#Like yes nobody is trying to diminish your credit here

[abernathyvalois]

Why does my mother insist my graduation is a bigger accomplishment for her and she has done more and deserves to be celebrated more than i

[summerlovingbaby]

The Winter Solider Project

“ Get out of my house.” Isaiah snarled. “ And don’t you dare go bother that girl. Not about this nonsense, she doesn’t need any of this. Not right now.” He yelled after them, as he kicked them out of his house in a fit of anger. Once on the street, Bucky looked at his feet preparing for Sam’s much needed fit of anger.

“Sam…” Bucky started.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isaiah? How could nobody bring him up? I asked you a question, Bucky?” Sam asked, he could feel the anger rising in his face.

“I know.” 

“Steve didn’t know about him?”

“He didn’t. I didn’t tell him.”

“So you’re telling me that there was a black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it? And what girl is he talking about?” Sam yelled. “ Where are you going? I asked you a question?”

“ You can yell at me on the way, we gotta get help?” Bucky said walking to the car.

“So, you did it all right, but it didn’t help with the nightmares.” Dr. Raynor said matter of factly.

“Well, like I said, I didn’t have any.” Bucky said, looking away to avoid the look in her eyes. The subtle look of disappointment and irritation, settled deep in her eyes.

“Look… one day, you’re gonna have to open up and understand that some people really do want to help you and that they can be trusted.” She said finally closing the notebook.. Bucky could finally relax knowing that the notebook was out of sight.

“I trust people.” Bucky lied. For a trained killer, he was a quite the horrible liar.

“Yeah? Give me your phone.” She said holding out an expectant hand. Bucky took the phone out of his pocket, and debated throwing it out of the window. But he didn’t, and handed her, his phone and watched her tap the screen nervously. ”You don’t have ten phone numbers on this thing.  Oh, and you’ve been ignoring the texts from Sam. “ She smacked her lips. “ Oh my gosh, you’ve called Y/N 52 times this week, that’s sad.”

Bucky and Sam arrived on a plain looking front porch, with a plain looking motorcycle in the front yard. With a plain looking flower garden and a plain looking doorknob.

“ Where are we?” Sam asked.

Bucky started to respond, but the door swung open before he got the chance to respond. On the other side of the door stood a woman. She had a snarky smile on her face, and her eyes were narrow, her eyebrows furrowed together.

“ What did I miss a therapy appointment?” She asked rather plainly. She had a tall stature, and was planted firmly one her own two feet. Bucky’s eyes darted to the ground before, he looked up at her. With those eyes, she knew those stupid eyes. Those pleading eyes.“ What do you want?” She sighed.

“ I don’t want anything.” He lied. “ I smell cookies. Did you bake cookies?” He asked, brushing past her, and changing the subject. Y/N shook her head no slightly, while sighing. Her mouth pulled into a thin straight line. Then she flashed a very fake smile at Sam, and opened her arms in a welcoming motion. Sam nodded his head slightly then walked through the door.

Sam followed Y/N into the kitchen, surprised to see Bucky sitting on her kitchen counter. Sam quietly sat down at the dining room table. Bucky was rummaging through a container of cookies. And had one halfway out of his mouth.

“ Did you know I was coming?” He asked, through muffled words, a cookie still in his mouth.

“ No, why?”

“ You made me cookies.” Bucky laughed . A small smile fell upon Y/N’s face, but it soon dropped to one of sadness.

“ They are not for you, they are for my neighbor. Look Buck, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, but you want something.” Y/N said, opening the fridge for  a bottle of water.

“ We need your help.” Sam interjected. “ I’m Sam Wilson, by the way.”

“ Nice to meet you Sam, I don’t know if Bucky told you, but I’m Y/N.” Y/N said, her eyes fell to the floor, as she leaned on her kitchen countertops. Sam smiled and nodded politely.

“ Why does that name sound familiar?” He asked.

“ Probably saw it somewhere on the news, I’m kind of famous.” Y/N said sarcastically. Bucky laughed.

“ Y/N I hate to ask-”

“ Then don’t.” Y/N spoke harshly, before she fled the kitchen.

“ Y/N wait.” Bucky called after her, his eyes fell to the floor. Then he muttered something to himself about being a crappy friend, before he hopped off the kitchen counter to follow her. Sam stayed in the kitchen, still very confused. He had no idea who this woman was, and why they need her help specifically. He was still reeling over the fact that there was a secret black super solider that nobody knew about.

Bucky followed Y/N into the hallway, very surprised to see that she was waiting for her in the hallway. Her tall and tough stature had diminished greatly, he shoulders were haunched over. It was almost as if a strong gust of wind would blow through the hallway and knock her over.

“ 5 minutes.” She started.

“ I know.” Bucky said, he was making direct eye contact with Y/N, with those sad and understanding eyes. Those eyes that were filled with guilt and sadness.

“ 5 minutes, I just wanted 5 minutes of peace. I’ve never had that, I’m never going to get that, am I?”

“ Y/N-”

“ I just wanted the world to stop spinning for a few minutes, so I could just have a break. I keep going from fight after fight after fight... most of them not by my choice. And when I finally get to chose, I’m still fighting. And just for a few moments, it was calm. Nobody wants me to kill anyone, nobody is actively hunting me down, and now you’re dragging me back into a fight because six teenage super soldiers are running rampant?”\

“ You know?”

“ Yes I know, I watch the news.” She snapped. She looked away, her eyes filling with tears, before she blinked them away. “ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just..”

“ I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized. “ We could just really need help.”

“ You’re gonna go see Zemo, aren’t you?” She asked finally looking at him. She stood taller now, firm on both her feet.

“ Yeah.” He replied.

“ You’re going to break him out of prison?” She asked already knowing what he was going to say.

“ More than likely”

“ Are we going to end up in Madripoor?”

“ Probably”

“ Great.” She concluded while nodding.

They both returned to the kitchen. Sam still sitting at the table waiting expectantly. Looking around at all the oddly decorated kitchen , when he realized. Exactly where he was. He was in Y/N Y/L/N house.

“ Oh my god.” Sam muttered to himself quietly. He remembered reading about her some years ago. She was a agent of HYDRA, just like Bucky. Brainwashed and made to kill. She was taken in the late 60′s. One of the first female Navy SEALs. HYDRA took her when she was not much older than 23. Credited with over 73 kills, 20 of those being high profile targets.

By this time, Y/N and Bucky were standing in the kitchen.

“ Ready?” Bucky asked. Sam nodded in response.

And with that they were out of the door. Y/N was doing a favor for Bucky, Bucky was currently holding a jar of cookies. Sam was still very confused.

“ Crap, I forgot to water my plants.” Y/N mumbled to herself quietly, before she ran back into the house.

“ Her and those succulents.” Bucky smiled to himself quietly.

“ Y/N L/N... were getting help from Y/N L/N. And you didn’t deem it a good idea to tell me.” Sam yelled.

“ Its not like we have much of an option.”

“ We don’t need anymore help , Bucky.”

“ We do. Do you realize what we are up against.”

“ No Bucky. I had no idea. We could get help from Walker.”

“ Not gonna happen Sam, I’m not doing that.”

“ Then what are we doing?” Sam yelled

Despite Y/N being all the way in her house. She did hear Sam and Bucky yelling. She assumed it was about her, and went back to watering her succulents. They were doing good, growing big and strong. Then she heard police sirens outside.

She ran outside to see Bucky in the back of a police car and Sam looking quite angry. She ran up to them to try and diffuse the situation.

“ What the heck is going on here?” She asked the police officer.

“ Are you Y/N L/N?” He asked, not awnsering her question.

“ Who wants to know?” She asked sarcastically.

“ Okay Ms. L/N, you’re under arrest.” He said reaching for Y/N, she backed up, trying not to let her reflexes take over. If they did, she would have body slammed him to the ground.

“ Woah.” Sam said stepping in between the pair. He saw the glassy eyed, and panicked look on her face. “ Lets all calm down.”

“ I wasn’t talking to you sir.” The police officer yelled, pushing him back, and grabbing at Y/N.  

“ Why am I being arrested?”

“ You missed a therapy appointment.” He said, grabbing at her again.

“ What? No I didn’t.”

He ended up grabbing at her wrist before twisting her arm behind her back, and slamming her face down into the car. Y/N grunted as her head hit the car. She could hear Sam protesting, and tried to say something but she couldn’t speak, due to the massive gash on the side of her head. And the blood dripping from her nose.

TAGLIST INFO

@austynparksandpizza      @footballaddictsblog   @goddessgaga

@buckybarnes1991    @jungkookdingdong   @tofeartheunknown

@yasminwashere  @sunsetcurvej

[that-one-bi-wizard]

I wrote a lil Komagami one-shot cuz it’s such and underrated ship that there’s hardly any fics for them. Here’s the link to it on ao3 if you wanna read it there.

It’s also here, so I hope you enjoy it :3

Byakuya knew what he was doing was dangerous.

He knew all too well. If his father found out, he could be disowned by the family.

It was hammered in his head at a young age that this was wrong. That he was only meant to couple with women to produce the next heirs to inherit the family business. He was under no circumstances allowed to develop romantic feelings for them. And with this being the case, it was even worse if he developed feelings for a man.

“Not only will it ruin the Togami family image,” his father had said, “but it’s not right for two men to be together. It’s unnatural.”

To Byakuya, that seemed a bit hypocritical to say when, not even a week later, his father introduced him to a handsome young man that he was to get close to. He was a part of the Komaeda family. Another wealthy family who had ties to the Togamis.

The young man was around Byakuya’s age, give or take a few years older. As mentioned, he was the heir to the Komaeda’s family fortune, so he and Byakuya were introduced to get to know each other to keep the ties with each other's families. 

The first time they spent time alone was when they were young teenagers, and Komaeda’s father had a meeting with Togami’s. 

Byakuya sat on the couch across from the young man. He sat with his back straight and tried to look as uninterested as he possibly could, despite his curiosity. He gave the other one of his signature glares with his piercing blue eyes, and the other just smiled.

It was the Komaeda boy that broke the silence.

“Hi! My name is Komaeda Nagito, but you already knew that,” the boy said with a smile. “Byakuya, correct?”

Byakuya nodded solemnly.

Nagito got up and sat next to Byakuya. “I must say, it’s an honor to even be in the presence of someone such as yourself.”

Byakuya said nothing. He blinked slowly and kept his unimpressed expression. 

Nagito continued going on about how he wasn’t worthy of even meeting him and how highly he thought of the Togami’s. 

Byakuya had heard it all before but eventually cut Nagito off when he started talking down on himself.

“What are you going on about?” Byakuya said. “You’re no less important than anyone else in this room, so stop that.”

Nagito seemed a bit surprised by this. He tilted his head. “But it’s all true. I’m a nobody-”

“Shut up!” Byakuya said, raising his voice slightly. “If you were nobody, then I wouldn’t be giving you the time of day. You're much more important than you give yourself credit for.”

Nagito seemed to stiffen. He had an expression as though no one had ever told him that before. “Y-You think… I’m important?”

Byakuya realized what he said and looked away. “In an objective sense… yes.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Thank you.”

Byakuya turned back and almost jumped when he saw Nagito only inches away from his face. However, he kept his composure.

“What?”

“Thank you,” Nagito repeated. “That means a lot coming from someone with as high a status as yourself.”

“Yes well... “ He looked away from Nagito’s gray eyes. “We might not be on the same level, but you’re certainly close.”

Nagito smiled. 

It was actually quite cute. Along with how strands of his messy, white hair fell into his face and how some stood on end as though they had a mind of their own…

He mentally slapped himself. 

No. He thought to himself. Father said it was wrong to think of a man in that sense. Don’t go falling for him. He’s just an associate. Nothing more.

Needless to say, this way of thinking diminished the older they got.

Byakuya let himself bend his father’s rules just a little bit.

Would he be mad if he found out? Absolutely. But Byakuya was careful enough to not get caught up to this point, so he let himself get a little more daring.

When they were in their late teens, Byakuya found himself with his lips on Komaeda’s.

And the rest was history.

Now, as young adults, Byakuya found himself lying next to the Komaeda boy in bed.

He had his arms wrapped around Byakuya’s waist, his head resting on the taller boy’s bare chest. His breathing was soft. Byakuya could feel the warm breaths on his skin.

He had an arm around the other, holding him close. His grip on Nagito was tight, like if he let the other go, he’d disappear into thin air.

It was almost like a dream to him. 

The dim moonlight coming in through the window. The quiet noise of crickets from outside. The handsome young man cuddled up next to him. 

This couldn't be real.

Byakuya checked the clock on his nightstand and let out a sigh. He reluctantly let go of the white-haired boy and stood up.

The dream had to come to an end at some point. It always did.

Nagito opened his eyes and blinked tiredly. “Togami…” 

He rubbed his eyes and watched as the young man picked his clothes up off the floor and began getting dressed. Byakuya gave him a look. 

“You better get dressed,” Byakuya said solemnly. “My father will be home soon, so I suggest you gather your belongings and help me clean up.”

The older boy sat up with the blanket covering his lap. He ran a hand through his hair. 

Byakuya noticed him sitting and not doing as he was told. He buttoned up his shirt and walked over, noticing the look on Nagito’s face. “What are you so down about? It’s always been like this. I don’t see why tonight was any different.” He handed Nagito his shirt.

The other held it in his hands. “It’s just…” He trailed off.

“Just what?” Byakuya asked.

“Don’t you wonder how much longer we can keep going like this? Someone is bound to find out sooner or later.”

“Not with how we’ve been,” Byakuya answered. He sat next to the boy and continued buttoning his shirt.  “I’ve taken every precaution to make sure no one finds out about what we have. It’s all planned-”

“Oh no, I understand that,” Nagito said, playing with the sleeve of his shirt. “I would never question your intelligence, but I wonder…” He stared Byakuya in the eyes. “...will we ever be able to do this without having to sneak around?”

Byakuya raised an eyebrow. “What are you trying to say, Komaeda?”

“I mean that I don’t want to be sneaking around anymore,” he said. “I want to be able to be by your side in public, not just after dark. I don’t want to have to wait until no one can see us to be able to even just hold your hand.”

Byakuya bit the inside of his cheek. His leg bounced as he thought for a moment. “One day, perhaps.” He stood up. “But not to today. I’m not ready to face my father’s wrath just yet.” He leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on Nagito’s lips.

Nagito kissed back lightly, but the other pulled away all too quickly. 

“It’s our little secret for now, okay?”

Nagito nodded. He reached out to touch the other’s face. Byakuya held the other’s hand to his cheek for a moment. As if realizing what he was doing, he immediately let go of the other’s hand.

“Now get dressed,” Byakuya said, throwing Nagito's pants at him. “We don’t want to get caught.”

Nagito pulled on his clothes and met the already dressed Byakuya outside his room.

“Ah, perfect,” Byakuya stated. “Come along. We still have time.” He held out his hand for Nagito to take. 

Nagito took it and let Byakuya lead him through the gigantic mansion. They passed a few rooms until they got to a balcony that overlooked the city. 

They walked out onto the balcony still holding hands.

Byakuya leaned on the railing to look down at the city while the other stared up at the stars. Byakuya smiled.

“Enjoying the sight?”

Nagito smirked. “I’ve seen better.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Mm-hm.” 

Byakuya let out a puff of air. He turned his head to look at Nagito and noticed how his gray eyes shimmered in the moonlight. The light breeze pushed the hair from his face. “I feel inclined to say the same thing.”

Nagito chuckled. “Oh really?”

He fully turned to face Nagito and brought his hand up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on it. “Yes.”

He leaned in to close the space between their lips but noticed a bright light flash out of the corner of his eye. He recognized it as the headlights to one of his father’s cars.

Byakuya pulled away before their lips could collide. Nagito seemed to notice the lights as well and nodded. “I guess I’ll be leaving then.”

“That’s probably a good idea. He won’t see you going out the back.”

Nagito nodded. “Got it.” He hesitated then quickly pecked the taller boy’s lips. “I’ll see you later.” 

“I love you…” 

But Nagito was gone before he could hear Byakuya. 

Byakuya’s face fell back into its regular stone cold expression.

He had confidence that Nagito would make it out without being seen. They had done this countless times that he knew the routine already. 

Byakuya left the balcony, closing the doors behind him. He made his way downstairs to greet his father.

And with that, he fell back into reality.

[seaswalllow]

of home and hearth

i.

04.37

jbm: Welcome to the inaugural meeting of the group chat for dumbasses who keep getting their asses haunted by what is likely the very epitome of fear. or something like that. 

jbm: Aka the easiest way to take roll call for us

magnificent: Don’t give him that credit. Just.. a demon. 

brody: r u kidding me???

brody: he nearly fucking took u down

brody: with jackie and i backing you up!! 

brody: and u want to diminish his power? 

magnificent: There’s no point giving him more power. 

brody: he’s not exactly lacking in it. you’re dead on your fucking feet

jbm: Both of you, quit it

jbm: Just. Lets focus on making sure nobody’s abt to collapse

jbm: Wait

jbm: Where r Hen and Jamie?

jbm: Wasn’t he w/u, Chase?

magnificent: Last I saw of him, he was trying to keep Anti away from Henrik.

brody: ye and i have no fucking clue he ran off the minute our electricity went out

brody: oh

jbm: fuck

Incoming call notification from Unnamed GC

Missed call from Unnamed GC

brody: fuck

brody: ill checck the other rooms 

jbm: Marv can u do some of your.. funky magic shit? Check up on em?

jackson: Even if he was capable, he’s exhausted enough that it’s best not to. 

jackson: Chase, we are in the next room over. Please bring Henrik’s medkit. 

schneeplestein: Quickly, preferably. The idiot got himself stabbed. 

jbm: Wait WHAT 

jbm: Holy shit im coming one second

jackson: Nothing to fret about! Henrik’s quite handy at adapting, and H- it didn’t get much farther than a wound before Marvin dragged it back. 

schneeplestein: He is stable, but it would still be preferable to get the wound stitched and cleaned sooner rather than later. 

jbm: or we can go to the hospital like normal human beings

magnificent: Are any of us actually normal? 

schneeplestein: And how would you explain the cause of this wound? There would be an investigation. 

brody: that implies any of us has the money to actually pay for healthcare in this system

magnificent: …

schneeplestein: … 

brody: nvm

jbm: Legally, for the love of god, please don’t say anything else. Fine, holy shit

jackson: Henrik is a perfectly capable fellow :D I trust him wholeheartedly!

jbm: I do too it’s just better to be safe than sorry??

brody: here u go henrik pls dont text and… stitch? heal? idk 

brody: right forget i said anything

jackson: What’s the worst of the damage? Was anything broken?

jbm: You got stabbed?? 

jackson: Yes, but I’ll heal. Did it break any of the furniture or lights?

magnificent: You- never mind. The lights have to be replaced, and one of the doors. 

brody: thats actually not that bad

brody: glitchy mcgee didnt expect all of us i bet

jackson: Hm. 

brody: pls dont hm right now lets just pretend that this was a battle we won

brody: im going to make some tea. cocoa. whatever. give me your orders, we’re having a hot drink and then crashing in the room that was the least upturned

jackson: Cinnamon tea, if you don’t mind! Earl Grey for Henrik! 

brody: cool. jackie? marv?

magnificent: The white chocolate cocoa that we have. Chai spice, too. 

brody: fancypants, shldve figured

jbm: Nothing for me 

brody: another order of cocoa it is

jbm: Chase

brody: jackie

brody: whoops can’t talk gotta brew

jbm: Asshole. Marv, come help me with the blankets?

magnificent: Way ahead of you. Full offense, you can’t fold for shit. 

