#i feel like this really applies to some inter-left drama I’ve been seeing lately

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Lady Byron (Mark Tuan x Reader)

Genre: Smut, Angst, PwP, Hybrid AU

Pairing: Stepbrother!/Bunny Hybrid!Mark Tuan x stepsister!Reader

Warnings: Step-sibling incest, sub!/bottom!Mark, implied alcohol abuse/alcoholism, Mark in lingerie, voyeurism, unprotected consensual missionary sex (ALWAYS DO IT SAFELY, lads and lasses!), dirty talk, mild swearing/cussing, heartbreak, emotional manipulation.

Summary: Lord Byron once said: ‘’The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain’’.

And tonight, a girl chasing after the life of the great poet lives by this quote.

Indulging in pleasure.

Yet aware of the consequences.

Nobody can fly to the sun without burning.

Masterlist

Marriages create new families, some of which might turn out to become a mix of cultures that could have clashed at first. However, it can also be an inter-species marriage, a beautiful ceremony that has been lawfully legalized a few years ago so that a human is allowed to wed a hybrid. In the situation pertaining to the latter, it has created an odd yet balanced family consisting of a mother with her daughter who have found themselves and a home in the company of two dark-haired bunnies.

One of which opens the door before keys can be retrieved from the inner pocket of the backpack functioning on Fridays as both a school and work bag. Feverish chocolate locks stand wondering in the illuminated hallway, fluffy ivory ears standing erect in curiosity and causing a sense of grave worry immediately. ‘’Mark? What are you doing out of bed?’’ 

A palm measures the temperature of the burning forehead, measuring the severeness of the sickness which has begotten the lad and has not died down since it began a week ago. ‘’You’re still burning up.’’

‘’I- I heard you walking towards the door.’’ Which means the window must have been open, likely left so by one of either parents before heading out for dinner together. The plan was originally to take the older stepbrother along as well, but that changed once the illness continuously evoked heavy tossing and spending nights at the bunny’s bedside to make sure some rest is had at least a little bit. If schedule allows it, that same location is settled into to study, read or watch series or dramas together.

However, while those are the most joyous moments, they are also the most painful.

For love is cruel and comes when it wants.

Making the heart eat the apple it should never had.

Fortunately, the knowledge of ever having done so remains covered beneath the theatrics of daily life, feigning ignorance and endeavouring to find contentment in a brother-sister relationship.

While remaining stuck in hollowness. 

‘’I have the keys.’’ The remark distracts all thoughts from the spark of glowing joy which treks throughout as fast as lightning, reshuffling focus to the dewy skin leaning into the touch with closed eyes. 

‘’I know, but- I- well, ah, uhm.’’ The sentence remains unfinished, a curt happy hum serving as a definite end to the sentence. Withal, thus the arms of cold Logic are tugged on too to, for once and at last, let go of its harsh reasonings with itself.

But it cannot.

It never can nor should.

Ever. 

‘’C’mon, let’s go inside before your condition gets worse.’’ Hands come to rest on the lad’s shoulders to coax them into retreating into the house, carefully pushing against them to establish movement. ‘’And let’s close your window upstairs.’’

‘’Ah... yeah.’’ Sheepishly, stumbling steps head backwards, the padding of bare feet on the tiles solely fueling the concern for a worsening of health. 

Nevertheless, Mark still seems not to care enough to directly return to his bedroom. Instead, big calloused palms mimic smaller guiding digits and help them out of their coat. ‘’Thanks.’’

‘’Ho- How was work?’’ There apparently continues to be no incentive to go upstairs, striking up conversation while picking the weighty backpack up from beside the front door to place it next to the staircase. Warm long fingers wrap around those which reached out with the initiative to prevent the sick boy from heavy lifting and have found themselves wanting. Thus, feet head to the stone-grey sofa instead of the brother’s bedroom. All the while, an adorable fluffy tail twitches in happiness.

In spite of allowing the brief pause before heading back to bed, the cream blanket always draped over the back of the couch is instead wrapped around a shivering yet extremely heated chest clad in the shade of winter snow. ‘’Same as usual. Busy as hell.’’

