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anchanted-one · 1 year

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Legend of Lightning 67: The Revanchist

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/116433181

No one in the Council spoke. Some of Oteg’s friends exchanged triumphant grins.

“You might as well settle up right here,” Satele told them. The soldiers all gave her indignant looks, but one or two either reached for their pockets, or held out hands expectantly.

Revan chuckled. “I see you take after me, then.”

“I saw a few holos from the old days,” Satele said glibly. “I saw your ‘A Jedi and a Soldier’ act, then I thought I could pull it off better than you.”

That elicited a round of hearty chuckles.

“You asked Oteg to explain himself,” Revan began again. “But in truth, I think it falls to me to explain.”

“The only goal of Master Oteg’s secret expedition was to rescue you,” Jaric said shortly. “How is that?”

His capacity for speech was returning, Satele noted.

“A tad oversimplified, but not untrue,” Revan bowed his head. “I am aware that it wasn’t an easy undertaking. Hundreds of ships and thousands of soldiers had to be moved in total secret with a singular purpose. Many died trying to rescue me. I will forever be grateful to them, and to my old friend for making this decision. But take heart; for their sacrifice has given you a tool that can single-handedly turn the tide in your war.” He gave another, more formal bow. “I am Revan, Hero of the Mandalorian Wars, Jedi Master and Sith Lord. I have resisted the Emperor for hundreds of years. I am his match, his nemesis. I will defend the Republic from his fell gaze, as I did before, as I did for years. I gave my life to this fight, and thought I am bloody and bruised, I’m still fighting. This time, I will save the Galaxy from him.” There was an undertone to his voice, a raw charisma that swept people away to share in its confidence. All the soldiers looked at him with reverence and awe. The pink-haired man behind him even stopped trying to eye Nariel. “And I ask only one thing in return,” Revan went on. “Do not surrender to the Emperor. Even if the Republic is forced to, even if the rest of the Galaxy turns on you, do not stop. For I have seen what hides beyond the veil, and I know that only Darkness awaits a galaxy where he reigns supreme—”

“Yes, Vajra told us much the same thing,” Jaric interrupted.

Revan staggered slightly. “Excuse me?”

“One of our younger Knights,” Satele responded. “Perhaps Oteg told you about him? No? I imagine you had a lot to catch up on. Vajra Devarath is a Knight who ran into one of the Emperor’s agents, a so-called ‘Child of the Emperor’. The Emperor was able to engulf Vajra using his agent as an intermediary.”

“By his own account, it wasn’t the Emperor’s full might,” Bela added. “But it was enough to overwhelm him. He managed to break free, and save his Padawan with him.”

“They saved each other,” Satele clarified “Or at least, that’s how Vajra puts it. His former Padawan Kira, on the other hand, gives him full credit. In any case, he too spoke about the Emperor much as you did.”

Revan looked impressed. “He sounds like a solid Jedi. I’d like to meet him, if I may.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” Satele shook her head. Revan looked disappointed. “Still, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Tell us about the mission, so that your soldiers can leave. They look like they could use a visit to the cantina.”

Revan smiled. “As you wish. Jerre, Roban, why don’t you give your accounts to the Council?”

“Yes, Sir.” The tall Zabrak walked to the front. Satele belatedly recognized him. Roban Queens. He had smashed Vajra in the jaw after the latter had, in Queens’ opinion, allowed a dangerous fugitive to escape. That had been the first time that Vajra had filed a formal complaint against someone. A complaint which had seen Garza reprimanded and demoted, with General O’Brien given her post as head of Special Forces.

She wondered if the Zabrak still harbored a grudge.

“Master Oteg reached out to me and others in our strike force one month ago,” he said. His back was held upright, his chin high. His eyes were fixed straight ahead of him, though he kept glancing at Satele every now and then. “He outlined a high-risk raid on the Imperial world of Taral V. There was an advanced Gree transponder held by the science department there that would allow us to safely navigate the Maelstrom nebula, where the Maelstrom prison was. A prison, which we would only later find out, was built to hold one, single prisoner. His face became awe itself, and he shook his head in disbelief. The others nodded behind him.

“We were able to secure the device,” Queens went on. “We took a few hours to recover before jumping straight to the Prison, so as to avoid the chances of word leaking out. Captain Kraot here, got our team past the point defences.”

Satele recognized the name. Jerre Kraot was one of the civilians who had helped Vajra twice. The first time was in the Galactic Market sector of Coruscant, the other when he helped Vajra save hundreds of Power Guards from Imperial captivity. Vajra had been full of praise for him and his Captain, as had Nariel Pridence a few months later, for aiding against a Sith… though some records she had seen claimed that he and Juun Stede were smugglers.

“Jerre offered us his expertise free of charge,” Oteg revealed. “Though I must insist we reimburse him for the ship. They were forced to leave it behind during their escape.”

“We’ll pay it back, plus ten percent of the cost,” Satele agreed. “That’s the standard rate for lost ships. In addition, I think you do deserve compensation for a job well done.”

“It’s true. We’re getting paid, aren’t we?” the Cathar Havoc member nodded.

“Besides, you’re the one who killed Grand Moff Kilran,” Oteg smiled. “And that’s one more breakthrough for our side; another of the Butchers of Coruscant lies dead. Only Malgus remains, now. I hope he’s getting nervous!”

“Kilran personally defended Revan’s cell,” Queens explained. “He had a small army of not just elite soldiers, but Sith too.”

“I didn’t recognize any of them, but they were the best warriors I’ve ever faced,” Harunobu put in. “I think they might have been disguised Imperial Guardsmen. The only reason we won was because Captain Kraot slipped away and saved Revan.”