05.36

brody: jackie

brody: move ur fuckin cup im abt to accidentally spill it

brody: jackie?

magnificent: He’s asleep. Wake him up and I’ll dump the remnants on you. 

brody: oshit he finally fell asleep? 

brody: overprotective much? 

jackson: They look very comfortable :-) I would not blame him for not wishing to move from that position. 

brody: wait what

brody: oh my god. marvin. that’s. 

magnificent: Not a fucking word. 

brody: how about three then

brody: what the fuck

schneeplestein: Isn’t it time for all of you to go to bed?

brody: eh eventually we’ll crash 

brody: rn im too focused on the ~*cuddling*~

brody: fuck 

brody: im lonely

brody: henrik cmere

schneeplestein: This is not coffee, but it is just as hot and it will scald you. 

magnificent: Are you capable of typing messages longer than three words? 

brody: :( to me, your oldest friend, your bestest friend

brody: rude, clearly i am

schneeplestein: Disturb Jameson’s wound, as well, and I will ensure that you have a matching set. 

brody: holy shit

brody: okay???

brody: ….if i promise to be careful

jackson: I see no reason why not! There’s an extra blanket here :-)

brody: cool thx one sec

brody: suck it hen

schneeplestein: Arschloch.

brody: somebodys bitter that they didnt get their coffee

jackson: Henrik understands that caffeine, after such a stressful time, is a poor idea!

jackson: Correct? :-0

schneeplestein: Next time see if you get your tea. 

jackson: Noted! :-)

brody: so thats terrifying! 

brody: hen what did you do!

brody: dont answer that actually im not gettinf in the middle of this

brody: i am going right the fuck to sleep with a very non-threatening cuddlebuddy

brody: gnight

jackson: Sleep well, Chase! 

schneeplestein: Good night.

jackson: Peaceful, is it not, Henrik? 

jackson: The ideal time to rest. Perhaps you ought to as well. 

schneeplestein: Perhaps when I finish the tea. 

jackson: Wonderful :-)

jackson: Rest well. We are all an arm’s length away. 

schneeplestein: Good night, Jameson. 

[raayllum]

Could i request a rayllum meet cute where rayla's in one of those elf costumes at a christmas stand? Ive been watching cringey hallmark xmas movies and i cant get this out of my head! I cant write for the life of me, but id be eternally grateful if someone wrote this. (Also, i LOVE 'if time is money')

this accidentally got really long and maybe isn’t quite what you meant but here, take it

the most wonderful time of the year

also on ao3

Ez is thirteen—maybe a little old for this—but Callum’s never been good at telling his little brother no, let alone around the holidays and the kid needs a drive. So that’s how Ezran drags him out to a Meet Santa stand at their local mall the first Saturday of winter break once Callum has finished parking the family car, Callum’s fingers still a little cold from the frigid air outside.

Santa isn’t there but Ez’s enthusiasm isn’t diminished. He takes one look at the chair with Christmas lights and garland and then sets about making sure Bait’s Santa hat is sitting properly on the glow toad’s head. “Callum? Does that look straight to you?”

To his own credit, Callum does check, before he says, rather flatly, “It looks fine Ez.” Then, a tad more incredulously. “Why does it matter? You have plenty of photos of Bait with Santa.”

“Yes, but,” Ezran says, “this is the first year I’ve convinced him to glow matching colours. I’ve left it up to him to decide which ones—red and green or blue and white—but either way, the picture will look perfect.” He holds Bait a little closer. “Won’t it, Bait?”

The glow toad harrumphs and Callum feels like maybe Bait got cajoled into this just as much as he did, if only because Bait’s face reads all too much like You get this for one hour, max, kid.

With that in mind, Callum checks the clock. It’s noon and nobody else is clustered around the event, one red rope clipped across the matching carpet underneath. Giant candy canes stick out from either side of Santa’s chair. Maybe the big man himself is on a lunch break? They could be here for a while. Callum cranes his neck. There’s no Be back soon sign…

Then, behind one of the Christmas trees and backdrop, he spots a girl. Tall, lithe, his age, with white hair that goes amazingly well with her elf getup. It’s the whole nine yards too, with stockings and little bell earrings, a hat and pointy ears. He doesn’t recognize her, so she must not go to his high school.

“Wait here,” he says to Ez, plucks up his courage (because well, she is pretty, and he’s already a little socially awkward around not very pretty girls at best) and walks over. 

“Hey, uh—”

She turns, looking up from her phone. Her eyes are a striking violet that makes his heart do a somersault in his chest. “Uh—” She regards him as though she’s trying to figure him out. He guesses it does look odd, to find a teenage boy here to ‘meet Santa.’ “Can I help you?” Her Scottish lilt matches oddly well too.

“Yeah, uh—I was just wondering when the uh, Santa is going to be here? My little brother wants to meet him and—?”

“Oh, uh. He gets in at like one. This is his lunch break.” Her expression turns dry. “I’m here to hold down the fort.”

“Oh, okay.” He offers up a half heart smile. So they’ll be waiting here for an hour. Great. At least they’ll be first in line. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She turns back to her phone, and Callum is just glad he didn’t embarrass himself as he heads back to his brother and relays the news.

Ezran holds up Bait and gives him a stern look. “Since we have to wait, I’ll take off your hat for now, but you have to let me put it back on when it’s time, okay?” Bait grunts and only shifts a little in Ezran’s arms as the kid undoes the tiny string and stuffs the Santa hat in his pocket.

By the time he’s done, movement catches Callum’s eye, and the girl is walking out from around the tree to the main seat to leave a sign that says Back at one. Then she straightens up and catches him staring, and horrified, Callum flushes and looks away. He hopes his scarf hides it as he bends down to be more on Ezran’s eye level.

“I know Barius’ Diner is near here,” he says, “if we want to grab lunch—”

Then he hears a sharp bark of laughter, a little throaty but bright, and looks up. It’s the girl, arm curled over her stomach as she looks at him and Ezran and Bait with glee. “Sorry,” she sputters, and Callum relaxes. Ez can be a sensitive kid, but he doesn’t sense any malice in her humour. “Just—what is that little bugger? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Ezran beams and walks over to the rope, the girl meeting him on the other side. “His name is Bait,” he says proudly. “He’s a glow toad.” Bait grunts in reply. “Do you want to see his hat?”

The girl’s smile softens and Callum knows he was right to like her, at least a little. “Sure.”

Bait won’t let Ezran put the hat on, though, seemingly knowing it’s not time, as Callum comes up behind Ezran’s shoulder. “He’s going to glow Christmas colours for the photo,” Ez explains rather seriously.

“Ah of course,” she says with a conspiring wink.

“We might go grab lunch now,” Ezran says. “Bait likes sandwich crusts.”

“I’ll do my best to hold your place in line,” she promises, and Callum grins appreciatively. It may not be busy now but it will be, and he knows from years past how busy it can get. He also, maybe strangely enough, trusts her word, mostly because he doesn’t think she has any reason not to keep it, and really, who can say no to Ezran?

“We could grab something for you, if you want,” Callum says, offering before his brain can catch up with his mouth. It doesn’t seem like she’ll be allowed to leave for her lunch break for a while, if she’s here to stay and then will have to help manage the kids once the meet-n-greet actually starts.

The girl blinks prettily in surprise—really, how is that possible—and a blush crawls over his face, but then she looks to Ezran’s happy grin and firm supportive nod, and smiles. “Uh. Yeah, sure. Where’re you going?”

“We were thinking Barius’,” he says. It’s only a level up in the mall.

The girl closes her eyes and hums. “Mm, they have great moonberry surprises there.” Her eyes reopen, still striking violet. “Cheap too. I think I have a dollar or two on me.” She pats the pockets of her green dress. “Nobody tips at this job,” she jokes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Callum says and she looks up, even more surprised this time.

“Yeah,” Ezran sweeps in. “It’s the holidays.”

“So,” Callum says, “Moonberry surprise?”

She slowly smiles, big and bright, eyes crinkling. Worth a million dollars, easy. “Yeah. Thanks.”

They come back maybe twenty minutes later with two baked subs, both crusts set aside for Bait, a juice box for Ezran, latte for Callum, and moonberry surprise for the girl. Callum has never ordered one before, but it’s such a thick with berries and who knows else in the purple sludge that he gets why it could easily be a meal on its own.

The girl is waiting for them by the velvet rope, a couple of families sitting on benches across the way—it seems she’s kept her word about keeping the front clear for them—and she tucks her phone inside her pocket. Callum hands her shake over. “My Christmas miracle,” she says, taking a slurp and letting out a content sight. “Thank you so much.”

He smiles back at her. “Don’t mention it.” Then his attention is stolen, because Ezran is trying to drink juice, eat his sub, and hold Bait all at the same time, and Callum has to save the sub from hitting the floor entirely. “Here, I’ll hold your juice for now, okay?” It’s a little uncomfortable to hold his latte in one hand and Ez’s juice in the other, his sub held awkwardly in the cradle of his hand (it’ll be a bit cold when he gets to it) but it’s fine. It’s what big brothers do.

“So,” the girl says, smiling and resting her elbows on one golden pommel of the velvet rope stand, “do you buy smoothies for all the holiday helpers you meet, or—?”

“I mean,” Ezran considers, “I think Callum would, if he could, but he’s also saving up for art school, so—”

“Minimum wage it is,” she finishes, catching his eye. She understands all too well, apparently. Probably why she’s working here so close to the holidays, too. “He’s a good brother, though, using his free Saturday to bring you here.”

Callum’s cheeks warm. He fidgets with his scarf before remembering he doesn’t have a hand for that, and adjusts his grip on his latte instead. Is it hot in here, suddenly, or is it just him? Maybe he drank too much too fast?

“Oh he’s the best,” Ezran beams. “A good artist too. He’ll probably draw you later too. That’s why he stares at people.”

“I wasn't—” Callum fights down the rising panic, as he knows fighting down the blush overtaking his face now is a lost cause, as the girl looks at him a little blankly. “I mean, maybe I was, but—I won’t draw you unless—that’s okay with you?”

Then she smiles, laughing a little and waving him off with her hand. “Relax. I don’t mind. It’s sort of flattering, to be honest.”

“Flattering?” he says, perhaps a tad too hopeful.

“Yeah.” She meets his gaze though, and there might be the same sort of hopeful nervousness, hopeful interest, in her face. If his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him. “Besides, I owe you one, right?”

He swallows, knowing this could be interpreted horribly, but he doesn’t know how else to set up being… smooth? No, this can’t be smooth. He’s too nervous to be smooth. He says it anyway. “Well uh, I don’t know if I’d pick a drawing for that.”

“Oh?” And maybe it’s because he’s here on a Saturday and looking after his little brother, but she gives him room to follow through. “What would you prefer, then?”

Callum says it before he can lose his nerve. “Your name.”

She grins. “Rayla. My name is Rayla.”

Ez butts in. “It’s nice to meet you, Rayla.” Callum has to rescue the juice box next, so Ezran can shake her hand. “I’m Ezran, this is Callum, and you already know Bait.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She looks up. “And it’s nice to meet you too, Callum. And Bait.”

Callum opens his mouth to reply—maybe, since he’s feeling a little daring, to even flirt—when Rayla is tugged away by an upcoming parent and their toddler, and she has to answer their questions. Ezran wants to go sit on one of the benches so that Bait can sit while he eats Ezran’s leftover crust, and Callum lets himself be tugged away too. It’s nice to not have to hold everything and actually eat his sub, and when he glances over again, halfway through the meat and cheese, Rayla is still busy.

Still, she keeps a spot at the front of the line for them when they meander back over, the line now forming. “They were here first,” she cites, and only has to put up with one dirty look.

“Thanks,” Callum tells her, and this time she’s opening her mouth to say something, when cheers rise up from the kids because Santa, white bearded and red coated, emerges from behind the curtain. Rayla shoots him a quick, apologetic glance, although she what she’s apologetic about, Callum isn’t sure, before she goes to stand by Santa’s side.

There’s an undeniable fondness as she watches Ezran get Bait situated with Santa, who looks a little less than pleased to have drool on his knee, Bait’s hat a little askew before Ez fixes it. Callum gets his camera ready as Bait finally picks his colours, going with blue and white, and snaps a few pictures along with the more official camera that Rayla works. It’s a work of art, honestly, Ezran on one knee and Bait on the other.

“Santa doesn’t get paid enough for this,” Rayla whispers to Callum when she hands him the promptly developed photo, and they both have to hide a snicker.

The line is long by the time their relatively short turn is over. A new sign is set up by the end of the carpet when they pass by. Closed at 3. It’s only 1:15 now, so they’d be heading home early. Not as early as Callum had wanted, maybe, but he can’t regret today at all. If unresolved.

He glances over at Rayla, helping get a pair of twins settled, her earrings twinkling. Hair shining somehow even under the bottom dollar Christmas lights.

“Hey Ez,” he says, stopping his brother. “Do you have a present for Dad yet?” Harrow is famously hard to shop for, always saying that he has everything he needs right here. Callum brought him a tie, and he knows Ezran always makes him a card, but now that his brother has some allowance, it might be nice for Harrow to get something other than a nicely decorated piece of paper.

“Ooh,” Ezran says. “I do have thirteen dollars on me. Maybe I could get him a gift card.”

“That could work,” Callum says. “Let’s check the store directory and see what they have.”

Ezran takes a long time looking at the nearby mall map (Callum glances back at Rayla a few times too) and then spends a long time making a list of possibilities.

“There’s the bookstore—Dad’s always reading new fantasy novels—and the petstore—I think Pip needs more birdseed?—and—”

“Why not check out all of them?” Callum suggests. “Then once you’ve seen everything, we can go back around to whatever you decided.”

“Okay!”

Ezran examines bookmarks and thick high fantasy novels, little holiday themed birdseed packaging and new bird stands, among many other possibilities. Eventually he decides on the birdseed—"It seems practical,“ he says proudly—even if he’s short on the last two dollars, which Callum provides, before they circle back around to the meet-n-greet at five to three. The last family is done, the velvet rope clipped up again, and—Callum’s heart soars. Rayla is still there.

Looking a little tired with a customer service smile plastered on, before she looks up, sees them, and it turns into a real one.

The last family is given their photo and walking off when she comes back over to the rope and they approach, Santa scratching his belly as he disappears once again.

“I thought you left,” she admits.

“Had some Christmas shopping to do,” Callum shrugs, hands in his pockets as he smiles at her.

Ezran holds up the bag. “We got birdseed. And went around to all the stores. It was nice. Callum’s usually a bit more impatient to get going.”

“Is he?” Rayla says, joking but it falls away as she looks up at him. Gets what really happened. Pink stains her cheeks, but a smile curls her lips. Could she get any prettier?

“Christmas spirit got the best of me, I guess,” he says. “And it wasn’t all bad. I got a little notepad.” He hadn’t been able to resist at the bookstore. He digs it out of his bag, a smiley elf face sticker on the front. “It’ll be good for doodles on the go.”

“Any of me yet?” she asks, leaning over.

“Not yet.” There hadn’t been time, and besides, if and when he does draw her, he wants it to be on a bigger piece of paper, where he can do her justice.

“Hm.” Rayla presses her lips together. “You got a pen, too?”

Callum blinks. “Uh. Yeah. Hang on.” He finds his pen after a bit of fumbling, nervous now, as he hands the notebook and pen over to her. For a second he thinks he’s being stupid, and that’s not what she wanted, but then she writes something down on the first page and passes it back over.

“Well it was very nice meeting you,” she says, tucking her hair behind her still pointy ear. “But we’re done for the day, so I should probably get going.”

“Merry Christmas,” Ezran calls after her, when she goes back behind the trees after one last smile. Then he tugs on Callum’s arm and leans over. “What’d she draw in your tiny sketchbook?” Then he pulls a face. “Her number? She gave you her number?” The realization strikes suddenly. “Wait, were you two flirting? Ugh—”

“Christmas miracles, Ez,” Callum says, too giddy to care about his little brother’s distaste, winter break and all its possibilities stretching out ahead of him. It’s never looked brighter.

He’ll have to call her, obviously. Maybe go to Barius’ with her and actually sit down while eating. Try moonberry surprise? The details are fuzzy. She could show up in her elf costume again, even in July, for all he cares, even if he’d really like to see her again sooner than that. The details don’t matter, as long as she says yes.

(She does.)

[enchanted-prose]

#12 A Bloody Ballad

and with this fic, I have officially crossed into the 60,000 word count territory. I've also decided that I will finish this ficlet series by July 14th and submit it to Jennifer Nielsen’s fan content competition.

Word count: 5,715

Characters: Jaron, Mott, Jolly (Original character who deserves lute rights), Lord Thomas Row (a babey and original character), Merry (Original character), Commander Regar (Original character), Roden, Tobias, Renlyn (Original character), Princess Amarinda, Imogen (this one’s a reAL party)

Notes: This was creepy even for me to write, so that’s your warning. Edited and ready to be read!

Enjoy!

The sneezing never stopped.

Always sneezing.

And it was all that cat’s fault.

Jaron rubbed his eyes. It wasn’t the cat’s fault, it was his. He should’ve thought about his reaction to the cat when Renlyn managed to sell it to him. Cat hair was everywhere.

But by the Saints, nothing could best the smile Imogen had when she held that kitten on her lap.

He didn’t mind silent suffering if it meant Imogen’s happiness.

Her secret smiles filled his head. The way her hand sought his whenever they were near each other kept his feet planted on solid ground. Jaron knew that Imogen’s mere presence gave him the focus to solve every puzzle at his fingertips.

However, it went deeper than that.

Imogen insisted on looking him over each time he got into trouble. She had no qualm about staying up until the early hours of the morning when memories of Avenia plagued him. Her love came in gentle forms; she brought him deftly spun bracelets, a spoonful of sweet pastry dough, ruffled his hair with flour covered fingers.

He could sneeze for a millennia for her.

With each passing day, his stance seemed more and more likely.

Did the Saints sneeze?

Energy burst through him without a warning. Jaron stood up, nearly knocking his chair to the floor. He snatched the letter he’d been reading and began to pace. King Kippenger was sending a representative to discuss the situation Avenia was in.

There was nothing Jaron wouldn’t do to assist an ally, save abdicating the throne and a few other atrocious acts of course. He was prepared to give aid to Avenia in any shape.

He was prepared to send his best military leaders to action if needed.

His mind instantly began thinking about what news Kippenger’s representative would be bringing. The path he walked was familiar. It gave him space to think outside of his normal routine. To the corner, to the door, to the shelf, back to the desk.

Thomas Row, that was the representative’s name. A farmer raised to nobility after demonstrating his loyalty not only to Avenia, but to Kippenger during the first months of his reign.

Carthya’s harvests over the past four years had been wondrous, and a new push for education thanks to Amarinda and Tobias. Feall was working with Roden, and Jaron was confident that Feall would make a capable temporary replacement should Roden be sent to Avenia.

The pieces were in place. Jaron could play this figurative chess game and win.

He was juggling what would happen if Avenia wouldn’t accept his help and what he would have to do to protect his own people.

Would it really be worth it to keep a Carthyan influence in Avenia if it only forced Avenians even further away from good relations?

Decisions, decisions, decisions.

To many outcomes, not enough stable variables.

Think, think, think.

What could he do if Avenian relations soured?

Bymar would come to help, Jaron was certain of it. Mendenwal would likely come as well, and maybe even Gelyn, though the latter would likely have ill intentions. He could always completely withdraw Carthyan aid as a last resort.