‘’You look tired.’’ An obviously worried tone arises in the bunny’s husky voice, the intonation known to precede the fussing which has become a characteristic of the cruel dynamics between step-siblings. Although, Mark cannot help it when the Byronic tendencies are plain to see either in or out of parental sight.

Noticed it in the first glass.

And every river of warm amber to follow. 

‘’I’m alright.’’ A fabricated smile endeavours to distract from the conflicted emotions evoked by the statement for how sane, how ‘alright’ is a mind which is in love with a family member? How fairly morally acceptable is it to cherish a boy not related to oneself by blood?

Yes, indeed, how alright am I?

‘’Did you eat?’’ Big palms plant themselves onto the cushions of the sofa, their kindness melting the hardness of the stone fabric as they lean forward with long ears lowered in careful listening. Brows, likely unintentionally, furrow in close examination, anticipating the answer which wants to be heard while looking out for the opposite. 

Hearing what does not want to be heard in a dismissive tone. ‘’I’m not hungry.’’

‘’We have leftover noodles. Mom made too much.’’

Hearing Mark mention essentially the parent of a conflicted girl as if she was the rabbit boy’s as well, as if there is shared blood, serves to emphasize the futility of every heartwarming emotion conjured by the obvious concern. It almost brings tears to the eyes, experiencing a broken love once more in the limbo the persona is stuck in. However, enough talent for theatrics has developed over time to be able to fake normalcy and keep an nonchalant tone to speak with while patting wavy locks. ‘’Nah, I’ll just have a cup of tea and call it a night. You, on the other hand, should get back to bed before you get sicker.’’

‘’I will once I’m sure you’ve eaten.’’ Lean howbeit muscled arms cross in defiance as roseate lips pout. The overall display might be called ‘childish’, although it is also adorable to see the bright conviction of being listened to in sparkling eyes.

Another reason to drink. 

Stop this. Stop making me fall in love with you.

‘’I’m seriously not hungry. Besides, I won’t die from not eating dinner once.’’

‘’But it- it would ma- ah, eh,’’ the hand running through hair while getting up distracts attention enough from the discussion to let the denial pass, albeit for an unfortunate second for it is stubbornly kept up, ‘’make me feel better.’’

‘’And it would make me feel better if you’re in bed, sleeping the fever off.’’ The beige blanket has fallen from the shoulders, so it is picked up and rearranged under the pleading gaze of the lovely young man. 

That was supposed to be the end of the conversation, but a heated calloused palm wrapping around the wrist clearly has more to say. Or, rather, it needs more assurance that bad habits are not given into. ‘’Will it really be tea?’’ 

‘’What do you mean?’’ Faking ignorance, the head tilts to the side in wonder even though it is plain in the concerned tone what is actually insinuated. 

Long white fluffy ears lower in sadness, lying almost flat against the scalp, as a gentle tug asks for a return to the sofa if not willing to sit on a familiar lap. It is a kindness, of course, but every time a seat has been taken on Mark’s thighs it led to a hug from either the front or behind. Shielding, guarding, repressing the wonderful descent into self-ruin. ‘’You’ve been drinking again lately.’’

‘’Only a little bit.’’

‘’You know I- I don’t like it when you drink. Why?’’ The attempt at escaping the grip does not pass under the radar, loosened immediately which leads to an odd disappointment that there is no struggle.It is a misplaced Romantic vision, a lover refusing to let their mistress go, yet it evidently feels as if it should have applied. ‘’Why do you do it? Why drink instead of eating something after work?’’

Could have applied. 

But this is the reality. 

And it is cruelly cold.

Indifferent.

Family-oriented.

‘’It helps me sleep.’’ Dismissing the disgruntled worry with a heavy heart, the back is turned on the wonderful brother.

It makes me forget how much I love you.

To maintain the role, the shoulders are forced to keep low as steps lead to the kitchen.

To the liquor cabinet.

Salvation from everything.

And him.

Always him. 

‘’Your work tires you out more than enough.’’ Stubborn bare toes pad the cherrywood floor, trailing a hopeless mind growing gradually more exhausted with the situation. And when they speak, it is with a desperation begging to be acknowledged. ‘’Remember how many times I’ve carried you upstairs?’’

