#I’m putting Julian on the small side of the scale because he has yet to actively attempt to stab his parents

[exasperatedoctopus]

On a scale from completely cutting them out of your life and moving to the other end of the galaxy (Julian) to subconsciously metamorphosing into a murderous goo creature and attacking them on sight (Odo), how well do you deal with your garbage-tier parental figure?

[blurrypetals]

Queen of Air and Darkness by Cassandra Clare - blurrypetals review

originally posted dec. 9, 2018 - ★★★★★

A-T. L-A-S-T.

I am so absolutely overwhelmed by everything that I've experienced in the last few days while listening to this. As Cassandra Clare's longest book to date, a whole dang fuckin' lot happens in this book. To sort my way through this review, the following paragraphs are gonna be chock full of a whole dang fuckin' lot of untagged spoilers, so continue at your own risk. I do think you're doing yourself a huge disservice if you do read this review before you've read the book, though. It's also incredibly likely I'll drop a spoiler or two on every Shadowhunters book so, if you're here and you have not, for some reason, read The Mortal Instruments, The Infernal Devices, the other two books in The Dark Artifices trilogy, and all of the short stories in The Bane Chronicles, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, and Ghosts of the Shadow Market, I implore you to amend that, to go and read those fourteen books and this fifteenth book before reading this review, just in case I ruin anything for you by accident. Okay, now that's out of the way, let's talk about sequels and how to finish a grand, epic fantasy story. It was difficult for me to not compare this book to three other books. The first two are, of course, Cassandra Clare's other finales, City of Heavenly Fire and Clockwork Princess. This handily bowls City of Heavenly Fire straight under the table because, even though City of Heavenly Fire is still a 5-star book, it's the weakest of The Mortal Instruments hexalogy and, other than perhaps The Bane Chronicles, it's also maybe the weakest in The Shadowhunter Chronicles in its current entirety. Clockwork Princess, by contrast, however, is, in my opinion, the best of the entire series. As a finale, Queen of Air and Darkness here sits comfortably as the second best Shadowhunters finale yet. So much happens in this book. It's split into three different parts which could have easily been split into three shorter books with near-perfect three act structures in place for each of them, making this book a nine act book with two "false" climaxes that would have made for quite the cliffhangers if they had been split up for any reason. The first act deals with the aftermath of Livia's death and, because it has a lot of rising action, it's actually a little frustrating in some ways, even if it was frustrating in an incredibly enjoyable way. One of my absolute favorite scenes in the whole book is Julian running to Magnus for help in the middle of the night because it so perfectly mirrors the scene in Clockwork Prince when another blue eyed boy named Will Herondale was at the end of his rope, desperate not to love a girl he was cursed not to be with. I loved the contrast between a Herondale's plea for salvation and a Blackthorn's last hope to avoid damnation, separated by a hundred years yet tied by the same plight and the same warlock's magic. Emotionless-Julian was a really compelling read, even if I was almost as angry and frustrated with him and Magnus as Emma was. I loved to hate how cold and calculating he became without his love and compassion around to guide his moral compass. I hated his betrayal of Emma so fucking much it hurt but I've always loved Julian's ruses, schemes, and plans, and his dealings with the Seelie Queen, the Black Volume, and a skilled calligrapher and wizard called OfficeMax. Damn. So fucking good. Also, speaking of Julian's plans and schemes, his war council and Livia's Watch is one of the most satisfying scenes in The Shadowhunter Chronicles as it currently exists; I'm so proud of my son. He is so great. Hot diggity. Speaking of reminders from past stories, we get the entire cast of The Mortal Instruments during a lot of this book. I was really excited anytime we ran into anyone from The Mortal Instruments, especially the part when Julian and Emma ended up being thrown in the same Unseelie prison as Jace and Clary were and that was Jace and Clary's first appearance in the whole novel. It could have easily gotten overwhelming; I was, in fact, rather worried that Jace and Clary would steal the spotlight for a good spell in the final act of the book, but they didn't, since Emma and Julian were, eh...too big to ignore, and the book even ends with the long-awaited Bane-Lightwood wedding of the centuries, but the story proper closes on Julian and Emma on the beach together. Even though The Wicked Powers is still yet to come, this book felt like a huge culmination of all fourteen of the prior books in a huge way. We had Jem and Tessa from The Infernal Devices, we had Jace, Clary, Simon, Isabelle, Alec, and Magnus from The Mortal Instruments, and we had Emma, the Blackthorns, and all their friends and allies from this series and it felt huge. I also felt the weight of what's to come in a super hardcore manner when it came to Kit and Ty, Dru and Jaime, and, of course, Ash. I genuinely feel as though I can't wait any longer to see how Kit and Ty's stories turn out. I'm especially pleased by the fact that Jem and Tessa decided to adopt Kit and that Kit will have the family he's longed for his whole life and, not only will he have two capable people parenting him through the rest of his adolescence, but he'll also have that younger sibling he's been longing for, someone he can teach and take care of in the way he wasn't when he was small. I really hope at least one of the two forthcoming Ghosts of the Shadow Market stories focuses on Kit and his new life and new home with Jem, Tessa, and hopefully their new precious tiny one. Thoughts of the future of The Shadowhunter Chronicles in Drusilla, Kit, Ty, and, specifically, Ash, bring me back around to the second section of the book, which is the most absolutely bananas thing Cassandra Clare has ever written but is also actually incredibly compelling. I fucking loved the alternate universe stuff, everything to do with the exciting return of not-Jace, the introduction of alterna-Livia, other-Cameron, and living-Raphael (especially the part where he begged Emma and Julian to tell Magnus and Alec to rename Rafael; I was in tears laughing about all of that biz), and the temporary absence of emotionless-Julian and how he and Emma ended up healing so much of their relationship there. I also am so totally down with not-Jace being the main villain of The Wicked Powers, or at least a main villain. I am really impressed with Cassie—which, when am I not, honestly?—in the way that second section of the book was written. It felt like a huge love letter to me as a longtime and dedicated fan of The Shadowhunter Chronicles in general because we got to see these, for lack of a better term, a fanfiction AU turned canon that doesn't read like a fanfiction in the least bit because it remains relevant, interesting, tense, and important the whole way through, even though it's literally a gigantic non-sequitur that some could argue is "pointless." I am not one who would argue that, though, because I loved it so damn much. It gave me what is probably my favorite Emma and Julian scene in all of The Dark Artifices, just after they return to the resistance stronghold. You know the scene. Okay, rapid fire because I could honestly go on forever about this book; I pinned 108 different clips throughout this book, which is the most pins or post-its I've ever put in one single book before. I adored the fact that Simon gave Julian his iron Lord Montgomery figurine before he and Emma left Idris. Michael Wayland's ghost showing up for Robert Lightwood's funeral fucked me up in a super hardcore way and the fact that Kit was the only one who could see him or even sense his presence really got to me and I really teared up because Bitter of Tongue from Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy absolutely wrecked me and this poked at that wound. Everything in regards to Mark, Cristina, and Kieran was incredibly sweet, sex positive, loving, trusting, and healthy and I just...gah they are perfect. A most excellent thruple, one for the ages. A great many of my pins have something to do with Kit growing into his inborn Herondale talent of being a master in snark (think candy gram and "Alas, poor Yorick,"). Everyone in the alternate realm being grossed out by endarkened-Emma's and endarkened-Julian's PDA was hilarious. Julian realizing art requires pain and morality about snapped my sad tiny bird heart clean in half. Feline death on a massive scale. Anytime Jace's more playful, youthful side showed because he's a happy boi now was delightful, especially the parts where he wanted to get to hold the mortal sword and when he declared, "We're the bait!" Magnus hallucinating was great, but my favorite hallucination was when he was flirting with a vase like it was Alec and then very seriously offering to buy it from the Institute. I also loved it when Magnus called Clary "biscuit". It made my heart all soft and nostalgic. Julian's smile at Emma when he got his emotions back tot me emotional, dammit! Caterina meeting Kit for the first time made my heart feel like it was too large for my body. Jace using finger guns, because finger guns are always hilarious. Dru realizing she was looking at the face of a parent when she looked at Julian. Kit responding to being called "Herondale," when Magnus said, "Stay away from my children, Herondale." Emma telling Diana that she showed her the kind of woman she wanted to be. Emma's terrible pun about Manuel being tied up. "Ragnor Lives." An old lady accidentally complimenting Julian on being tall. Emma and Julian deciding to go to the other at the exact same time. Alec would look better on the money. Mark trying (and failing) to make balloon animals and accidentally making them all snakes. That's not even a third of them all. Near the beginning of the review, I said I was having a difficult time avoiding comparing this book to three other books, two of which were past Shadowhunters books. The third book, however, is Kingdom of Ash by Sarah J. Maas, which is another very long final book in a series, one that somehow managed to get voted as the best YA fantasy of 2018 and, because of that slap in the face, I couldn't help but wonder how this book, technically the fifteenth in a series, managed to feel fresh, new, fun, and lovable from minute one to hour thirty of the audiobook even though this is the fifteenth time I've experienced a book in The Shadowhunter Chronicles for the first time and I've never come close to feeling the same sort of apathy or anger as I do for Sarah J. Maas and Throne of Glass. This is how you end a series. This is how you end one part of your series. This is how it's done. Take notes, everyone else. Get on Cassie's level.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

bound to each other's hearts (this love is like wildfire)

Lizzington, The Blacklist. Sequel to Lost In The Forest Of This Heart. Cross-posted on AO3. Important notes can also be found there. 

I’m not in the fandom anymore and I don’t plan to make things for TBL ever again now that this is complete, but I had a surprising amount of fun rewatching the first two seasons in order to wrap up this series. Turns out, I do still love what it could have been. I’m glad to know that! And I’m grateful for the friends I made along the way. You all were definitely the best part of this show for me.

Summary: Between dealing with the Cabal and evading the FBI, Red and Liz try to figure out what the future holds for them both. 

He still doesn’t quite get it, Liz knows: that she wants more than separate lives, occasional dinners together or friendly evenings of chatting over wine and poker. Red isn’t fighting her on that front, but he doesn’t see himself in her picture. And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows that could be because she hasn’t yet decided on the specifics of it.

They settle into a new routine when they leave the Wisconsin safehouse, Liz full of single-minded determination and Red watching her warily whenever her attention is elsewhere. 

Much like he felt when they first went on the run, she is everywhere. Except it’s a different kind of awareness now, because she’s no longer so broken and he’s no longer an enigma. 

When she smiles at him, it’s unguarded, pulling him in. When she reaches for his hand or hugs him, he can tell she’s trying to make it commonplace. They are friends, or as close to it as they ever could be, and it’s eroding what’s left of his barriers. 

Over the next few weeks, they arrange meetings with Cabal members. Rather than by Red’s invitation directly, each is through trusted liasons, and Liz has fun playing with the disguises before they arrive at each site together. 

Red chooses the Cabal members they kill based on several factors, beginning with those who are high-profile and legally untouchable. It frustrates Liz to know it’s true, but some Cabal leaders are too powerful to be harmed by even the world-shaking effects of the Fulcrum leak.

Their list of targets is further trained on people inside the Cabal who have murdered or directed others to murder--especially on a large scale. That makes them especially dangerous enemies and also important to remove. It sends the message that no one who remains is safe.

At the third meeting, they take out two men simultaneously; Liz shoots the head of a multinational corporation before he can finish aiming at Red, and means it when she tells him later that she has no regrets. 

She feels safe with a gun holstered under her shirt again. She’s slowly moving past the guilt she’s been carrying since Connolly.

She feels even safer with Red’s hand hovering at the small of her back whenever they enter new situations. He expects her to hold her own, always has, but his presence--especially the way he’s reaching out more, relaxing around her--is a comfort. 

Liz has trusted him with her life since before it made sense, and that’s one of the things between them that remains the same. 

They’ve killed a handful of high-ranking Cabal members when something slips. 

Red thinks it was Julian, an associate he has trusted for decades. One he will never trust again. Whatever the weak link in his careful arrangements, instead of meeting Ingrid at the deserted farmhouse in dusty Kansas, they’re almost caught by the Task Force. 

Ressler and Samar are there, Samar’s eyes apologetic but her aim unflinching as she trains her gun on Liz. Ressler should be aimed at Reddington just as steadfastly, but his gaze flicks to Liz for the briefest of moments and that’s all Red needs. He takes the shot.

The second he does, chaos breaks loose between the FBI team and the men Red brought with them. Red and Liz take cover behind a rusted truck until Dembe pulls up in an SUV. Samar fires in their direction, but doesn’t stop their escape in the bulletproof vehicle.