A very last resort.

Why, oh why couldn’t Thomas Row be there, knocking at the door?

Jaron rubbed his watering eyes, and returned to his desk. One letter down, countless others to go. He inched his chair backwards, inched his chair forwards, and wished he had a chair that spun in a circle.

Saints, it wasn't even noon and he was already bored.

He’d managed to read through ten letters when somebody finally came to check in on him.

“Mott!” Jaron stood up, this time successfully knocking over his chair. “Thank the Saints, I wanted to ask you if-”

“No, I will not let you use a shield as a sled and ride down the grand staircase,” Mott’s brows lowered into a solid line.

Jaron broke into a wicked grin, “Good idea, but that’s not what I was going to ask. You read Kippenger’s letter, no?”

“Haven’t had much to do but read since the attack.”

“Do you have any- oh.”

During the Avenian war, Mott had received a wound that would’ve killed him if not for Tobias’s skill as a doctor. The wound prevented Mott from fighting his way through a battle.

The wicked grin Jaron sported faded into a deep frown. He wanted to be a good king, a just man who sought out justice rather than revenge.

It was a well kept secret that Mott’s ghost wound flared up. A well kept secret that the fight with the Faola who attacked Feall was responsible for the ghost pains.

But Jaron knew, he knew about Mott’s pain.

And if it weren’t for Imogen and Tobias, he would’ve taught the Faola a lesson they’d never forget.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” muttered Jaron, tossing through the emotions pulsing through his veins.

Anger, grief. Anger, grief. Anger, grief, and frustration.

Did nobody care how hard he was trying? Was that why there was still crime plaguing the streets of Drylliad?

“Not exactly, but I do appreciate the sentiment,” Mott shifted on his feet. “I did read Kippenger’s letter, and I dispatched a series of spies to try to locate his representative.”

“Did you find anything out?”

“As a matter of fact, I did, although the information came from someone who’s not one of ours.”

Oh?

Jaron motioned for Mott to continue, “Is it reliable information?”

“From a friend’s perspective, yes. However, from a ruler’s perspective there’s a series of holes in the story,” explained Mott. “My informant, ah, has a history of lute playing, colorful clothing, and pursuing every vice he can.”

“Please don’t tell me-”

“Jolly is my informant.”

He didn’t mean to snicker. He didn’t mean for that snicker to turn into a fit of laughter. Jaron coughed into his fist, trying his best to mask his grinning, “Jolly is your informant? The man who sings about floral crowns and otherworldly romances?”

Mott was all too serious as he nodded. “Considering that he not only found Thomas Row in Avenia, he also managed to bring him here, I’d give him a bit more credit.”

“Lord Thomas Row is here!? When did he arrive!? Why wasn’t I informed!?”

“He requested to stay at an inn rather than in the castle, said he wanted to be with the army that accompanied him.”

“By the toes of every Saint, I have to meet with him,” Jaron bolted to the door, froze as his hand hovered above the handle, and turned back to face Mott. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Perhaps,” Mott said. “I have several things that require my attention, but I don’t suppose you’d be opposed to helping me with my duties.”

More chores?

More papers to read?

Jaron shrugged, “You can’t tell anyone, otherwise they’ll always come to me to help push papers around. I have duties of my own.”

“As do I.”

“To the Devils’ with duty then, I’m the king, my word is law.”

With a few catches, of course, but Jaron didn’t need to explain that. It would’ve diminished his perfect excuse for abandoning the papers on his desk.

All he needed was a quick stop at his chambers to change his clothing. He’d be able to blend in with the crowd well enough in a pair of shabby trousers. It was a slight miracle that he hadn’t been recognized yet.

He was feeling more comfortable once he’d dressed in a patched shirt and ragged shoes.

Although when he stood next to Mott, who was still dressed plainly according to the royal court’s ridiculous standards, he looked like a pickpocket.

Once a thief, always a thief.

The courtyard was bustling with life. Horses were being led to shadier pastures outside the castle. Sheets and sheets hung on lines as they dried in the sun. Roden was yelling at a group of soldiers.

Everything was as it should be. Jaron was grateful for the false security the routine brought.

He would be a fool not to acknowledge that there was something not quite right anymore.

Like a right shoe being ever so slightly bigger than the left. Like a spoon and fork sharing the same engraved design, only the spoon was missing a line.

Quiet yet obvious once found.

“Tell me about the army Thomas Row brought,” Jaron asked, stepping over a laundress’s large bar of soap.

“It’s a hired army,” Mott wiped his nose. The smell of heavy duty soap wasn’t the sweetest scent. “The army’s lead by a man called Commander Regar, I suspect his men are mostly Bymarian and Gelynian.”

“Ah, mercenary armies. They’re too unpredictable for my taste.”

“One could argue that you’re also too unpredictable for  different peoples’ tastes.”

“I don’t give my loyalties to the highest bidder; mercenaries do.”

In fact, Jaron didn’t think the mercenary armies so favored by nobility were worth their cost. The mercenaries were little more than bandits who could play the game of life a little smarter.

It was far better to find men willing to fight for something they loved rather than men who fought for coin.

“Market day should be a success,” Mott noted, gesturing to the various stands that had popped up overnight.

Jaron shrugged, “I’m hoping for a large supply of peaches this time. The peaches at last market day were full of worms.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to wait two days to see the peaches yourself.”

“Think I should have Roden pray for my peaches and their health?”

“Don’t be sacrilegious.”

Ah, market day was a thief’s dream. Hundreds of vendors came with their goods to sell, and security could only protect so many. Jaron had taken advantage of market days as a child. He rarely returned to Mrs. Turbeldy’s Home for Disadvantaged Boys with his hands empty after market day. Sometimes, he got lucky. Sometimes he was able to steal enough food to feed himself for a few days.

Though the anxiety that constantly tugged at his lungs made him wonder.

Made him think.

Made him realize that maybe this market day would be unlike the others.

Perhaps he should get somebody to pray about it.

Thomas Row was staying at the Traveler’s Inn, which meant a short walk for Jaron and Mott. . . If Thomas was there. And as fate would have it, Thomas wasn’t. He was at the Dragon’s Keep, catching up with a certain brightly colored troubadour.

Jaron could hear the lute playing long before he saw the Dragon’s Keep. Jolly’s clear tenor voice sailed through the tavern’s open windows.

There was blood in the kitchen

And blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

There was no way that tune was Carthyan, Jaron would’ve remembered a ballad that violent.

“After you,” Jaron said, holding the door open for Mott.

“On the contrary, after you Jaron.”

“No, after you.”

It took several more ‘after you!’s before Mott finally conceded and walked into the Dragon’s Keep with Jaron trailing behind him.

Stepping into the Dragon’s Keep was like stepping into a warm cloud.Men and women crammed around almost every table. There was no set uniform among them, although several people wore thick, knee-length skirts with knotted patterns. Jolly was sitting on a table flanked by a man playing a large set of pipes and a woman playing a tin flute. Jolly’s tenor voice took on a thick Bymarian accent; the chords he played turned sour:

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

And blood on her Majesty, Lady Ingrithay

A heart in her right hand, dagger in the other

Ye can’t outrun yer mother

She is yer judgement day

Jaron shivered.

Ye can’t outrun yer mother

She is yer judgement day

“That’s him, Lord Row,” Mott said, gesturing to a man in humble clothes sitting a few tables away from Jolly and the other musicians.

Lord Thomas Row was a plain man, save for his head of wiry, black braids. His white shirt flared down his arms and cinched around his wrists.

Cinched around one of his wrists.

One of his wrists?

Lord Row had a right hand, but the left one ended in an elegant, covered hook.

“Sir Mott! It is good to see you!” Lord Row bellowed, and he lunged to embrace Mott. “It’s been too many years!”

“Yes it has, Tom, yes it has,” Mott clapped Row’s back.

Jaron tried to stop the squirming unease that came when watching a pair of old friends reunite.

Once Row had broken off his embrace, he took a long look at Jaron. “Is this-?”

“It is, no need for names, my friend, I came here to make your acquaintance before rushing into talks of politics,” Jaron said, extending his right hand. “Sometimes they get messy, I’d rather be friends than enemies. And forgive my dress, I find it’s easier to slip through crowds when not wearing a jeweled tunic.”

“There’s no need for forgiveness, I wholeheartedly agree, and I sincerely hope you don’t become my enemy, your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Jaron.”

“I accept your invitation of friendship,” Row bowed his head. “Jaron.”

“By the Saints can he change this ballad?” Mott grumbled as Jolly launched into a new verse.

Ye can run, ye can run

But lady, o’lady

Yer time’s almost done

Sing like a bird, say what you say

O’lady yer the one

To stop dear Ingrithay

Blood in the-

“No! Don’t touch my lute you insufferable imp!” Shouted Jolly as he launched off the table.

Jaron let out a sigh of relief, “Find whoever stole the lute and bring them to me, I’ll give them a knighthood.”

“The ballad isn’t that bad,” muttered a man from Row’s table.

“On the contrary, I think it is.”

“Ignore old Regar, he’s sympathetic for Bymarian ballads,” Row waved his hook at the man who’d spoken.

Regar held up his hand in greeting, but chose to drink the contents of his tankard than say hello.

“It’s not exactly a song for dancing,” Mott pointed out. “It’s Bymarian, you say?”

Row nodded, “I’ve heard it multiple times on my journey here. Regar’s men are mostly from Idunn Craich, it’s been interesting hearing their tales, they’re much bloodier than tales from Bultain.”

“Only recent ones,” Regar said, having finally finished his drink. He dragged his hand across his bearded face and smiled, “Commander Regar, I am honored to be in your presence, Majesty.”

Jaron made a face, but nodded in return.

He hated it when people called him Majesty.

That’s what people called their prettiest mares, Saints be cursed.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Jaron said. “Sort of.”

“Thank you, I think.” Regar nodded his head. His eyes were elsewhere, and soon he was sitting again, nursing his tankard.

“See something you don’t like, Commander Regar?”

He didn’t answer.

“Regar isn’t the most spirited at this time, return in a few hours and he’ll be singing with our mutual friend Jolly,” Row said, setting his hook on Jaron’s shoulder. He steered both Jaron and Mott away from the table. “Jaron, may I ask how your day has gone?”

“Oddly average, if I must be honest,” Jaron said, still looking at Regar.

“Ah, I must say the same, as average as riding can be.”

Mott chuckled, “That’s good news, I’d hate to know there were troubles with your travels, Row.”

His head was racing. Put the pieces together, put the pieces together! Regar was several inches taller than Jaron, and from his standpoint, could probably see more than Jaron could. From Regar’s eye-level, he could see the other side of the tavern, which was much emptier.

Bar maids dashed to and fro trying to appease every customer they could.

One of them was serving drinks while keeping a lute free from Jolly’s hands. Green scarf in her bushy hair. Jolly’s ballad echoed through Jaron’s mind.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

Something was staring at him, right in the face.

It plagued him as he sat at the bar, listening to the bloody Bymarian ballads, and trying to weasel his way into Mott’s conversation with Lord Row.

He rubbed his eyes, which had finally stopped burning now that he’d left his cat hair covered office.

Aside from Lord Row and discussing Avenian policies, there were other matters to take care of. Among that never ending list of problems to be solved was the Faola attack on Feall.

It took numerous questions from Feall, Roden, Amarinda, and himself to firmly conclude that the girl who’d been arrested wasn’t responsible. She was simply doing the wrong things, got involved with the wrong people, and got caught at the wrong time.

But Feall had suggested bargaining with her. Bargaining with Ayvar, a criminal.

It wasn’t the worst deal Jaron had to make.

He promised Ayvar her freedom and a pardon for banditry if she was able to help them catch the culprit. She swore on her own false grave in Gelyn that she would keep her word, and was prepared to act immediately if needed.

Ayvar would remain a prisoner but would be moved to a tower room. She would be given ample food, water, and blankets.

All she needed to do was be prepared for when she was needed.

It was a game, and Jaron didn’t mind playing games.

He only hoped that he’d win this time.

Too many times had he gambled and lost, resulting in disastrous consequences and a pile of innocent victims. This time, it would be different. He would catch a Faola, and in the process, drive away all the others.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

Jaron rubbed his eyes. The words to Jolly’s song refused to leave.

It seemed that even thinking of Jolly caused him to appear. “Headache, sir?”

“No, no, I bought a cat from Renlyn Karise, turns out I don’t do well when cats are around,” Jaron confessed.

Jaron didn’t want to admit that he was thankful for Jolly’s company; he didn’t want to admit that Mott was talking to Lord Row much better than he was.

“Ah, Renlyn,” Jolly held a hand over his heart. “The envy of every man and their wives. A beauty and a wickedly intelligent woman.”

“Imogen mentioned that you knew her, how did the pair of you meet?”

Jolly’s blush matched the pink details on his blue jerkin, “Ah, well, I was one of the fools who chased after Ren for her golden curls. I thought I was clever by tricking her into a gambling game. . .”

“And?”

“And I lost everything. She gave it back, of course, but I learned my lesson. Karise is a force to be reckoned with, and a fierce friend. But she’s good at every kind of game.”

Especially the game of How Much Money can Jaron Waste on a Cat?

“And you know Merry, as well,” Jaron noted, gesturing to the girl in question as she dragged a box of dirty dishes to the back room. “How?”

“It’s not my story to tell,” Jolly scratched his mass of black hair. “I’m sure you could ask her about it one day, not sure how much luck you have.”

“I’ve heard plenty about her, believe me. Roden, ah, Roden gets easily excited when he’s on the bottle.”

“Yes, yes he does.”

“And how do you know Roden?”

“You know what,” Jolly made a face. “I’m not quite sure, we were speaking in a tavern and he’s always been a friend of mine. Wrote a ballad about him, and a ballad about Renlyn. I have a ballad I’m writing about-”

“Don’t say it’s about me and Imogen.”

“-you and Imogen.”

“By the toes of all the Saints,” Jaron pinched his nose. “At least make it a good one.”

“I can sing it right now!” Jolly bounced away from the bar, swinging his lute into action.

Jaron’s eyes went wide as Jolly began strumming each chord, tuning them all to perfection. He began plucking out the first few notes, which led to a series of slowly strummed chords. Jolly heaved in a breath, preparing to sing, when out of nowhere a pair of hands shot out and stole the lute.

“You’re in timeout!” Merry said, cradling the lute in her arms. “You sang Ingrithay too many times, you’ll lose your voice!”

“Merry, Merry, quite contrary, you tug my- that’s actually a wonderful rhyme,” Jolly made a face, nodding ever so slowly.

In silence, Jaron pressed his hands together and bowed his head, grateful for Merry’s interference. She winked at him in return.

She patted Jolly’s shoulder, “That’s right, my tortured artist, think about your songs, and drink something warm. Can I get anything for you gentlemen?”

“I’ve heard the lemon tarts here are very nice,” Jaron said, exchanging a sneaky grin with Mott.

That wasn’t the only thing they’d heard.

“And for you, Lord Row?” Merry cradled the lute in one arm, and set her free hand on her hip.

“I’m quite well, thank you,” Lord Row flashed a smile. “I’ll be certain to call for you should anything change.”

“I’ll do my best to answer that call, sir.”

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Blood in the bathtub

Blood on the walls

No, no. Not the rhyme again.

He hated not having all the answers. He hated knowing that there was something lurking in his future.

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

“This stuff, really?” Tobias asked, gesturing to the bottle not far from Roden’s reach.

As much as he tried, Lord Thomas Row was more concerned with checking in on Commander Regar’s men, and opted to save their discussion for a few days later.

Meaning Jaron had nothing to do for an entire evening.

His first instinct was to snuggle up to Imogen, or do something silly like cover her eyes and guide her through the castle. However, his attempt to steal her away came too late: Amarinda had commandeered Imogen and Renlyn for an evening ride in the woods with Feall and Mott as chaperones.

His second instinct was to pester Roden into doing something fun, but when he entered Roden’s usually clean office, he knew he was gravely mistaken.

Pieces of fabric and at least one of Roden’s shirts were scattered about the floor. He and Tobias were arguing about something, but the argument came to a grating halt when Jaron walked in.

“Be quiet Tobias, you need loads of spirits to be a seamstress,” Jaron wrinkled his nose. “Let Roden embrace his dreams.”

“I’m not becoming a seamstress!” Roden crossed his arms, his frown rivaling the gargoyles on Drylliad’s biggest cathedral.

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Then why do you have a pair of shears in your hand and fabric on your lap?” Jaron sauntered over to Roden’s desk, sat in his chair, and kicked his heels up. “I can arrange for you to get more pretty things if you’d like.”

Roden perked up, “Really? I mean, no! That’s not what I want!”

“Oh he definitely wants pretty things,” Tobias pointed out. He’d picked up the bottle on Roden’s desk. “This is definitely stronger than what I’m used to trying.”

As Roden curled over his piece of fabric, Jaron looked to Tobias, and both exchanged a snicker.

If he couldn’t convince Roden to ride a shield like a sled down the grand staircase, Jaron would make fun of him till he reacted. That would be worth it.

Tobias looked at Roden, who was cursing his scissors, and made an outline of- of a bell?

Jaron squinted at him, shrugged, and shook his head. What could he do with a bell? What- oh! Tobias was making the outline of a skirt, not a bell. Ah! Jaron could work with skirt jokes.

“You know, I hear Bymarian women wear dresses with slits so they can move,” Jaron rubbed his nose. “I’m sure Amarinda can get you one.”

“No, no, that wouldn’t work,” Roden waved his hand, and didn’t bother looking back.

Looking for reassurance, Jaron looked at Tobias, who was sniffing the contents of Roden’s bottle of spirits. He made a face as the fumes escaped. No reassurance from him.

There had to be a way to upset Roden. “Are you more of a skirt person?”

He paused and straightened. “I suppose I am.”

Once again, Jaron looked to Tobias. This time, Tobias was prepared with a confused shrug.

“Are you- are you being serious?” Jaron leaned forwards. He’d heard of men wearing skirts into battle. By the Devils, even some of Regar’s men wore skirts. He just hadn’t expected Roden to suddenly take a stance on the trend.

“I don’t really mind what a girl wears,” Roden looked back to glare at Jaron. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I was talking about you wearing a dress, you oaf.”

Roden pointed his scissors at Jaron, “No. I’m not playing this game, I’m in a good mood.”

“Good mood? I’d like to change that.”

“Jaron, nothing you could do could change that. I have the evening off and-”

“Are you making dish rags for the kitchen staff?” asked Jaron, now resting his chin on his hands and his elbows on Roden’s desk. “No, Tobias, don’t drink that. I need somebody on my side in case Roden plays dirty.”

Unfortunately, Tobias was looking to do something foolish too. Jaron could hear him draining Roden’s bottle of spirits.

Dear Saints, he was causing a circus.

Good!

“I’m not going to fight y-,” Roden tried, but Jaron was eager to do something incredibly foolish.

“You’re making hair scarves for Merry, aren’t you?”

Aha! He’d hit a nerve!

“So?” Roden grumbled, curling back over his fabric. “I like seeing her ears. One of them has this-”

“Boring!” Jaron jumped to his feet, and walked over to a fine square of red fabric. “You want to know what would make these all prettier? Tobias, you’re going to pass out.”

“I think I deserve a quick nap,” Tobias argued, setting down the now half-empty bottle of spirits. “Jaron, don’t do something stupid, remember what we said about being kind.”