‘’I recall a few times, yes.’’

Just give up! Don’t fuss over me because I don’t deserve it.

‘’Let me guess, you don’t recall the nights you had a glass or two.’’ Hands ball into fists upon looking over the shoulder with a tired disinterested glance, wishing dearly the stepbrother would simply give up and do as being told. ‘’Or more.’’

‘’No. You’re right,’’ in the open doorway leading to the kitchen, attention is fully turned to the hybrid stepbrother never failing to trod along carefully set invisible boundaries, ‘’I don’t.’’

Because those were the nights I loved you too much.

Chocolate eyes soften upon hearing the melancholic undertone of the response, the fierceness that set them ablaze dimming in the search for a possible reason for the negative demeanour. Fists unravel, loose palms barely containing their restlessness awkwardly plucking at the soft fabric of ashen sweatpants. ‘’You’re running away from something.’’

‘’I’m not.’’

‘’You are. Tell me.’’ A step forward is met by one further into the kitchen, fueling the incomprehension towards a limit that is so clear for one mind. It takes everything within to not combust and apologize for the gesture. To run into secure arms, idiotically confessing what has been going on and hoping for a good outcome. ‘’I’m here for you, you know that.’’

I know, and you would always if you reciprocated my feelings. But you never will.

‘’Mark, go to bed.’’

‘’No.’’

Just go.

‘’Mark.’’

‘’Promise me it will be tea.’’ The silence without answer lasts too long for messy fluffy espresso strands, resorting to harsh shouting without actually meaning to. ‘’Promise me!’’

‘’Go to bed!’’ Now even one’s own voice has elevated to yelling, unable to hide the morally ungrounded irritation any more. There needs to be distance for that is what keeps the ties binding us together healthy and maintains the peace under the roof. 

Shocked at the sharp animalistic sneer, the tall slender bunny flinches yet tries to protest. However, without success since lips part and solely a simple though heart-wrenching word comes out. ‘’Y/N…’’

Tears scorch the lashes turning away from the forbidden lover, endeavouring with hardly steady speech to definitely put an end to the conversation before it really goes south. ‘’We’re done talking.’’

‘’Tuck me in.’’ The commanding suggestion of a laughable type of intimacy does nothing to restore the damage of the argument. 

In fact, terrible Logic loathes the request and is not shy in making its distaste known. ‘’You’re a grown man so you don’t need me to do so. And now that I think about it, you never did. Then again, you have always been childish.’’

Because it, too, loves the white rabbit whose heart is being shattered to pieces. It is unfair, but the shared suffering keeps us on familiar grounds, relates us in the proper way.

The ice queen holds morals high.

At the cost of fading warmth. 

Mark’s voice becomes sorrowfully soft, adorable nose sniffing to maintain a sliver of composure and hide the hurt that is actually mutual. Yet, only the distance between us knows this truth. ‘’What- What are you trying to say?’’

‘’Grow up and leave me alone.’’

I hate us. I hate our story, that I’m forced to treat you this way. I’m sorry.

Despite being fiercely rejected, the sweetheart still tries to establish contact. To still care even though it is not appreciated. ‘’You’re crying.’’

‘Go!’

Back turned on the handsome stepbrother, ears are filled by the noise of quietly crying bare feet removing themselves up the stairs of an empty house. In the meanwhile, the stomach ties itself into a nauseating knot and self-deprecating thoughts naturally come forth from the silence.

The brief sudden sliver of appetite is lost in the salty brooks running over the cheeks of gritted teeth no longer yelling.

The fridge is opened for a second only to be closed without having retrieved anything from it.

There is no roiling boiling water to be turned into tea.

Merely the sweet intoxication of strong liquor.

It is a night where he is loved too much.

And the bottle is the vain escape. 

There is something oddly wonderful about finding oneself in the state of being tipsy. Thoughts are enhanced in regards to creativity, daring to dream of what inhibitions suppress and creating perfect food for thought in slumber. It is at times like these when there is full understanding for the philosophy of writing drunk and why it is quite popular among authors. After all, the senses pick up more than they would normally, tuned in to reality on a level that sober Reason forbids.