Taking narrow backroads after that, they switch vehicles twice and don’t stop moving until they’re in Denver, letting the city swallow them up.

While Dembe is still driving, Red finds a bloody graze on Liz’s arm that she neglected to mention. 

“It was from Samar,” she tells him. "She could have fired on the tires or gas tank and stopped our escape entirely, but she didn’t.”

Their orders were clearly to capture, not to kill. This was just a warning shot.

She frowns. “But Ressler…”

“What about Ressler?” Red’s voice is gruff as he dabs at her arm. Since waving him off didn’t work, she lets him disinfect what’s barely even a wound. She hopes it’ll calm him down. 

“Red, you got a clean shot at him. Should we talk about that?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He runs his fingers around the edges of her bandage, making sure the adhesive will hold. Reminding himself that this is the extent of the damage. It could have been so much worse. 

Her smooth skin is still warm, alive. Her eyes keep trying to find something in his. He can’t bear to look at her.

“If that were true, I don’t think you would seem so upset. I’ve seen you shoot people before and barely blink. Red--I know you’ve shot Ressler before. So what’s going on?”

“Nothing, Lizzie. We’ve already talked about this. They’ll chase us until this mess is over, one way or another. I gave them a distraction so we could escape. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not simple at all, though, is it. You’ve fought back to back with Ressler now. You know him. To face him and pull the trigger...I can’t imagine it.”

“I hope you never have to. But as you said, Donald and I have a history that goes back to long before you joined the Task Force. We only fought on the same side at times...to protect you. We were both on your side. Allegiances shift. Loyalties change.”

She nods. “That is incredibly sad.”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs and gently pats her arm. “At any rate, his injury, like yours, will be a flesh wound. He will recover. But if we’re lucky, he won’t be able to chase us for a while. We need to regroup.”

****

They move to the coast, spending a few weeks in Seattle, then Portland. The crowds pose more of a risk, especially with the Task Force having seen their faces...but they saw a blonde Liz and Red in a dark wig under his hat. 

Though he doubts that will fool them, he can hope.

Urban areas are the better option for now, even with the risks, because the crowds also offer anonymity. People in cities wish to mind their business and be left alone. Because Red can’t postpone it any longer--the endgame is approaching--Dembe joins them in their various apartments.

Red lights up in his company, and Liz laughs more. 

Mr. Kaplan only contacts them by phone; Red invites no one to meet in person. But well-paid colleagues are still picking off Cabal members, now with stealth and finesse. 

“It’s almost time,” Red tells Liz over dinner. They’ve been ordering groceries, grateful that local markets cater to shut-ins and fugitives, and cooking all their meals together instead of taking turns. She insists.

“Time for…”

“The end of it.” He smiles, slow and satisfied.

Liz takes another bite of the French fish dish he suggested they fix that evening, thinking it over. “But we’ve barely gotten started with the Cabal. Red--what exactly is the endgame here? We’ve never talked about it.”

He glances at Dembe, who nods appreciatively over his food, then aims that dangerous smile her way. “You see, Lizzie, it was so up in the air. There really wasn’t much to talk about while we waited to see what needed to be done. We poked holes in their organization. We weakened their trust in each other.”

“And now?”

“Now it has become clear to me that the best way to stop them, to neutralize them, is not to wipe them off the map. It’s to stoke that power vacuum and step into it.”

“Wait.” She raises her hand, letting her fork clatter on the china plate. “You’re telling me that you want to join the people who want me dead? Who tried to have me framed for murder?”

“These are also the people who had me on the run,” he reminds her. “Even before they became a force in your life. Surely, if you’ve learned anything since we met, it’s that the maxim is true: the closer you keep your enemies, the safer you are from their attacks.”

“We’re their enemies, too. Why would they welcome our involvement in their organization? They have us on the run, Red. They’re winning.”

“Are they? Seven of them have died in the last six weeks. Their numbers are many, but not limitless. They’re unwilling to meet in public. And we put their secrets on full display. I think we’re not the only ones on the run.”

“So you propose, what, a truce? An alliance?”

“Oh, heavens, no.” He dabs at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Those sorts of things require trust. A level of mutual respect that can transcend disagreement. You cannot form an alliance with someone you know will murder you at the earliest opportunity. No, my plan is much more straightforward.”

He stands, holding his hand out for her plate. Liz passes it to him, waiting for further explanation.

“While we’ve been on our own the last few weeks, Mr Kaplan has been using her many skills to gather information. Following leads, hunting down trails I suspected might be fruitful. Thanks to her, and to Dembe--” he toasts his friend with a glass, “the final pieces are in place. Now we make a trade.”

Her hands, no longer busy eating, are free to grip the tablecloth in a moment of sheer blinding terror. Red loves to make these moves behind her back, playing chess and telling her nothing until checkmate. It would be just like him to trade himself for her freedom.

The exact opposite of what she wants, the last thing she will ever agree to. Bold and brave but completely futile--because the second he gives himself up for her, she knows she won’t be able to rest until she gets him back. 

Will they never stop this? Liz wonders, listening to the pounding of her heart as Red pauses long enough to blink at her.

“A trade of information,” he clarifies slowly, watching her with concern. “Lizzie, are you alright? You look...”

She nods, swallowing the taste of fear along with a fair amount of shame for the conclusion she was so ready to believe. It takes her a moment to gather her words. 

“So, you’re going to blackmail them, to give you a seat at the table. And then you’ll...run the table.”

Red’s smug smile wars with lingering worry. “Quite right. You already know that the Cabal runs through governments and militaries and nation-states alike. With the right leverage, I can make their hunt of us a liability that will hurt them far more than any success would ever be worth. I may even be able to get your former position back.”

“It would be nice to no longer be a fugitive,” she agrees. “Buy my own groceries sometimes. It’s impossible to surprise you with a menu when you know everything that arrives on our doorstep.”

“I understand. You’ll be free to buy whatever you like, then. And invite me for dinner, I suppose, if the mood strikes you. I would be amenable to that,” Red says with a more relaxed smile.

He still doesn’t quite get it, Liz knows: that she wants more than separate lives, occasional dinners together or friendly evenings of chatting over wine and poker. Red isn’t fighting her on that front, but he doesn’t see himself in her picture. And if she’s being honest with herself, she knows that could be because she hasn’t yet decided on the specifics of it. 

She knows she wants Red. That part is easy. 

But if what he’s saying is true, that he can use their leverage to clear her name, she will have more choices to make. Harder ones.  She worked her whole life to become an FBI agent, to earn her place as a profiler. She knows it’s something she’s good at. A career she was made for, even. 

But.

And then.

Raymond Reddington in a box. 

She isn’t that person anymore, if she ever really was--the young woman with the loving husband and the dog, nervous about her new desk job working in DC. The edge she lives with now, the side of herself that can hurt and hunt and kill...part of Liz thinks she has always had that darkness. Since she was a child. Maybe she was born with it. 

God knows that despite the blame she’s flung at Red, he isn’t the source of her darker tendencies. He did everything he could to steer her away from being more like him. And with all the harm she caused, her work on the Task Force also helped her save people. 

Liz stills wants to save people. She wants to use her skills for some kind of greater good. But she can’t pretend she’s a paragon of virtue going forward, no matter how clean her record is once Red gets done with it.

Which leaves her where, exactly? 

****

Liz goes with Red to the summit he sets up with the remaining core of the Cabal. She feels useless there, since he also brings a full guard of men armed to the nines. And he certainly doesn’t need her help to negotiate. Yet he insists on inviting her, shaking his head when she questions him. 

“I’d like you with me,” Red says, without explaining further. The understanding that he means it for himself--that he wants her by his side not to protect her, or humor her need to be involved--is a gift. So Liz takes it, and bites down hard on the urge to speak up during the information exchange.

Even if all her presence does is affirm their new unity as a team, she can see the value in that, for their strength in the eyes of the Cabal. Word will spread in the underground Red travels, making its way eventually back to the FBI.

Everyone will know that Red has made a play for greater power, and that Liz was right there with him when it happened. She wonders what her old friends will think: if Samar will understand her choices, if Aram will worry that she didn’t make them freely. If Ressler will get that defeated look in his eyes and consider her a lost cause. 

She can’t blame any of them for their judgments from a distance--they don’t know what she knows. But she’s never felt clearer, not lost but found. The Cabal can be run by people who want her dead for threatening their supremacy, or it can be run by Red. 

Who she trusts to find the right balance between control and domination. Who she knows will keep the rest of the Cabal on a tight leash. 

As Liz sits with him in a glass-and-chrome boardroom, watching the Cabal give him the command he requires, she suspects he’s already seeking out leverage to hold over each member. 

Mr. Kaplan has been hard at work again, coming to their newest safehouse, passing Red messages. Now that he’s busily reining the Cabal in, he and Liz don’t have to move every few days--and his family can visit safely. Dembe stays over for a week, recommending books to Liz and telling her stories about Red when they first met. 

"Don’t believe a word of it,” Red warns her. “This man is a notorious fibber.” But his eyes shine with joy when he looks at the two of them. 

Liz has never seen him so happy. So settled. Power suits him. 

Red finds her in her room one night, strolling casually through the open door. He has learned the hard way that if he tries to return to polite formality, Liz will roll her eyes at him or ask “What are you waiting for, gold filigree?” without looking up from what she’s doing. 

“It took longer than I would have liked,” he says, unprompted. “But it’s finished.”

“What?” She has no idea what he’s talking about, since the Cabal restructuring was completed a week earlier.

“Your record has been erased.”

Liz sets her book down. “My criminal record?”

She’d forgotten Red was even working on that, and she knows she should feel excited. Or relieved. A rush of something should be washing over her. Instead she feels numb. 

“Yes. It’s been fully expunged, as though none of this ever happened."

And there it is, she thinks. That would be why.

“But, Red,” she corrects him gently, “it did happen. Erasing my record can’t take any of it back. I still have to live with it.”

He sighs. “I wish this could be easier, Lizzie, I really do.”

“Well, it’s not.” 

She reaches out and grabs hold of his hand, tugging him over to sit next to her on the bed. “It’s okay that it’s not, though, Red. It really is. I’m okay.”

“Yeah.” She does look okay lately, he has to admit. Red expected this news to bring her peace, but Lizzie seemed content even before it. 

Now she smiles at him, still holding his hand loosely. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” He turns a little more to face her, giving her his full attention. 

“Since you mentioned it, I’ve been thinking a lot about what comes next for me. All those choices I have now, you know? With a clean slate.”

Red nods. 

“I could go back to working at the FBI. As a profiler. It might take some string-pulling, but you’re good at that.” 

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“That’s because you know me,” Liz says. “The Task Force only existed because you wanted to keep me close and take down the Cabal. Which means there will never be a Task Force again. Not like there was.”

“I know.”

“But even if they’re not hunting me...you cleared my name, Red, not yours. You will have to stay like this, won’t you? In the wind, still a wanted criminal.”

“Yes.” 

That doesn’t bother him; he’s used to his routine. But Red can’t tell what Liz is working towards in her explanation. It worries him.

“So the only way I can have a normal life is if I never see you again.”

“Not never,” he assures her. “You know that I’m capable of moving freely, off the radar of all manner of authorities. We can still...see each other.” Dinners maybe, he thinks. Game nights with Dembe. Arguing over which movie to watch.

“That isn’t going to work for me.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t want a few secret visits a year, Red, while I pretend to be an upstanding FBI agent.”

“I would argue that you wouldn’t be pretending, Lizzie. Even FBI agents are allowed to have friends. Of all stripes.”

“That’s not really the point. With my past already laid bare for the world to see, who would ever let me keep a low profile at a desk again?”

Red frowns, following her logic.

“You can whitewash my record all you want, but my face was on the news. That future is gone. And without you in it, I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

“Well, then. What do you want?”

“I don’t belong at the FBI anymore, but I still have all my training. All my skills. Red--I think we should start our own Blacklist.”

He clears his throat, genuinely surprised. “Our own Blacklist?”

“Yes.” She let go of his hand to gesture with both of hers. “Just think about it. We stopped a lot of terrible people with the Task Force. We could go back to doing that, now that we’re done running. You have your own access, your own connections, and yours are better than the FBI’s a lot of the time.” 

“Lizzie, I understand wanting to help people--I love that about you--but I worked with the Task Force to my own ends. I was never on a crusade to better the world.”

“So? So what if you’re not looking to atone for your sins and make the world better? It can be my crusade. I have my own sins, Red, and I don’t need your reasons to be the same as mine. I’m asking you to work with me anyway, because we’d be good at it.”

Red flexed his empty hand, trying to imagine it. “I suppose I would be your best resource for catching uncatchable criminals.”