“Ah got hit,” Kraot said, looking uneasy. “Ah played dead, intendin’ to flank em and turn their turrets against them… but then… the Voice prompted that ah save the prisoner. Um not too much inta this Force thing, but ahm glad ah listened. Twas a perfectly even game out there. Revan’s charge into their rear caused them to crumple. Ah shot the dirty butcher muhself. E looked stunned, as if e never thought he could die. Said that there wuz so much e still wanted t’ conquer…”

“He’s dead now,” Queens smiled in grim satisfaction. “Sergeant Dorne confirmed it.”

“Explain what you mean when you said ‘the Voice,’” Satele prompted.

“I had help in planning this mission,” Oteg was the one to answer her. “A plea from one no longer among the living, one who wanted Revan to be freed. To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of it when I heard Malak’s voice again. We hadn’t parted on good terms, so this sounded like a trick, but—”

“But the Force offers redemption to any who seek it,” Revan said with unfailing certainty. “Malak was a good man, once, before the Emperor corrupted his heart. In death, he found himself again. It is his strength that has helped me stay sane and strong, all these long centuries. He must have Sensed that I was needed again, that my continued resistance no longer meant anything. For it was through my Will alone that the Emperor did not invade sooner.”

Satele did not like the way he put that.

“I think we can dismiss everyone else now,” Oteg suggested. “Padawan Fia, see to it that my comrades are allotted lodgings for the night, would you?”

“Yes, Master.” The Padawan on duty bowed and led the soldiers out of the room.

“Now, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty details, shall we?” Master Nikil asked.

“Yes. What did the Emperor want from you?” Tol asked.

“The same tool I now plan to use against him,” Revan replied. “A Rakatan super factory called the Foundry, which is on par with the fabled Star Forge, in its own way. While the Star Forge could churn out hundreds of ships every day, the Foundry can mass produce war droids and munitions.” He looked around at the Councillors. “I know that war is not what the Jedi stand for, but this is defence. The last war saw billions dead—on both sides of course, but the Republic is proving slower to recover. Give me fifty Jedi, and help me negotiate with the Republic. If I could have a navy capable of protecting the factory, or shipping the droids where we need them to go, we could have all Republic worlds ready for when the hostilities resume.”

“That is a tall order,” Satele replied. She was reluctant to give him any real answer. This was all too sudden for her. “We needed time to think—"

“The Council in my era needed time,” Revan said meaningfully. “When the Mandalorians attacked. Even when the war had entered its final days, they still refused to act. They didn’t even refuse us outright! Until the very last day, we held out hope that our Masters would join us. They never did. It’s a terrible situation for a Jedi, to not have the Council at their back in a time of crisis. Don’t be like Vrook and Atris. Accept the reality that threatens to engulf you all.”

“You needn’t lecture us,” Satele said, injecting some heat into her voice. “We are well aware of the danger. Coruscant was sacked just under seven years ago. The Temple there is still in ruins. The Sith tried to destroy Tython too, just last year! The whole planet! Angral’s dread superweapon… Uphrades is gone; seventeen million killed as a mere test for that weapon. Half our territory was taken from us, including Balmorra! And we only kept our grip on Alderaan by the skin of our teeth.”

“Then you understand the threat…”

“Understanding isn’t the problem,” Syo said. “Not only are you asking us to give you fifty Jedi, you want us to endorse your project… without telling us your plans? We’re critically low on manpower, you know. We couldn’t even field many Jedi to save ourselves from Angral!”

“Indeed,” Jaric nodded severely. “We indulged Master Oteg’s theatricality, given his experience. But we cannot trust you. Not to this degree.”

“I see,” Revan slowly circled the room, passing in front of every Councillor in turn. It was so unnerving to have someone from the old legends jump out at you like this! And it just had to be her ancestor! She imagined everyone in the room was thinking about her outlook. Every decision she made in this regard might be seen as potentially biased, either in her ancestor’s favor because of their connection, or against it in an attempt to prove impartiality. “Keep this in mind, however. The Emperor will come. Sooner rather than not, since I am free now. He won’t want to give you the chance to use my knowledge. Expect a full-fledged attack within the year. The longer you take, the less time I’ll have to build up our numbers. I need at least five months for an army that will number in the trillions. We could even build models like my old HK unit, who was a challenge to most Force users.” He looked around again. Satele felt a careful neutrality in everyone’s bearing. “And this may need to be part of your discussion: I will need as much secrecy as you can get me, for my operation to work. It will be a disaster if the Senate catches wind of it. There’s no telling how many Senators already serve the Empire, or how many more would sell their secrets for the right price. Even if you don’t trust me, don’t let word of me leak out. Furthermore, do not reject what I have to say out of hand. I will accept whatever oversight you feel you need to put in place. I accept that every Jedi you assign me will report on my every movement. And I accept that you can pull the plug on me at any time. I do realize what I’m asking of you.”

“We appreciate it,” Bela said blandly.

“How much time will you take to deliberate?”

“Give us a few days,” Oteg said confidently. “Like your descendant said, we’re well aware of the looming threat.”

“Good. In the meantime, I’d like the run of the place. Have a look around. See what the Order is like today.”

Satele could not Sense any objections to the request.

“Agreed, with conditions,” she said. “Minders. Restricted access to tomes. And you won’t be allowed near the reliquaries, Masters’ chambers, or sensitive areas. You may have been a Jedi Master once, but we will need to confirm whether your long captivity has jeopardized your serenity.”

“Now that I think about it, have you checked to see if he is, indeed Revan?” Jaric asked Oteg, who nodded.

“I should remind the Council that I knew Revan.”

“Oh… right. Sorry, I’d forgotten. You even mentioned it.”

“I accept your limitations,” Revan smiled. “In fact, I applaud them. The Dark Side is insidious. Never trust without verifying first.” He nodded in approval and respect. “I’m glad that the Jedi of this era understand the necessities of war.” He thought for a second. “I think I’ll visit the training yard. I’d like to see what kind of Jedi I have to work with. And if you can arrange a meeting with this ‘Vajra’…”

“No,” there was a glimmer of steel in Satele’s words which gave even Revan pause. “He’s off limits for the time being.”