And thus soft panting coming from the doorway can be heard despite the fabric of the onyx work shirt pulling a temporary impenetrable veil over the room. Nevertheless, when it is lifted and tossed aside on the leather chair in the corner, the curiosity about the source of the lovely desperate sounds is satisfied upon turning around.

Feverish chocolate eyes swiftly avert the steady focus on locks tilting in perverse wonder, the hands causing the spark of interest coming to a sudden halt as long fluffy ivory ears lower in apology. Pearly teeth nibble on the bottom lip, fingers fumbling after abandoning distracting throbbing wanting covered by gorgeous white lace. ‘’Ehm, Y/N, the- there is something I’ve- I’ve been meaning to say for a long time.’’

There should have been loathing towards the cute stammer of rosy cheeks yet the heart cannot bring itself to carry any trace of genuine negativity in its intoxicated state. Then again, it also cannot when not being under the influence of strong alcohol. Thus, sockless feet bridge the distance with calm speech sincerely fascinated with the implication of what wants to be said. ‘’Which is?’’

‘’I- I, ha, heh, ehm, I l- like you.’’ The stuttering goes paired by an adorable twitch of the white fluffy tail revealed by pulled down stone grey sweatpants. Languidly, lashes shift their attention from the floor to a troubled once again on the road to ruin. ‘’A lot. But I, um, now that I’m, well, I want t- to ask something else too... if I- I can.’’

And starting at the beginning of the end, the whiskey drunkenness erases all inhibitions and thus gives room to sensual selfishness unwilling to wait anymore. Fingers caress a ruby cheek, which effectively drives the young man further towards the edge judging by the slight movements behind ivory lace. The game is certainly tempting temptation but is also thoroughly enjoyed as the short breaths of awkward digits clearly want to continue the race to oblivious bliss, likely not minding, enjoying even to be watched while doing so. ‘’Why so shy?’’

‘’Y- You’re my stepsister, but I- I want to…’’ What wants to be said dies away as calloused hands rest themselves on the hips and foreheads rest against each other, older roseate lips suggestively brushing over ones about to give in yet persevering a little longer. 

Fingertips glide to and fro over the brother’s jaw, adding fuel to the flame that leaves Mark a buzzing and barely comprehensible mess. ‘’Finish your sentence, bunny boy.’’

Tell me. At least for now, tell me you love me too. That you want this. Us.

‘’Maybe it- it’s because I’m in heat, that I- I’m so blatant but- but I want to have, hm, nice, heh.’’ In clear appreciation of the gesture, an adorable nose nuzzles the palm while sniffing the skin. Whatever scent the bunny finds in it proves effective in driving sanity further towards madness, mouth quietly whimpering pleads of desperation as long fluffy ears lie flat against the skull. ‘’Sex. I want to have sex with you.’’

While the wantonness is lovely to observe, fueling the heat between thighs aided by amber intoxication, attention wanders down to where intricately decorated snowy lace is soaked. The stain leaves little to imagination, showing all that has been hidden thus far beneath pants, towels and sweatpants. ‘’Well, would you look at that.’’

Hypnotized irises follow to where focus has shifted to, hesitant in asking assurance as the worst outcome is expected. ‘’Is... is it weird?’’

‘’No,’’ a headshake denotes the unnecessary worry about disgust, assuring quite the opposite, ‘’not at all. It’s cute.’’

At the compliment, long fluffy ears perk up as raven orbs glisten with pride, drunk on the praise that hangs in the air yet has to be spoken. ‘’Am I pretty?’’

‘’Yes, you are. But you are regardless, especially without clothes. That’s when you’re at your loveliest.’’ Breaths noticeably shorten and come at a greater difficulty as lips ghost over the side of the neck, pecking at and nibbling on the heated yet shivering skin. ‘’A big pretty rabbit.’’

‘’Your white bun bun.’’ A quicksilver smile flashes by when the effect of the intimacy is endeavoured to be estimated by the degree of unfiltered wanting in the youth’s expression. Rosy cheeks, chiselled chest rising and falling swiftly, a breeding frenzy brewing in the dark of misleading innocent eyes. ‘’Yours.’’