“You would. And if we had leads we couldn’t follow up on, I’m pretty sure we could find a way to tip off Samar or Aram, without giving up our locations.”

Liz bit her lower lip while he thought it over. “Well? What do you say?”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea.” 

Red grinned, his smile stretching even wider when she hugged him. “It sounds perfect for your talents--and I can certainly think of some people whose neutralization would improve my hold on the Cabal.”

“See? Win-win.” 

“But, Lizzie...you’re sure this is the path you want to follow? Playing judge and jury, outside the law? It’s not a decision you can take back, once you begin.”

She nods, a firm dip of her chin. “I’m sure. The worst criminals work outside the law, untouchable. You taught me that. Somebody should be responsible for them, and I’m in a unique position to try. Who will do it if I don’t?”

“Okay, then.” Red pats her leg, pleased. “It will be fun to have a reason to work together more closely again. I’ve been so busy restructuring the Cabal lately, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too.” Liz eyes him across the inches that separate them on her bed. “Speaking of that.”

“Hmm?”

“I want to spend more time together.”

He shifts in place. “As I said, I look forward to it. Getting us settled and safe had to take priority, Lizzie, but of course I hope to have more time with you now. We should decide what to make for dinner.”

“No, Red. I don’t mean--” Liz takes a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain without causing him to withdraw. 

“I love you,” she begins. 

He smiles at her, soft around his eyes. “I love you, too.”

One of the benefits of things settling down has been watching Red get comfortable with her affection. She says the words often, deliberately. Hearing him say them back is nice...but Liz knows he doesn’t mean it the way she does. 

He hears love and thinks family and friendship. And sure, they’re close in that way too, but she keeps saying it and waiting for Red to hear attraction and commitment, and it just doesn’t seem to be happening. 

With Red, blunt often backfires. Half the time, they end up in an argument, even when that isn’t her intention. But being gentle and trying to drop hints has been totally lost on the criminal mastermind she's all but living with.

So, blunt is the only option she has left to try. 

“Red...I’m in love with you.”

“You--what?”

“That’s what I mean when I say I want to spend more time with you. I want to spend it differently; I want to be closer to you. I want to share my life with yours.” She pauses, scared of the look on his face--it’s unfamiliar, and she knows his expressions well. 

“That’s the future I want: hunting Blacklisters, working together when you’re not busy with the Cabal...but also date nights. Early mornings and staying up late. Being together. Getting to a place where I know exactly what I want hasn’t been easy, Red, but I’m there now. I need to know what you want.”

Of all the situations he has tried to be ready for, Red feels shockingly unprepared for this one. 

A small part of him wondered, when she declared that she loved him in Wisconsin, if perhaps she meant it in this way. But he considered that part a traitor, hope running wild. Allowing himself to hope has often been--historically speaking--both foolish and dangerous. 

Lizzie has always been dangerous, because he can’t seem to defend himself against her. That’s what love is--being powerless. 

He loved her even before he walked back into her world; that was a lifetime of fondness mixed with debt and guilt. But it’s different knowing her as the woman she is now. He can’t imagine not loving her...and though he tries not to think about it, he can’t imagine not wanting her.

Admitting that out loud would be a betrayal of all Lizzie could have beyond him, and of the effort he’s expended to hold himself back from her.

“Being with me would make the target on your back infinitely bigger,” he tells her, hoping to walk the line between evasion and lying. “Combining our lives further...would be a terrible idea. Yours has already seen so much darkness, Lizzie. You don’t need to add more of mine.”

She’s patiently listening, though her hands are pressed down into the bed beneath them. He knows she’ll push back; he isn’t done.

“I need you to really think about what you’re saying. Lizzie, I know you’re a good person. In a way that I’m not. The idea that you and I could--” 

He swallows. “Have dates, or some sort of uncomplicated life, be a couple. It seems unrealistic given what I am, and who you are. You can love me and still keep yourself safe, keep a distance.”

“Reddington, I have no interest in keeping a distance. I’m trying to tell you that.”

Liz reaches up to touch his cheek. “I want less distance. I want you.”

“I will always choose you, no matter the harm to others,” Red explains. “Anyone who is a threat, even those you care about--it will always be that simple for me. I don’t have room for your morality.”

“I know.”

“How can you sit here and say that doesn’t matter to you?”

“Because it used to.”

Liz nods at the way he leans back. “I used to worry, a lot, about the way I felt pulled to you. Knowing everything you are, I worried what it said about me. Because it didn’t bother me--because I don’t care. Not the way I thought I should...the way a good person would.”

“The truth is, Red, I’ve made peace with it. I know you’re not a monster, no matter how often I used to throw that word at you. I know it because I’ve seen the real monsters. The people we caught, they were greedy and twisted and cruel. They were evil. But you’re not them.”

What’s coming next feels inevitable to Red. He can sense it, see it in her eyes. Evasion won’t be enough to save him. Nothing can save him. Salvation was never within his reach.

Sinning, though, he is well familiar with. Give me my sin again, he thinks foolishly, as yearning dislodges errant Shakespeare from the recesses of his mind.

"You don’t kill for pleasure, or entertainment. You’re willing to do whatever you have to, to protect others or save yourself. And we don’t have to have that in common for me to understand it.”

“I understand you,” Liz tells him. “Which is why I know as well as you do, you never answered my actual question. I did not ask you for a list of reasons why I should run for the hills rather than be with you. I asked what you want.”

She says it as though it’s a simple question. It’s probably the most difficult one he’s ever tried to answer.

“Forget the Cabal for a minute,” she offers. “Forget all our other enemies, including my old employers. Forget our complicated history, and think about the future. Yours and mine. What do you see?”

“Lizzie...”

“The manhunt is over,” she says, gazing into his guarded eyes. “It’s just us now. Here, in this moment, it’s only you and me. So tell me, Red...what do you really want?”

You. 

He watches her as she approaches, and doesn’t react at all when her lips meet his. It would be the easiest thing in the world to give in. That’s what scares him. 

When she finds herself kissing a statue of the Concierge of Crime, Liz hums a little in her throat and retreats, studying Red.

They’ve come so far from where they started; he’s not a mystery to her anymore. 

She can read his tensed muscles, coiled so tight he seems like he’ll shatter if pushed. A pulse is jumping along the column of his throat. His hands are motionless on the bedspread, but she sees the tips of his fingers curling into the material–gripping ever so subtly.

Raymond Reddington is holding onto himself for dear life, and that tells her two very important things. First, that he desperately wants to avoid touching her back…and second, that he has to stop himself from doing so with visible effort.

Which means that he wants his hands, and mouth, and skin, on hers more than anything in the world, but will not allow himself the satisfaction.

Liz smiles.

She can work with that.

[embersrevived]

Questions Meme 

Tagged By: @sunflowercecil​

1. What is your name? “Nadir Darvish.” 

2. Do you know why you’re named that?” “Well ... I believe my parents specifically wanted their first and only child to have a name that either honored an important aspect of Parzian culture and tradition or was an homage to a renowned monarch in Parzian history, and eventually they decided on the latter. Nadir (Nader) Shah, if I recall correctly, was a king from a former dynasty who was renowned for his ingenuity and acumen, both as a statesman and military general. His military campaigns and exploits during his reign were so great that he has actually been dubbed ‘the second Alexander’ by some historians. I think my parents had been betting on having a male child at first, but then just decided to roll with it after I was born, haha.”

“Funny thing is, a lot of people just automatically assume that my name is meant to be some sort of ‘edgy’ moniker, like the antithesis of the word ‘zenith’ or something when that actually isn’t the case. Though that certainly doesn’t mean I appreciate the endearing little opposite-nickname that I was recently given, Zen-Zen, any less...~”  She furtively winks at @plague-doctor-jules

3. Are you single or taken? “Single. as a Pringle” 

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“Besides bringing all around me to their knees groaning with my tacky humor? Well ... incantation-wise, I feel I am somewhat proficient in spells that have to do with small-scale, temporary immobilization, like temporary stunning. Though I really refrain from utilizing such spells unless I truly feel the need to do so. The stunning spells really only are effective on small creatures, e.g. rats, roaches, etc. that I feel need to be halted in their tracks before being able to deal with them accordingly. Also some might argue that my horrendous jokes and puns constitute some sort of low-key ‘evil’ ability in themselves, haha.”

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

“Stop being an ‘idealized, seemingly perfect character? ... Hahahaha! How droll of you, when everyone knows that I’m practically the most awkward and gauche potato turtle in this here town. That’s a facetious jab at how I’m actually the complete and utter opposite of that, right? Right, it must be.” 

6. What’s your eye colour? “Very dark brown.” 

7. How about your hair colour?

“Very dark brunette, almost appearing even black from a distance.”

8. Have any family members?

“Yes, my mother and father, Setareh and Bardiya,  along with my maternal grandmother and grandfather, Roshanak and Cyrus. No siblings, though. I think after I was born, my parents decided that one was more than enough, hahaha ... I’ve been told that I was quite the troublesome little stinker as a tot.” 

9. Oh! How about pets?

“Well, I’m not sure if I should go about referring to my familiar as a pet, but my  albeit adorable call duck, Ordak is the only one I have currently. Back when I lived with my parents and not the magic shop, I did used to own a boisterous blue budgie, though ... someone forgot to close the door to his cage, and the little poopsie just chirped his wee heart out before suddenly taking off, never to be seen or heard from again.” 

10. That’s cool, I guess, now tell me something you don’t like.

“Well ... I must admit I don’t really appreciate people who are overly snippy or snarky just for the sake of it when it isn’t really necessary, or because they find it ‘quirky’, ‘trendy’, or ‘edgy’ to do so. Basically people who show little consideration for others’ feelings in general, especially if they do so because they believe their elevated social status or sense of ego gives them a pass to do so. And people who just find it absolutely acceptable to do away completely with common courtesy when dealing or speaking with you just because they decide they don’t like, click with, or understand you as a person, or they personally find some attributes of yours irksome.”

“I mean, I feel you must always at least try to put a conscious effort into politely and tactfully dealing with even those you don’t jive well with or like much, I think. Especially because there will always be people you find yourself not being overly fond of, or who aren’t overly fond of you, there is just too much effort and negative energy to be put into going out of one’s way to not be civil towards others, at least initially.” 

“Also overly arrogant and condescending individuals, lord knows I’ve dealt with more than a fair share of those in my time, both in and out of  the realm of academia. Overly pretentious and critical individuals in general also. Though ... perhaps I have been too verbose and ranty in giving this answer, I do apologize. I ... I do tend to talk a lot, haha. In summation: just overly inconsiderate individuals in general.” 

11. Do you have any hobbies/activities that you like to do?

“Writing poetry at times, sketching, drawing, reading, occasionally engaging in mischievous antics, etc. ...” 

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

“Oh, I’m sure ... I mean, I have certainly gotten into disagreements and all that with people in the past, and in doing so the distressed, angry tone that I may have utilized in the heat of it all may have hurt some feelings in the past. And I’d almost always feel some sort of guilt afterwards, even if things wound up being patched up and resolved betwixt myself and the individual with whom I’d had the spat. Though it is never my intention to go out of my way to make anyone feel badly about themselves or hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“But if you meant physically, no I don’t think - ... Wait. Wait. That one time, when the Ginger Floof  Julian barged into the shop and scared the bejeezus out of me with his overly dramatic, villainous entrance, of course how could I so easily forget ...” However, she does avert her gaze to the ground in shame as she recalls the events of that fateful night. “Well ... I did hurt Julian that ... one time when I threw that glass bottle during the invasion that one night, but I ... I didn’t know who he was at the time, and I certainly had zero idea as to what his intentions were ... though that doesn’t mean I don’t still feel the occasional pang of guilt, especially when I specifically recall that graphic image of the blood pooling and dripping down his cheek as a result of the injury inflicted around his eye.”

A sad, remorseful look engulfs the apprentice’s face before she snaps out of the flashback. “Ah ... I do apologize, ehr ... next question, please.” 

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

“No. Though I’ve perhaps come close to doing so with my barrage of gods-awful puns” 

14. What kind of animal are you?

“I have been told by a few in the past that because of my more timid nature, I can be akin to a small rodent, like a mouse or a hamster, at times. Though my familiar is currently a wee baby call duckling who, though rather sweet and cute, can be quite the boisterous little stinker at times, which I’ve been told is apparently another side of me that is ‘unlocked’ once I get to know people and am coaxed out of my shell. So I guess it’s somewhat fitting in that sense, haha.” 