Oh yes, Jaron remembered that deep discussion. Something about being considerate for others and not pestering people until they reacted in a negative way. During the conversation, Tobias pointed out that perhaps Jaron wasn’t used to receiving any verbal or physical attention, which was likely the cause of Jaron’s desire to punch Roden as hard as he could during the most obscure times.

Unfortunately, Tobias’s statements were too close to home. During the next large banquet, Jaron made sure to punch Tobias as hard as he could rather than Roden.

He’d certainly gotten an earful from Imogen after that.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Roden growled, slowly rising to a stance to attack.

Jaron raised his foot above the red square of fabric, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m warning you. Don’t do-”

“What, this?”

His intention was to bring his boot down on the red square of fabric and leave a massive footprint, but he wasn’t sure if he accomplished his goal. Roden had launched himself right at Jaron, sending both of them careening across the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey! I’m a little guy! It’s my birth- hey!” Jaron cried out trying to wriggle out of Roden’s deathgrip.

“I told you not to touch the fabric!” Roden roared.

Jaron felt his feet touch the ground for a split second, and then he was hurled over Roden’s shoulder. Completely unfair. He refused to stand for it. Jaron kicked his legs like a fish, grabbed the back of Roden’s tunic, and tumbled to the ground.

He barely managed to roll away from Roden’s swinging foot.

“Oh, the fabric,” Tobias murmured. “It’s so pretty.”

“Quick-” Jaron dodged a flying fist “-question! What was in the bottle?”

Roden lunged, successfully grabbing Jaron by the left leg and dragging him to the ground. “It’s from Libeth!”

Now that wasn’t good at all. Libeth had some of the wildest alcohol brewers in the entire kingdom. Supposedly, they made a liquor strong enough to remove barnacles from sea vessels.

And how much had Tobias drank?

“He was-,” Tobias hiccuped and wiped his eyes. “Roden was making little hair scarves-,” another hiccup. “Making hair scarves for Murry. Little scarves, oh dear Saints, this boy can only wield a sword, bless him in these days as he-”

“Shut up Tobias!” Jaron and Roden yelled.

By the Devils! Roden had the upper hand again! Jaron was all too aware of Roden’s hand holding both of his wrists, which meant only one thing.

“Please, Roden, I beg you, it was just a joke!’ Jaron whimpered, trying to weasel out of his grip.

No, no, no.

The first time Jaron and Roden had gotten into a physical fight ended the same way, with Jaron unable to move and Roden prepared to deliver the finishing blow.

“I just wanted to cut up fabric!” Roden argued. “Tobias and I were doing fine before you barged in!”

“I was bored! Please don’t do this!”

“You could’ve helped with the fabric!”

“I wasn’t that bored!” Jaron squirmed again. “Please, Saints, no. No! Ah!”

The finishing blow was the worst part of the fight. Roden had licked his little finger, and shoved it into Jaron’s ear.

Although, now there was a third party involved.

Tobias flung his arms around both Roden and Jaron, tears streaming down his face. “I love you both with my whole heart, honest to the Saints. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“Can you get Roden to take his nasty hands off of my body!?” Jaron bellowed, yanking his head free from Roden’s little finger.

“Does the baby need a nap?” Roden cooed.

Oh, ho, ho, Roden was remembering old exchanged insults. Jaron unsuccessfully tried to escape, but to no avail. Roden hooked his arms beneath Jaron’s knees, and swung him up into his arms, while still keeping a drunken Tobias on his feet.

“Put me down!”

“Not until you apologize!”

“Roden?”

“Yes?”

“Rot with the Devils, you clotpole.”

Tobias’s quiet tears turned into sobs as he wrapped his arms around Jaron and Roden once again. “Little hair scarves.”

It was quite the scene to walk into: Roden holding Jaron like a baby, Tobias sobbing like he’d learned he would die soon, and bits of cut up colorful fabric covered the floor. It just so happened that Amarinda’s night ride finished early.

They didn’t look pleased.

The disappointment in Mott’s eyes was an all too familiar sight.

“I can explain,” Jaron croaked, finally realizing that he’d lost the fight.

A fight that he started.

“It looks like a dress shop in here,” Mott clasped his hands behind his back, Amarinda, Renlyn, and Imogen trailing behind him.

Roden practically dropped Jaron on the floor. “I was trying to make something, and then Jaron showed up.”

“Hey, you didn’t have to hit me,” argued Jaron. He grunted when Tobias set his head on Jaron’s shoulder, and refused to move. “Get off of me!”

The only answer Tobias gave was a new wave of silent tears, and a fresh set of apologies.

Mott’s face didn’t betray a single emotion. “Weren’t you going to meet with Lord Row?”

“He moved the meeting back, and I happened to finish my work this evening, and didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you picked a fight with Roden?”

Jaron scowled, he realized how foolish he’d been in starting the fight. A conversation wouldn’t have been enough for him, there was too much energy bursting through his body.

“These are pretty,” Amarinda held up an opaque piece of yellow fabric.

“Don’t worry, I’m not making myself a skirt,” grunted Roden, his hands full of different fabric squares.

“Were you putting something together?”

“I finished, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“He was-,” Tobias hiccuped. “He was making tiny, tiny scarves. For Merry, to wear.”

There hadn’t been a time when Tobias had been so drunk before, or at least there hadn’t been a time Jaron could remember.

Amarinda sighed, and transferred Tobias’s head from Jaron’s shoulder to her own.“Oh, darling, what did you do this time?”

“They were fighting, and I’ve had it.”

Amarinda patted the side of Tobias’s head, her eyes boring into Jaron’s very soul. However, she gave no biting remarks, she only wrapped her arm around Tobias’s waist. Together, they inched towards the door.

Her smile was forced. “I’ll be taking him to our chamber, I don’t want him doing something foolish.”

“Is that from Libeth?” Imogen asked, gesturing to the bottle on Roden’s desk.

However, before anyone could give a clear answer, Renlyn took a large swig from the bottle, set it down, and frowned. “That batch was weak.”

“You know what?” Jaron crossed his arms. “I don’t think I want to know. Jolly told me about your tendencies.”

“Is that an invitation for me to take over the kingdom through a gambling match?”

“Absolutely not, I’ve been warned, and I won’t ever concede to your money games again.”

“That’s what they all say.”

By the Saints! Jaron scowled at Renlyn, who had the audacity to remain completely placid. He knew deep in his heart that he’d have to do something worse than terrorize Roden to get a reaction out of the notorious Renlyn Karise.

Imogen raised her hands, “Ah, we should take the energy down a notch, don’t you think?”

“Jaron started it!”

“I know Roden, I usually start things, unlike you.”

“Jaron!” Everyone chorused, followed by Tobias’s slurred agreement.

“What!?” Jaron crossed his arms, screwing his face into the fiercest scowl he could.

He’d rather be lectured than think of those cursed lyrics.

There was blood in the kitchen

There was blood in the halls

Jaron would rather hear complaints and be tossed around like a child’s doll than consider what fate had in store for him.

He wasn’t ready yet.

He just wasn’t ready.

[serahsanguine]

School, Sex and Subterfuge NC-17

ao3

This story is based in 2018/2019.

Mulder is a teacher, Scully is a student. This story is an NC-17 rating. There is no underage sex in my story I researched this before even writing it.

Mulder is known to give extra credit of a sexual kind to Someone special in his class does this person turn out to be Scully? I will let you read and find out.

*******************************************

Notes:

The first Chapter is kind of Scully Pov but most of the chapters thereafter will be both pov and or third person. Also, the characters I am portraying may seem out of charter well one of them at least but as the story goes on this will sort itself out it had to be done this way for the story to work.

*************************************************

First Day, First Meeting

Scully was now in her second year at Stanford University getting her bachelor's degree in Medicine.

She was a sophomore, thank God, because she had hated being a freshman. At least now she was kind of settled. She knew where she had to be on campus and knew the best places to get away from everyone, when she needed time alone. She has mostly the same classes that she had last year, just more advanced versions of those classes. She wasn't much for parties or social gatherings, as she preferred to study and get straight A’s instead of headaches and awkward conversation with strangers. Anything less would not please Ahab, especially with Missy roaming the world. She knew her roommate Serah and a couple of her close friends well and even knew most of the people in her classes. Serah was in most of the same subjects she was, bar a few, like art and music for example.

Scully woke up in her room, the sun was just starting to peek through the musty brown curtains. She groaned to herself and forced herself to roll over, looking over at her clock which sat on her bedside table, moaning again when she read the time - 5 am.

She hated when her body did this to her when it didn't want to sleep or she couldn't get to sleep. She swung her legs off the bed, it wasn't like she was going to go back to sleep anyway and put on some comfortable yoga pants, with a tank top and some bright red Nike Air running trainers. She could probably fit in an hour or two at the gym before the rest of the campus even wakes up. Plus the benefits of being at the gym this early is that no one would be there; meaning no guys wolf whistling or giving her dirty remarks under their breath while exercising.

She exited her room quietly shutting and locking the door behind her trying not to wake Serah, as she definitely was not a morning person. Scully made quick work of getting to the main entrance and across the quad to the west wing of the campus which held the gym and entered the building saying a quick "Hello" to Jim the security guard, before heading straight for the treadmill machine area. She placed her eco-friendly water bottle in the holder, and then put her wireless headphones on before scanning her iPhone and hitting play on Fleetwood Mac and stepped onto the treadmill starting at a light jog then a full sprint. She was so focused on running and what she was listening to that she didn't notice a man enter the room and start running, three treadmills down from her, himself.

An hour passed and Scully had run the sleep deprivation out of her system, and her legs were starting to burn so she slowed her pace and started her cool down. That's when she looked over to see a man in his late 20’s, maybe early 30’s, running hard with sweat dripping off of his face. Scully covertly checked him out - he was about 6ft 1 with chestnut brown hair and tanned skin.

She had never seen this man before but as she studied his physique, she could tell he was athletic, he had brilliant legs and calf muscles. She worked her way up staring at his butt which was nicely shaped and stood out in the very short black workout shorts that he was wearing, continuing up further to his arms she watched his toned biceps and triceps flex and tense as he was really giving this run his all.

The man suddenly turned towards her, looking directly at her and she realised she had clearly been caught checking him out. She started blushing and then he smiled at her and she wanted to look away but she couldn't help but stare back at the man looking appreciatively at her. His eyes are what drew her in, they weren't green but neither were they brown, in fact, they were a lovely shade of hazel; so bright and deep at the same time, they were mesmerizing. She watched sweat drip from his hairline and run down his cheekbones and nose which she did admit was too big for his face but it suited him all the same and didn't diminish how cute he was.

Scully worked her way down his face to look at his gorgeous pouty lips so pink and full - Wow! What she would give to have that bottom lip in-between her teeth sucking and nibbling it. Wow, where did that come from? She smiled back at him and he took off his drenched mesh and cotton tank top, her eyes drifted down of the own accord she could not help but notice the muscles of his chest and the very well defined six-pack on his stomach.

Looking at this beautiful man sent her into a full body flush - her heart racing, her breath was ragged and uneven, a pool of desire building in her stomach. Why was she thinking like this? She had to stop thinking like this immediately but damn she just wanted to shove him up against a wall and have him fuck her senseless!

She had to escape quickly, hopping off the treadmill she walked fast towards the ladies locker room but he was still staring at her as she opened the door and only then did he turn away. She could not help but glance at this man once more before heading for a very cold shower (which desperately needed now), trying not to think of the man she had just encountered and spent no actual time talking to.

After Scully had showered and changed into some light grey jeans and a flowy peach coloured tank top blouse with spaghetti straps, she grabbed herself a coffee and grabbed Serah one while she was at the on-campus coffee shop before walking back to her dorm room.

She arrived at her room and unlocked the door; Serah was already awake and dressed in black stretchy jeans, a black tank top and cropped burgundy hoodie, her long blonde hair was in a messy ponytail and away from her face, making her blue eyes stand out more than they already did.

"Hey Dana’ Serah said cheerfully.

"Wow, look who's up early!" Scully replied sarcastically, with a curiously raised eyebrow.

"Oh, shush you. Is that coffee for me?"

"Well, I don't see anyone else here to give it to, so you might as well have it," Scully said, handing Serah the coffee cup.

"Well, it looks like someone is in a sassy mood on the first day back. Anyone, I know?"

Scully was still surprised at how easily Serah could read her sometimes.

"No. Just some guy I saw at the gym this morning... I didn't even speak to him."

"You may not have spoken to him, Dana, but he has you all hot under the collar I can tell," Serah smirked, then took a sip of her coffee.

Scully could feel a slight redness in her cheeks and a small smile creep across her face.

"Maybe... but you know me and you know that I have no time for men."

"Well, my dear friend. All work and no play makes life very dull indeed. And sometimes you need to play hard and be free... and let go every now and then."

"Maybe I will, sometime"

"Yes but the sometime may never come, Dana"

"What classes do you have today anyway?"

"Mostly same as you Biology and Chemistry but when you have your free period I have Art class then lunch we can meet back up at say two for psychology?"

"Sure, that sounds about right."

"Oh, have you heard the rumours about our lecturer?"

"You know I don't listen to rumour and speculation."

"Well, I know THAT! But they are pretty good and sound rather juicy so do you want to know or not?" Scully nodded, and so without hesitation Serah carried on with her story "Well as I hear it our teacher Mr F. W. Mulder takes one girl under his wing a year and gives her ‘extra credit’" Serah raised her eyebrows as if willing Scully to get the hint but Scully just looked at her friend standing across from her and gave her a sceptical eyebrow. "Anyway, it so happens he purposely fails them so he can take them back to his office and have his way with them. And nobody minds because apparently from what I have heard from the older girls, he is very good looking and fantastic in bed"

"As I said I don't believe in rumour or speculation, and if what you say is true surely he would have been found out and got fired by now."

"You would think so, wouldn't you? But apparently he is from a wealthy family that donates a lot of money to the school... so they look the other way."

"Hmm… we really should get going or we’re going to miss out the first lecture."

"Changing the subject are we?"

"Why yes, I am." They both started laughing.

They casually wandered to their first class sipping their coffees on the way.

Several hours and a number of boring "Welcome back" lectures later. Scully was sitting in her favourite little, off-campus, cafe eating a small Caesar salad with a strawberry and banana smoothie just enjoying the scenery. The weather was warm for Autumn, a good 78 F but there was a light breeze flowing through the trees and flowers offsetting the unusual heat.

What Scully liked most about sitting here was being alone and the peace and serenity of it all - that was until the guy she saw earlier at the gym started walking in her direction. She watched him walk across the small cafe, his hair caught the sun coming through the large windows and his eyes glimmered in the sunlight, he was wearing dark blue jeans that rode low on his hips and a white shirt rolled up on his arms.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" He looked at her directly in the eyes now, and she could feel him burrowing his way into her soul, gesturing towards the empty seat next to her.

"No, it is not." Scully smiled sheepishly at him and watched him sit down across from her.

"It’s nice here. Very open... and yet rustic"

"Yes, it is" Scully felt herself going shy, and was unable to form long sentences.

"I'm sorry to be so forward. I'm not normally like this," he took a short pause before completing his train of thought "You just looked lonely. My name is William, by the way."

"Hello William, I'm Dana" she took his hand and shook it, she felt unable to breathe because of this man sitting in front of her.

"I was wondering if you attended the University?" Scully simply nodded, William took the chance to express what he really wanted to say "Look, I really came over to say that you are a very beautiful woman."

"Thank you," Scully was covered in crimson blush now and she didn't know what to say, she could feel her heart beating hard in her chest, could hear the blood pumping and thrumming in her ears.

"I really must be going, sorry to interrupt your day. It's been nice to meet you, Dana."

"It was nice meeting you, too," Scully answered managing to stumble out the words.

She watched him walk away (eyes distracted by his firm butt). No man had made her lost for words before, no man had really taken an interest in her or at least been so forward about it. She was shocked, to say the least, but very flattered by his attention.

She finished her salad (and smoothie) and made her way back to campus to meet Serah by the water fountain.

"Dana!"

"Hey Serah, are you ready to head to class?"

"Yeah"

Serah picked up her bag and bottled water, said bye to her group of friends and walked alongside Scully. It took about ten minutes to walk to the lecture hall, when they arrived it was already half full. Scully thought two things at that moment It is either a popular subject or he was a very popular man! Serah looked at her as if she knew what she was thinking and grinned.

"It could possibly be both, there a couple of seats over there"

They shuffled through the row of seats to find their spot.

"So, what did you get up to at lunch? You came back a bit flushed."

"I'm fine! Nothing happened." Scully stated, staring off into space and trying not to look at her friend.

"Yeah, right. I heard some more details that should interest you... details about what kind of women he picks for his little game"

"Is that so?"

"Apparently he goes for long haired brunettes and quite tall... or so I have heard."

"Oh, well thank you for the reassurance. Since I'm nothing like that he wouldn't even look at me twice." Scully mumbled while getting her notebook out of her bag.

"Anytime!"

Suddenly the whole lecture hall went quite as Professor F. W. Mulder himself stepped onto the stage at the front of the room. Scully looked up and recognized the man that was about to teach their class, it was William in his blue jeans and white shirt. Their eyes locked onto each other... Shit, she thought.

This was going to be one very long academic year.

[jeremys-blogs]

Lilith: The Redemption Problem

When something is well-received in fiction, it won't be long until you start seeing it in other works. And when other people make tier own attempt at an idea or a type of character, it isn't always going to be as successful as whatever first try made the notion popular to being with. In recent years, one idea seems to have consistently stuck around in many animated works, and that's the trope of the reformed or redeemed villain. Now, the idea of bad guys turning good is by no means a new one, but I think it'd be safe to say that the one which really kick-started this particular recent trend would be our old friend Prince Zuko, from Avatar. This character, this incredibly well-written and brilliantly executed antagonist-turned-protagonist, immediately connected with people, becoming among the most beloved of Avatar's cast. His redemption arc, spanning almost the entirety of the show, was by far one of the best in modern media. Thanks to him, redeeming foes seems to have become a trendy thing in animation, with numerous shows taking a stab at it. And Disney is no exception to this, as their recent hit, The Owl House, has added one more to the list of baddies turning good; Lilith, former head of the Emperor's Coven.

Now, as villain redemptions are something of a contentious issue, I'd like to say upfront that I am not, in any way, against characters switching sides. After all, several of my favourite characters have been those who have done exactly that. However, the manner in which they go from one side to the other is often the sticking point as to whether I'm on-board with it. Do it too fast, or without the character having done anything to earn it, and chances are I'll not be too much of a fan of it. With Lilith, we start things off with her, if nothing else, not actually being characterised as being all that bad. True, we know she serves the unseen Emperor that we naturally assume will be the villain, but her actions in her initial appearance didn't really have her do anything all that unforgivable. She cheated to help her apprentice win a duel, sure, but so did Eda, so when your heroes indulge in the morally dubious, we can't really condemn the bad guys for it. Really the worst you could say about Lilith in the start was that she was kind of a stick-in-the-mud, particularly when compared to her sister. But these were, of course, only early days for her, and in subsequent appearances we did indeed see her do far worse.

But of course, despite the fact that her subsequent involvement in the show always had her in opposition to Eda in some way, it wasn't until the penultimate episode of the show that we truly got her taking on a full-on villain role. In that story we had her, in no particular order, kidnap a child, hold her hostage, use her as a human shield, attempt to capture her own sister, and on top of everything else, she reveals that she was the one who cursed Eda to begin with. A curse that led to her having to be an outcast among witch society for most of her life. In just one episode, Lilith went to being among the most despised characters in the show among fans, and not without good reason. These are severe strikes against her, and makes it pretty clear that, if she's going to be put on the side of the angels, it's going to take a lot of work on her part. And to begin with, let's look at her motivations. We find out that all of her efforts to hunt Eda, including her treatment of Luz, was because she was acting on the belief that Belos would cure the curse if she did so. A promise that eventually turned out to be a lie.