‘’Close the door.’’ Teasingly, the ghost of a kiss is presented and adorably eagerly followed, Mark whining when it dawns it is just a mirage. ‘’And take your clothes off.’’

As fast as the wind, the bunny boy closes the door and wriggles out of the messy outfit. Afterwards, digits waving lazily, beckoning to come to bed, are rapidly enveloped and followed. Feeling the rough texture of their skin, created by weightlifting at the local gym that is visited together twice in the week - schedule allowing to go together although Mark can be found there almost daily - is grounding enough to temporarily oppress the romanticism of being tipsy. 

This is a one-time happening.

A one-shot.

A full story with a before and after. 

An end.

This moment is in medias res for there is nothing after tonight, emotions doomed to echo yet never to hear the other voice they love and cherish answer in the same manner. Even if they do, the sound will change and be mentally moulded to a shape that can be ignored. 

Inaudible.

And still, albeit faintly, there.

Although the vagueness will be a mirage because the heart listens.

Always listening for the white rabbit. 

Waiting for the day it snows in July. 

The day we can be together.

Bare toes languidly sway towards the bed, pulling the stepbrother along when free-falling onto the mattress. Defined arms on either side gripping the sheets as shoulders block out the light, high-pitched moans spill forth as friction is sought against the thigh to calm the throbbing desirous craving. ‘’Can we, mhm, please sk- skip foreplay? I- I promise to be good.’’

A hand cheekily wanders over the back to grab the behind, coaxing out a cute squeak of surprise. ‘’But I need to be wet, baby. Otherwise, I don’t think I can handle such a big boy.’’

‘’Please,’’ a finger rapidly busies itself in the lingering narrowness between bodies, starting to chip away at the ability to form a coherent inebriated thought about starry eyes looking down in sensual urgency, ‘’please. I’m about to combust.’’

Nails dig into the soft skin of the slim boy’s behind, effectively triggering a loss of grip on reality and a wonderful chorus of panted moans accompanied by hot tears that are to hide in the side of the throat. A gorgeous display which is much to the pleasure of a dreamer reaching too closely for the impossible. ‘’Are you, now?’’

Suddenly, the forming of close circles between the thighs halts to be replaced by a filling sensation. Apparently, fluffy ears are still coherent enough to force hips into motion to chase an overstimulated second high after getting lost in earnest. ‘’I- I’m sorry. I- ah! I cou- couldn’t he- help it.

‘’I keep- keep jerking off to you. A- At school, at home, at work. Fuck!’’ Sandstone strands are thrown back in unadulterated voluminous satisfaction, having found the way to pure sensual euphoria for both lovers. Lashes shut tightly and brows furrowed in concentration to remain able to speak with a fleeting voice, the beautiful lad rests himself on the raised left shoulder. ‘’I- I can’t stop. Ca- can’t stop c- cumming.’’ 

Fluttering hands now also under the influence of the continuous sharp swift advances slide over the heated skin of the back and draw the stepbrother into a tight embrace, one hand holding on to smooth dishevelled locks while the other digs its nails into the shoulder. Regardless of nobody being home, the vulgar secrets want to be kept safe by muffling them and prevent them from being spoken by neck kisses. Nevertheless, some manage to escape the lover’s attempts at silencing oneself and his corrupted mistress. ‘’Y- Your pussy is so, mhm, so creamy. F- Feels good.’’

‘’Make it sloppy, baby.’’ To make up for the painful markings on the shoulder and back, having accidentally drawn a bit of crimson, the thumb caresses the cheek of eyes lost in sheer perverted wonder.

A brief nod is all that can be mustered, the tongue lost in the intoxication of the erotic like the primal nature that has surfaced. Henceforth, no word is spoken in the tail-twisting collision of galaxies, the meeting of panting lips craving fulfilment and the need to be the reason for it.

But everything has a price. 

Tiredness.

Of waiting.

Always waiting.

Waiting to be claimed.

To be wanted. 

And once again the toll of unrequited love is paid despite the slowing of hips spilling confessions in a voluminous affectionate waterfall when the voice has been recovered. ‘’I love you! I am in love with you! I’m yours!’’

A ruin belongs to no one.

Invisible wax wings are melting.

Fading in the illusion of being speechless.