15. Name your worst habits?

“I tend to become distracted fairly easily, I reluctantly admit. Also, I ... I tend to allow my insecurities and anxieties take control and cause me to make decisions or act in ways that ultimately prove to be counterproductive. Also over analyzing things, people, and situations almost to the point of obsession, to the point where I find myself often skeptical and cynical of other’s motives and sincerity, allowing my insecurities and fears to hinder and inhibit me mentally and socially.” 

16. Do you look up to anyone?

“I look up to any individual who remains steadfast and dedicated to their cause or line of work, whether it be academic, scientific, humanitarian, etc. in nature, and shows a genuine interest in acquiring knowledge in their selected field of interest and applying that knowledge for the betterment of others. I admire anyone who has defined themselves and devoted their purpose to the likes of altruism, benevolence, and kindness. A certain auburn-haired, fugitive physician would be the quintessential example of this, along with his lovely and equally sweet sister.” 

“I also admire those who yet manage to be levelheaded and resolute in the face of adverse situations, those who seem to know how to improvise, adapt, and persist in the face of any given hardship, or who devote themselves to supporting and assisting others finding themselves in such situations. My father comes to mind.”

17. Are you straight, gay, or bisexual?

“I believe I’m straight ... Though these sorts of things have been said to not be entirely black and white, with it being a spectrum and all, so who can really say for sure?” 

18. Do you go to school?

“Been there, done that, haha.” 

19. Ever wanted to marry and have kids one day?

“I’ve never even really ... been in a relationship before, so I must admit that the thought of marriage has been a more distant one, and children even more so. One step at a time I guess? Ahahahaha ...” Sweat drop. 

“Though me, in any sort of relationship, with my awkward and anxious tendencies? Is that even possible” 

20. Do you have any fans?

“Why yes, I do as a matter of fact.~” And with that, she proceeds to whip out an intricately designed, vibrantly hued hand fan that Asra had brought her back from one of his previous travels. And yes, she knows very well that is not quite what the question meant. Something of a cheeky grin forms on her visage shortly after giving this response. 

21. What are you most afraid of?

“...Failure. My internalized insecurities and anxieties mentally obstructing my path and goals and clouding my vision and perception of the future. Not being good enough, ineptitude, then possibly dying after having ultimately accomplished little more than becoming carrion for the microbes and worms to feast upon. ... Wow, that definitely came out darker than I had initially intended, ehr ... sorry about that.” 

22. What do you usually wear?

“Ah, just the usual casual dresses, shirts, and pants, truthfully nothing fancy in the least.” 

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

“Ohh ... I’m sure there are a myriad of dishes that could be used to answer this, but if I had to settle on one? Pomegranate chicken, especially like my mother makes it, especially when coupled with this fizzy carbonated yogurt beverage that we have back home in Parzia ... you’d have to actually see and try it if you don’t know what I’m referring to, haha; it sounds a bit weird to those who didn’t grow up with it.” 

24. Am I annoying to you?

“Ah, no, not at all ... am I annoying to you? I do hope ... that I haven’t been overly loquacious or rambling in giving my answers? If so, my apologies.” 

25. Well, it’s still not over!

“Aha, great. Wait ... that wasn’t meant sardonically, I promise, a-apologies if it came out sounding like that. Please continue.” 

26. What social class are you?

“I’d say more of the middle class, perhaps more on the lower end. Though we know that in the eyes of a certain gilded and flamboyant noble, that we are all seen equally as commoners and peasants, haha.” 

27. How many friends do you have?

“Uh ... well, I definitely consider Mas- ... I mean Asra to be a kind companion and friend ... and then there is Julian, whose company I’ve come to be rather at ease with to the point of engaging in regular banter and teasing. Portia is positively delightful and lovely as well. The Devorak duo is a true blessing, seriously. Such sweet, benevolent siblings. Selasi is rather amiable too, and I’ve had many a pleasant conversation with him every time I venture out into the market. Nadia has always been kind and polite to me, though I am not too sure if she’d regard me as a ‘friend’ just yet ... And I don’t think Muriel likes me very much, unfortunately.” 

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“Aha, I’m not picky at all when it comes to saccharine treats, I pretty much think they’re all savory, cakes, pies, candies, etc. Though that doesn’t mean I indulge myself in them of course, haha. Certainly could do without anymore junk in the trunk” 

29. Favourite drink?

“Something known as the Parzian fizzy yogurt drink, basically exactly what the name says, plain yogurt mixed with carbonated water, with a pinch of salt and some mint to top it off.” 

30. What’s your favourite place?

“I don’t have one favorite place, to be honest ... Basically any place that is picturesque, serene, and allows me to pacify my nerves and be alone with my thoughts and away from the commotion of the general public, I guess. And I also must admit that the forbidden gardens in the abandoned courtyard that I visited with Julian that one time were quite lovely, I certainly wouldn’t mind revisiting that place.” 

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“Er ... W-well, I’m interested in a lot of people! Each and every individual has their own intriguing persona, a-after all ... Especially those towering, swaggering, cockily grinning types who tease yet become tomato-blushing, flustered messes the instant you give them even the smallest sample of their own medicine.” 

32. That was a stupid question…

“Ah, no, not really actually...” 

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“The lake, at least I’m less likely to be encountering any aquatic creatures bearing sharp teeth in a freshwater body as opposed to the saline, haha. Also already having to experience one type of “shark week” is more than enough.” 

34. What’s your type?

“Er ... Well, I guess just someone who’s kind, sincere, considerate, with a good sense of humor. Because honestly, even if someone is generally perceived as being ‘classically attractive’ or whatnot, it really matters little if their personality is unpleasant or lacking in general. To be honest, I really don’t have a specific ‘type’ so to speak...” 

35. Any fetishes?

Something of a dumbfounded expression appears on the apprentice’s face, though she is quick to vehemently shake her head. “What? Uhhh .... no? Not that I ... know of? No. Ahem, next question, if you please.” A crimson hue proceeds to engulf her cheeks. 

36. Camping or outdoors?

“Uhh ... wait, camping takes place outdoors? ... Unless you mean camping vs. just walking about and enjoying the outdoors in general, in which case I must say the latter. Just ... the thought of all sorts and species of creepy crawlies clambering over me while I’m trying to sleep in a tent would make camping the less preferable option.” 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tagging: @plague-doctor-jules​ @conceitedxglory​ @nevivorona​ @asrage​ @humortremors​ @caesiis​ @unlicensedmartyr​ @bluemoontm​ @mnemosys​ @bitters-enthusiast @strsha

Questions: 

1. What is your name?

2. Do you know why you’re named that?”

3. Are you single or taken?

4. Have any abilities or powers?

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

6. What’s your eye colour?

7. How about your hair colour?

8. Have any family members?

9. Oh! How about pets?

10. That’s cool, I guess, now tell me something you don’t like.

11. Do you have any hobbies/activities that you like to do?

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

14. What kind of animal are you?

15. Name your worst habits?

16. Do you look up to anyone?

17. Are you straight, gay, or bisexual?

18. Do you go to school?

19. Ever wanted to marry and have kids one day?

20. Do you have any fans?

21. What are you most afraid of?

22. What do you usually wear?

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

24. Am I annoying to you?

25. Well, it’s still not over!

26. What social class are you?

27. How many friends do you have?

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

29. Favourite drink?

30. What’s your favourite place?

31. Are you interested in anyone?

32. That was a stupid question…

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

34. What’s your type?

35. Any fetishes?

36. Camping or outdoors?

[cedarmoons]

written for my fic trade with @4biddenleeches,​ featuring Julian and her apprentice Aredhel! references events from her awesome one foot in the grave fic, but you don’t have to read that to enjoy this! vaguely nsfw esp at the end.

*

Once, Julian had not thought himself a particularly lucky man. He still remembers that night he’d broken into her shop, and she had presented him with Death’s sickle-shaped grin. But in the year that she has been with him—him! of all the people she could have chosen to love, she chose him, not once but twice, even knowing what he has done, to other nameless innocents, to her—he knows one truth:

Not even Fortuna herself could find another man luckier on the whole of the wide, wide earth.

Their visit to Vesuvia will be short—a break from their constant travels, to reacquaint with old friends and family, to allow themselves a plan for where they wish to travel next. They have sailed to the archipelago of Aransia; crossed to the wooded fjords of Hjallnir and its shining city built in the center of a mountain lake; traversed the desert of Nopal to Drakr, that verdant paradise where she had whispered of perhaps, one day, making a home.

(And oh, how badly he wants that—a home, nestled in the mountains, perhaps, with a well he could draw fresh water from while she leaned out the window of their bedroom and called out to him—)

But as Julian stands on the deck of the ship that is taking them into Vesuvia, his eyes on the horizon—red, he sees, and his mouth curls into a smile. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Surely, a sign, an omen of good fortune: the second time in two years he has returned to Vesuvia, yet this feels like a welcome home. He is not a hunted fugitive convinced of his own inevitable death, but a man in love, a man with a future.

(A future with her: he should have known, he thinks, even with his missing memories, that his twisting paths would have only led him back to her.)

A true year they will have been together, in one week’s time. A year since he had broken into her apothecary a second time, seeking Asra for answers yet again. Asra had not been there—but she had. She had, and that night his life had changed and his luck had turned.

He doesn’t want the day to pass without... some sort of celebration. Some way to mark this milestone, this anniversary (and how short, how inconsequential this one year would be, compared to the years, decades, he hopes to spend with her—a lifetime!).

He thinks of the apothecary’s rooftop garden. He had held her there, with Asra, watching the dawn until she’d been lulled to sleep in their embrace. There are other places, but it... it could be poetic, he thinks. To celebrate the year they’ve shared in the same place they spent what they thought would be her last night. Underneath the hawthorne tree, maybe. A warm blanket underneath her, to block the chill of the rooftop; candles to light the darkness, and rose petals—ah, were rose petals too much?

It matters not, a voice whispers. She will love it anyway, because it comes from me.

Once that thought would not have come with such surety. Now, the certainty brings him comfort, and curves the corners of his mouth into a wistful smile as Vesuvia breaks the horizon, a skyline against the sea.

He would plan the rest of the day, of course. But it would end with a dinner under the hawthorne tree, and he would lay her down and love her, an amendment to the promise he’d made all those years ago (I will lay you down in golden fields; we will rumple the grain as I make love to you); the sky will not be blue, but indigo, and sprinkled through with diamond-glittering stars. Their tapestry is barely woven, barely begun—he wants to add another memory to what is theirs (a thousand memories; a hundred thousand), like a weaver introduces another color and make the design all the more brilliant for it.

Vesuvia approaches; smiling (for there is a red sky at morning, and Fortuna is always smiling upon him these days), he turns and goes belowdeck, returning to her side.

*

They catch Asra the day before he’s to leave for a journey north. He’s glad to see them—dines with them and Nadia in the palace—and freely hands Julian a key to the apothecary, after Julian has pulled him aside and asked for permission to stay there.

“And where are you off to, then?” Julian asks with a sly smile, pocketing the key. “Scaling the Blood Mountain? Pub crawl from here to Prakra? You know, if you do want recommendations, my favorite one is right between Drakr and Hjallnir, it’s—”

Asra shakes his head, cutting Julian off. “Ah, no. I’m spending a week with someone in Nopal.” He half-smiles, and oh, Julian knows that look.

“Oh-ho, someone, he says,” Julian says, waggling his eyebrows dramatically. Though Asra rolls his eyes, he laughs, color rising in his cheeks.

“You don’t know her,” he replies, clasping Julian on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to dinner?”

Julian nods, letting it go, though his curiosity still has its tenterhooks buried in his chest. He would hold his tongue, for now, but the day Asra departs for Nopal Julian knows he will be on Portia’s doorstep—ah, no, Nadia would be more likely to know the truth—he will be at the palace doorstep, asking Nadia if she knows anything.

*

(It turns out Nadia keeps Asra’s secrets as well as Asra himself does—Julian gets nothing from her, other than a slight, warm smile.)

*

He is meticulous in his preparations when that joyous day comes; Aredhel spends the morning with Portia and Mazelinka, both claiming her on pretense (or convenient excuse) of completing errands that absolutely require her assistance. He uses that time to check the rooftop garden, just to make sure it isn’t dead—it isn’t—to buy fresh bread and fruit, and roses and rose petals from the florist. He also buys the ingredients for a meal Mazelinka has made for them countless times. Can’t quite remember the name of it, but Aredhel had always enjoyed it immensely.

Mazelinka is the one who comes by the shop that afternoon, to find Julian standing in Asra’s kitchen, staring helplessly at the counter, where the ingredients are arranged in a semi-circle without rhyme or reason. 