“As you wish,” he said. He left, followed closely by the other Jedi from Oteg’s team.

“What was that about, Grand Master?” Tol asked.

“You felt it, didn’t you? Revan’s legendary charisma,” Satele leaned back in her seat. “That man once convinced thousands of Jedi to follow him to war. It doesn’t matter if he was right or not; what matters is that he can move all but the most resolute hearts. And Vajra is not in a good place right now. If Revan speaks to him, he will be persuaded to follow. I’m not sure we want that. I’ll inform him right away to leave the training yard, if he’s there.”

Jaric and Bela nodded in fervent agreement, followed by Gnost. Others slowly acquiesced as well. But Satele could feel the slight heat of suspicion linger in the air. Her vehemence today had been noted by at least a few of these Masters.

Vajra led his friends through the basic saber drills of Form I. They moved at a leisure pace, but kept their movements and footwork strong. Vajra kept a particularly close eye on Jasme to ensure that her muscles were engaged without being overexerted. She was still in her first month of training, after all.

Jasme felt grateful as she listened to the young Raudra’s instructions, or watched him demonstrate a move correctly. He should be dead, gone without a trace. She still had nightmares of carrion beasts picking his corpse in the wilderness somewhere. Of years passing by without a shadow of a trace. Of a lifetime spent wondering what had become of him.

Someone had saved Vajra, and she wished she knew who. All she could do now was thank the stars that she was here, in this beautiful morning sunlight, learning the art of the Lightsaber from the best friend she could have asked for.

That he was the Jedi Order’s greatest swordsman, was a fringe benefit. Or such a good teacher, for that matter; Bengel Morr had improved in leaps and bounds in the span of a few lessons. The two were good friends now, bonding over their Master. In addition, Bengel was grateful that Vajra had ensured that the children the former had led astray, had been cared for.

They were only ten minutes into the session when Bengel received a priority message.

“It’s from the Grand Master,” he said, looking troubled. “It says to take Vajra back to his room at once, and allow him no unauthorized visitors.”

“I’ll go on then. Jasme and Seraphim can continue practising,” Vajra suggested. “Kira can watch how you’re doing for me.”

“Alright, but you’re making this up to me,” Jasme said with her best pout. “Not that I hate you, Kira.”

“Got it.”

“I hope I can get authorization,” Seraphim said. “I like these lessons! You’re a good teacher!”

“Thanks!”

“Hurry, please,” Bengel pulled him away. “The Grand Master isn’t known for being whimsical.”

Kira rounded on them and spoke crisply. “Alright then; bookworm, coxswain! Who said you two could slack off? I wanna see some sweat!”

“‘Cocks wain,’ now, am I?” Seraphim grinned. “Reducing my whole existence to one body part?”

Kira slapped his butt. “That’s right, coxswain. Shape up there!”

“Hey, beats ‘bookworm!’” Jasme said in mock sadness. “Not something that can work in bed.”

“I said move! Lift those arms! Strike like you’re slapping the bitch out of Darth Kaimeryn!” ¹

“But she strikes me as the type that likes getting spanked!”

Kira considered that for a second, rubbing her head in mockery of deep thought. “Yeah… I can see that.” She waved it away. “Spank her anyway! You’ll feel better than she does!² Alright then, one, two, three!” Jasme struck out and pulled back in time to Kira’s brisk claps. “Good! Once more, with feeling! One, two, three!”

Revan arrived at the private training field just in time to see the three humans calling it a day. He knew the girl was Satele’s at once. Her features were exactly the same as her mother’s. Unlike Satele, however, her smile was full of life and passion. She had the whole world ahead of her, unbound by Jedi dogma. But her ability in the Force was small. Miniscule, actually. Barely good enough to move a twenty-kilo stone. And yet… Raya had been that weak at the start, but her dedication had allowed her to be a Jedi without peer.

The only reason why Revan was so fixated on his descendant—other than their relationship—was because of Satele’s curious response to his request to meet this Jedi who had faced the Emperor, this ‘Vajra’. Was this her? It made sense! His bloodline was strong and sure, as evidenced by Satele being one of the youngest Grand Masters he’d ever heard of. Surely another of his descendants might have his resilience to the Galaxy’s greatest threat? And the timing! Right before his release!

Despite Satele’s warning, he knew he had to get closer to her daughter. He had to get Vajra to his side. The Force practically demanded it. But he could not approach her himself. But whom to ask?

Perhaps Oteg or one of the other Jedi from his team…? No. Oteg aside, most of them would feel a greater loyalty to Satele than to him. And Oteg seemed like he was in enough trouble. Perhaps Nariel could be talked into it—no he was certain he could do it—but simple people knew no such thing as discretion. If he used her, Satele might hear about his violation of her orders. If she had Bastila’s stubbornness… or worse, his own…

The soldiers, then? No… the two leaders of Havoc Squad were wary of all Jedi, himself included. Jerre then? No, the pilot was going to be very busy. He sighed. As ever, it seemed he was alone. He would have to approach her himself.

But he couldn’t do so hastily. He would need to find a time when he could work in secret… he followed as closely as he dared as Vajra and her friends descended into a level he wasn’t cleared for.

Soon, he promised himself. We will meet soon. Together, we will save the galaxy from a monster. I am sorry, Satele.

Jasme entered Vajra’s room to find him looking very preoccupied.

“Kira wanted a bath. And Seraphim some rest. What’s with him?” she asked Bengel.

“A letter,” Bengel whispered back. “Maybe Ranna sent him something he can’t get his eyes off of.”

“Ranna doesn’t send holomail,” Jasme pointed out.

“I can hear you, remember?” Vajra breathed. She sighed. It was easy to forget that his hearing was better than most other humanoids’.