Yet maintaining false hope if only for a few moments longer. 

‘’I’m yours! I want you.’’ Tears of happiness and pleasure streak a wonderfully sweet face believing a lie. ‘’I fucking want you.’’

Holding on to the lie, the possibility of being had.

Of rightfully belonging in the embrace after arms give way when simultaneously stumbling into shared ivory oblivion. Of being able to stay there, chastely talking among the pillows while Mark contently nuzzles the side of the marked neck.

Because the naive comment following the notice of grave concern about discovery has to be correct. There has to be a way that it cannot come true, that we are safe. ‘’They don’t have to know.’’

But, of course, there is no other way nor will there ever be. After all, sins can only be hidden for so long. 

‘’Mark, this has to be a one-time happening.’’ 

At once, the lad rises with reinvigorated strength to add power to a futile argument by showing determined passion. ‘’It doesn’t have to be. I am in love with you and-’’

‘’I love you too, but think about it.’’ Cupping the cheek, logical Reason endeavours to gently destroy the fantasy even the drunken mind was temporarily lost in. ‘’We’re step-siblings, our parents are getting married soon. There’s nothing for us. Nothing but family ties.’’

‘’There is more! As I said, they don’t have to know we’re together as long as we don’t say anything. Let me fuss over you, take care of you.’’ The hush following the chaste kiss that was meant to convince retorts the hopeful expression on the lover’s innocent face, eyes frantically searching for the absent lie in irises knowing better. ‘’Prevent you from self-destruction.’’

‘’I am broken, never been whole. My mind is in fragments, blasted to bits. Unrepairable because the one person who could have been able to fix it shall only destroy it further.’’ The exhaled breath betrays the crumbling of the fanciful attitude denying the truth yet now seeing it once more. Facing it with self-loathing. ‘’You love a ruin.’’

 ‘’I love a beautiful mind, a woman who continues to amaze and awe me on a daily basis. You’re not a ruin, Y/N, and if you are, I’ll build you up again.’’ Riled up by being dismissed, the ivory dot of fluff of a tail twitches excitedly in clear refusal to give up. ‘’I’ll help you renovate yourself and you can teach me in the progress, show me what you were before and aspire to be.’’ 

The quick peck is left in unresponsiveness for hope should no longer be falsely given.

We need to wake up from the dream. 

‘’And I’ll still love you. I love you, every ego, every fibre of your being. I love you.’’

‘’I don’t want you to build me up, transform me into what I once was. Would you even succeed?’’ Melancholically, a headshake denotes the ridiculous ambition. ‘’No, I don’t think so. The past is the past, meant to be forgotten.’’

‘’It’s not! The past holds memories, moments to remember.’’ Long ears lower against the scalp as shoulders start to shudder, speech turning into begging while bursting out in tears. ‘’I want to remember this.’’

Don’t. You’ll only recall the pain.

‘’It doesn’t for me. Not anymore.’’ 

The attempt to get up is met by resistance, pushed down into the pillows at once. Nevertheless, when fingers wrap around the wrist to forcefully albeit harmlessly pin the back to the mattress, they fail in their intentions. Because, when looking up with a similar wanting albeit different in it asking to be set free, it is allowed to slip from the sheets.

‘’Where are you going?’’ Like a defeated soldier in a heavy war, Mark props himself up on an elbow while monitoring every movement from the fool barely daring to establish eye contact as a last act of politeness before leaving.  

‘’I am a ruin, meant to be forgotten. And you, my dear, you are my sweet destruction.’’

The chamber door closes.

Leaving behind yet another ego.

Icarus loved the sun.

And foolishly tried to fly to her to confess never-ending Love. 

He ended up falling when coming too close.

Falling.

Falling.

Fell.

To meet Love’s end.

‘’I’ll remember this. Forevermore.’’

And the lasting torment of Death.

[seanmalatesta]

4 Must-Have Traits in Every Person You Hire

Most leaders I’ve met want to build a high-performance organization. Instinctively, they know that this requires great people. But few of them have ever taken the time to define exactly what they are looking for when it comes to the ideal candidate.