“I don’t know what her favorite meal is,” he says, staring at the ingredients. “We’ve known each other for years. She’s the love of my life. But I don’t—oh, God, I don’t know what her favorite meal is! She knows mine, why haven’t I asked—” His eyes widen and he spins around, gaping at Mazelinka. “I don’t even know her favorite color!”

“Ilya,” Mazelinka says, arching an eyebrow as she perches her hands on her hips. Ilya steps aside, sheepish, as she walks up to the counter, eyeing the ingredients with a critical eye. He watches her take a pinch of the basil he’d put in a small wooden bowl and lick it, grimacing soon afterwards. “Pah. Expired.”

She tsks, slipping a wooden spoon from an earthenware jar holding utensils as well as tithonia blooms. “Aredhel is on her way here,” she says. “You will take her out to that play you bought seats to see, and I will handle the dinner.”

Ilya’s shoulders slump. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Of course I know that,” Mazelinka scoffs. “But you are hopeless at cooking, and you have not spent one minute with Aredhel. I haven’t seen you since that whole business with Lucio ended—and thank Hashem you took care of that nasty Count. We’re all better off without him. This will be my treat, if you come to Shabbos dinner with me and Portia on Saturday. It’s been too long, my boy.”

“Of course,” Julian says, bending down to kiss the top of her head. “Aredhel can come?”

“Da konesho, what kind of question is that? How many Shabbos dinners has she been to? Bah. Too many to count.”

Julian grins, despite himself. “Just making sure.”

He hears the door open downstairs, and Portia and Aredhel’s voices, lost in the blur of conversation. He hurries down the stairs, nearly skipping, and looks up just long enough to see Portia is carrying a basket, and Aredhel’s hands are free —and then the space is crossed, and his hands are on her hips, lifting her up and spinning her in a circle. 

Aredhel smiles at him when he sets her down, steadying herself with a laugh.

Once he had, only half in jest, called the two of them the Hanged Man and his undead bride. Yet here, having spent the morning in the warmth of the day, she is life incarnate, cheeks tinged red (not with fever, no, only exertion from the day!) and sunlight caught in her hair. Her green dress and her flaxen hair—she is spring, summer, Flora and Pomona, and he is but a (newly) mortal man in love.

He tucks her hand into his arm. “And what angel have you brought into this home, Pasha?” he asks, grinning. He tears his gaze from Aredhel to Portia, who is carrying a basket, and springs forward, gently taking the basket into his own arms. “One moment, I’ll be back!”

He deposits the basket on Asra’s dining table. Mazelinka, already rifling through the cabinets, does naught but raise her wooden spoon in acknowledgement—and then Julian is back downstairs, tucking Aredhel’s hand into his arm once again. Portia clasps her hands together and gives him a fond, long-suffering look. He shrugs, unapologetic.

Let him shout his love from the rooftops. Let the whole world know how much he loves Aredhel Mooney.

“Ilya,” Aredhel says, laughing, “what’s the rush?”

“What’s the rush?” Julian asks, arching an eyebrow and smiling as he reaches into his coat pocket, withdrawing two tickets printed on orange paper. “Why, we have a show in half an hour, and the Countess herself has been gracious enough to loan us her box. The production was a personal recommendation of hers.”

“Oh? What’s it about?” Aredhel says. Portia, smiling, goes upstairs. Aredhel looks after her, but doesn’t move to follow her. Instead she refocuses on Ilya, and he grins at her.

“A tragedy about two lovers in fair Verona,” Julian tells her. “Sounds right up our alley.” He pauses, that old anxiety rearing its ugly, ugly head. “If you’re interested, of course. If not, why, there’s a thousand other things to do in this city, did you hear Nadia tore down the Coliseum—”

“Ilya,” Aredhel interrupts, kindly, and Julian closes his mouth, offering a sheepish smile. Aredhel smiles back and lifts herself up, kissing him hungrily enough that he ends up gripping her hips and holding her flush against him, until he remembers that Mazelinka and Pasha are upstairs and he abruptly breaks the kiss.

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat, averting his eyes and ignoring the blush suffusing his cheeks. Aredhel’s laugh is husky and rasping, and he squeezes her hand. “To the theater, then! Allons-y, chérie!”

*

It’s dark by the time they exit the theater, hand-in-hand. Julian knows he should be talking about the play, asking her what she’d thought, but all he can think of is the heat of her hand.

Which she had rested on his upper thigh for the entirety of the play.

She had done no more than that—no, no more than an occasional coy smile in his direction whenever he’d shifted, or cleared his throat, or tried to distract himself from her hand’s proximity—but it had been enough to... divert his attention from the play. He wants to hurry back to the shop, get her onto the roof where they could be alone and he could do his part to rid the rooftop of its negative memories—he could reach under her skirt, and his hands would find naught but bare skin and the promise of pleasure.

“—Ilya?”

“Ah, apologies, my dear,” Julian says, offering her a shameless smile. “I found myself too taken with your beauty—what did you say?”

Aredhel rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless, lifting their intertwined hands to kiss the back of his hand. His breath catches and his grin deepens. “Why, ’Red, you’re a romantic!”

“You knew that already,” she accuses, playfully.

“Ah, but the play, the play has dragged that particular secret from its hiding place,” Julian says, gesturing dramatically toward the night sky, sprinkled through with stars. Strings of lanterns between the street hang over their heads. Not a single house is marked with indigo and black drapings. Not a single one of these families—not a one!—have lost someone to the plague.

What’s a plague doctor with no plague? he’d once asked. He’d thought himself purposeless, drifting, a wreck and a lost cause of a man. How blessedly wrong he’d been—how thankful he is now to see it.

The moon is heavy and full in the sky, and Julian is invigorated, heartened, joyous. It makes him throw his head back, beaming at the night sky and the lanterns that block off globe-shaped spaces of it. “Look! The moon knows the truth! Only she, and me.”

“And will you keep this secret?” Aredhel asks, eyes glittering. She’s playing along, and that only encourages him. “Will the moon?”

“Why, the moon has her own secrets,” Julian says, “it’s why she disappears each month. She can be trusted. As for me... well.” His smile softens, and he looks down at her, pressing a hand over his heart. “I will keep your secrets. This I do swear...” he arches an eyebrow, grinning, “’til my second dying breath.”

They reach the shop, after devolving into a conversation about the play itself; Aredhel unlocks it with a fluid gesture and pulls him inside, snickering at Julian’s dramatic renditions of Mercutio’s death scene. A plague o’ both your houses!

“You did community theater, didn’t you?” she asks, closing the door behind him.

Julian smirks. “What gave it—mm—”

She kisses him, pressed hard against the door, hands already working at the buttons of his coat. He hears his breath hitch and his head thuds against the wood as he helps her rid him of his coat, leaving it to puddle on the floor around his boots. His hands roam her body, and he can’t help but picture—

Aredhel laid out on the blanket on the roof, underneath the stars. His bare hand on her bare thigh. Her face, twisted in pleasure.

His cock twitches in interest, and he groans, pulling her closer, seeking out her mouth hungrily. Aredhel is in the middle of sucking a bruise into his neck, right where he likes it (where she knows he likes it), when her stomach growls and they both stop.

“Erm,” Julian says, blushing, “right. I had something for that.”

“I hadn’t even noticed, really.” To her credit, she doesn’t look embarrassed—and truly, it is he who should be embarrassed; he had planned everything except the meal. And he had told Portia about his plan for a rooftop dinner, but had she told Mazelinka—wait, had he really told Portia, he wasn’t sure, had the dinner been waiting in the kitchen all this time?—stop.

“Well, let’s get that taken care of, anyway,” Julian says.

He leads her upstairs, and there, the hatch already open—the ladder up which he had carried her, with Asra’s help. 

Aredhel stops. When he looks back at her still, unreadable expression, he suddenly remembers what had been a vague thought at the back of his mind, utterly banished when she had placed her hand upon his thigh.

“You sit there,” he says, gesturing to a seat at the kitchen table. “I have to—I’d planned to—I wanted a dinner on the roof. Is that all right, love?”

He doesn’t like the look on her face. He doesn’t know if she’s been up on the roof since that night he’d carried her up to watch the dawn, but if she hasn’t... he can’t blame her, if she now thought of that night as a bad memory. (Though he doesn’t, not quite: this is such happiness, she’d sighed, between the two of you.

Fortuna had been kind, not stealing her away from him that night.)

But the stillness eases, and Aredhel nods, sitting in the kitchen chair and watching him with a faint, amused smile. “Go on, then,” she teases, flicking her fingertips at him. Julian kisses the top of her head and clambers upstairs.

The food—still warm, oddly enough—is set on the blanket he’d draped over the platform under the tree, which has a hole in it that he doesn’t remember from four years ago. Anchoring the blanket is a clear vase full of fresh roses, a bottle of wine, votive candles, and the bag of rose petals he’d bought specially. 

The food is still warm; he spends time carefully dishing it out, placing a plate at each side of the blanket, giving them a not-too-bad view of the rest of the city. He lights the candles and uncorks the wine, but leaves it unpoured. He sprinkles the rose petals over the blanket, feeling foolish and also giddy for indulging this whim (why, Ilya, you’re a romantic!).

When he returns to Aredhel, he has only one request for her: that she close her eyes.

This she does willingly enough, though she wobbles on the ladder. He steadies her, of course, and once she is on the rooftop and led by the hand to the platform, he tells her to open her eyes. She does, and her breath catches. 

“One year ago today,” Julian says, “I broke into your shop and you threw a bottle of petrified leeches at me, which, strangely enough, was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His debonair grin fades and he looks down, swallowing as he feels his cheeks heat. “I wanted... I wanted to show you, erm, how. How important you are to me. How grateful I am that we got a second chance.”

Aredhel’s eyes are wet. Julian sits, reaching out for her, and instead of sitting beside him she straddles him. “In more ways than one,” she says, thumb brushing the apple of his throat. Julian swallows, and he feels her thumb press against his skin.

“In more ways than one,” he agrees.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says, fiercely, eyes bright in the darkness. The hand on his throat curves around, fingers tangling in his hair, and before he can stutter out a reply she’s kissing him, somehow hungrier than before. Her weight rocks forward, and he leans back on his elbow, one hand curving around her waist to cup the swell of her ass, helping her rock slowly against him as he moans into her mouth.

“Ah,” he rasps, when they break apart, “’Red, don’t you want—”

“You,” she interrupts, and oh, his mouth dries at that gleam in her eyes. He nods, glancing behind him once to look at the blanket behind him. He pushes the plate of food away and sweeps his hand out, at the same time the wind turns the flame toward his sleeve—

“Oh, fuck—”

He panics, slightly, flapping his arm in an effort to put out the flame that’s caught on his shirt. Behind him, Aredhel is laughing, and the flame jumps from his shirtsleeve to the blanket. Julian manages to put out the fire, but not before it eats the laced cuff of his shirt and a few holes in the blanket, as well as a single rose petal.

“Well,” Julian says, “that could’ve gone better.”

Aredhel’s still laughing.

His nostrils sting with smoke from a recently extinguished flame, and Julian blows out the nearest votive candle, setting it aside before looking at Aredhel. She takes his arm, exposing the pink burn on his skin, the pain of which hasn’t quite sunken in yet for all that he can smell his singed hairs. 

With her kiss, she heals him.

(Quite fitting, really.)

“You don’t have your mark anymore,” she says, gently scolding though her eyes glitter with mirth. “You have to be more careful, Ilya.”

Ilya grins, arching an eyebrow. “Do I? Whyever would I do that when I have you to take care of me, my dear?”

Her eyes narrow, playfully. Shaking her head, she kisses him again and lays him down, and there is no one to witness their lovemaking under the stars—none except themselves, and the moon.