Now, to Lilith's credit, the moment she realises that Belos isn't going to help her in the way she needed him to, she devotes herself to Eda utterly, to the point of turning on the Emperor in order to do that. She gives up her position and her status to help her sister, and when she too winds up as an outcast, she uses her power to take on half of the curse for herself, thus freeing Eda from the more bestial aspects of it. These actions are, admittedly, positive ones. She has taken responsibility for what she did and has even taken on some of the negative traits of what she inflicted upon Eda, including apparently diminished magical power. However, we also need to take into account the fact that the reason Lilith cursed her to begin with was in order to win a contest that would have allowed her to join the Emperor's Coven. Granted, she was under the impression that the effect would merely be to take her sister's power for a day, but the fact still remains that she willingly and knowingly tried to harm her all to try and get ahead of her for personal gain. And that, I'm sorry to say, is not in any way a reasonable starting point for her to have had.

For comparison, let's take a look at fellow Owl House character, Amity. And yes, I realise that there are many out there who are tired of every Owl House discussion being brought back to this one character, but here it's actually unavoidable. You see, Amity too had a surprise reveal in the show to explain her past actions. When the show began, she was in no way a nice person towards Luz's friend Willow, but it was later shown that this behaviour was the result of a threat her parents laid out. If she didn't break off her friendship to Willow, they'd make it so the latter could never get into school. Amity's actions towards her, though unpleasant, were done because she wanted to ensure she actually had a shot of getting a proper witch's education. It seems as though something similar was being attempted with Lilith, pulling back the curtain to try and justify her actions towards Eda. Unfortunately, the big difference between the two characters was that Amity's choice was done because she knew something worse would happen to Willow if she didn't. Her actions were bad, but they were done with a selfless motivation. Lilith, by contrast, did what she did to help herself, to get herself into the Emperor's Coven. And that, sadly, is nowhere near as justifiable as what Amity did.

Now, there is one counterargument I've been hearing in defence of Lilith since the season ended, and I feel I need to discuss it here. Namely that her actions shouldn't be looked on with such negativity because, so goes the argument, "this is just how things are in the Boiling Isles". We are shown in this world that witch society is both ruthless and cutthroat, with witches encouraged to do anything possible to advance themselves or show dominance. We see it all the time in things like witches duels being considered acceptable, or having sisters compete to get ahead in life, or even small moments like Principal Bump being totally nonchalant about murder. And I can't deny that. This is indeed the kind of culture we've been shown so far. But my problem with the argument, and this is likely going to be the most controversial thing I ever say, is that just because something is ingrained as part of a culture doesn't make it any less wrong. As an extreme example, take the ancient Spartans, who often left infants born with disabilities alone to die in order to maintain their status as a strong military society. But we in the present would consider that an abhorrent action, and rightly so. It's the same with the Isles. Yes, relentless ambition to rise to the top is everyday, but we should not take that to mean that it's to be viewed as a positive.

One thing I will say in favour of her turn to good is that none of the characters have actively forgiven her for what she's done. True, King stood between her and Eda during the latter's rage to explain what was going on, and yes Luz willingly chose to aid her because they both wanted to help Eda, but so far nobody has actually absolved her of her past actions. This is a good sign, at least for the time being, and shows that she hasn't just been automatically accepted as part of the group. They've instead recognised that she's trying to do what she can to undo her past errors, and they seem willing to let her do that. It's not the finish line, but it's the first step towards it. Season two has yet to arrive, and only time will tell how her redemption will be handled when it eventually gets here, but with luck we won't just have something like a time-skip to show her already chummy with everyone else. Ideally, there will be lingering tension and resentment between the characters, as well as Lilith doing more to help them, before full forgiveness has been earned. Lilith, like any well-handled redeemed villain, should not be given that redemption on a silver platter, but instead should be given the opportunity to atone, and we'll have to wait and see just how that atonement plays out when Owl House returns to us 😊

[buckywintersoldierbarnes2017]

Does Love Really Conquer All? - Part 1

Note: So this is my first shot at a Bucky Barnes x Reader fic. This idea crossed my mind and so I had to roll with it in the hope that people enjoy it. It will be a series but I don’t know how long it will be just yet. I’m just seeing where my writing takes me :)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1537

Warnings: Traumatic images, heartache and violence.

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine. All credit goes to their creators

‘Moonlight Serenade’ filled the room you were currently stood in, drowning out the noise of any chatter that was going on around you, as you rested your head onto the chest of the man you were dancing with. The strong scent of his cologne constantly filled your nose, sending a pleasant shiver through your whole body as it did, you were so glad he had worn it tonight because it helped to make you feel more at ease given what tonight was actually for.

All the men in this room were leaving to go to war tomorrow. A war that, in your eyes, shouldn’t have been concerning your country or its men….but perhaps that was simply your emotions getting the better of you. The man you loved with all your heart was about to be used as cannon fodder so all you wanted was to keep him as close as you could.

As the terrifying thoughts began to fabricate themselves inside your mind once more your hands tensed. He felt the newly applied pressure to both his hand and his back where your own hands were resting and immediately he slowed your moves down to a point where you almost stopped completely and removed the hand that was around your waist so that he could cradle your chin instead, tilting your head up so that your [e/c] eyes connected with his sharp blue ones.

You may have been together for a couple of years now but that didn’t at all diminish the affect they had on you. Each time you so much as glanced his way you could feel yourself drowning in them. How had you managed to gain someone so handsome and so bloody perfect in your life?

“Is everything okay [y/n]?”

Even the tone of his voice radiated absolute perfection as a cloud of worry filled his eyes. Although everything was anything but okay you offered him a reassuring smile nonetheless – he had enough to deal with without you voicing your worries.

“Yes I just….I’m just trying to make the most of the time we have left with each other.”

The corner of his lips tugged up into a smile but it wasn’t a happy one, this one was laced with far too much concern.

“Don’t speak like we are never going to see each other again. Nothing is going to stop me from coming back to you.”

His lips gently brushed themselves along yours as the pad of his thumb caressed your skin. He was hating this just as much as you, his heart was breaking with each second that passed, but he needed to remain strong for you – yet another trait of his that had helped you fall in love with him. He couldn’t allow himself to leave with you thinking worst case scenario because you had been together long enough for him to know that it would slowly drive you insane the whole time you were apart.

“Not even death would. You know perfectly well that I would come back to haunt that pretty arse of yours.”

In contrast to the seriousness that had enveloped your conversation he reached a hand down to one of your arse cheeks before playfully squeezing it. You gasped out loud before quickly removing his hand and looking around to make sure no one had seen his actions.

“James Buchanan Barnes! That was completely inappropriate.”

You wanted to laugh yourself though so the serious tone to your words were soon contradicted by the small one that escaped your lips but you quickly hid it from him by burying your face into the soft fabric of the military jacked he wore. You appreciated the distraction from your thoughts, laughing at his rather crude playfulness was far better than thinking of losing him for good.

“I love you.”

“I love you too [y/n]…..but you need to wake up now.”

Your brows furrowed as you continued to feel the soft wool of his uniform against your cheek but you didn’t move to look at him. This was obviously one of those weird jokes of his that only he seemed to ever get…..well him and his best friend Steve anyway, they both seemed to have a whole different sense of humour than everyone else around them.

“Very funny James but I am already awake.”

“You’re not. I’m sorry. You know, deep down, that I’m not here anymore….”

Now was the moment you looked up to meet his gaze and you really wished that you hadn’t because instead of the usual handsome features you saw nothing but a bloodied and damaged face. His eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fell to the floor in a lifeless heap. Nobody around you seemed to notice anything, not even as the hysterical sobs began to consume you. Your heart fell to the bottom of your stomach as a bloodcurdling scream finally escaped your lips…..

                                    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The scream carried on into your waking life as your whole body shot up in your bed and your eyes snapped open. It had seemed so real to you, dancing so close to the man you had loved, it was like his death had never even happened but with the empty feeling you felt at this moment you knew the harsh reality.

He was gone and now even your dreams, the one place you thought you would be able to see him again, were beginning to turn against you.

Once your racing heart had calmed itself a little you glanced down to the side of the bed where he had once lay, how could such a simple sight be so soul crushing? It had been a year to the day now since James (or ‘Bucky’ as his friends called him) had been killed in action, 364 days since his best friend had knocked on the front door of your house to break the news and although the rest of the world seemed to be moving on with their lives, more notably Steve who now paraded round as ‘Captain America’, you couldn’t seem to get yours out of the rut it had been in this whole time.

When he would come back from a mission he would always pay you a visit, try and talk you round from the depressed state of mind you found yourself in; a couple of times he had even managed to coax you out of your home to actually get some proper food in you but it had been a number of weeks now and you hadn’t seen him at all. He had obviously given up on you just as you had done yourself.

You couldn’t blame him. He had a whole world to save now. In the grand scheme of things all you were was the ex of a dead guy that had been his friend.

A hand wiped away the tears that had started to fall during your restless sleep and with a heavy sigh you threw your legs over the side of your bed and attempted to stand yourself up. You reached out for the watch that rested on top of your nightstand, it was one James had left behind when he’d gone off to war, and checked the time.

03:00AM

Great. You had managed a whole three hours of sleep tonight.

Perhaps a late-night walk would tire you out enough to get at least a couple more hours; although with the experience you’d just had you were beginning to wonder whether sleep was a good idea at all. You would see James’ face again, yes, but then you would have to relive him dying before your eyes again and again; you had never been told what exactly had happened on that mission so, instead, your grief-stricken mind had decided to take it upon itself to jump to its own conclusions as to what had happened.

“[y/n] you will learn to cope, I promise, over time the pain will fade. You will never forget him but you WILL learn to continue on without him.”

Those had been Steve’s last words to you and, for a while, you thought that maybe he was right. That it really would get easier. But the sleepless nights, the horrible images, and the constant pain in your chest said otherwise. He was never coming back which meant that half of who you were was gone with him. There was no ‘moving on’ from this.

The soft tick tock of the watch in your hand was the only thing you could hear and, strangely enough, it began to calm your emotions down after a while….so much so that you felt yourself beginning to drift off as your sheer tiredness began to hit you. But that was when the loud crash of your front door being kicked in reached your ears, the numerous footsteps bounding up the stairs, and then as you turned your tired and unfocused vision towards your bedroom door the last thing you see is a group of dark figures bursting in and dragging you roughly from your bed.

When you felt a tight grip around your throat your breathing suffered, unable to get past the constricting feeling overcoming it, and everything went black.

A/N: Any and all feedback is appreciated! Thank you for taking the time to read this

[wootensmith]

Brosca

When Blackwall led him to the fortress’s expansive stables, Solas had assumed it was simply a matter of comfort for the man. Something warm and familiar in the harsh emptiness of the Anderfels. He had not expected to meet Warden Brosca there. Especially not as she was, giggling at the tiny nips of the fledgeling griffins in her lap, flecks of straw clinging to her hair and tunic and a massive mabari barking madly beside her. He was uncertain which was more shocking, the griffins or the mirth of the Warden who had saved Ferelden. She’d earned it, he knew, and it certainly made Leliana’s affection and protectiveness understandable. Still, he knew she’d seen as much battle, or more, than the Inquisition. And she, too, was facing her own mortality in the near future. Had things been different— had he been different, could Lavellan have been as happy, as untroubled as the Warden?

Blackwall crouched down beside her, stroking the head of one of the fledgelings. Warden Brosca looked up at him. “This is Master Solas,” said Blackwall. “He’s a friend of the Inquisitor’s.�� The smile on her face diminished, wavered. “I know who he is,” she said, and it troubled Solas, that dimming of her joy, but she stuck a hand out to him, offering her friendship. He shook it. “You sent the tincture.” He nodded. “Thank you,” she said, rising and brushing herself off. “It’s saved us years of research.” “I was hoping you had found something that I have not. The Inquisitor is stuck. I have no way to help her farther. I was hoping that you might.” “I have ideas,” she said, “I’m afraid not much more than that, yet. Things here are— complicated.” Blackwall nodded beside them. Solas wanted to shout at them both. The petty power struggles of the Wardens were— he closed his eyes a moment. He could almost hear the Inquisitor’s voice in his ear. They were people. They were real. Their attempts to reform the order, to be what they once dreamed, that was honorable. Even if it was inconvenient. He gave Brosca a patient smile. “Ideas are a good beginning. Between you and the Inquisitor and Madame de Fer, I am certain the puzzle will unravel.” The Warden tilted her head, considering him. “Come with me,” she said, “I want to show you something.” He followed her out and across the courtyard, leaving Blackwall with the fledgelings. The mabari followed, shoving himself between Warden Brosca and Solas protectively. “Leliana says you left the Inquisition,” she said flatly. They passed back into the fortress, winding down a long set of stone stairs. “Yes.” “Then why are you really here?” “I left the Inquisition. Not Lavellan.” Brosca looked back over her shoulder at him. “I was hurt when Leliana left to serve the Divine,” she said. “I came back to Weisshaupt after a fight. I have never regretted anything more.” “Why do you stay, then?” he asked. The Warden shrugged. “At first, it was anger. And then the griffins. And Adamant.” “And now?” “And now I know what the Joining really did to us.” “Ah. Yes. The Inquisitor was also very disturbed by it.” “The First Warden insists that it was necessary. That he’d do the same even understanding that it infects us. But— I wonder. Alistair and I were not alone in the battle against the archdemon. Fate decreed that I swing that final blow. Morrigan— Morrigan takes credit for our survival. But if it had been another, if it had been Sten or Wynne— would the archdemon still have died? The legends say it is always a Warden who lands the final blow, but is that only because the Wardens are the ones who happen to be standing at the end? It is so ingrained now, that no one fights it. Nobody questions. The Wardens show up because that’s what’s expected. And others retreat because that is also expected.” They reached the base of a large tower, the cool stones echoing with their footsteps. “And we let new recruits swallow that infernal darkspawn blood because someone, somewhere, back in the first Blight got an accidental mouthful and didn’t die. It’s— it’s insanity.” “I agree. But I don’t see how remaining here changes that.” “I’m staying to prevent the new recruits from undergoing the Joining. Or— at least the blood part. Hawke stays for the same reason.” Solas nodded. “I see. The First Warden is insistent on it then?” Warden Brosca sighed. “He has at least granted us a period of time to prove that what we believe is true. That an archdemon can be felled by someone who has not undergone the Joining. The Inquisitor’s account of the battle with Corypheus and his dragon is helpful but…” “But not the same,” Solas finished. “Yes. I don’t suppose you have a spare archdemon lying around to test it on?” He smiled. “If I did, I don’t have any volunteers to battle it in my pack.” He said it lightly but it sparked a thought. “It was you that put the idea in their heads wasn’t it? The Wardens in Adamant were convinced they could wipe out the Blight if they found and slaughtered any archdemons before they could wake.” Brosca scowled. “Clarel was a fool. Stuck the way the First Warden is stuck. She couldn’t understand what Alistair and I were trying to tell her. Corypheus used her confusion and look where it got us.” She led him to a large armchair in front of a fireplace. An enormous cauldron bubbled away inside it. She sniffed it as he sat. “This is batch eight of your remedy. I tried a few things. We heard the Legion has been encountering more hordes than normal. The last batch has helped to slow the Blight in three who caught the Blight, just as you predicted, but it hasn’t lessened the infection. Your enchanter has already made some adjustments and I’ve added the stamens of a flower that grows in the Korcari Wilds. I have noticed no difference in my own condition, but I don’t think it is advanced far enough to notice.” “You’re testing it?” he gasped. She turned to stare at him. “What's the alternative? Do nothing?” He had no answer for her. Not when the Inquisitor’s own words echoed so loudly inside of hers. “Anyhow,” she said after a moment, “I have been corresponding with the Inquisition. We will find the cure eventually. Your enchanter is returning to Montsimmard. She believes the resources there will be of use and one of the Inquisition, the mage Fiona, has agreed to submit to studies there. She is the lone survivor of the Blight that we have found. But I don’t know that I have anything new to help the Inquisitor. We’re all at a bit of a standstill, I’m afraid.” It was as he’d expected. A fruitless effort. A kind of madness, just as Cole had said. He thought for long moments, staring into the flames as Brosca pushed a cup of warm wine into his hand. If they could not turn back the Blight, perhaps they could at least stop its spread. Find the source. “Why did you think killing the archdemons would eliminate the Blight?” he asked. “We didn’t. Clarel got it wrong.” She sank down into another chair. “We had dreams, Alistair and I. And no one to explain them. Even I had them. Dwarves don’t dream. But I saw. The darkspawn don’t invade by themselves. They may wander into the deep roads on occasion, even in small bands. But not in the vast armies we saw at Ostagar and Denerim. Not coordinated. In my dreams, the archdemon led them. It was their general. I did not tell Clarel to kill them. I’m not even certain killing Urthemiel was right.” “What?” asked Solas. He leaned forward, suddenly alert. “Look at Corypheus. He had something like an archdemon at his command up until the end. He was able to call upon the Blight at will. From what Hawke told me, he survived several battles that ought to have ended him through the Blight. If we could find out why— or even why the darkspawn listen to an archdemon’s call, perhaps we could turn them back. I wanted Clarel to locate one. Just to study. Not to harm. If it could lead us to the origins of the Blight…” she shook her head. “Rainier told me the Inquisitor believed Corypheus’s bargain with Clarel was all a ruse. That he never intended to honor his side of the deal. I am not so sure that is right. If Corypheus had won, he would have immediately gone after any rival. Imagine, an army of darkspawn the like of which has never been seen. All under his control once the other Old Gods were gone.” Brosca shuddered and Solas felt a deep, aching chill. She shook her head and smiled brightly at him. “But you and your love have stopped that. No good dwelling on it now. And we are closing in on a solution for those already infected. The fight now, for Hawke and I is mostly political. We need to keep the recruits from undergoing the Joining until the First Warden agrees to change it— or until he is replaced. I am glad the Inquisitor lifted the banishment, though. It will give us places to spread out and send recruits to, if things get heated here.” She patted his hand on the chair arm. “Go home, Master Solas. There are so few days of peace for people like us. Whatever it is that takes you from the Inquisitor’s side— it isn’t worth it.” “Your distance from Leliana would say otherwise,” he said softly. She turned back toward the fire. “Thirty years, Alistair told me. And ten have flown away. The days wind down faster than I intend and we are both still too stubborn to come back together.” She glanced back at him. “Things will come to a head here, quickly. If we should be pushed out— there are few places that would welcome Gray Wardens. Especially ones cast out of their order. The Grand Cathedral is not one of those places.” He sat silent for a moment, watching her. “There is one place. Go to Skyhold. It will need an army to defend it.” Brosca shook her head. “It has an army. One that will not be glad to see the Wardens.” His hands twisted in his lap, laying a spell into the flames of the hearth. “The Inquisition’s tasks are almost over. How long will Orlais and Ferelden tolerate its interference now that the threat of Corypheus is gone? They will abandon Skyhold. By decree or just lack of interest. The Inquisitor will keep it alone. She will need you, and others like you. I do not ask only for your sake, but also for hers. You would be doing a great service for me. And for those I love. I am trusting you to lead others who are in need. The struggle of the Wardens— it is only the sounding of the horn before battle. All the world will feel it. And there are many who will need you.” He felt a crackle as his magic discharged and she drew back slightly, but did not draw her weapon. Her eyes widened as the fire slithered gold and red armies marching through the deep roads, spilling up into the sparks and around them the distant song of lyrium echoed. She shook her head slightly to shake herself loose. “I don’t even know what you are. Or what you want.” He smiled, remembering the words of his old friend. “I am offering my friendship. A place to retreat if you are in trouble. What you are doing for your people is enough. I require nothing else.” “You know that I will speak to the Inquisitor about you,” she said. “I know. I would ask—” he stopped. Set the glass of wine down with a slow breath. “I would ask you not to mention that I was here, if it can be avoided. Ask her what you must, but do not offer. Please.” She started to shake her head. “If she is moving on, if she is putting me out of her mind— I would not open the wound again. Please, let her have her peace.” Warden Brosca sighed. “As you wish. But from what Rainier tells me, neither of you is likely to move on. It is easy to love someone while the world is ending, Master Solas. When there is a time limit, it does not much matter what comes afterward. But that is where the true test lies. Day in and day out, negotiating and bargaining, joy and sorrow— I ran from my test. Do not make my mistake.” He did not tell her he’d never have the chance to fail it.

