how to punish.

This training sounds brutal and I wish we coulda gotten the book to be about said training rather than whatever the fuck this is about.

Selina loosed a settling breath and beheld the sparking city as she reclined in the cushioned seat of the car.

And finally, last long last, she allowed herself a little smile.

So, what Selina is like totally excited to be living the rich life now? Also I love how throughout this entire chapter it was like SELINA IS NERVOUS and then like 2 paragraphs later like SELINA WAS NOT AFRAID. Like…which one is it? UGH. Also, these snipets of training sound way better than this entire novel I’m JUST SAYING.

NOTICE:

The next chapter is in Luke Fox’s point of view so that will be fun. I will say though, I do not know how much input I will be able to give on the issue of race representation as I know things are brought up in that chapter about race, because I am a white female and have no real grounds to speak about it, nor am I well educated in such areas. So, if you’re expecting a full-on tearing apart of that portion of this book from here on out, sadly I am not your gal. I will, of course, continue to give my thoughts of the book and if I feel like I can, I will comment on some of those aspects. The last thing I want to do is misrepresent or make false claims especially when such a topic is very sensitive :)

Interruptions count: 78

Animalistic words used for no reason: 7

#anti catwoman: soulstealer #anti sjm #Rin reads Catwoman: Soulstealer

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thesimplyluxuriouslife · 4 years

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291: 6 Ways To Dance with Life (and Have An Amazing Experience)

“Your inner purpose is to awaken.” —Eckhart Tolle, from A New Earth

To observe the seamless fluidity of a dancing pair with years of professional dancing experience float across the floor no matter what type of dance is asked of them is to observe a deep awareness and skill of their craft. Foxtrot. No problem. Viennese Waltz. Got it. Tango. Oh my, yes. Swing. Yep!

In 2017, in episode #143, the skill of self-awareness was explored in-depth here on the podcast/blog. For a quick refresher, to be self-aware is to be able to observe ourselves, accept and recognize what we discover and be honest about how we feel, why we act certain ways in particular situations, and the change that we may need to take. It is being able to pay attention and be honest about our strengths, weaknesses, thoughts, beliefs, motivations, and emotions.

When we are fully self-aware, we gain the instructions of how to live well even though we do not know what the next minute will reveal, the next week, month, year, and so on, will reveal.

When we become self-aware, we are awake and capable of noticing when we need to grow and in what way will help us navigate through whatever life may present.

I chose today's topic because no matter where you find yourself in the mix of stress, loss, pain, and confusion regarding our current situation, many readers have shared with me they are presented with new situations of questions, confusion, doubt, [fill-in-the-blank of an unwanted and somewhat or significantly new emotion] from time to time in a manner that perhaps was not present pre-pandemic.

"Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having at the moment." —Eckhart Tolle, from A New Earth

Borrowing Tolle's advice from the quote above, seize these unanticipated and initially unwanted moments and feelings and let them be your guide to deeper self-awareness and an improved everyday life. Assuage any grief, quandary, angst, by reassuring yourself that you have been presented with this moment for a reason. Don't toss it. Don't avoid it. Explore it.

Today I would like to look at six unwanted examples that may be happening in your life and how to step forward and do the latter to each in order to improve the quality of your life moving forward and through our current situation

1.You wake up in the middle of the night, your mind reeling, doubt swirling, fear temporarily winning

Course of action: As a matter of fact, take a pre-action prior to going to bed or whenever you feel most confident - write yourself a note and remind yourself of the truth of how capable you are, words of truth and strength. Place this note by your bed. Okay, back to the moment you wake up.

Take a drink of water, hydrate and wake your mind up so that it is in your control and not the other way around. Read your pre-written note. Read it again. Journal if you need to - what is causing you worry, what are you fearful about. Don't necessarily answer anything. Save the answering and analyzing for a time during the day when you are fully awake so that you can be a good judge of whether or not what you wrote is valid as well as to accurately determine if what you are worried about is within your control. Hint, if it is not, let it go. Turn the lights off, count your breath in a steady beat - in and out. Let yourself fall back to sleep. Whatever you do, do not pick up your technology.