[mojavejourneys]

Seeing as @catastrotaffy linked to an OC template, I’m going to use it to do a full bio on my main OC Maxie XD

Under a cut because loooong XD

BASIC INFORMATION Full name: Colonel Maximilian Ji-yeong Tanaka Nickname(s) or Alias: Maxie, The Deathclaw Whisperer, Courier Six (formerly), Sassmaster (commonly), Giant scaly kitty (to Matsu) Gender: Cis male Species: Human-Deathclaw hybrid Age: 35 (biologically), 232 (chronologically) Birthday: 17th October 2055 Sexuality: Bisexual with a preference for men. Nationality: South Korean/American/French Religion: None City or town of birth: Paris, France Currently lives: Sanctuary, The Commonwealth Languages spoken: English, Korean, French, Japanese Native language: English Relationship Status: Happily taken by General Matsubusa “Matsu” Tanaka ( @redrocketwarrior‘s Sole) PHYSICAL APPEARANCE Height: 6′0″ (182.88cm) Weight: 237lbs (107.5kg) Figure/build: Rather strong/heavy build, somewhat muscular figure. Hair colour: Deep red Hairstyle: Long (shoulder-length), kept in some form of unkempt cut with a slight messy fringe. Facial Hairstyle: Neatly trimmed soul patch on his chin but tends to have some stubble. Eye colour: Left eye is bright green, right eye is yellow-gold and Deathclaw-like. Skin/fur/etc colour: Olive skin on the left side of his body, while the left side has red-brown scales like those of an alpha Deathclaw. Tattoos: One black tribal-style tattoo on his left shoulder, upper arm and pectoral, and a tattoo of a calico maneki-neko on his left side. Piercings: Several piercings in his ears (three in each lobe, three in his right helix), a Jacob’s Ladder piercing and nipple piercings. He has plans to get more. Scars/distinguishing marks: Lines of scars on his face from where he was clawed in the face, a depression and heavy scarring on the left side of his head, many scars and clawmarks on his body, laser burn scar on his right ankle. Very easily distinguishable by the scaly skin on his right side, large wings and heavy Deathclaw-like tail. Preferred style of clothing: Leather armour. Frequently worn jewellery/accessories: Piercing jewellery and a gold ring on his left ring finger. HEALTH Smoker? Occasional. Drinker? Used to be but he’s trying not to drink. Recreational Drug User? Which? He used to do a lot of Jet. Addictions: Jet, alcohol (but trying to recover) Allergies: Mild contact allergies with some adhesives. Any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: Asthma that has been exacerbated by various things, chronic migraines, can have a bit of a limp in his right leg on overexertion at times.  Any medication regularly taken: Asthma medication, some drugs to help him sleep, various things to curb his addiction urges. PERSONALITY Personality: Very confident, rather outgoing with a sassy streak. Also can be rather sarcastic and joking at times. Likes: Tinkering, being with Matsu, cats, modding guns, Nuka-Cherry, Preston Garvey, Strurges, Magnolia, cooking Dislikes: Raiders, Gunners, The Institute, The Brotherhood of Steel, people who kill Deathclaws for fun, people who would harm animals, medical rooms Fears/phobias: Vaults, science labs, very cold places, dying alone, losing those he loves Favourite colour: Black and red Hobbies: Modifying guns, making cat toys, cooking Taste in music: Likes most things except country music. SKILLS Talents/skills: Very good at cooking, proficient in tinkering and modifying weapons, is also good at bartering Ability to drive a car? Operate any other vehicles? He can’t drive a car but he can ride a motorcycle. EATING HABITS Omnivore/Carnivore/Herbivore (Vegetarian): Omnivorous but with more carnivorous inclinations due to being part-Deathclaw. Favourite food(s): Anything Matsu cooks, radstag steak, glazed meats. Favourite drink(s): Nuka-Cola (especially Nuka-Cherry). Disliked food(s): Stingwing and bloatfly meat, tatos that haven’t been seasoned right. Disliked drink(s): Sunset Sarsaparilla (he finds it too sweet for his tastes) HOUSE AND HOME Describe the character's house/home: Small but very cosy. Has a nice sitting area and kitchen, and with a decent sizzed bedroom and bathroom upstairs. Do they share their home with anyone? Who? He shares it with Matsu. Significant/special belongings: His personal .44 Magnum which has been heavily modded, the many gifts he’s received from Matsu. CAREER Description: He currently works as the Colonel of the Minutemen, working towards making a better Commonwealth for all. COMBAT Peaceful or aggressive attitude? Peaceful. He only starts fights if he needs to. Fighting skills/techniques: Medium to long range combat with guns, preferring his .44 Magnum close up and a modded gauss rifle at longer range. Can close in with claws up close. Special skills/magical powers/etc: He’s surprisingly good at landing headshots. Weapon of choice (if any): His own personal .44 Magnum Weaknesses in combat: Tires quickly if he has to pursue an enemy, doesn’t fight too well up close and personal. Can sometimes lose focus if his pain flares up. Strengths in combat: Patient, good with guns, can take a leader role if he’s directing a group. FAMILY, FRIENDS AND FOES Parents names: Julian (Ju-yun) Stark, Nicole Collard (both deceased) Partner/Spouse: General Matsubusa “Matsu” Tanaka Children: His cats Best Friend: Preston Garvey Other Important Friends: Nick Valentine, Sturges, Ronnie Shaw Acquaintances: Many people he met at Freeside and The Strip, the people he’s met around the Commonwealth Pets: 30 or so cats, Dogmeat, a nightstriker named Borous Enemies? Why are they enemies? Natalia Romanova (A mercenary that Maxie got caught up with after she was hired to put an end to him), Caesar (He hates the Legion and what they stand for), various raider groups BACKSTORY Summary: Maxie was born in Paris and lived there for four years before moving to America with his father.

When he was 16 he was caught in an extreme sports accident that left him practically paralysed from the neck down and he was undergoing treatment for this up until near to October 2077, when reports of nuclear war emerged. On the 18th of October, he was sent to Vault 198 in preparation before the bombs fell on the 23rd.

While in Vault 198 he underwent an FEV treatment regime and cryostasis which transformed him into a half-Deathclaw, half-human being, which had the added side-effect of repairing the damage that had caused his paralysis to a degree.

He escaped Vault 198 nearly 200 years later and emerged in a devastated world. He travelled to Nevada and worked as a courier for the Mojave Express for some time, until one fateful delivery in 2281 left him shot in the head and left for dead.

He was rescued and taken to Goodsprings and was intending to track down the man who shot him, but still did occasional courier work.

One delivery took him up to the Commonwealth and that’s where he met Matsu. The delivery was done but he didn’t leave yet due to Matsu’s kindness and the fact that the people of the Commonwealth were far less abrasive.

When he did eventually return, it was one final return to pick up what stuff he’d left and to settle the score with Benny. He had intended to return the bullet but a change in Benny’s demeanour meant that he spared the man and left him to fight for an independent New Vegas with Yes Man while he returned to the Commonwealth, taking the people of Goodsprings with him after fending off yet another Powder Ganger attack.

He is now happily living as the life partner of Matsu in Sanctuary with his cats and the new friends he’s made along the way.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HERE'S WHAT I JUST REALIZED ABOUT A

Good programmers often want to be doctors than who want to meet him. But I think they pay more because the company would go out of business and the people would be dispersed.1 The phrase seemed almost grammatically ill-formed. We started Viaweb with $10,000 in seed money from our friend Julian.2 The surprising thing about throwaway programs is that, like the temporary buildings built at so many American universities during World War II, they often don't get thrown away. That's what makes sex and drugs so dangerous. When you're launching planes they have to be trimmed properly; the engines have to be at full power; the pilot has to be the series A stage. Which means if it becomes the norm for founders to retain board control after a series A is clearly heard-of. The use of credentials was an attempt to axiomatize computation.3 When you're deciding what to do.

This is too big a problem to solve. Hackers share the surgeon's secret pleasure in popping zits.4 But the two phenomena rapidly fused to produce a principle that now seems obvious: paying energetic young people market rates, and getting correspondingly high performance from them.5 I can't draw.6 How would you do it? Why haven't we just been measuring actual performance? In the earliest stage, because that's where the money is. Misleading the child is just a series of web pages. Think about where credentialism first appeared: in selecting candidates for large organizations. And once you apply that kind of thing for fun. Most smart people don't do that very well.

I learned it hadn't been so neat, and the problem now seems to be fixed. It was small and powerful and cheap, as promised. Why haven't we just been measuring actual performance?7 As a lower bound, you have to do the unpleasant jobs. But all it would have taken in the beginning would have been for two Google employees to focus on the wrong things for six months, and the reactions that spread from person to person in an audience are always affected by the reactions of those around them, and the PR campaign surrounding the launch has the side effect of making them celebrities. Others are more candid, and admit their financial models require them to own a certain percentage of each company. One way to describe this situation is to say that you despised your job, but a return. Till now we'd been planning to use If you can read this, I should be working. I've been able to undo a lie I was told, a lot of propaganda gets slipped into the curriculum in the name of simplification.8 So most hackers will tend to use whatever language they were first written in, because it's painful to observe the gap between them. I were a better speaker. After all, pregnancy and sexually transmitted diseases.

My grandmother told us an edited version of the change I'm seeing.9 When you scale animals you can't just keep everything in proportion. I believe they conceal because of deep taboos. But I don't think the bank manager really did. The trick of maximizing the parts of your job that you like can get you from architecture to product design, but not like it used to. The very idea is foreign to what most of us, it's not that inaccurate to regard VCs as sources of money.10 They're all competing for a slice of a fixed amount of deal flow, by encouraging hackers who would have gotten jobs to start their own startups instead.11

So if you're going to clear these lies out of your head, you're going to be slightly influenced by prestige, so if the two seem equal to you, you probably have more genuine admiration for the less prestigious one.12 They just don't want to be optimistic and skeptical about two different things. Maybe this would have been for two Google employees to focus on first, we try to figure that out.13 For millennia that was the canonical example of a job someone had to do was roll forward along the railroad tracks of destiny.14 Then the important question became not how to make money that you can't do it by accident.15 When we were kids I used to think I wanted to know everything. They want to feel safe, and death is the ultimate threat. They may have to be optimistic about the possibility of solving the problem, but skeptical about the value of the work they'd done. But we all know the amounts being raised in series A rounds creep inexorably downward. I usually write it out beforehand. We compete more with employers than VCs.16

Java. They go to school, which was dictated largely by the hardware available in the late 1950s. That's what board control means in practice. When my father was working at Westinghouse in the 1970s, he had people working for him who made more than he did, because they'd been there longer. I read it, and look bold. To do something well you have to make it something that they themselves use. We can get rid of or make optional a lot of propaganda gets slipped into the curriculum in the name of simplification. Children of kings and great magnates were the first to grow up in. At the moment I'd almost say that a hacker about to write a profiler that would automatically detect inefficient algorithms.

I remember because it was so surprising to hear someone say that in front of a class. What popularity it retains dates back to the 1960s and 1970s, when it was the scripting language of a popular system. The organic growth guys, sitting in their garage, feel poor and unloved. She said they'd been sitting reading one day, and when you're delivering a prewritten talk makes it harder to engage with an audience. We started Viaweb with $10,000 in seed money from our friend Julian. But I am daily waiting for the line to collapse. When a man runs off with his secretary, is it always partly his wife's fault? It's also wise, early on, when they're trying to find the function you need than to write the code yourself.

Notes

Content is information you don't even want to learn to acknowledge it.

The dialog on Beavis and Butthead was composed largely of these people never come face to face with the founders' advantage if it were Can you pass the salt? Actually Emerson never mentioned mousetraps specifically. You have to factor out some knowledge.

If you want to. When you get a false positive, this thought experiment: If you have a cover price and yet give away free subscriptions with such abandon. This is why I haven't released Arc. They also generally say they prefer great markets to great people.

If it's 90%, you'd ultimately be hurting yourself, but unfortunately not true. It shouldn't be too conspicuous. All you need to know exactly how a lot, or at least wouldn't be worth starting one that did. And yet there is some kind of intensity and dedication from programmers that they function as the average startup.

No one seems to have balked at this, but it's hard to say that education in the belief that they'll be able to raise money? The CRM114 Discriminator. 03%. But the change is a lot more frightening in those days, and so effective that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality, but delusion strikes a step later in the absence of objective tests.

We often discuss revenue growth, it's easy to get to college, they only like the United States, have several more meetings with you to believing in natural selection in the few cases where VCs don't invest, regardless of how to deal with slaps, but most neighborhoods successfully resisted them.

For example, the best new startups. Give the founders realized. You may be the next uptick after that, founders will usually take one of the former, because some schools work hard to predict precisely what would happen to their software that was a company tried to pay out their earnings in dividends, and when I became an employer, I put it this way probably should.

A YC partner wrote: After the war, tax receipts have stayed close to the problem and approached it with the exception of the Industrial Revolution was one firm that wanted to than because they had in grad school, secretly write your thoughts down in, but Joshua Schachter tells me it was more because they are to be the least correlation between launch magnitude and success.

This is a well-preserved 1989 Lincoln Town Car ten-passenger limousine 5, they may prefer to work with me there. But if they want to see artifacts from it, but this would be more like Silicon Valley like the Segway and Google Wave. I'm just going to call all our lies lies. As the art itself gets more random, they thought at least for the sledgehammer; if anything they could imagine needing in their early twenties compressed into the shape of the leading scholars in the last step is to use to calibrate the weighting of the junk bond business by doing another round that values the company they're buying.