“Okay then. Spill it. What’s up?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Sure it is.” Jasme was disappointed. He almost never kept something from her. “Promise me you’ll say something if—”

“I will.” His eyes moved back to the top of the screen. How many times was he going to reread that one mail? And it had to be the same one, his fingers hadn’t touched the controls.

“Good.” Jasme let it drop. Behind her, the door opened, and in walked the Grand Master, followed by Doctor Row.

Satele took one look at Vajra and stopped short. Something seemed to click in her head, so loudly that Jasme thought she could hear it. Her mother actually went scarlet, and Jasme looked over at Vajra with a wide grin.

“Someone’s looking—”

“Not right now,” Satele interrupted her. “I have an important warning for you, Vajra. And an order.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You will stay inside the psych ward for the next couple of days. We have a… troublesome visitor. I have a feeling he’ll try to make contact with you. I don’t want that to happen.”

“Are you gonna tell us more?” Jasme asked.

Satele hesitated. “It’s Revan. Yes, that one. Apparently, he’s still alive, all these centuries after his disappearance. The Emperor kept him so, attempting to extract some kind of secret from him.”

“The Emperor… kept him alive?!” Jasme was incredulity itself. She looked at an unmoved Vajra. “Why aren’t you surprised?” she demanded.

Vajra shrugged. “So, what does he want with me?”

“He wants your help in defeating the Emperor,” Satele answered. “We made a mistake. When he was talking about how grave a threat the Emperor was, Jaric remarked that you’d already told us much of it. And that led to a brief explanation of your encounter that day. Revan was impressed enough to ask if he could meet you. Twice.” She massaged her shoulders, as though they were cold. “I have a bad feeling about this, Vajra. I Sense he’s not lied to us yet, and that he is on our side. But I don’t want him speaking to you. I’m sure you’ve read his history; he made a career out of keeping his own counsel. He only ever obeyed a Master if it suited him. And they were his elders. He sees us as children. Hell, I am literally his descendant, and I am the Grand Master!” She massaged her temples now. Jasme wanted to comfort her, but couldn’t. Not with Bengel and Doctor Row around. “I can only restrict his movements to a degree. So much as he himself allows it.” She sounded extremely miffed.

“Master Darach loved to say that the position of Grand Master comes with little real power,” Doctor Row said softly. “I think you should step down, for your own sanity.”

“And while I’m at it, I should leave the Council too,” Mom almost snapped. “And the Jedi. Live openly as a wife and mother… if the family I walked away from even accepts me. I know Theron won’t.” She swallowed whatever else she had to say. “That’s all I had to say. I’m sorry, Vajra.”

“Looks like you’re grounded,” Doctor Row informed Vajra slyly, making him and Mom blush again.

“I really think we need to talk,” Jasme said sweetly.

The Grand Master’s response was a sour mumble.

#star wars #swtor #star wars fanfiction #swtor fanfiction #fanfic #jedi knight #hero of tython #revan #satele shan

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copperbadge · 3 years

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How did you get started with investing? I've seen you talk about it before and I know that's something I need to do, but I feel so lost in terms of which companies to invest in and how much money I should put in. I have retirement accounts but nothing outside of that. And really, I feel like I can't talk to anyone IRL about this because I'm too embarrassed - I'm literally a CPA and do corporate taxes for a living but still find investing to be so intimidating 😞.

I mean, when people say "you should be investing" often, until you reach a certain wealth level, they are actually referring to your 401K. This is more general advice for the readers, but don't feel bad if you're not investing outside of retirement, especially if you're early in your career or if you're in a job where you don't have much disposable income. Don't feel bad in general, honestly, even if you haven't got a retirement fund at all; life is hard and money is necessary but stupid.

I only really started to invest invest in the last two years and even then I'm pretty conservative about it. On the plus, as a CPA, you will probably have a leg up in terms of knowing a lot of financial terms and kind of...understanding how money works in at least some sense.

I actually got started studying investing with my retirement fund. I was young and broke and mad that a chunk of my paycheck was going into my 401K when I could use that money NOW (see Sam Vimes Boots Theory for more on why ready cash now can often beat more cash later). I didn't know much about finance but I knew that a) I was basically being forced to play the financial markets with that money and b) the fate of our country's economy is tied to the stock market which is a mood ring hooked up to a roulette wheel. Being the Oldest Living Millennial I also understood I might not actually ever get to retire, so I decided to treat my retirement fund like Monopoly money: real but meaningless. And so I thought, well, let's Learn About Investing with it.

When you invest with a 401K or IRA usually you're not buying straight stocks; you're buying some conglomeration of investments bundled together as a fund (this is not a technical term, fund has a specific meaning in the technical sense, but it's easier to just use fund as a shorthand so I'm gonna). These can include stocks, bonds, mutual funds, and other more esoteric vehicles. So I started looking into the funds available to me -- there's the "retire in this year" fund that most people just dump all their money into, but there were also ways to invest in small businesses abroad, in health care or in funds that are "socially responsible", ways to buy into funds that did nothing but attempt to keep up with inflation, and on and on.

I didn't know any of that, of course -- I just saw something like "International Explorer Fund" and decided it sounded interesting and I'd learn what it was and what it did, and when I was satisfied that the reward was worth the risk, I'd dump some cash from my 2045-Retirement investment into it. While "past performance is no indication of future success" past performance isn't a bad way to at least pick something to research, and usually there's an earnings graph on the fund's prospectus page. I'd start reading prospectuses and looking up every word I didn't know or felt had a specific context I was missing (mostly on Investopedia, a GREAT resource). I'd take the term, add it to a vocabulary list, and rewrite "what is this and what does it do" in my own words. Eventually I internalized a lot of the terminology but I still check my notes once in a while.