2. You are exhausted from work stress and trying to balance all that you think you have to do

Martyrs die. On the other hand, workers with awareness of the larger picture of why they work, live well. While putting and acknowledging work as important, the latter do not make work the top priority. I have worked with both types of people in the handful of school districts I have worked in over my 19 years. Martyrs tend to be different people in the classroom than they are away from their students or staff (if they are administrators). People who live to live well are the same in the moment of teaching as they are in their everyday life. People who live well are more content, more enjoyable to be around and know how to put work in its place and do so with clarity and a love for not only their own life but for the people who look up to them - in this case their students.

Course of action: Be honest with yourself. What are you aching for? Nobody needs to know your honest answer but you, but be honest with yourself. Do you crave at the most fundamental, sleep? Do you crave a social life? Do you crave to be more comfortable in your body but do not have the time to exercise consistently nor prepare and enjoy healthy, satiating meals? Write it down. This is when your life begins to change for the better.

Whether when given the opportunity or simply taking it, try out living the life you want to live - the schedule you'd like to have - even if temporarily. Stick to it long enough to experience potential benefits - one month, a quarter, etc.. Don't ask for approval from anyone else as to whether what you crave is valid. Honor your own feelings, and give the new temporary schedule a try. You will come back with some answers, maybe not all of the answers, but enough, if you are being honest with yourself, to know whether what you thought what you needed was actually indeed what was lacking.

Upon choosing to make permanent changes to your schedule, if the changes involve others or require others to be involved, communicate clearly and refrain from complaining. While it is okay to vent to a friend or your partner or your journal, doing so is a means to release stress, iradicating faulty thinking if it exists due to past grievances being triggered and to ensure you move forward with a rational mind. Sometimes what we are venting about has more to do with built up stress from a variety of sectors in our lives and not just the one thing we are "cursing" at the moment.

Let me end by saying, be honest with yourself. If you are overwhelmed and exhausted, how could you have prevented the situation if at all possible? Could you have raised your voice when decisions were being made? Could you have made the smarter decision, not the easier decision? Be honest and improvement can be made.

3. Tension in relationships - personal or professional

Course of action: Answer this question for yourself (not for the people in the relationship that is in a state of tension) - what behaviors and feelings are unwanted or undesired, but seem to be a default or at the very least, unhelpful? Use your answers as a guide to what skills you need to explore and better understand. Seek out an expert (i.g. a counselor) or a book from a respected source on the subject.

4. Financial Stress not related to job loss

Course of action: Turn off the advertisements, stop or significantly reduce your scrolling on social media and start living in the present with the world, the real-world, not the virtual world, that surrounds you. If the influences for buying more, or "keeping up" are not coming unconsciously from media (and I know, you might be saying - if they are unconscious, how will you know where they are coming from? But take this moment to take a closer examination of what you feel you 'need' and where that idea is being presented or shown), look to your social circle - chosen or not - and start to tailor who you spend time with and if you can't eradicate entirely unhelpful influences, reduce or limit your time with them.

5. State of the world

Course of action: Choose to educate yourself on topics that are grabbing your attention. Choose to look to experts, credible in the field you are exploring, that you may not have looked to before to deepen your clarity on an issue before you jump to conclusion. However, do not overwhelm your mind. Seek out bits of information and then go about your life, adjusting your choices, actions in which you do have control that will make a difference, no matter how seemingly small. The words you choose, letting go of assumptions and fixations, keeping an open-mind and refraining from group-think, but rather practicing critical thinking regularly so that eventually it becomes your default.

6. A feeling of agitation or lack of purpose

Course of action: find something, no matter how seemingly small which allows you to see an immediate finished, improved, completed outcome. The act of productivity need not be anything to do with your job or career, but simply needs to be something in which you can see a "finished" outcome.

For me, my garden has provided many moments of productivity - weeding, pruning, dead-heading - as soon as I tend to it, I see results. Ahhhh. It sounds silly but as Sue Stuart-Smith shares in The Well-Gardened Mind, "Two essential sources of grounding and balance . . . proximity to nature and fulfilling work" (the author is referring to the lack of nourishment to the psyche prompted by the industrialization in the 19th and early 20th century).

Each one of these life moments of challenge offers an opportunity to course correct, to grow, to evolve as Eckhart Tolle expresses in his quote above. It has been my experience that if I choose to not acknowledge that something within me needs to change - to communicate better, to ground myself in self-confidence, to be brave, the same stress, the same worry, the same event perhaps in a different form, keeps rearing its head.