[movieswithkevin27]

Brazil

Simultaneously the second entry into Terry Gilliam's "Trilogy of Imagination" and the first entry in his "Dystopian Trilogy", Brazil is a masterwork of pure satirical genius. More aligned with modern day America than I am comfortable to admit, Brazil is a cautionary tale of government control where freedom is assumed, but is merely an illusion. Working in the Ministry of Information, Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce) is a lowly worker who just does as he is told and keeps plugging along with no aspirations for anything better. Except, he keeps having dreams where he is a winged angel and trying to save a mystery girl. Learning that this girl is Jill Layton (Kim Greist), Sam tries to find her, only to discover that the government believes her to be a violent terrorist. Now, he must subvert the government to find the girl that he loves. A visually rich and thematically dense film, Brazil is a hard nut to crack and though this review will make it sound like I know what I am talking about, allow me to assure you that the opposite is in fact true.

In my review of Time Bandits, the first entry in the "Trilogy of Imagination", I highlighted one of the major themes in that work as being materialism. With a psychotic obsession towards material items over their own child, Kevin's parents in that film ignore him at all costs. Gilliam continues this thematic discussion in Brazil, except it takes on a particularly politically charged tone. During the Cold War, the American government equated the communists with being godless heathens. Therefore, to be truly godly, one must be a capitalist. As such, spending and material goods are good and a glory to God. Throughout the film, Gilliam critiques this idea with a visual motif of a glowing blue cross in various shots, but also takes shots at the biggest glorification to capitalism in existence: Christmas. Setting Brazil during Christmas time allowed Gilliam to adorn each scene with a reference to the gift giving holiday. Everybody in the film has some asinine gift they are carrying or give to another person. Sam receives presents from nearly everybody he sees in the film and it is never something he truly wants. Interesting to note as well that nobody says "Merry Christmas" in the film, rather they always say "Happy Christmas". However, Gilliam ensures that this is a religious critique during a sequence in a shopping mall. One boy is carrying what appears to be a folder that reads, "Consumers for Christ" on the cover. Similar to the glowing blue cross, this folder is also blue. Highlighting the capitalist indoctrination disguised as Christianity, Gilliam decries the linking together of religion and mindless consumption above all else. During this shopping mall sequence, a young child also joyously exclaims, "Oh my own credit card!" For him, getting a card with which he can mindlessly spend is just as good as getting any other gift. This is further emphasized through Sam's mother (Katherine Helmond) and her friend Mrs. Terrain (Barbara Hicks). The two are constantly getting face lifts to look younger and while Mrs. Lowry's goes fine, Mrs. Terrain is constantly shown with bandages due to her complications having complications. For Gilliam, this is a way of punishing the vanity and mindless materialism and consumption that has gone on in our present society.

This is further underscored in a callback to Sergei Eisenstein's Battleship Potemkin and the famous Odessa steps sequence. In that famous sequence, people are gunned down on the Odessa steps by guards and, as she runs down, a mother's baby carriage gets stuck and begins to tumble down the steps. Gilliam takes this scene as inspiration towards the end as Sam has a dream about escaping from the prison he is held in. During his breakout - with the help of Archibald "Harry" Tuttle (Robert De Niro) - the guards in the Ministry of Information are shooting at the escapees from the stairs and begin walking down them. As they do, a vacuum tumbles down the steps akin to the baby carriage in Battleship Potemkin. Here, Gilliam creates a parallel between the baby and the vacuum, in essence saying that we now serve machines and the system, instead of our children and one another. Our purpose and focus in life has shifted from each other to the soulless machines in the name of innovation. This is further confirmed, in hindsight, by a sequence earlier in the film. The chief torturer of the Ministry of Information is a friend of Sam's named Jack (Michael Palin). While visiting with Jack, Sam sees Jack speak to one of his three children. During this conversation, Jack calls the girl "Amy" and later "Chloe", despite the girl's protests that she is actually "Holly". He seems disinterested and makes a crack about never really knowing anymore. For Jack and for everybody else living in this dystopian society, the only things that matter are work, consumption, and maintaining the status quo determined by those in power. All else fall by the waste side, especially family. Viewed in conjunction with the vacuum/baby carriage parallel, it is clear that Gilliam wishes to highlight this as a major fault in our present society.

One of the major themes in this film, however, is the critique of bureaucracy. Of all the things Gilliam takes aim at in Brazil, bureaucracy is one he keeps coming back to throughout the film. With endless forms, recorded messages at companies ("this is not a recording"), and even more forms, the film is an endless critique of bureaucracy. Before we know who she is, we see Jillian at the Ministry of Information trying to get a signature only to be sent back to the Department she came from because they needed to stamp something, even though that department said she needed to go to the Ministry of Information for more assistance. Similar to the constant redirecting and loops people can find themselves in when dealing with companies nowadays, Jill's struggle is one that it is hard not to empathize with. Of course, Gilliam shows just how pedantic this bureaucracy is throughout. To fix a heater, they need a form. To report an incident, they need to write a report. A page can only have one stamp and the department will refuse to stamp it again because, well, it has already been stamped. In a restaurant, a waiter makes Sam say which number on the menu he wishes to have before he can actually accept the order, even though he understands what he wants. It is absurd and hyperbole by Gilliam, but its satirical roots are still clear. Today's world has been dominated by paper and forms and endless phone calls. There is no simplicity to the world anymore, instead things have been made more complex than anybody can actually bear. This, of course, is perfect for the ruling class because it induces complacency. People hate to be inconvenienced. So, if something is hard, they will simply avoid doing it or pushing it off endlessly until it can wait no longer. This is what the ruling class depends on in reality and in Brazil. To emphasize this death by paper, Harry Tuttle is literally consumed by paper in a dream had by Sam towards the end of the film. With one paper landing on him, which suddenly turns into a swarm of papers, poor Harry Tuttle is quickly engulfed in papers. For Gilliam, this is the direction we are headed: death by bureaucracy.

Yet, one of the key parts of bureaucracy is the status quo and not questioning anything you are told. The film is kicked off by a mistaken identity. A man named Archibald Buttle is arrested instead of Archibald Tuttle. Buttle eventually dies in custody and the whole thing is a bit of a butterfly effect after a fly lands in a typewriter and causes the typist to hand out the wrong arrest receipt (yes, they have arrest receipts). Later in the film, however, a man remarks to Sam that this confusion was clearly intentional and a terrorist plot to save Tuttle, a supposed terrorist, from being captured. This excuse is made out of the belief that the bureaucracy that governs the place could never be wrong, so why believe anything but conspiracy when they are wrong? It is all a clever plot to tear down the bureaucracy from the inside, but of course it is snuffed out by those who do not question the norm and the status quo. Along the same lines, the archaic technology that has clearly outworn its usefulness are continued to be used. Why? It is what was always used, regardless of whether or not it is actually better or helps with anything. In the aforementioned restaurant sequence, patrons are served slop with a picture of the food they ordered accompanying their slop. Akin to the technology, this is clearly the way things have always been with the returns slowly diminishing overtime. Nobody has decided to step up and question why they cannot have the actual food they ordered, now this green colored slop that is served as a substitute.

The bureaucracy and materialism combine when viewed in conjunction with Sam's arrest. Early in the film, we learn that information is expensive. Thus, those who demand the information must pay for the information. Criminals pay to be arrested and pay for the cost of the trials. As such, during Sam's interrogation, we are introduced to his need for insurance, receipts, and his need to confess quickly to avoid damaging his credit score. Further highlighting the endless stream of forms and processes inherent in society to a comedic degree, Gilliam also highlights the threats used by those in power to keep us in control, as well as how they profit on our suffering. Via insurance or credit ratings, the masses are kept in check and those in power are ensured they will get their money off of any of life's events, both positive and negative. If you die, your debts do not go away because the system will come to collect regardless. Brazil highlights this as Sam meets a series of men all looking to make money off of his own misfortune and likely demise at the hands of Jack, the torture and electrocution expert.

Though released in 1985, Brazil also feels terrifyingly relevant for today's times. In a conversation with accused terrorist Jlll, she asks Sam, "Have you ever met an actual terrorist?" There are also multiple terrorist bombings in the film, including in the restaurant, but people quickly move on. The restaurant staff toss up a divider and patrons continue to eat happily. For the people in Brazil, their struggle is akin to the "communist terrorists" and red scare levels during the "communist terrorism" days or the present day under the "radical Islamic terrorist" rhetoric paranoia days. It has become old hat in today's world to hear about a shooting or a bomb. There has been a desensitization to tragedy far beyond what could have ever been expected and, while it may not reach the levels Gilliam shows in Brazil, it is not far off. This portion in particular felt incredibly relevant today, especially with how the terrorists are gathered up and killed with a presumption of guilt. Gone are the days of "presumed innocent", replaced with a reign of terror undertaken by the government in which all citizens, especially those in the target group (Muslims now, unfortunately) are simply assumed to be suspicious anti-American operatives. It is tragic, just as it is here. Though undetermined as whether Tuttle and Jill are terrorists, they are good people. There is nothing about them that would raise suspicion, but they have come under that suspicion because they do not follow orders. This satire of the anti-foreigner stance of many living in America or in other white-dominated areas is further supported when Sam has papers blown away from him on the street. An angry woman chews him out and declares that he and other people like him leave their "filthy countries", go there, and then think they can mess it up too. Xenophobic and disgusting, Gilliam obviously highlights how dumb it is because both Sam and the woman are white. In this way, he highlights a simple similarity between the two of them that makes this outburst incredibly hysterical. Yet, it is equally comical when people do it to people of a different skin color, because we are all human underneath the surface.

A satire, Brazil critiques a variety of elements such as materialism, consumerism, vanity, bureaucracy, the status quo, torture, and xenophobia. Impeccably put together and inventive - beyond its connections and similarities to Orwell's 1984 - Brazil is a feast for the eyes and mind. Gilliam creates a masterpiece here that did take me halfway through to fall in love with, but once I fell in love, it was head over heels. Funny, surreal, and excellently executed political satire, Brazil is a film with bite.

[thefaeriereview]

Blitz: Genes

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Title: GENES (International Sensory Assassin Network Book 3)

Author: Mary Ting

Genre: YA Dystopian

Cover Reveal: Michael James Canales

Publication Date: June 30th, 2020

Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR

Blurb:

Allegiances will be tested.

Identities will be revealed.

No one is safe.

While searching for the HelixB88 anti-serum on the black market, Ava uncovers valuable intel that may help the rebels in their fight to bring down ISAN—the location of a hidden facility. But first, the insurgents must find the female citizens unexpectedly displaying powers without use of the Helix serum before ISAN captures them.

As the rebels join forces with other sectors, ISAN plans their destruction by using someone they don't suspect at the rebel home base. A traitor within.

Now, Ava must make a dangerous decision, one that could risk their capture—or worse.

 Book Links:

ISAN (2.99) | HELIX | GENES

Mary is an international bestselling, award-winning author. She writes soulful, spellbinding stories that excite the imagination and captivate readers around the world. Her books span a wide range of genres, and her storytelling talents have earned a devoted legion of fans, as well as garnered critical praise.

Becoming an author happened by chance. It was a way to grieve the death of her beloved grandmother, and inspired by a dream she had in high school. After realizing she wanted to become a full-time author, Mary retired from teaching after twenty years. She also had the privilege of touring with the Magic Johnson Foundation to promote literacy and her children’s chapter book: No Bullies Allowed.

Mary resides in Southern California with her husband, two children, and two little dogs, Mochi and Mocha. She enjoys oil painting and making jewelry. Being a huge Twilight fan, Mary was inspired to make book-themed jewelry and occasionally gives it away as prizes to her fans.

Author Links:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorMaryTing

Website: https://www.tangledtalesofting.com/

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-ting

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MaryTing

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormaryting/

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2Xj5LMN

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4388953.Mary_Ting

Reader Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1387164074921005/

Book Links:

ISAN (2.99) | HELIX | GENES

Told from Rhett’s point of you.

If Ava could see herself, the sight would have stopped her cold. Even Rhett was afraid. The hair on his arm rose. His goosebumps had goosebumps.

Ava had absorbed Mia’s energy. Blue light zapped and crackled not only through her, but around her like an electric storm. She became the lightning and wind, uplifting everything around her. The ground shook, walls trembled, and lightbulbs popped like gunshots. Centered in the brilliant phenomenon, she was Mother Nature about to unleash her wrath.

“Holy mother of all mothers.” Ozzie’s jaw slackened. “Do you see what I see, Rhett?”

“Yes,” Rhett said with a grim smile. “That’s my girl. I hope she gives them hell.”

Mia stood her ground. Rhett gave her credit for courage but she was a fool. Rhett knew Ava would make the right choice, so he didn’t try to stop her.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Mia?” Ava’s voice sounded as grand as her display of powers.

Rhett was learning something new about Ava every time she pushed herself, though he worried she might burst. He had no idea how her ability worked.

“I’m not going to apologize, you freak.”

Oh, no. She did not just say that.

“Uh oh.” Ozzie crouched lower. “Ava hates that word.”

Four massage tables zoomed across the room at a flick of Ava’s finger, boxing in the girls.

“Like this is going to stop me. Pathetic,” Mia spat.

Mia didn’t know when to quit. Ava didn’t want to hurt her, but she kept punching Ava with insults. Rhett had to do something.

Ava’s hands trembled. Her body was shutting down.

“No, they weren’t intended to hurt you, and they certainly won’t hold you in.” Ava shook her thin shoulders. “That was a distraction—this will do the damage.” Ava flicked her index finger. A metal tray flew off the counter like a rocket and collided with Mia’s face, knocking her head to the table. “The table is to break your fall, idiot. I was being generous. What about you, Ella? Want to walk with me or be carried out like your friend?”

Ella blanched and softened her stance, giving the impression of compliance. Her voice squeaked like a frightened mouse. “I was going to cooperate. I swear I was. I’ll walk.”

Poor girl. She shook with her arms crossed over her midsection.

The door slid open.

“Why are you all wet? What happened here?” Naomi cursed, her eyes darting around the wrecked room. “Are you guys okay?”

Ozzie pointed to Ava, gawking at her as if she was a goddess. “She did it. It was pretty awesome.”

Tamara laughed. “I should have been here earlier to see it all. The sounds did not do it justice.”

Reyna smoothed a hand over her face. “We’re in so much trouble. Zen’s not going to like this. It’s a good thing this room had no windows.”

“Well, at least we’re all going down together.” Rhett planted a kiss on his girl and supported her with an arm around her waist. When she’d stopped the bullets at Mitch’s apartment, she’d fainted. “You okay?”

Rhett gripped her shaky hand. So cold. All the warmth flushed out of her when Helix had diminished or had burned out. Or however her power worked.

“Yeah. Just a little lightheaded. At least I didn’t black out. I got a little carried away.”

“A little. Just a little.” Rhett chuckled to lighten the mood.

“Are you and Oz okay?” She examined him. “You’re wet.”

“Oz and I are fine. Do you want a change of clothes? We could try to find—”

“No. Let’s get out of here.”

Rhett was worried about her. How much could her body take?

Ava had practiced every spare second. Anyone else would be wiped out, but maybe someone like her didn’t need a lot of time to recover. If Helix could replenish her quickly, then perhaps it was all good.

“Come on. Someone want to help me drag this lunatic?” Ozzie’s shoes squeaked and squashed through two inches of water as he headed toward Mia. “Yup, Zen is going to flip out. Can we pretend it didn’t happen? Or do one of you girls have the power to put everything back together? Why can’t I have that kind of power? Why am I talking and nobody is answering me?”

“‘Cause you talk too much, Ozwald.” Rhett grabbed Mia’s other arm and hauled her up with Ozzie’s help.

Ozzie’s mouth scrunched together into a pout. “Ozzie. It’s Ozzie or Oz.”

How Rhett loved to mess with him, and Rhett knew Ozzie liked it, too, since he did the same to Rhett. It was the way they were.

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[aruneshgoyal]

O

OF LIFE n @ WORK!!   

Of LIFE & At WORK!! Golden rule: Work to live, NOT live to work! 

(Although these days one lives and works only for money…….) Just think, how fragile life is? (These days one believes he is immortal and just can never die; 

….. how can I….. let others die by all means but how can I…) 

Control your actions or someone else will! 

(Although these days one likes to control others as much as he can ……) 

Seek simplicity (these days, however, one is considered ultra modern and advanced if he seeks the complex instead of being naïve & simple, other words for a complete fool…) 

Understand yourself and themes related to your life; invest in things/values you value most; prioritize your values (what components do you WANNA in your life?) 

{Nothing really to think about, man; you only want money, nothing else) 

Friendship 

Honesty 

Loyalty 

Power & Influence 

Respect for others Love 

Integrity 

Ego 

Self-fulfillment 

Close relationships 

Community 

Acquisition of k/w 

Creativity 

Stability 

Adventure 

Excitement 

Public Recognition 

Cooperation 

Competence 

Self-value 

Family relations 

Use of force/violence 

Forgiveness 

Reliability 

Physical-wellbeing 

Sports 

Work 

Career 

Interests/Hobbies ETC. 

{All the positive abilities one can easily ignore if he has money power at his command….} 

Have a master plan as well as short term & long term goals (write IT out!) ….. NO NEED really, all plans just cater to money

It’s not cast in stone (focus -> dream -> involve -> okay to redefine and refine!) …….. WHAT WILL YOU DREAM, REFINE …. Except money 

Align work & life goals (if possible, have a life vision/mission statement!) ….. Vision statement , well 100 x KBC’s 

Analyze your finances (how much money do I actually need so as NOT to feel insecure after 35, 45, 55 ..?) 

….. In spite of whatever money one has, he still feels insecure, so better to forsake, I feel than accumulate….of course others may have a different opinion …. Which I accept fully and bow down! 

What do I need to feel good? ….. Of course, you said It… money N what else 

What makes me feel bad; how to change this? ……… Shortage of money, in one word, nobody can of course change this; it is self-created! 

What drives me? YOU SAID IT NOW again – Money or … anything…something 

What I WANNA do? …. Make money 24 hrs. 

When will I be truly content /happy? (OH GOD, this is an easy One, …. NEVER 

Live for yourself too! …. That’s what people are doing; I don’t really know what the writer means or wants to say; has he gone insane or just berserk?? When I live for my ego, my image, my reputation, I’m in fact living for others …… That I don’t WANNA Do at any cost! 