There are financial literacy courses you can take, of course, and I don't think you should be AT ALL ashamed about trying to find a good one (lots of scams out there) or asking colleagues about them. "Hey, I'm not comfortable with my level of literacy about investment vehicles; do you know of any good educational material or class that would fill in the gaps?" is a good way to go about it. Very few people know jack shit about investing and my level of knowledge is just BARELY above jack shit, to be honest, so no shame, my friend. It is also totally fine to find a financial planner or investment advisor outside of your work and have a sit-down with them to get advice, which is what my parents do. Many banks offer that kind of service, so check with wherever you do your banking, and almost any retirement fund administrator (like Vanguard or American Funds) will be happy to send someone to meet with you and advise you. I was never prouder of my financial self-education than the one time I met with a guy from Vanguard who said, "Basically, keep doing what you're doing, this is a model portfolio."

Once I was investing in my retirement funds more confidently, I got the RobinHood app and started studying stocks, which is really just like, "find a stock and do a book report on it". Look at past earnings, who the CEO of the company is, what their board makeup is like, what they're doing in the news. And of course the most important advice: Never, ever invest money in the stock market that you aren't prepared to lose.

Aside from my stock adventures on RobinHood, which is about five hundred dollars that I turned into a thousand dollars over a couple of years, I have money in a few savings accounts. I don't have CDs or money market accounts or any of that, because I still don't have quite enough cash to make it worth it. I just parked some in a credit union that pays 6% interest on the first $1K you put in, and the rest in Betterment, which had a 2% interest rate when I started but now is down to .3% which is a bummer. But I haven't found another vehicle like Betterment which allows you equally easy access to your money while having as intuitive and modular an online interface.

So overall, aside from retirement (which is at $116K, which seems impressive until you remember you're supposed to retire with 25x your yearly salary in your 401K) I have a grand in the stock market, a grand in a 6%-interest savings account with a credit union, a grand in an emergency-only savings account attached to my checking, and roughly five grand with Betterment. It's a fairly conservative setup but I'd like never to be poor ever again, so I'm hedging carefully :D

Some great resources that I've used include:

Investopedia

Planet Money podcast by NPR and its sister podcast, The Indicator

The Financial page of the newspaper (I used to read NYT, now I read Tribune)

Rankandfiled.com, a free stock filings resource site that basically scrapes the SEC for financial data -- this is for if you really want to do a deep dive once you've got more experience

Good luck! It's a slog at first, but eventually it gets kinda fun :)

#investing #financial planning

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dystopia-fantasy · 3 years

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Always read the job description -Part 1

Max was a fit, well built man. He had been body building since he was 14 and now In his early 40s he has the body of a god, but is slowly getting to the age when he needs to find another way to make money. He knows he can't take part in his competitions anymore, and needs to take it easy. He got great grades in school and college, proving people wrong that you can't be a nerd in a jock body.

Max had some money saved and was able to keep up on bills for a few months but needed a job to keep his large house, in the rich area of the city. He got a call from a business he applied to a couple of days ago, telling him to go in for an interview tomorrow, and if it goes well he will be sent straight on a trip for the company. He gets his new blue suit ready to be worn the next day.

The morning arrives, it's 5am, and Max wakes. He does his normal morning routine, making breakfast, working out, taking a shower, then gets his suit on ready for his early morning interview. Driving to the office building in the middle of New York, it's at least 50 stories high, and is made of mostly glass, and is one of the newest modern builds in the city.

On arrival a large man in his late 60s wearing a suit greets him, "hello sir, you must be max, Sir Mammon is on his way down to collect you, may I say what an amazing suit you have on today".

Max looks the man up and down, seeing the man's huge belly flowing out from under his dress shirt, showing a massive W shape, "thanks mate, you might want a bigger shirt" then points to his belly.

"sorry if I offended you sir, but all clothing has been chosen by Sir Mammon himself" Mammon is the big boss of the business "if you would like to make a complaint I can print you a form".

Max laughs, "No thanks, I'm gonna sit over there, tell Mammon im there".

"will do sir, have a great day" the man says while max walks away paying no more attention to him.

About 15 minutes later a young handsome slender man walks over. "Max is it?" He says behind Max.

"yes.." max says confused.

"I'm Mammon, nice to meet you" he smiles holding his hand out for a shake.

"oh hello Mammon, is wasn't expecting someone so young, no offence of course" max shaking his hand.

Mammon let's out a little laugh, with a little grin "it's ok max, people don't expect someone like me to own such a remarkable company like this one would you like to follow me, we can go up to my office, this is Mark by the way, he's my Butler". Mark is another large man aged around 50, he has a massive belly stuffed into his suit, hes huffing and puffing, like he ran a marithon, "don't mind him, most of my staff are..."

Max cuts him off "fat?"

They both laugh, "you could say that Max" the elevator arrives and they all walk in, "now max, you did read the whole advertisement correct?".

Max didn't, it's was 48 pages long, who would read it all? He just looked at the wage he would get, it started at $100,000 per month. "Yes, I did".

"that's good, most guys are more keen to keep their body's but I guess if your struggling you'll do anything."

Max now confused just nod's and watches though the glass elevator as they fly up to the top floor.

"where here sir" Mark the butler says peacefully in his British accent.

They walk into the room, and Mammon sits at his desk pouring himself a glass of wisky, and Max one too. Max looks around in aww, the room was covered in art work, with the walls painted in golds and whites and had its own bar. "How do you have all this money?" Max asked.

"a mix of many things, this company, and a few investments paid for this whole building, I have many other ways but we're not here for that." Mammon points at the seat," take a seat max" Max sits the chair is made from leather and is very comfy. "So, max, I've gone through your file, I think you're perfect for the job."

"so, does that mean I have the job?" Max replies confused, expecting to be asked a question.

"well yes, if you agree to the terms"

"terms?" Max still confused.

"well yes, you expect to be paid 10times the amount the normal person for this job without any terms or conditions?"

"well I didn't know.." Max gets cut off.

"Max let me simplify them for you. You sacrifice your body to the company, and in trade you get, $100k X the amount you weigh paid into your account per month, So if you weigh 450lbs, you get $450k a month."