The pandemic is presenting each one of us with unique opportunities to evolve forward and live a better life. Choose to find the growth opportunity that exists inside of you, and your life will change for the better.

Petit Plaisir

—Borgen, on Netflix

Tune into the audio version of today's episode to find out more about this Danish Government television drama series, what Borgen means in English and why I am thoroughly enjoying it and highly recommend it.

https://youtu.be/Nw41sTh2mds

Tune in to the latest episode of The Simple Sophisticate podcast

#tsllpodcast thesimplesophisticate

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njawaidofficial · 7 years

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'Ten Days in the Valley' Series Premiere Breakdown

http://styleveryday.com/2017/10/02/ten-days-in-the-valley-series-premiere-breakdown/

'Ten Days in the Valley' Series Premiere Breakdown

[Warning: This story contains spoilers from Sunday’s series premiere of Ten Days in the Valley, “Day 1: Fade in.”]

The jury is still out on whether Jane Sadler (Kyra Sedgwick) is a “good” mother, but at least viewers can now rest assured that her daughter is alive and well — wherever she is — thanks to the final shot of the episode.

The pilot of the ABC drama Ten Days in the Valley set up a season-long arc in which Jane, a TV showrunner, has her world turned upside down when her daughter is kidnapped in the middle of the night, kicking off a mystery involving a complex world of secretive characters. As the first episode made clear, everyone from the assistant (Emily Kinney) to the ex-husband (Kick Gurry) are potential suspects as the clock ticks down in the hunt to find Lake (Abigail Pniowsky), and law officials — led by John Bird (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) and Jane’s sister Ali (Erika Christensen) try to piece together what happened that night.

Over the course of the 10-episode first season the mystery of who took the child and why remains front-and-center as Jane also attempts to manage running a successful cop drama and hide a fairly large secret of her own, all while dealing with people questioning her abilities as a mother because she was out writing in her shed at the time of her daughter’s disappearance.

The premise of season one stemmed from creator and showrunner Tassie Cameron following a recurring nightmare she had about her own eight-year-old daughter being kidnapped in the middle of the night while she was working.

THR caught up with Cameron, who most recently served as showrunner on Canadian cop drama Rookie Blue to break down the inherent mom guilt that comes from juggling a career and family, the dangers of writing a show that might be too meta for some audiences, and how the series could potentially evolve into a second season down the line.

This show was originally shopped as a cable series, why did it land on ABC?

I didn’t have a real agenda; I had imagined that it would probably fit more comfortably into cable but then when ABC had such a passion for it and they seemed to get it so much that they were willing to green-light it to series without making a pilot, it was very convincing. I have a really positive relationship with ABC and the fact that they sort of specialize in strong, complicated female heroes felt like a good fit.

Demi Moore was originally attached but then Kyra Sedgwick replaced her when it landed at ABC. How did Jane’s character change as a result?

When I first write something, I never think of an actor in that part, I just think of the character. I would have been thrilled to work with Demi, too. They do have a different kind of energy. But when I sat down with Kyra, I realized I could use a lot of the stuff she was bringing in terms of ideas and the backstory… I always tailor-make the part a little bit for the actor that I’m working with. In this case, I would say primarily in Jane’s backstory, we kind of made it together.

What else did Kyra bring to the show as a producer?

She was invaluable in a bunch of different ways. She had great ideas about where the script should go and she was very enthusiastic about pushing some more of the unusual elements of the script, like the show within the show. Then in terms of the backstory of the character, we decided that Jane was going to come from this investigative journalist background in San Francisco. Kyra was also incredible with casting. She would go to many of the sessions with our shortlists and she had very, very strong instincts on cast.

Was it important to you to hire an equal mix of male and female directors?

Yes, very. It was really, really important to me — we have four female directors out of 10. I would have done 10 out of 10 if we could have booked them, although that’s kind of a silly thing to say because having quotas isn’t really the way to do it. But it was very important to me to try and have as many female directors as possible. Also diverse directors; we had three or four diverse directors too.

How did you land on 10 as the episode number?

Because that’s the number of episodes I like to watch. I like shows with six, seven, eight, nine, 10 episodes, those limited runs where you get into it and you’re not trying to commit for 22 or 15 or even 13. I like a mystery to be contained.

Speaking of a contained mystery, what’s the pacing involved here? How does this mystery unfold?