I have to try and avoid extremes which seem tempting! …… This law fails when it comes to extreme of money, as I understand, right? 

Remember the law of diminishing returns (you can’t work beyond a limit) …. Yes, you can, because you have an unending and insatiable desire for money …… and of course…..that! You must recharge before you begin again ….. Money and that is the best recharger ever built!! 

From complexity, go to simplicity (less is more!)….. Oh! MY GOD!! What bullshit!! One should always do the reverse in the modern context…… 

Lower your expectations … What? Are you mad?? Are of this world??? 

Get over materialism….. Impossible (in one word that is, if you like) 

Live within your means …. WHY should I? Premium loans, credit cards ALL are easily available …. Just press of a button… that’s all it takes, get IT

Prune your friendships …. Why should I? Expand, man expand, who knows, you might just need anybody in your eternal search for money!! 

Go for quality …. WHAT? Quantity is the byword, Understand, my dear? `Challenge the mundane….. NO, routine is better than constant Change… what do you say? 

“Falling in love” skews the balance in your life invariably; don’t get irritated OVER it! ……… Anyway, what will you get even if you get irritated or bang your Head against the wall??? 

Career and a family have to be carefully and astutely managed……. Career comes first, forget the family, man 

Immediate/Extended family….. What are you talking about? Extended family… I never heard anything like that ……. Only immediate results… immediate family for ME 

Steal time from work….. NO need, work from morning to evening like an ass is best today 

Family just WANNA you be there with them…. Nobody wants you to be there unless and until you have IT, of course, you got It, I mean, the money

… Involve family in your work…… YOU just need to involve yourself in money …… and …. That!

 Don’t pretend you are working for family …… WHAT? Pretensions are a way of modern day life! 

Keep your partner happy….. WHO SAID IT? You only need to keep yourself happy, let everybody else go to HELL, by ALL Means!!!!! 

Remember special days/occasions…. Forget why they are special, remember everything else, right? 

Formalize your shared goals….. SHARED? I’m so sorry. YOUR EXCLUSIVE GOALS…. 

Allow each other time alone….. NOT AT ALL. Loneliness is just not a way of life these days… 

Provide support & encouragement…… YOU have to support and encourage only yourself for the cause of money…..understand, my dear? 

Don’t compete with your partner…..  I got it so utterly wrong when in fact competition is a way of life in the modern world! 

Spend special time with children; don’t lower their self-esteem; remember quality time spent with them is a good/strong investment, not wastage of time……. Well, children WANNA their own whale of a time; they don’t WANNA listen to good advice …. So better stay away from them!!!! 

Saying ‘NO’ helps sometimes (‘sorry’ isn’t the hardest word!)……. DIE BUT NEVER SAY SORRY….it can harm your ego so much! 

Speak softly but carry a big stick …… SPEAK HARD & CRUDE with a soft stick works best now-a-days 

Say ‘no’ graciously ……. I never heard of IT 

Be honest, supportive, do later, offer another suggestion; cite prior commitment,  “My partner will kill me”……….. WHATEVER EXCUSE YOU CAN OFFER will do! 

Be aware of your obsessions and obsessive behavior …….. WHY????????????? Taking on too much….. That’s how you are considered worthwhile & responsible Manage your boss……….. NO WAY you can do it since your boss is more cunning than you Make yourself indispensable….. Don’t even think about it …. You will be straight away fired Pre-empt your boss and superiors…… SAME PROBLEM here too 

Time Vs Money ……. MONEY Vs Money Time is NOT something that can be saved but ONLY utilized properly…… Time is considered best utilized when it is indulged in making money…..in fact, lots of money at that 

Slow down time; sit & observe; enjoy and remain in the ‘present’………. In the age of moon & Mars, this is utterly foolish and absurd 

Try to move up the ladder in Maslow’s need hierarchy: (Forget IT, only need is Money and to some extent….. that) 

TOP: ..(MONEY & THAT) 

Self-actualization (being my thing) ……. 

MONEY & that Esteem (self and peer value) …………..

Money & that Belonging (friends, affiliations, love)…… 

MONEY & that Safety & Security (freedom, physical & mental feeling of being secure)…… 

Money & that Physiological needs (food/drink, shelter, relations) ……. 

Money & that 

BOTTOM: …. (MONEY & THAT) 

Where is my pressure coming from? …….. Of course, from money and wife Residual Guilt…….. Wife 

Disappointment……..Wife 

The emotional drain of fear……… WIFE 

Time is running out……… WIFE 

Confusion of values……… WIFE 

Conditioning………..Wife 

Fear of future…….WIFE 

Is it real or just my perception? Of course, my perception 

Who/what conditions me? MONEY, Wife, that 

Am I able to make decisions? Wife Does  

Do I have k/w, education/wisdom? Wife has

  Do I feel left behind? YES, behind my wife; ahead of all others! 

Do I fear retirement/should I retire? Why should I ever retire when I can still earn and then my wife…. The thought sends shivers down my spine!! 

Are my behavior patterns entrapping me? I’m entrapping everything!!!!!!!!! 

Do I need to change my mind set about aging? ….. YES, of course, I can always color my hair black, you see!! 

Can I feel better physically? YES, there’s the ultra modern gym for me!!!!!!! Eating healthy YES, burgers, pizzas and what you have are the in-thing, home-made bread and food is surely OUT 

DETOX Yes, DETOX Clinics abound; never mind the money they charge! Weight control exercises etc. Yes, I can control my weight to look handsome and sunny, never mind the expenses!! 

Who do I trust to tell the truth? NOBODY (in one word) 

The more one is educated and the more experience one has, the more is the realization of the simple gift of common sense! (NOBODY has common sense but thinks only he has, all others are fools of the highest order) 

Organizations can help people find fulfillment by: (organizations are just there to exploit employees to make money) 

A culture of sense and transparency (What are you talking about; when they talk about transparency, they in fact, mean to be absolutely opaque and nothing else) 

Making work enjoyable (rotating work hours, work from home facility, etc.) ….. These are just bywords to please on paper, not in actual essence!

 Making products in alignment with customer needs, not just for the wow factor! WHAT DID I SAY NOW? A Big Blunder! How can anybody forget the wow factor ever????????? 

WAKE UP TO THE CLARION CALL AND GET READY TO DO WORK! /….. Get ready to earn more money……../ 

BE IDEAL LADIES n GENTLEMEN /………… be practical women & men ………../ 

MAKE GOOD USE OF YOUR TIME /…..To earn …… and Do …… that, Got IT……../ BE CAREFUL TO LIGHT THE LAMP OF KNOWLEDGE (True Wisdom) /…… lamp of money & that is enough …………. /

  I KNOW THAT I DON’T KNOW /….. Oh I know everything in terms of the modern man …………/ 

Love All /…… loving yourself, in fact, money is enough ………/ 

BE YOUR OWN SELF /…. Be a hypocrite …../ 

Glory of Equanimity / …… NOT for you …/

Never ever look at other’s faults but your own blunders ?reverse loop will be better/ 

Live for others and they will live for you ?live for yourself N world is at your feet in case you earn enough/ 

HAPPINESS IS JUST A CREATION OF OUR MIND; RESOLVE TO BE HAPPY AT ALL TIMES!  / resolve to earn @ALL times/ 

***

One CUP Away 

It is commonly believed and I quote:

 "One Cup of Tulsi leaves juice every day keeps you away from Cancer forever; 

One Cup of Apple Juice every day keeps you away from the Doctor forever; 

One Cup of Milk every day keeps you away from weakness of the body forever"!

 I just want to add n share: 

'One cup of Divine Nectarine Juice every day keeps away the fear of death forever: 

The Nectar of God's HOLY n Pious NAME..! 

Bhaj Manna Radhe Govinda, Shriman Narayan Vithhala........ ! !' 

________________________________________ *****************************

[douglassmiith]

When? is the Most Important Question for Entrepreneurs. (The Answer: Now?)

When do you launch? When do you act? When do you change? The cofounder of Square has answers.

March 5, 2020 13 min read

This story appears in the March 2020 issue of Entrepreneur. Subscribe »

I am an entrepreneur, but I am also a glassblower, and every glassblower has a mentor.

In fact, we all have the same one: Lino Tagliapietra. Glassblowing is the only profession I know where everyone agrees on who the best practitioner is. Nobody knows who the best accountant or mortician or loan shark is, but the world’s best glassblower is Lino. 

Everyone learns from the Maestro, usually by meeting someone who has met someone who has taken one of Lino’s classes. Maestro’s classes are legendary, right down to an admission process that would impress the Harvard registrar. There was even an essay question, and a collection of T-shirts for sale to salve the pain of rejection. It took me 15 years to earn a place, but I was finally admitted. 

Lino’s class lasted two weeks, and during that time, each student was allowed to ask Maestro one question. Everyone obsessed over his or her question, and as a result most questions followed the same format: A student would ask Lino how to do something impossible with glass. We would then sit in rapture as Maestro demonstrated how to do it. But when the day came for my question, none of the other students even paid attention to Lino’s answer, for my question was so basic that they already knew it. Or so they thought.

I asked the best glassblower in the world how to put a simple foot on a bowl.

You’ve seen this before. Imagine any kind of glass bowl, and now imagine it resting perfectly atop a small glass base. That’s the foot — it keeps the bowl upright. Putting a foot on a bowl is not complicated; the basic technique is taught in every beginner class. By this point in my career, I had performed the process at least a thousand times, but I could never get comfortable with the move. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t. I had studied different techniques, purchased different tools, but nothing worked consistently. Sometimes the foot would proudly elevate the bowl on top; other times it looked like it had frozen while trying to escape. Every time I needed to apply a foot, I got anxious. So, after 15 years of stress and failure, I used my one question to ask the Maestro how to do this right. 

Related: 4 Benefits of Finding a Mentor

I expected him to answer me as he had the other students, by demonstrating the proper technique, but that is not what Maestro did. Lino told me to make a bowl, which I did promptly. Then he told me to make a foot, which is simply a hot gather of glass taken directly from the furnace and shaped into a tennis-ball-size glob. I made the foot.

He then told me to put the foot on the bowl, but just as I was about to let the hot foot drop onto the colder bowl, he said: Wait. I stood there with the bowl in my left hand and the foot in my right until he gave the second half of the lesson: Now. I let the now slightly less hot foot fall, and it went on perfectly. This blew my mind. 

I was expecting a lesson in how, but Lino gave me a lesson in when. I already knew how — I had been doing the how part right for 15 years. My problem was when. If you make a shape out of glass that is too hot, you can make the shape, but the glass will just collapse afterward. If the glass is too cold, however, it becomes too stiff and you cannot make the shape in the first place. It’s timing, not technique. 

I left the studio that evening thinking about all the other places in my life where I had done the right thing at the wrong time. How many times had I spoken when the other person was not ready to listen? How often had I been too late or too early with the right answer? I saw a cascade of failures over my lifetime resulting from knowing how to do something but ignoring when to do it.

I decided to become a student of when. I wasn’t in search of some formula for perfect timing — I knew that didn’t exist outside glassblowing. Instead, I wanted to learn the patterns that can help us when opportunities arise. And in my study of entrepreneurial companies, several patterns kept reappearing. This is what I want to share with you…now.

Schools teach how. We learn to copy what works, with the emphasis always on the how and not the when. In my various academic studies, I learned how to construct complicated mathematical models, but I never learned when presenting such a model was inappropriate. I learned to reason logically, but I never learned when logic might offend someone. I learned contract law, but I never learned when to just shake hands.

It is difficult to fault our schools for emphasizing how, since it is difficult to study when. Determining how to perform a task means repeating the steps over and over until you achieve a successful result. Once we learn how to do something, the formal learning usually stops. We then learn how to do the next thing.

Related: How to Launch a New Brand: 4 Tips that Work

But timing does matter. So how do we approach it? Instead of trying to see time as an overwhelmingly infinite set of temporal options, I find it easier to just ask, “When should we begin?” There are really only two answers to this question: now and later. Now is often the right answer. In this world of highly similar products, speed is a huge advantage. If you create innovation first, economics tells us that you can profit from it only until your competitors copy you. And there is good reason to believe that you won’t have much time. The history of simultaneous innovation also suggests that someone else has had the same idea, so, again, the reward goes to the first mover. 

In fact, now is so often the right answer that many successful people default to it. They always want to be first. But sometimes, it really is better to wait.

If you are racing through the streets of Europe, the type of race matters. Formula 1 drivers in Monaco wind through streets so narrow that there are very few opportunities to pass. The car in the pole position usually wins the race. But in a bicycle race through those same streets, the leader will often become exhausted before the race is finished, handing victory to those who waited patiently in the slipstream. 

In the world of entrepreneurship, being first is not always best. This is because innovations build on each other. I call it the “innovation stack”: One innovation makes another innovation possible, which makes yet another innovation possible. Innovation stacks are at the core of world-changing businesses; they are the result of entrepreneurs who solve the right problem at the right time by building upon what’s already possible. This means that, when a critical element of your company is outside your control, waiting can be the best option. It’s possible to launch too early. 

Do you recall the first social network? Wrong — it was GeoCities back in 1995. Friendster came next in 2002 and did better. Then Myspace elbowed out Friendster beginning in 2003. Finally, Facebook took over. Why are we not all connecting with each other over Geo chat? Part of the answer is that GeoCities, Friendster, and Myspace all launched before mobile computing was commonplace. Without always-on access to the system, as well as a camera in everybody’s pocket, the appeal of a social network is diminished. 

Should we fault GeoCities, Friendster, and Myspace for not anticipating the looming ubiquity of mobile devices? Each of those companies was OK for its time, but Facebook’s timing was fantastic. Facebook had a dozen components of its innovation stack ready when mobile exploded, and then it quickly purchased Instagram when Instagram was beating it in mobile. 

You can be too early. Quick, name the 18th search engine company. (Ahem — you might want to Google that.)

Related: The Complete, 12-Step Guide to Starting a Business

So, what then? If you are purposely waiting for the right moment to move, is there anything to do in the meantime? Yes. The decision to wait implies that at some future time you will have to move, so you still have plenty to do. You work on all the other elements of your innovation stack — everything else that you’re creating — so that when the final element exists, everything else is ready to go.

For example, consider what happened at my company, Square. We began in 2009 by developing mobile card readers — those small devices you can plug into a phone or tablet and then swipe a credit card through. But at the time, Visa and Mastercard had rules specifically prohibiting the kind of technology we were creating. We spent a year trying to convince them to change their rules — and while that happened, we worked on other elements of our innovation stack, with the hope that the last piece would eventually happen. It was a gamble, but when Visa and Mastercard finally agreed to change their rules, the rest of our stack was ready to go, and the gamble paid off. 

Waiting for one element should not impede all the others. This is risky, of course — but most of the entrepreneurs I studied took this same type of risk, even if it made them uncomfortable.

Now let’s talk about moving now.

How does now feel? Well, in my case, I get nervous. Toward the end of my first year at Square, I was actually having “mild” panic attacks about all our unresolved issues. I remember pulling off the road one day and running into a pharmacy and getting a bottle of aspirin to fight the heart attack I was sure I was having. But this was good, in a crazy way. Here’s why: Right feels early. 

If the timing feels right, you are probably too late. That’s because we, as people, move in herds. If the innovation feels right to you, it probably feels right to a hundred other people with the same idea. If it feels too early, in my experience, that’s a good time to leave the walled city. There is no way to know when the unknown is arriving, but it will probably arrive sooner than you think.

There’s a secondary benefit: When you act now, you can actually create change — sometimes supplying whatever the missing element is in your business. In other words, leaping can cause you to grow wings. 

In Square’s case, let’s return to the permission we needed from the card networks. We built a system that violated their rules…but had we not already built the system, Mastercard and Visa probably never would have bothered to rewrite their rules to accommodate us. Our system gave them something to aim for. Once Mastercard (and then Visa) agreed to revise its regulations, the tone of our conversations was basically “Square is cool, so how do we make it compliant?” 

Southwest Airlines has a similar story. It created the low-cost-­airline model, but it did so in an era in the 1970s when the federal government regulated airline prices. It could have waited for the laws to change, but it chose not to. Instead, it proved itself as best it could; it operated only in Texas, which, because it wasn’t crossing state lines, meant it wasn’t subject to federal laws. Soon people took notice of its demonstrably better price, speed, and service — including Massachusetts senator Ted Kennedy, who led the fight to deregulate the industry. By moving before the country was ready, Southwest created the environment in which the country could be ready.

At that point, the big question was: Is Southwest ready to take full advantage? And the answer was yes — it was more prepared than all of its competition.

Related: 6 Ways to Launch a Business

This is an important part of timing. You have to be ready when the missing elements suddenly appear. I have seen the following pattern in dozens of entrepreneurial companies: Their innovation stack begins to function, and then the world suddenly changes; but because their company is still evolving, they can quickly capitalize on this new world order before any other firm can adapt to the new ecosystem. 

At the time of deregulation in 1978, Southwest Airlines had already been flying passengers around for seven years as a small regional airline. But because of its earlier battles with the airlines and regulators, Southwest’s flights, planes, finances, pricing, staff, pilots, passengers, and a dozen other blocks in its innovation stack were ready before deregulation hit. When the change came, Southwest was already in the air doing 500 knots, the only company prepared for a world where leanness and low cost would win the day. It had happy customers, lower fares, better punctuality, better safety within Texas, and a culture that was accustomed to adapting quickly. Now it just had to scale everything up. 

When is not a science. Not even the world’s best econometrician knows exactly when to make a move. Experience helps, but by definition it is impossible to have experience for anything that is truly new.

I find, however, that simply being aware of the temporal components makes my enterprises more nimble. I race to be ready early. But as soon as I feel ready, a voice in my head asks, Is the world also ready? 

If the world is ready, then creating an innovation stack comes with a responsibility to create a market for as many new customers as possible. You are rewarded with a massive market that is nearly impossible for competitors to steal, so long as you can grow fast enough. This is fun, stressful, and necessary work. Your time indeed has come. 

 Adapted from The Innovation Stack: Building an Unbeatable Business One Crazy Idea at a Time, by Jim McKelvey, to be published March 10 by Portfolio, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2020 by Jim McKelvey.

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“When?” is the Most Important Question for Entrepreneurs. (The Answer: Now?)

When do you launch? When do you act? When do you change? The cofounder of Square has answers.

March 5, 2020 13 min read

This story appears in the March 2020 issue of Entrepreneur. Subscribe »

I am an entrepreneur, but I am also a glassblower, and every glassblower has a mentor.

In fact, we all have the same one: Lino Tagliapietra. Glassblowing is the only profession I know where everyone agrees on who the best practitioner is. Nobody knows who the best accountant or mortician or loan shark is, but the world’s best glassblower is Lino. 

Everyone learns from the Maestro, usually by meeting someone who has met someone who has taken one of Lino’s classes. Maestro’s classes are legendary, right down to an admission process that would impress the Harvard registrar. There was even an essay question, and a collection of T-shirts for sale to salve the pain of rejection. It took me 15 years to earn a place, but I was finally admitted. 

Lino’s class lasted two weeks, and during that time, each student was allowed to ask Maestro one question. Everyone obsessed over his or her question, and as a result most questions followed the same format: A student would ask Lino how to do something impossible with glass. We would then sit in rapture as Maestro demonstrated how to do it. But when the day came for my question, none of the other students even paid attention to Lino’s answer, for my question was so basic that they already knew it. Or so they thought.

I asked the best glassblower in the world how to put a simple foot on a bowl.