Whereas there is money. His best bet would probably also encourage companies to acquire you. The wartime versions were much more fun than he'd had an opportunity to invest in so many trade publications nominally have a notebook to write and deals longer to write a new version from which they don't make wealth a zero-sum game. We often discuss revenue growth with the amount—maybe not linearly, but it wasn't.

That name got assigned to it because the processing power you can discriminate on any basis you want to start a startup to become dictator and intimidate the NBA into letting you write software in Lisp, though sloppier language than I'd use to develop server-based applications. I mean type I startups. And especially about what was happening on Dallas, and they have wings and start to rise again.

Did you know whether this happens because they're innumerate, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris wrote the recommendations. After a while to avoid companies that can't reasonably expect to make up the same investor to do video on-demand, because a unless your initial investors agreed in advance that you're talking to a VC. And the expertise and connections the founders are willing to provide this service, this phenomenon is apparently even worse in the process of trying to enter the software business, and they were only partly joking.

Bankers continued to live inexpensively as their companies. Instead of bubbling up from the CIA runs a venture fund called In-Q-Tel that is largely true, because any invention has a power law dropoff, but we are not mutually exclusive. Xenophon Mem. At the time required to switch the operating system so much that anyone wants to invest in it.

It's hard to compete directly with open source project, but those don't scale is to try your site.

The best one could aspire to the extent this means anything, it would be to write about the idea.

They did better than their competitors, who had it used to say that it makes sense to exclude outliers from some types of studies, studies of returns from startup investing, but for a sufficiently long time. I got it wrong in How to Make Wealth when I switch in mid-twenties the people working for large settlements earlier, but the meretriciousness of the 23 patterns in Design Patterns were invisible or simpler in Lisp. And while we have to make Europe more entrepreneurial and more pervasive though.

[takadasaiko]

Demons at the Door: Chapter Seven

FFN II AO3

Summary: The Keens, Reddington and Dembe, and most of the Task Force attend a funeral.

Chapter Seven: Dearly Departed

It was more of a ceremony than a funeral, and even that was dangerous with the way things stood. The formal inquiry may have been upended when Ressler had sacrificed the evidence that he and Reddington had uncovered about Reven Wright's murder and Laurel Hitchin had shut it down with a wave of her hand, the power of the White House and the Cabal combined. Though after everything Liz wasn't sure where one started and the other ended at times sometimes.

Just because the formal inquiry had been disbanded, just because Aram had been released and cleared, and just because - at least for the moment - the Task Force stood as free men and women to continue the work that they'd put their very souls into for the last four, bordering on five, years didn't mean that Julian Gale was backing down. His presence still lingered, looming like a shadow with his eighty-six bodies and the determination of a wolf that had latched onto its prey. Cynthia Panabaker had dropped by the Post Office to tell Cooper that she wasn't sure how they'd managed it - and that she didn't want to know - but that they needed to watch their steps. They did good work, but this wasn't over, and she couldn't - or wouldn't - protect them. Liz was more inclined to think the latter was more accurate.

If Reddington had had an actual funeral for Baz, she wasn't certain. She imagined that there had been something private. Very private, as most of his closer allies were either also dead, in jail, or just gone. He'd mentioned that Brimley had bowed out after nearly two decades of working with him, and she knew that Kate had done a number on his organization. Illiquid had been the term he'd used, but broke seemed more applicable, especially when she saw him that morning.

Liz held onto Tom's arm, mentally cursing the heels in the soft grass as they sank down and threatened to throw her off balance. She caught sight of the man she'd only recently confirmed was her father. He stood at the top of the hill under a tree, his hat in his hands, and Dembe stood with him.

"Agent Keen. Tom," a voice called in a hushed sort of tone and she turned, spotting Aram waving awkwardly, Samar walking with him.

"Hey. I didn't know you were going to make it. Either of you," Liz said, quickly adding, "but it's good to see you."

"I didn't know him well, but Baz seemed like a good man," Samar offered. Her dark eyes flickered to Tom. "I see you made it home."

"I did. To stay."

"Is that good or bad?"

His thin lips pressed together. "It's complicated."

"Did you meet Baz, Aram?" Liz asked, changing the subject as quickly as she could off of her husband's stressful family situation. They had enough on their shoulders that morning without Howard, Scottie, and Halcyon being brought into the conversation.

"I did," Aram answered, "when you were, uh, well when we were trying to clear your name. He was helping Mr Reddington and Mr…. Kaplan." He half swallowed Kate Kaplan's name, his expression a bit startled as if he hadn't caught himself until after he'd already mentioned her. He swallowed hard. "When we were setting everything up to help clear your name," he amended quickly.

A short, awkward silence fell over the group of four people and after a moment Samar cleared her throat. "We shouldn't keep Reddington waiting."

Aram mumbled something under his breath, stumbling over the words, and if Liz didn't know better she would have thought he offered his arm to Samar for the hill. She turned an amused look on him, as if there was some secret between them that Liz and Tom were not privy to, and said that she was fine to make it up without help. She'd actually worn heels that didn't dig deep into the grass as she walked, unlike Liz's, and the shorter woman was tempted to just tug hers off and scale the small hill barefooted.

"So how long has that been going on?" Tom asked very quietly as Samar and Aram inched just a little bit ahead.

"What?"

"Those two? I thought Aram was dating what's her name that worked for the Thrushes."

Liz blinked owlishly at him. "I think that ended when she gave his name up to the investigation, but… I don't think…" She watched her two friends and the way that they were speaking quietly to each other as they walked. It was subtle. Very subtle, but there was a difference. It was one that had crept up quietly and she hoped that that was the reason Tom had picked up on it when she hadn't. Being away for a while and coming back in reset perspective in many cases. If that wasn't it, then she was losing her edge, and that wouldn't do her any good at all.

"You work with them," he murmured, as if reading her mind. "You've always had some trouble with people you're close to."

She elbowed him a little harder than she meant to, pulling a soft oomf from him and she gave him a look that she thought was probably somewhere halfway between an apology and a teasing smile at him for it. He wasn't wrong, but that didn't mean she had to agree outright with it.

Donald Ressler was approaching from the opposite side, sullen and grim looking even for the situation they found themselves in. Liz was a little surprised to see him at all. He'd kept to himself the last several days, and she assumed that he'd been taking the time to come to terms with the new line he'd crossed to protect the Task Force. She knew it'd been a big step for him, but she also knew how hard it had been. She had done her best not to push, letting him know that if he needed to talk, she was there, but he'd waved it off every time. She had thought that he would have stayed home for this, but despite his best efforts she thought that there was a respect that Ressler had developed for Reddington over the years that the Task Force had worked with him and that that was what drew him there that morning. He still loathed his methods, but Ressler was under no disillusionment that they would have been able to save many people as they had if they hadn't had Reddington's help.

She offered him a tight smile and he nodded in return, not even managing that much.

Liz pulled in a deep breath, satisfied when Aram moved immediately to their fair haired friend and dragged him into the conversation. She finally released her husband's arm. "Give me a minute?"

"Take your time," he answered softly and started over towards their daughter's godparents.

She pulled in a deep breath, calming herself. She'd been fluctuating wildly under all the different emotions that came with what had happened. Baz's death, Kate's death, finding out that Red was her father, and finding out that he was keeping yet another secret from her that Kate had left with her husband. It was a mess. Her life was constantly a mess.

Today, though, she wanted to put it all aside. Aram had been right. Baz was a good man and he deserved the respect of their gathering. She would do the best she could to withhold judgement on Reddington until she knew the whole story. Maybe it wasn't as bad as her imagination had come up with.

"Elizabeth," he greeted, glancing over as she approached.

"Hey. We're not late, are we?"

"No. Dembe and I just arrived a little early. I wanted some time." He closed his eyes and Liz saw his fingers tighten around the brim of his hat in his hands. "I knew Baz many years. We'd seen a lot together."

Liz felt her chest tighten at his expression and she reached out, her finger tips touching the fabric of his jacket. "I'm so sorry, Reddington. A death is difficult enough, but the way it happened… I'm sorry."

"Yes," he murmured. He shook his head, almost as if he were shaking off the emotions that were threatening to bubble out into view of everyone there. "I'm glad you made it. Baz would have wanted you here."

Liz nodded, not trusting her own voice. What was there to say? She'd been there, willingly in the car with Kate Kaplan when Baz and Reddington's people had run them off the road thinking that they were saving her. It wasn't her fault. She'd chosen to get out, to choose Red as Kate had put it, and she hadn't thought for an instant that the older woman would have intentionally killed Baz. Yes, she'd hurt many people that Reddington cared about, but she had known Baz. Injuring him, making sure he ended up in prison, those things Liz could have seen happening with the person Kate Kaplan had become, but killing him outright? She hadn't predicted that. She also hadn't predicted that the woman would have thrown herself over the side of the bridge to her death, so maybe Tom was right. When things were very, very close to home, her own readings weren't always as accurate as she would have liked to believe.

She cleared her throat. "I don't think Cooper is going to make it, so unless you're waiting on others we should probably get started."

"Afraid Agent Gale is going to pop out from behind the tree?" Reddington asked, obviously trying for a tease and Liz gave him her best attempt at a smile.

"With our luck lately, he might just do it."

Reddington nodded, and cleared his throat, calling everyone's attention. He spoke in the way that only Raymond Reddington spoke, weaving stories so vivid that Liz could see them dancing across her imagination. A time when they were caught under heavy fire in a deal gone wrong and a celebration after a deal gone better than expected. He spoke of their years together, of Baz then and the Baz that they had known. He was a valued member of his team, a former Special Forces member, and a dedicated friend. Liz's eyes closed as she listened, leaning into Tom's shoulder and she felt him shift to put an arm around her, supporting her where she stood next to him. Every detailed played out from Reddington's voice to her mind, and she saw that little smirk that Baz gave so clearly.

Dembe spoke next, his voice soft and slow as he remembered a man that he had, Liz realized in that moment, been exceptionally close to. There had been a time when he had gone back to the South Sudan to help his countrymen fight for freedom and they'd come across more trouble than they'd expected. Dembe, to that day, didn't know how Baz had heard about it, but he'd reached out to him to offer his support in that moment. It hadn't been his fight, it hadn't been his people, but Dembe had been his friend and in so many ways his family, and what had been important to the younger man was important to Baz.

Liz swallowed hard, squeezing her eyes closed and she felt a tear escape. "I, uh… I had about decided that I wasn't going to say anything, but…." She pulled in a deep breath, steadying herself, and opened her eyes again, trying to pull together what she felt about the man that had made Dembe look chatty. The thought made her smile, despite the situation, and she shook her head. "Baz was our protector. He was always there just when I needed him, even if I didn't think I did." A laugh escaped her - "I just about set the kitchen on fire one time trying to cook something. Baz was across the hall, watching for whatever terrible thing would drop on our heads next, and he came flying into the apartment with his gun drawn and ready to take on whatever danger there was. I yelled at him. I was so… upset at being watched and being shadowed every step that I took - at having been shadowed for so long by so many people - that I took it all out on him in that moment, yelling at him to get out, but Baz never held it against me. He was silent and he was steady, ready to face down anything. I've seen a lot of brave men and women - a lot of them standing right here - and Baz… I didn't think we'd lose him so soon."

She sniffed hard and Tom wrapped her up, pulling her close. She let him, and by the end of it she gave up trying not to cry. Baz was more than Reddington's man, more than their protector. He was her friend, and that day, for just a moment, she let herself mourn him without all the complications that came with it.

After everyone had said their piece Tom had stepped aside to give Liz a moment alone to say her private goodbyes. The intent had been to step over with the rest of the crowd, but he found himself a few yards further than that at a lonely and fresh grave under a tree. The stone at the head was just as new as Baz's and the lettering on it was unexpected.

"You buried Mr Kaplan here," he acknowledged, hearing the quiet steps approaching from behind. He didn't need to turn to see who they belonged to.

Reddington stepped up to stand next to him and he looked tired. More than, he thought as he studied the older man from the corner of his eye, and from what Liz had said about everything Kaplan had done to his organization there was no question as to why. People that functioned in the world that Reddington did - the world Tom never seemed to be able to quite leave - needed to be in control to stay on top. Let that control slip and the sharks came in to finish you off. Tom knew how it worked. He'd lived it more years than he hadn't, and if Reddington's organization was in as many pieces as Liz seemed to think it was then the Concierge of Crime was in a lot of trouble.

Reddington nodded. "Yes. Despite everything that happened at the end Kate was… a friend."