There’s a little bit of suspects dropping off as we realize that their secret either does or doesn’t connect to the main mystery, but the main players stay in play throughout the season. There are a number of reversals throughout.

You’ve said the mystery will be resolved by season’s end, so how does that open the door for a second season?

Once you see where the season goes, you’ll see how many different elements we’ve uncovered and revealed and explored and touched on that could lead very organically to a second season. The primal mystery of the season will be solved and be solved in ways that at times that are going to surprise people, I hope. But there’s a lot of hanging chapters at the end of it in terms of the people that Jane has met and the enemies that she’s made and the corruption she’s revealed and that kind of thing.

At that point, does the show turn away from its origins of working mom guilt and a missing child?

I think so, although that guilt is really, really who Jane is. Part of her whole identity is built around that sense of being conflicted and torn. It won’t ever go away; the conflict between Jane’s professional life and her personal life will always be at the heart of the series.

Is she a good mother?

That’s a funny question. They asked that at the TCA panel and all my fierce colleagues were like, “Who asked that? Would anybody ask a father or a male character if he’s a good father?” Is Jane a good mother? Yes, I think she is, but I don’t want to tell people that. She is a passionate, adoring mother and you’ll see the lengths to which she’ll go to in order to protect her daughter. But this is a show about that; that being a mother whether you’re a good one or a bad one doesn’t change who you are. You’re still yourself for good or for bad. Therein lays the drama and the mystery.

Hollywood series with meta elements like this don’t always perform well, so what kinds of notes did you get on that setup?

Everybody was quite nervous about that part of it, as was I. I kept thinking, “This is dumb, I shouldn’t do this. I know these things don’t work very well sometimes.” But honestly, I was writing it for myself so I didn’t worry. I made a list, this little manifesto that I pinned up to my pin board and I said, “Break all your rules, including writing about journalists, writing about the industry itself and being scared that people are going to confuse you with your main character. Don’t be afraid to make your main character female and really flawed.” I set out to break all these rules that I’ve made for myself just to see what I was made of as a writer.

How does the valley factor in as a character?

I wanted to explore L.A. as the setting for a number of reasons. First of all, as a Canadian foreigner I find L.A. so weird and beautiful and surreal and spooky sometimes. To use a foreigner’s eye on that city in a story set in the world of entertainment I thought would be really interesting for me as a writer and creator. It was going to be a shorthand to who Jane is and what she’s doing in a way that you wouldn’t want to have to explain if she were from Toronto. It’s not the same shorthand. Second of all, the title came to me pretty early on. I always imagined her living on the valley side of Laurel Cannon and its whole Joni Mitchell, ’70s mystique. And then lastly, it just kept reminding me of that psalm, “Though I walk through the valley through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” It was kind of a mix of things.

How similar is your writing shed to Jane’s?

It is not dissimilar to the one on the show. I light a candle — that exact brand of candle, Tevo red currant — before I write. It’s very, very specific. I don’t have a cool Bob Dylan poster in my shed. Hers is a more cluttered environment. I don’t like having a lot of art around, I like it to be pretty sparse. But it’s not dissimilar.

Given the other real-life inspirations behind the show, are you concerned about any blowback from Jane’s drug habit?

I haven’t heard any reactions about it; we’ll see how people feel about it. I was nervous to have her do that, but she needed a secret that she didn’t want to reveal to her ex and to her sister and to the police. She needed a profound, real secret and that seemed like a believable one to me. I don’t [use drugs] but we all have our bad habits. There are some very pure writers who write in the morning with their cup of green tea and then there are other writers who write very late at night and they mix it with junk food or online shopping. Everybody has their thing and but yeah, it happens. For sure it does.

Do you have any words or reassurances for mothers watching this who will have a hard time seeing another child in peril situation?

It’s hard for me to watch too, and it’s hard for me to write which is why you see the child’s face in the first episode. We follow the daughter throughout the season as well. I would turn it off if I felt like there was a chance that this kid was going to be found in a dumpster, dead somewhere. I would not watch this show. I can assure you that is not my intention. My intention is to show that the child is alive and kind of well enough throughout the season. It’s much more a whodunit, why-dun-it than a horror show about grief and loss.

Ten Days in the Valley airs Sundays at 10 p.m. on ABC.

Thoughts? Sound off in the comments below.

Twitter: @amber_dowling

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