Good leaders begin the recruiting process with a written job description. This generally includes the required educational experience and technical skills. But great leaders do more than this. They take a step back and look at the baseline qualities of the candidate.

They ask questions like—

What kind of employees are we trying to attract?

What kind of people will get the results we want and others expect?

What kind of people do we want to surround ourselves with?

What kind of people will contribute to the culture we are trying to build?

Warm bodies are obviously not enough. Better-than-average won’t get you there either. Even “really good people” are insufficient. You need higher standards if you are going to achieve your mission.

As I have thought about this, I have reduced these high standards to a sort of formula: H3S.

I want to fill my company with people who are humble, honest, hungry, and smart. The “h” in the word “high” represents the first three attributes. The “s” in the word “standards” represents the last attribute. All are equally important, but let me expound on each of them separately.

For simplicity sake, I’m going to use the masculine pronoun below, but it should be understood that the ideal candidate may, of course, be either a man or a woman. Gender is irrelevant.

Humble

Humble people have a good sense of himself. They don’t think more highly of themselves than they should (pride), nor lower than they ought (poor self-esteem). They are sober-minded, having a realistic grip on their strengths and weaknesses.

They do not exhibit self-ambition. They might be ambitious for the cause, company, or team, but they’re not ambitious for themselves. They aren’t overly concerned about their title, status, or position relative to others.

Humble people assume the posture of a learner and don’t pretend to know more than they do. It never crosses their mind that they may be the smartest person in the room.

They respect other points of view and asks questions to make sure that they understand an idea before criticizing it. They make other people feel smart and competent.

They are others-centered, no matter who the other person is. They acknowledge “the little people,” those that are easily overlooked by everyone else. They are valued and treated as peers.

Whenever I hire an executive, I always like to take him or her to dinner. I am always interested to see how they treat the host, the waiters, and even the busboys. Will they be curt? Demanding or brusque? Does they treat the people who serve them with dignity? Do they even notice them? Are they appreciative?

I am always leery of people who suck-up to those they want something from and disrespect everyone else. There’s no explaining it away. This is a character flaw. I have no patience for it, and I don’t want someone like that working in my organization.

Humble people are open to correction and not defensive. They are quick to admit mistakes and apologize. They know how to say, “I am sorry. What I did was wrong. Will you please forgive me?” Everyone makes mistakes. The truly humble try to make it right. Usually, they have had plenty of practice.

They are conscious of the contributions others have made to their life, career, and achievement. They are quick to give credit and express sincere gratitude. Conversely, when others compliment them, they offer a simple thank-you, without making a big fuss about it.

Finally, they do not consider certain jobs to be beneath them. They see what needs to be done, pitch in, and are just happy to be part of the team.

Honest

As Dr. Stephen R. Covey points out in The 7 Habits of Highly Successful People:

Honesty is telling the truth—in other words, conforming our words to reality. Integrity is conforming reality to our words—in other words, keeping promises and fulfilling expectations. This requires an integrated character, a oneness, primarily with self but also with life. (195–196)

When I use the term honesty, I am referring to both honesty and integrity.

At the most basic level, honest people not lie, exaggerate, or misrepresent the facts. Spin control is a foreign concept. So is bragging. If anything, they are given to understatement, especially about their own accomplishments.

They do not withhold negative information but give you the good, the bad, and the ugly. They have the courage to face reality head on and make their words conform to it. They would never ask someone else to lie on their behalf or cover for them.

They are also honest in giving others feedback. They are able to be direct without being hurtful. They don’t say anything about those who are absent that they wouldn’t say if they were present. They avoid drama.

Finally, honest people keep their commitments, even when it is difficult, expensive, or inconvenient. If they said they’d do it, they do. You can take it to the bank.

Early in my career, I was able to land the job as a marketing director at one of the larger publishing houses. The only problem was that I didn’t have any experience. None!

So my new boss put me on an informal 90-day probationary period. He said, “Look, I think you will do fine, but let’s agree to a 90-day trial run. If everything goes as planned, I will give you a raise equal to 10 percent of your annual salary. If not, we’ll shake hands and part company as friends.” I enthusiastically agreed, rolled up my sleeves, and got to work.