"what the fuck? That's sick, I'm not doing that, I'm leaving" and with that Max got up from the chair and stood face to face with Mammon, with the desk all that is separating them. "Your sick, you fa**ot".

With that Mammon's eyes glow a bright red. "I'm a what?" Max got through back against the chair by an invisible force. "Max you could have just left with your freedom, but now look what you've gotten yourself into".

"Let me go, What the fuck?" Max says while traped against that chair, it chreeking with the force of his muscle.

"I'm a fucking demon max, I'm never going to 'let you go'" he took a second break to mock max, "now, what did you say? Fa**ot, was it?".

"fuck, I didn't mean it" the force pins him down harder, trapping his arms against the leather chair arms, and pushing his legs against the underboard. "Please let me go home, I won't do it again."

"shut up max, the process is already starting".

Max looks down to see his body deflating, his pecs turning from mountain peaks to a flat surface, his giant powerful arms turning weak and light. And then looking up he sees a whole new man infront of him.

"Not as big as I thought I would get, but boy I'm big" he took a break to admire his new giant arms and pecs.

"what the?" Max looks in confusion, "how did you do that? Give me them back".

"what are you gonna do max? I'm an infinitely powerful being and you, your an old man, or at least your going to be."

"I'm only 42, what do you mean, going to be?"

"you see I don't have my infinite life span on earth, so to stay alive and in this fit body, I absorb anything a guy has and I want. In your case, these massive muscles, but then I need to absorb their life force as well, in order to make sure I don't age."

"what do you mean life force?"

"well, you have roughly 50 years, worth of life left, I'll drain about 20 years leaving you in your future crippled body at around age 60, force you to work for the company for another 20 years, then when your 80 drain the rest of your life, which after you get fat won't be much, then you got to hell."

"man your sick, let me go, LET ME GO!".

A bright red light shoots from Peters hand enveloping Max's whole body, and he starts to age, his face wrinkling, skin dropping, eye sight worsening, hearing getting muffled, and mind changing a little. "Max, you ok old man?".

"yes sir" max was confused in his mind, why did he say sir?

"max, you ready for your Cruise? You can have tones of food for the next 6 months."

"Yes sir, I'm ready" max lifts his head, opening his eyes to see a new blurry room from his new old eyes.

"you're gonna need these from now on" Peters eyes glow and a new pair of glasses appear on Max's face he can now see clear.

"thank you... Sir", max blinks seeing Peter infront of him, "what have you, done to me".

"Max, I've turned you into the perfect office worker, old, brainiac, who is soon going to get fat and live the rest of his life, in an office chair for me, don't worry for accomodation you live here now, we have apartments on floor 30 to 40, all workers live here, it's policy, we have also sent a team to your house to, well, blow it up, that way nobody is going to be looking for you, becuase we can plant a body"

"give me... My.... Body back, give me... My.. life back."

"Max we both know that will never happen, now enjoy a life of gluttony, and prepare yourself for hell, that's gonna be worse then anything I can do to you." Peter snaped his fingers and a red glow enveloped max.

Recovering from the glow max sees two men infront of him with a trolly of sorts between them. "Is he awake" one says,

"I don't know" said the other.

"im- awake" max said in a much older raspy voice.

"good we can now start the feeding" the man on the left said, his body as muscled as a god, ripped from head to toe, and we can see everything.

Max rubs his eyes under his glasses and opens them again, "Fucking hell, put some clothes on both of you".

Both men where nude, one a ripped god, another muscled up but with a big gut. "Clothes are banned here mate" the beefy man said in a type of Australia accent, "you cant say much fella, look at that tiny pecker".

The men laughed pointing at Max's shriveled up old cock and low hanging balls, "what the fuck"max tries to move his arm to cover him but his arm doesn't move, he looks down to see him stuck in a chair, with a cut out hole under his ass, and straps tying him down, trapping him. "What... Are you gonna do to me?" Max asked sceared.

The men laughed at him again, "no need to act to sceared, we're here to feed you for the next 6 months".

"but... Sir said..." Max get cut off.

"he said you'd be going on a cruise? Fucking hell are you dumb? He's a demon, you shouldn't trust a demon" The muscled guy says.

"bro let's start the feeding we have 50 other guys to see and I wanna watch football Tonight." The beefy guys says, and in unison both their eyes glowed a bright red, showing they where demons too.

The trolly between them had several items on top, one long tube, which floated in the air for a few moments before shoving itself down maxes nostril and deep into his stomach, his head flipped back trying to wriggle it out, but it was stuck. Another item moved into his frame, a IV bag holder, holding a giant barrel type object made of glass, and two large bags floated of the table again and started to drain into the barrel, and the tube connected itself to it, starting a flow of the liquid into maxes stomach.

"done" the beffy guy said. "Now we'll be back tomorrow to refill your barrel, and clean you up if you make a mess, but youll basically be unconscious for the next 6 months, due to the drugs were feeding you."

"so enjoy your sleep mate, you'll litterally wake up a different man." The two men laughed and walked out, max tried fighting the restraints but in his crippled form could do nothing. The door slammed and locked, and the room fell dark, max screamed begging into the darkness to be let free, and to have his life back, which he had only an hour before, but nothing happened, nobody came. He felt the drugs taking effect, but tried to fight back, but it was useless, his body slumped and loosened. His mind fell blank as he drifted of into his 6 month hibernation.

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years

Text

Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 1 of 2

SPOILER ALERT.

It's probably just the alcohol, but the beats of the music are starting to sound a little bit like a marching drum that's announcing war. She can feel herself dancing along to it, but her whole body is on alert, ready to switch to fight and flight any second.

"So, cool place huh?" The bloke in the leather jacket asks.

She tries to remember his name. Jeff something. Or maybe Jed. No, not Jed, she's thinking of Star Wars again. That's what happens when you binge watch a multiverse of movies in a single day.