You’ve seen this before. Imagine any kind of glass bowl, and now imagine it resting perfectly atop a small glass base. That’s the foot — it keeps the bowl upright. Putting a foot on a bowl is not complicated; the basic technique is taught in every beginner class. By this point in my career, I had performed the process at least a thousand times, but I could never get comfortable with the move. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t. I had studied different techniques, purchased different tools, but nothing worked consistently. Sometimes the foot would proudly elevate the bowl on top; other times it looked like it had frozen while trying to escape. Every time I needed to apply a foot, I got anxious. So, after 15 years of stress and failure, I used my one question to ask the Maestro how to do this right. 

Related: 4 Benefits of Finding a Mentor

I expected him to answer me as he had the other students, by demonstrating the proper technique, but that is not what Maestro did. Lino told me to make a bowl, which I did promptly. Then he told me to make a foot, which is simply a hot gather of glass taken directly from the furnace and shaped into a tennis-ball-size glob. I made the foot.

He then told me to put the foot on the bowl, but just as I was about to let the hot foot drop onto the colder bowl, he said: Wait. I stood there with the bowl in my left hand and the foot in my right until he gave the second half of the lesson: Now. I let the now slightly less hot foot fall, and it went on perfectly. This blew my mind. 

I was expecting a lesson in how, but Lino gave me a lesson in when. I already knew how — I had been doing the how part right for 15 years. My problem was when. If you make a shape out of glass that is too hot, you can make the shape, but the glass will just collapse afterward. If the glass is too cold, however, it becomes too stiff and you cannot make the shape in the first place. It’s timing, not technique. 

I left the studio that evening thinking about all the other places in my life where I had done the right thing at the wrong time. How many times had I spoken when the other person was not ready to listen? How often had I been too late or too early with the right answer? I saw a cascade of failures over my lifetime resulting from knowing how to do something but ignoring when to do it.

I decided to become a student of when. I wasn’t in search of some formula for perfect timing — I knew that didn’t exist outside glassblowing. Instead, I wanted to learn the patterns that can help us when opportunities arise. And in my study of entrepreneurial companies, several patterns kept reappearing. This is what I want to share with you…now.

Schools teach how. We learn to copy what works, with the emphasis always on the how and not the when. In my various academic studies, I learned how to construct complicated mathematical models, but I never learned when presenting such a model was inappropriate. I learned to reason logically, but I never learned when logic might offend someone. I learned contract law, but I never learned when to just shake hands.

It is difficult to fault our schools for emphasizing how, since it is difficult to study when. Determining how to perform a task means repeating the steps over and over until you achieve a successful result. Once we learn how to do something, the formal learning usually stops. We then learn how to do the next thing.

Related: How to Launch a New Brand: 4 Tips that Work

But timing does matter. So how do we approach it? Instead of trying to see time as an overwhelmingly infinite set of temporal options, I find it easier to just ask, “When should we begin?” There are really only two answers to this question: now and later. Now is often the right answer. In this world of highly similar products, speed is a huge advantage. If you create innovation first, economics tells us that you can profit from it only until your competitors copy you. And there is good reason to believe that you won’t have much time. The history of simultaneous innovation also suggests that someone else has had the same idea, so, again, the reward goes to the first mover. 

In fact, now is so often the right answer that many successful people default to it. They always want to be first. But sometimes, it really is better to wait.

If you are racing through the streets of Europe, the type of race matters. Formula 1 drivers in Monaco wind through streets so narrow that there are very few opportunities to pass. The car in the pole position usually wins the race. But in a bicycle race through those same streets, the leader will often become exhausted before the race is finished, handing victory to those who waited patiently in the slipstream. 

In the world of entrepreneurship, being first is not always best. This is because innovations build on each other. I call it the “innovation stack”: One innovation makes another innovation possible, which makes yet another innovation possible. Innovation stacks are at the core of world-changing businesses; they are the result of entrepreneurs who solve the right problem at the right time by building upon what’s already possible. This means that, when a critical element of your company is outside your control, waiting can be the best option. It’s possible to launch too early. 

Do you recall the first social network? Wrong — it was GeoCities back in 1995. Friendster came next in 2002 and did better. Then Myspace elbowed out Friendster beginning in 2003. Finally, Facebook took over. Why are we not all connecting with each other over Geo chat? Part of the answer is that GeoCities, Friendster, and Myspace all launched before mobile computing was commonplace. Without always-on access to the system, as well as a camera in everybody’s pocket, the appeal of a social network is diminished. 

Should we fault GeoCities, Friendster, and Myspace for not anticipating the looming ubiquity of mobile devices? Each of those companies was OK for its time, but Facebook’s timing was fantastic. Facebook had a dozen components of its innovation stack ready when mobile exploded, and then it quickly purchased Instagram when Instagram was beating it in mobile. 

You can be too early. Quick, name the 18th search engine company. (Ahem — you might want to Google that.)

Related: The Complete, 12-Step Guide to Starting a Business

So, what then? If you are purposely waiting for the right moment to move, is there anything to do in the meantime? Yes. The decision to wait implies that at some future time you will have to move, so you still have plenty to do. You work on all the other elements of your innovation stack — everything else that you’re creating — so that when the final element exists, everything else is ready to go.

For example, consider what happened at my company, Square. We began in 2009 by developing mobile card readers — those small devices you can plug into a phone or tablet and then swipe a credit card through. But at the time, Visa and Mastercard had rules specifically prohibiting the kind of technology we were creating. We spent a year trying to convince them to change their rules — and while that happened, we worked on other elements of our innovation stack, with the hope that the last piece would eventually happen. It was a gamble, but when Visa and Mastercard finally agreed to change their rules, the rest of our stack was ready to go, and the gamble paid off. 

Waiting for one element should not impede all the others. This is risky, of course — but most of the entrepreneurs I studied took this same type of risk, even if it made them uncomfortable.

Now let’s talk about moving now.

How does now feel? Well, in my case, I get nervous. Toward the end of my first year at Square, I was actually having “mild” panic attacks about all our unresolved issues. I remember pulling off the road one day and running into a pharmacy and getting a bottle of aspirin to fight the heart attack I was sure I was having. But this was good, in a crazy way. Here’s why: Right feels early. 

If the timing feels right, you are probably too late. That’s because we, as people, move in herds. If the innovation feels right to you, it probably feels right to a hundred other people with the same idea. If it feels too early, in my experience, that’s a good time to leave the walled city. There is no way to know when the unknown is arriving, but it will probably arrive sooner than you think.

There’s a secondary benefit: When you act now, you can actually create change — sometimes supplying whatever the missing element is in your business. In other words, leaping can cause you to grow wings. 

In Square’s case, let’s return to the permission we needed from the card networks. We built a system that violated their rules…but had we not already built the system, Mastercard and Visa probably never would have bothered to rewrite their rules to accommodate us. Our system gave them something to aim for. Once Mastercard (and then Visa) agreed to revise its regulations, the tone of our conversations was basically “Square is cool, so how do we make it compliant?” 

Southwest Airlines has a similar story. It created the low-cost-­airline model, but it did so in an era in the 1970s when the federal government regulated airline prices. It could have waited for the laws to change, but it chose not to. Instead, it proved itself as best it could; it operated only in Texas, which, because it wasn’t crossing state lines, meant it wasn’t subject to federal laws. Soon people took notice of its demonstrably better price, speed, and service — including Massachusetts senator Ted Kennedy, who led the fight to deregulate the industry. By moving before the country was ready, Southwest created the environment in which the country could be ready.

At that point, the big question was: Is Southwest ready to take full advantage? And the answer was yes — it was more prepared than all of its competition.

Related: 6 Ways to Launch a Business

This is an important part of timing. You have to be ready when the missing elements suddenly appear. I have seen the following pattern in dozens of entrepreneurial companies: Their innovation stack begins to function, and then the world suddenly changes; but because their company is still evolving, they can quickly capitalize on this new world order before any other firm can adapt to the new ecosystem. 

At the time of deregulation in 1978, Southwest Airlines had already been flying passengers around for seven years as a small regional airline. But because of its earlier battles with the airlines and regulators, Southwest’s flights, planes, finances, pricing, staff, pilots, passengers, and a dozen other blocks in its innovation stack were ready before deregulation hit. When the change came, Southwest was already in the air doing 500 knots, the only company prepared for a world where leanness and low cost would win the day. It had happy customers, lower fares, better punctuality, better safety within Texas, and a culture that was accustomed to adapting quickly. Now it just had to scale everything up. 

When is not a science. Not even the world’s best econometrician knows exactly when to make a move. Experience helps, but by definition it is impossible to have experience for anything that is truly new.

I find, however, that simply being aware of the temporal components makes my enterprises more nimble. I race to be ready early. But as soon as I feel ready, a voice in my head asks, Is the world also ready? 

If the world is ready, then creating an innovation stack comes with a responsibility to create a market for as many new customers as possible. You are rewarded with a massive market that is nearly impossible for competitors to steal, so long as you can grow fast enough. This is fun, stressful, and necessary work. Your time indeed has come. 

  Adapted from The Innovation Stack: Building an Unbeatable Business One Crazy Idea at a Time, by Jim McKelvey, to be published March 10 by Portfolio, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2020 by Jim McKelvey.

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[laurelkrugerr]

“When?” is the Most Important Question for Entrepreneurs. (The Answer: Now?)

When do you launch? When do you act? When do you change? The cofounder of Square has answers.

March 5, 2020 13 min read

This story appears in the March 2020 issue of Entrepreneur. Subscribe »

I am an entrepreneur, but I am also a glassblower, and every glassblower has a mentor.

In fact, we all have the same one: Lino Tagliapietra. Glassblowing is the only profession I know where everyone agrees on who the best practitioner is. Nobody knows who the best accountant or mortician or loan shark is, but the world’s best glassblower is Lino. 

Everyone learns from the Maestro, usually by meeting someone who has met someone who has taken one of Lino’s classes. Maestro’s classes are legendary, right down to an admission process that would impress the Harvard registrar. There was even an essay question, and a collection of T-shirts for sale to salve the pain of rejection. It took me 15 years to earn a place, but I was finally admitted. 

Lino’s class lasted two weeks, and during that time, each student was allowed to ask Maestro one question. Everyone obsessed over his or her question, and as a result most questions followed the same format: A student would ask Lino how to do something impossible with glass. We would then sit in rapture as Maestro demonstrated how to do it. But when the day came for my question, none of the other students even paid attention to Lino’s answer, for my question was so basic that they already knew it. Or so they thought.

I asked the best glassblower in the world how to put a simple foot on a bowl.

You’ve seen this before. Imagine any kind of glass bowl, and now imagine it resting perfectly atop a small glass base. That’s the foot — it keeps the bowl upright. Putting a foot on a bowl is not complicated; the basic technique is taught in every beginner class. By this point in my career, I had performed the process at least a thousand times, but I could never get comfortable with the move. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t. I had studied different techniques, purchased different tools, but nothing worked consistently. Sometimes the foot would proudly elevate the bowl on top; other times it looked like it had frozen while trying to escape. Every time I needed to apply a foot, I got anxious. So, after 15 years of stress and failure, I used my one question to ask the Maestro how to do this right. 

Related: 4 Benefits of Finding a Mentor

I expected him to answer me as he had the other students, by demonstrating the proper technique, but that is not what Maestro did. Lino told me to make a bowl, which I did promptly. Then he told me to make a foot, which is simply a hot gather of glass taken directly from the furnace and shaped into a tennis-ball-size glob. I made the foot.

He then told me to put the foot on the bowl, but just as I was about to let the hot foot drop onto the colder bowl, he said: Wait. I stood there with the bowl in my left hand and the foot in my right until he gave the second half of the lesson: Now. I let the now slightly less hot foot fall, and it went on perfectly. This blew my mind. 

I was expecting a lesson in how, but Lino gave me a lesson in when. I already knew how — I had been doing the how part right for 15 years. My problem was when. If you make a shape out of glass that is too hot, you can make the shape, but the glass will just collapse afterward. If the glass is too cold, however, it becomes too stiff and you cannot make the shape in the first place. It’s timing, not technique. 

I left the studio that evening thinking about all the other places in my life where I had done the right thing at the wrong time. How many times had I spoken when the other person was not ready to listen? How often had I been too late or too early with the right answer? I saw a cascade of failures over my lifetime resulting from knowing how to do something but ignoring when to do it.

I decided to become a student of when. I wasn’t in search of some formula for perfect timing — I knew that didn’t exist outside glassblowing. Instead, I wanted to learn the patterns that can help us when opportunities arise. And in my study of entrepreneurial companies, several patterns kept reappearing. This is what I want to share with you…now.

Schools teach how. We learn to copy what works, with the emphasis always on the how and not the when. In my various academic studies, I learned how to construct complicated mathematical models, but I never learned when presenting such a model was inappropriate. I learned to reason logically, but I never learned when logic might offend someone. I learned contract law, but I never learned when to just shake hands.

It is difficult to fault our schools for emphasizing how, since it is difficult to study when. Determining how to perform a task means repeating the steps over and over until you achieve a successful result. Once we learn how to do something, the formal learning usually stops. We then learn how to do the next thing.

Related: How to Launch a New Brand: 4 Tips that Work

But timing does matter. So how do we approach it? Instead of trying to see time as an overwhelmingly infinite set of temporal options, I find it easier to just ask, “When should we begin?” There are really only two answers to this question: now and later. Now is often the right answer. In this world of highly similar products, speed is a huge advantage. If you create innovation first, economics tells us that you can profit from it only until your competitors copy you. And there is good reason to believe that you won’t have much time. The history of simultaneous innovation also suggests that someone else has had the same idea, so, again, the reward goes to the first mover. 

In fact, now is so often the right answer that many successful people default to it. They always want to be first. But sometimes, it really is better to wait.

If you are racing through the streets of Europe, the type of race matters. Formula 1 drivers in Monaco wind through streets so narrow that there are very few opportunities to pass. The car in the pole position usually wins the race. But in a bicycle race through those same streets, the leader will often become exhausted before the race is finished, handing victory to those who waited patiently in the slipstream. 

In the world of entrepreneurship, being first is not always best. This is because innovations build on each other. I call it the “innovation stack”: One innovation makes another innovation possible, which makes yet another innovation possible. Innovation stacks are at the core of world-changing businesses; they are the result of entrepreneurs who solve the right problem at the right time by building upon what’s already possible. This means that, when a critical element of your company is outside your control, waiting can be the best option. It’s possible to launch too early. 

Do you recall the first social network? Wrong — it was GeoCities back in 1995. Friendster came next in 2002 and did better. Then Myspace elbowed out Friendster beginning in 2003. Finally, Facebook took over. Why are we not all connecting with each other over Geo chat? Part of the answer is that GeoCities, Friendster, and Myspace all launched before mobile computing was commonplace. Without always-on access to the system, as well as a camera in everybody’s pocket, the appeal of a social network is diminished. 

Should we fault GeoCities, Friendster, and Myspace for not anticipating the looming ubiquity of mobile devices? Each of those companies was OK for its time, but Facebook’s timing was fantastic. Facebook had a dozen components of its innovation stack ready when mobile exploded, and then it quickly purchased Instagram when Instagram was beating it in mobile. 

You can be too early. Quick, name the 18th search engine company. (Ahem — you might want to Google that.)

Related: The Complete, 12-Step Guide to Starting a Business

So, what then? If you are purposely waiting for the right moment to move, is there anything to do in the meantime? Yes. The decision to wait implies that at some future time you will have to move, so you still have plenty to do. You work on all the other elements of your innovation stack — everything else that you’re creating — so that when the final element exists, everything else is ready to go.

For example, consider what happened at my company, Square. We began in 2009 by developing mobile card readers — those small devices you can plug into a phone or tablet and then swipe a credit card through. But at the time, Visa and Mastercard had rules specifically prohibiting the kind of technology we were creating. We spent a year trying to convince them to change their rules — and while that happened, we worked on other elements of our innovation stack, with the hope that the last piece would eventually happen. It was a gamble, but when Visa and Mastercard finally agreed to change their rules, the rest of our stack was ready to go, and the gamble paid off. 

Waiting for one element should not impede all the others. This is risky, of course — but most of the entrepreneurs I studied took this same type of risk, even if it made them uncomfortable.

Now let’s talk about moving now.

How does now feel? Well, in my case, I get nervous. Toward the end of my first year at Square, I was actually having “mild” panic attacks about all our unresolved issues. I remember pulling off the road one day and running into a pharmacy and getting a bottle of aspirin to fight the heart attack I was sure I was having. But this was good, in a crazy way. Here’s why: Right feels early. 

If the timing feels right, you are probably too late. That’s because we, as people, move in herds. If the innovation feels right to you, it probably feels right to a hundred other people with the same idea. If it feels too early, in my experience, that’s a good time to leave the walled city. There is no way to know when the unknown is arriving, but it will probably arrive sooner than you think.

There’s a secondary benefit: When you act now, you can actually create change — sometimes supplying whatever the missing element is in your business. In other words, leaping can cause you to grow wings. 

In Square’s case, let’s return to the permission we needed from the card networks. We built a system that violated their rules…but had we not already built the system, Mastercard and Visa probably never would have bothered to rewrite their rules to accommodate us. Our system gave them something to aim for. Once Mastercard (and then Visa) agreed to revise its regulations, the tone of our conversations was basically “Square is cool, so how do we make it compliant?” 

Southwest Airlines has a similar story. It created the low-cost-­airline model, but it did so in an era in the 1970s when the federal government regulated airline prices. It could have waited for the laws to change, but it chose not to. Instead, it proved itself as best it could; it operated only in Texas, which, because it wasn’t crossing state lines, meant it wasn’t subject to federal laws. Soon people took notice of its demonstrably better price, speed, and service — including Massachusetts senator Ted Kennedy, who led the fight to deregulate the industry. By moving before the country was ready, Southwest created the environment in which the country could be ready.

At that point, the big question was: Is Southwest ready to take full advantage? And the answer was yes — it was more prepared than all of its competition.

Related: 6 Ways to Launch a Business

This is an important part of timing. You have to be ready when the missing elements suddenly appear. I have seen the following pattern in dozens of entrepreneurial companies: Their innovation stack begins to function, and then the world suddenly changes; but because their company is still evolving, they can quickly capitalize on this new world order before any other firm can adapt to the new ecosystem. 

At the time of deregulation in 1978, Southwest Airlines had already been flying passengers around for seven years as a small regional airline. But because of its earlier battles with the airlines and regulators, Southwest’s flights, planes, finances, pricing, staff, pilots, passengers, and a dozen other blocks in its innovation stack were ready before deregulation hit. When the change came, Southwest was already in the air doing 500 knots, the only company prepared for a world where leanness and low cost would win the day. It had happy customers, lower fares, better punctuality, better safety within Texas, and a culture that was accustomed to adapting quickly. Now it just had to scale everything up. 

When is not a science. Not even the world’s best econometrician knows exactly when to make a move. Experience helps, but by definition it is impossible to have experience for anything that is truly new.

I find, however, that simply being aware of the temporal components makes my enterprises more nimble. I race to be ready early. But as soon as I feel ready, a voice in my head asks, Is the world also ready? 

If the world is ready, then creating an innovation stack comes with a responsibility to create a market for as many new customers as possible. You are rewarded with a massive market that is nearly impossible for competitors to steal, so long as you can grow fast enough. This is fun, stressful, and necessary work. Your time indeed has come. 

 Adapted from The Innovation Stack: Building an Unbeatable Business One Crazy Idea at a Time, by Jim McKelvey, to be published March 10 by Portfolio, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2020 by Jim McKelvey.

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