Knowing that this was an enormous opportunity, I read everything I could on marketing. I worked hard. I got to the office early and left late. I was determined to prove to my boss that he had made the right decision.

At the end of the 90-day period, I was actually looking forward to my review. I knew I had exceeded his expectations. I was confident I would get the raise.

My boss called me into his office. After the usual pleasantries, he said, “Mike, you have done an outstanding job. You have exceeded my expectations in every way. I am very proud of you.”

“But I have one problem,” he continued. “Last week, our parent company instituted a salary and wage freeze. They have refused to consider any exceptions.”

My heart sank. Though I tried to appear professional, I’m sure that my disappointment was written all over my face.

Then he handed me an envelope and said the most amazing thing. “In that envelope is a check for the amount I promised you. It’s not from the company, but from me personally. I have discussed this with my wife, and we are both in agreement. You don’t have a choice about whether or not to accept it. So don’t even think about refusing. I made a commitment to you. You lived up to your end of the bargain—and then some—and I want to live up to mine.”

As a young businessman, that act made an enormous impression on me. Not only did it bond me to my boss—still one of my best friends—for life, it has provided concrete guidance in every tough decision I have ever made.

Hungry

A hungry person is someone with an appetite. Metaphorically speaking, their last meal is already a fading memory. They want to eat, and they want to eat now. All they can think about is food!

In other words, hungry people don’t dwell on past accomplishments. They are never satisfied. They’re always reaching for more—setting higher goals. They are driven to exceed whatever expectations have been imposed upon them. This is just a part of their make-up.

They are intellectually curious. They read constantly—news sources, magazines, and books. Lots of books. They love learning new things and sharing that learning with others.

Hungry people don’t get stuck in a rut. They’re open to new ideas and new ways of solving old problems. That means they’re always looking for the best solution and embrace change if it will take them—or the company—to a new level.

They come to meetings prepared, having completed their homework. In the meeting, they listen actively, asking lots of questions and taking notes. Afterward, they follow up. They complete assignments on time without someone having to prod them. They are relentless when it comes to execution.

In short, hungry people full out, holding nothing back. More than anything, they want to win and are willing to pay the price to do so.

Smart

Smart people usually score high on traditional IQ tests. But not always. You have to be careful. Some people are book-smart but street-stupid. I’d like to have both. But if forced to choose, I’ll take the street-smart candidate.

Smart people are a quick study. They can connect the dots without a lot of help. They have a natural ability to think laterally, that is, across disciplines. They can apply learning from one field or category to another.

They’re comfortable using metaphors and analogies. They know how to make complex subjects simple without confusing themselves and everyone else in the process.

I was a philosophy major. Some of the books I had to read were really difficult. I remember reading, re-reading, and then re-re-reading some particularly tough passages. Then it dawned on me. If this guy is so smart, why can’t he explain this in a way that is easy to follow? I concluded it was a case of  “the emperor having no clothes.”

In my experience, confusion often masquerades as complexity. Listening to an explanation, you might be tempted to think that you’re just not smart enough to understand the issue. In reality, the presenter may not understand it well enough to make it simple. I want people working for me who are smart enough to work through the complexity in order to arrive at a simple explanation.

Smart people also ask thoughtful questions. They see connections between topics that others miss. They are aware of nuances. And they have diverse interests, which come in handy when trying to understand new information.

They are also able to focus mentally, for long periods of time if necessary. They don’t give up quickly. They keep pressing until they gain clarity or insight. They are a creative problem solvers.

Finally, smart people have cognitive intelligence. That’s mostly what I have covered here. But that alone is not sufficient. In my opinion, a successful candidate also needs emotional, relational, and even spiritual intelligence to succeed.

Summary

It’s hard to find the buried treasure unless you have a map. It’s difficult to win a scavenger hunt unless you have a list. And it’s impossible to hire the right people unless you know exactly what you are looking for.

In my company, I want to hire people who are H3S: humble, honest, hungry, and smart. If I can do that consistently, I will build a great and enduring organization.

By the way, I have also developed a list of 25 questions to ask candidates. These questions help you discern whether or not he or she is the ideal candidate. You will find them, if you know what to look for.

from Michael Hyatt https://ift.tt/2Zw8dPX via IFTTT