Oh, yeah, that's right. She broke the multiverse.

Another shot of tequila, and she takes not-Jed's hand in hers. It doesn't feel right, at least not the way-

No.

She realises he asked her a question, but she can't remember what, and she just laughs, because that always works.

Encouraged, he leans in close and whispers into her ears. "How about we get out of here?"

"And go where, exactly?" She asks, but she's not sure he understands, not with how slurred the words come out.

She laughs again, and this time, it's bitter. This time, she's laughing at how this is so him, this getting drunk in the face of imminent danger and making a mess of things.

(But I'm not you.)

---

She's frozen in her place the second the glowing yellow door appears. But it's not for her, at least not this time.

She hasn't been on the run for a while. Doesn't need to be. Because even though she is the one who unleashed the chaos, it's the chaos that needs to be contained immediately. She's low on the list of priorities.

The TVA will come for her. But not right now.

---

It's extremely easy pretending to be a psychic. All she has to do is take her client's hands and enchant him, find a memory, describe it back to him.

Sometimes she does it just for fun, just to see the look of amazement on their faces.

Other times, she does it for the money she needs to survive.

"And I see a blonde woman. Very beautiful."

"That's my wife."

The way he smiles, loving and proud, makes her heart drop.

"What do you see in her future? Is she happy? Does she get the job at the magazine?"

There is definitely at least one timeline where she does get the job, but The Enchantress cannot exactly tell if it's this one. She can't actually see the future, after all.

She sees the colors drain from his face as her silence swallows the room. "She's going to be okay, right? I just want her to be okay."

(I just want you to be okay.)

There's that bitter laugh again, because-

No. She can't do this right now.

"She loves you very much", she whispers, to the man in front of her, and to the man who is not there to hear those words.

---

Mobius finds her in the middle of a concert by a Nirvana where Kurt Cobain never died. She can easily slip away, disappear into the screaming, writhing crowd if she wants.

Or she can just take him some place quiet and hear him out.

"Help us", Mobius pleads. He sounds exhausted, and not just physically. "We're outnumbered and outwitted. Our world is in danger."

"This isn't my world", she reminds him.

"Yet, you're here", he retorts.

Her smile is pained. "Where else will I go?"

He is sympathetic, like he always has been. And he offers her a new glorious purpose. "Come with me. We need you. He needs you."

She feels the air find its way out of her lungs the same way she pushed him out of her life- painfully, forcefully. "H-how is he?"

"He's okay... all things considered."

Now there's a cocktail of relief and disappointment that will give her months of sleepless nights.

"Tell him I'm-" she starts, but she doesn't know how to finish that sentence. What can she tell him? That she's sorry for not trusting him when she should have? That she's sorry for making the universes collide?

That she's sorry for betraying him and breaking his heart?

(How will I know you won't betray me at the end?)

"Nevermind."

---

It's been really hard facing the consequences of her actions, watching the timelines bleed into each other and destroy people's lives- families torn, achievements gone, every little anomaly delving into death and destruction. Every headline on the newspaper is her fault, and she has to live with that.

But that seems so easy compared to this moment where she has to face him.

The plan was to send him away, kill He Who Remains, give people their free will back, save the world, then come back to him. Yeah, he'd be mad at her at first, sure, but he'd forgive her eventually, she was confident.

Then the timelines started to branch the minute she stuck the dagger in that terrifying man's chest, and she knew she had screwed up.

She had sunk to the ground in defeat as the realisation of the repercussions hit her, and she did what she has always done- run.

She didn't even realise she had sent him to the wrong universe until she teleported herself into another universe as well. The journey back was long and lonely, but she dreamt of him in colors while the world was bleeding red, and that was enough to keep her going.

She doesn't really know what she'll do when she sees him again. Neither does she know what reaction she expects from him. Nothing he can say to her can be worse than what she thinks of herself.

A part of her hopes he would be overwhelmingly happy, he would come running to her, just like he did at The Void, greet her with the smile that has won a hundred hearts- including hers, and tell her everything will be alright. Another part of her fears that he would be furious, and he would confront her with accusations of unleashing havoc on all worlds- especially his.

What she never expected is this eerie calm that makes her feel like she is standing in the storm center.

His walls are up.

And it causes her to redirect the anger she feels at herself towards him. There's venom in her voice. "So you do get to rule, after all."

"I don't feel much like a king." He shrugs. "I'm more of a multiversal janitor. Mopping up multiversal messes."

"My messes."

"Our messes." He corrects, his features softening around the edges. "We made a mistake." He has been saying that ever since he found himself in the alternate TVA, and that hasn't changed even after getting back to his own version of the bureau. Always "we", never "she". He simply cannot bring himself to blame her without taking accountability for his part in the mess.

"Don't patronize me." Her hands are shaking, just like her voice, a sharp contrast to his steady silhouette, and can he just hold her, please? "I don't need you to take the fall for me."

His eyes go cold, like they were forged in the heart of Jotunheim. "Of course not", he says, fully composed. "You don't need me for anything. It's not like we're in this together."

(Maybe we can figure it out-together.)

---

She now knows her walls don't- can't- keep the hurt out- it just keeps her locked inside this cage of distrust and insecurities. And the price she has to pay for it is too high.

They could have been lying on a beach somewhere, sipping mimosas right now. Instead, they're here, in the vast, silent library of the TVA, sitting on separate tables, reading files on variants.

The only thing worse than bearing the weight of his gaze is having him stare at his files without looking in her direction even once. She can't take it anymore.

"I'm sorry." She suddenly blurts out.

He looks up, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm sorry for what I did." She repeats. It's difficult to start an apology, but once she finds the strength to begin, the rest of it flows automatically. "I'm sorry I messed up everything. I'm sorry I broke the timelines. I'm sorry the world is in danger." She takes in a deep breath. "And I'm sorry I betrayed you."