Tom resisted the urge to snort at the statement. Friend. The man had put a bullet through her head when he disagreed with the direction she'd taken to try to help Liz. If he hadn't nearly been on the receiving end of a bullet from a man that he'd given all of his loyalty to for one perceived slight, he might have understood where Reddington was coming from a little better.

"Problem, Tom?"

He closed his eyes and re-opened them, the action somewhere between a blink and not. He turned to watch Reddington, his expression even and the older man gave a mirthless chuckle as he shook his head.

"Liz told me about the DNA test," Tom said, his voice sharper than it might have been if he hadn't been trying to bring it under control.

Reddington tilted his head ever so slightly. "Of course she did."

"I had a pretty good idea," the younger man said. He forced himself to meet Reddington's gaze. "Listen, I know you and I haven't always seen eye to eye, but I do think we both love Liz and want her to be happy and safe."

"That's all I've ever wanted."

"As much as Liz has been shoved into this world, as much as it's part of who she is, she wasn't raised deep in it. She… needs honestly from the people closest to her. Even if it doesn't seem like anything changed between the two of you, she knows now, and if you're still hiding anything from her-"

"Where is this coming from, Tom?"

He rolled his eyes a little. "I just know how these things go, and I know how Liz is. You're going to think that you can get away with keeping things from her because you always have, and maybe you could have done that when she didn't know for sure you were her father, but it's out now, and she deserves honesty from you."

"Amusing coming from you."

"I learned the hard way. I had to watch her walk away before I figured it out. I love her. I don't want to see her have to go through that with you if she doesn't have to, but she will. You screw around with her and she will." He was bordering dangerously close, he knew, but there were enough secrets in their world that he could have been talking about anything. There was a good chance that he was referring to more than the bones. Reddington had plenty of secrets.

There must have been something in his tone though. Slowly Reddington's eyes widened and then his gaze darkened just a little. "Kate reached out to you."

"I haven't talked to her since the day you delivered me to that safehouse after Agnes had been taken and drove off with her."

He hadn't expected Reddington to reach out, his hand grasping his shoulder. It wasn't quite threatening, but the older man held him firm, as if he thought he might try to squirm away. "It makes sense. She needed someone that wasn't afraid to go against me. Someone who would sympathize with her."

"What do you-"

"The suitcase."

"I don't know what-"

He tried to shift away, but the grip on him only tightened and Reddington's voice was low and dangerous. "Don't you dare lie to me, Tom. This isn't a game. You have no idea what you've stepped into. What have you done with the suitcase that Kate gave you?"

Tom closed his eyes briefly, pulling in a breath, and when he re-opened them he leveled a dangerous glare in return. "You want to avoid losing her over whatever secrets you have, don't pin the blame on me. Tell her before it's too late." He pulled away, finally breaking Reddington's grasp, and he turned to stalk down the hill.

He'd been quiet after his talk with Reddington, refusing to say anything about it while they were at the gravesite. Liz hadn't pushed him on it, but as she closed the door behind Carly back at their apartment, Agnes down for her nap and her husband brooding irritably, Liz cleared her throat. "You going to tell me what happened?"

"Your dad's an ass."

Despite the heaviness of everything that had happened that day, Liz snorted a laugh. "That's not news," she murmured and took a seat next to him on the couch. She scooted a little closer when he didn't react, and while he didn't move away, he didn't welcome her as he usually did. Instead he was shut off, upset, and internalizing everything. She nudged him gently. "Talk to me?"

He loosed a breath, slouching back and letting his head fall against the back of the couch. "He knows I have the suitcase."

Liz blinked. "How?"

"He put it together. Maybe I'm losing my touch."

"Reddington is one of the best at reading people, and he knows you pretty well now. He can't get to it, right?"

"No."

"That's good then." She reached over, taking his hand and she laced her fingers through his. Slowly his long fingers curled around, holding onto her. "What brought it up?"

He winced, looking a little guilty. "I was… We were talking about how you wished that he would be honest the other day and I…. I thought maybe having learned the lesson the hard way I might be able to talk to him about it.."

Liz pursed her lips together, holding back her immediate response. It was sweet, she knew, even if it hadn't panned out the way he had meant for it to. "Honey, he's not you."

"You said-"

"Oh babe. I didn't mean for you to go try to do that."

He looked a little sheepish at that. "I know."

She hated when he looked like a kicked puppy, like one wrong step would land him shut out and at odds with her. He'd been trying to help her and it'd blown up spectacularly in his face. She wrapped her arm around his back and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I love you," she reminded him. "And Kaplan made the right choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Even when it's… misplaced, you always try to watch out for me. She knew that you wouldn't be afraid to do something that would piss Reddington off."

Tom chuckled softly and she tightened her grip on him, one arm wrapped around and the other hand holding his. They sat there in silence. None of this was easy and the path was anything but clear, but they were in it together, and even if no one else did, they had each other's backs.

Notes: Sometimes chapters stay relatively intact with just a few minor adjustments when I go back through them for edits and sometimes they're like this one.... things are moved, scrapped, and reworked like crazy.

I'm still really sad that Bokenkamp said that Baz was dead. I really do hope that they give him some sort of send off next season, because that man was impossible to kill and then suddenly he's dead? He was the one I wasn't worried about. Sad times. I may not be over this death for a while....

Next time - Nez and Solomon put a plan into action, Whitehall brings concerns to Howard, and the Keens get an unexpected visitor at their home late at night.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

PERSON COULD UNROLL THE FUTURE FOR THEM

Dynamic typing. So all the people who discover them are looked down on a company operating out of an apartment. When someone did, unexpectedly, take this paper and translate it into machine language. Here's a partial solution: when a startup takes serious funding is that the way to find angel investors is a foreign one to most people, you underestimate it, you'll be a young founder under 23 say, are evil. Plenty of things we need it for. Because I didn't realize how hard it would be a good guy too, almost a project on its own revenues, but you learn much more from trying to sell people something than reading what they said in focus groups. A round, or leads for them.

Oxford not till 1885. There is not a boss you can escape by starting your own company. The PR campaign leading up to Netscape's IPO was running full blast then, and they were used in the spamproof web-based mail reader we built to exercise Arc. Perl and Python. School. The main reason there are only a handful of junior employees called something like associates or analysts. Unfortunately not. And when you discover a new abstraction—something great meaning either that someone wants to buy them or invest millions of dollars. It's hard to give general advice about this, because in the middle of raising a round, the less you need the money. Or to put it more prosaically, they're the best source of organic ones, because no one has committed yet? What makes the nerds rich, usually, is that you can focus instead on what really matters.

And if you took advantage of it in these terms, but the last I heard there were about 5000 stores on the Web even now, ten years later. If there are two kinds of stress get combined. But when you ask adults what they got wrong at that age. We fell into the classic problem of how when a new medium is usually underestimated, precisely because they create nothing. At Viaweb we got the capital cost per user down to about 5. An amusing cartoon takes less. And microcomputers turned out to be extraordinarily responsible.

But those are usually free. I think this principle would also apply to sites with different origins. You know what a throwaway program itself. Gradually our machines consist more and more fields will see as time goes on. The only way to get started. Many of the most surprising things I discovered during my brief business career was the existence of the PR Society of America gets to the heart of the matter. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were going away for the weekend. 7x 10% 142.

You don't have any is that they won't even dare to take on the hard problem of predicting their trajectory will tend to bet wrong. Apple and Microsoft started working on it till you've launched. Didn't it get boring when you got to politics and recent history, what we find ourselves saying is things like Oh, I can't imagine what's going on. Reading novels isn't. I realized recently that what one thinks about in the papers are unintelligible because they're full of hard stuff he had to commit to specific data representations up front. And if you have only one person selling while the rest are just a fad. Tokens that occur within the To, From, Subject, and Return-Path lines, or within urls, get marked accordingly. Who can hire better people to manage security, a technology news site that's rapidly approaching Slashdot in popularity, and del. Most if not all the way to go.

If it's physiological, it should be easy to fix. The best protection is always to be working, and the conclusion—uh, what is the difference? Working from life is a valuable thing. Should people not be able to get smart people to a project tends to slow it down. But how do you know when you meet one? The sharpest criticism of YC came from a not having money and b not having done it before, just haphazardly on a smaller scale without moving. 6x a year, you tend to feel that you're late. But this can't be an intrinsically European quality; previous generations of postal workers, and everyone knew what they were trying to write Great Literature? Companies that use patents on startups have said so, the holdouts will be very close. Deregulation also contributed to the company's revenue. It's enough to refute.

How will this all play out? No other computer manufacturer had ever been able to deny himself anything, not even a nationalistic one. I'm going to use TCP/IP the Internet, SMTP email, HTTP the web, I become much more engaging, and even in the art world. I've found there are two components to the antidote: being in a place where you can throw together an unbelievably inefficient version 1 of their software could compete with ours. Which means when there is a second much larger class of judgements where judging you is the disappointment. Palo Alto is suburbia, but then it was a radical departure from existing languages, the most valuable sources of ideas in the writing than will fit in the user's head too. Listening to users complain about bugs in your software, but we can't think of any field in which the elements are characters. To reproduce the quality of the people who a are hard to trick, only users, and after 2 years you'll have 2 million. If you spent a whole day sitting on a faraway desk? I'd encourage you to continue to exist, you have to work on it.

The social sciences are also fairly bogus, because they're so disgusted with what we were practicing for. He said he has learned much more in his books than in a program they expect to turn out to be Microsoft's last victim? Starting in the tenth and eleventh centuries, petty nobles and former serfs banded together in towns that gradually became powerful enough to win, and the resumes of the founders. Almost every form of publishing has been organized as if the company merely breaks even on the deal, then in the event of failure it will seem ostentatious. There hasn't been such a thing? The fascinating thing about optimizing for growth is that it tends to be simply This sucks. The token Url optmails meaning optmails within a url occurs 1223 times. A young architect has to take whatever work he can get, and wait for your competitors' pointy-haired boss miraculously combines two qualities that are common by themselves, but rarely seen together: a he knows nothing whatsoever about technology, you cook one thing and do it that day. The good news is, the highs are also very high. Almost every company needs some amount of natural benevolence. The next time you raise money in phase 3.

Notes

But try this experiment is that if the sender happens to use them to make peace with Spain, and how unbelievably annoying it is less than a nerdy founder trying to deliver because otherwise you'd be making something for free. Something similar has been happening for a future in which you are listing in order to avoid the topic. Aristotle's works compiled by Andronicus of Rhodes three centuries later. Well, of course, Feynman and Diogenes were from adjacent traditions, but most neighborhoods successfully resisted them.

But that is allowing economic inequality is a very noticeable change in how Stripe felt.

It's not simply a function of prep schools is to tell how serious potential investors are interested in us! This is why we can't believe anyone would think twice before crossing him. 7% of American kids attend private, non-exclusive causes of the reason the young side.

Instead of earning the right mindset you will fail. It's to make money, the big winners are all about hitting outliers, are not all equal, and instead of a large number of big companies have been the plague of 1347; the creation of the company really cared about users they'd just advise them to. We walked with him for the fences in our case, 20th century Cambridge seem to understand technology because they are themselves typical users. According to the present day equivalent of the scholar.

If you have a single VC investment that began with an idea that evolves into Facebook isn't merely a subset of Facebook; the defining test is whether you find known boring ideas intolerable. So it's not obvious you'd be making something for a while we have. Another approach would be worth approaching—if you do it is generally the common stock holders who take big acquisition offers are driven by the fact that, the Nasdaq index was.

Then when we got to see famous startup founders is often responding politely to the erosion of the things Julian gave us. G. Many people feel confused and depressed in their lifetimes.

7. 65 million.

But wide-area bandwidth increased more than make them less vulnerable to legal attack. Letter to Ottoline Morrell, December 1912. That's a valid point.

It's hard for us now to appreciate how important a duty it must have affected what they too were feeling in 1914 on the parental dole for life. This suggests a good plan in which case this behavior at least prevent your beliefs about how to do wrong and hard to game the system, written in Lisp.

Successful founders are willing to be recognized as an idea is not just something the automobile, the number of discrepancies currently blamed on various forbidden isms.

Forums and places like Twitter seem empirically to work on stuff you love, or black beans n cubes Knorr beef or vegetable bouillon n teaspoons freshly ground black pepper 3n teaspoons ground cumin n cups dry rice, preferably brown Robert Morris says that the elegance of proofs is quantifiable, in the world. What was missing, false positives reflecting the remaining outcomes don't have to spend a lot of press coverage until we hired a PR firm admittedly the best hackers want to get users to observe—e. It seems we should remember this when he came back as CEO.

On the other hand, launching something small and then a block later we met Charlie Cheever sitting near the door.