His smile is the saddest kind. "A Loki betraying a Loki. That's the least surprising thing in the world. What's shocking is how I didn't see it coming. You really had me going with that kiss. Very nice distraction. Very Loki."

Free will comes with the fine-print of living with the consequences of your choices. And she has to live with hers every day. The tears finally spill out of her eyes. She hasn't let herself cry for a long, long time. But now she's breaking down worse than the multiverse. "I didn't do it to distract you. I did it to say goodbye."

He gets up, and she panics that he's leaving. Instead, he sits down in front of her, reaches for her hand, but changes his mind mid-way and lets them fall to his side. "You didn't have to say goodbye."

"It's all I've ever known." She feels like that scared little girl, far from home, running from minute men, with nobody to turn to but herself. "I told you, I don't have anyone."

"You had me."

That's the saddest part of it all, isn't it? Everything else in her life is the TVA's fault. She's torn from Asgard? Hasn't seen her parents in years? Can't remember her brother Thor? Spent her whole childhood running and hiding? All TVA.

But this? This is all her own doing. This is the one time she had something real, something worth holding onto, someone worth fighting against the world for. Instead, she questioned his intentions, didn't hold on, fought him and ruined everything.

"I didn't want to rule, Sylvie", he finally tells her. "I wanted you."

She has dreamed of this moment when he tells her how he feels. They have come so close to it so many times, the words dangling off the edge of his tongue but never quite finding their way out. She has always known- every word, every action pointed to it. But it was so hard to imagine someone could love her.

It's so hard to imagine someone can love her again. The past tense in his wording terrifies her worse than any danger ever could. "Is it too late to fix things?"

His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "We are fixing things. That's why we are here. Saving the universe."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't know how to trust you again, Sylvie." He tells her point blank- no deception, no lies, no Loki-ism. "And you never trusted me to begin with."

That's not entirely true. She trusts him more than she has trusted anyone. "I really thought I was doing the right thing."

"I know."

(Not to be dramatic, but yeah, we're saving the universe.)

---

The Avengers are much nicer than Loki described them, considering they don't kill her for what she has done, instead tell her about their own journeys towards redemption. Wanda tells her about the man she has loved and lost, and the pain she has caused to an entire town. Barnes talks about his past as a brainwashed assassin. Clint tells her the story of Natasha and how she took charge and changed her life.

Thor is the kindest of them all. He talks about how far Loki himself has come. He tells her stories of his version of Asgard, the nine realms, the glorious battles, the beauty of earth.

She still dreams of death, but sometimes she doesn't.

Sometimes, she hopes.

---

(To be continued)

#loki x sylvie #fanfiction #sylvie x loki #loki fanfic #loki #sylvie laufeydottir #sylki fanfic #sylki

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 2: Casual Friday the 13th

Previous Chapter - AO3 Link - MSR, rated E

He gives himself a pep talk on the way to work the next morning. It feels ridiculous.

Just ask her out, he thinks. Be casual. Invite her to grab a drink, act like you’re going whether she joins you or not. It’s just Scully.

That’s some bullshit; she’s not just anything to him. She’s everything.

Also he doesn’t go to bars much, and never alone, so he’s not sure how subtle this will be.

He pushes the thoughts out of his head until they’re leaving the office at the end of the day, gathering their things and donning winter layers.

“Buy you a drink, Agent Scully?” he tosses out casually, taking her coat from the rack.

“Hm, what’s the occasion?” she asks.

“Friday the thirteenth; I’m testing my luck,” he replies, holding her coat open for her.

She slips her arms into the sleeves. “I guess one wouldn’t hurt,” she decides.

Huh. That was surprisingly easy.

He chalks it up to beginner’s luck and ushers her out the door with a hand on her back.

They end up at Casey’s Bar because it’s close to the Hoover Building, and neither of them had wanted to walk too far through the cold February night. Mulder’s a little nervous, but not enough to let it show. At the risk of being overconfident, he thinks it’s actually going pretty well. This outing is markedly different from every first date he’s had in the past. There’s no need for small talk with Scully, no pressure to act more gregarious or charming than he naturally is. Scully herself is a refreshing presence, like a crisp spring breeze. Cool without being austere, gentle and yet invigorating.

Also she doesn’t know it’s a date, so there’s that.

They perch at the far end of the counter and shoot the shit, talk about work. She orders a draught beer, and seeing the large glass in her little hand makes his stomach flutter nonsensically. He orders one too, just to keep pace with her, though he suspects she could drink him under the table if the occasion ever arose. The thought is strangely erotic.

Mulder watches her full pink lips press against the edge of her glass and he clears his throat awkwardly. Down, boy. He scrambles for a diversion.

“Any special plans for tomorrow night?” he asks, taking a foamy swallow of beer.

“What’s- oh.” Scully sets down her glass. “No, not this year,” she says softly.

He suddenly feels like a prick.

“You?” she asks, because she’s a polite human being.

Diffuse the moment, buddy. “I’ve got a pretty hot date, actually.”

Her shoulders stiffen momentarily. Interesting. “Oh?” she says lightly.

“Yeah, the boys invited me over to pick apart some found footage they stumbled upon. Frohike’s making chili.”

Scully’s face breaks into a smile, and he feels a wash of relief. She shakes her head. “You know, for about two seconds I thought you might actually have a life. It was a surreal experience.”

“I have a life, Scully,” he insists. It’s you. Aliens, conspiracy, and you.

“Mhm,” she hums, licking a bit of stray foam off her upper lip, causing a twinge south of his belt buckle. “Mulder, can I ask you a highly personal question?”

He coughs awkwardly. “No guarantees that I’ll answer, but sure. Hit me.”

She suddenly seems nervous. “Well… we’ve known each other for five years now, and we spend a lot of time together. I’ve met your mother, your friends. And in all that time, I’ve not known you to go on a single date.”

Besides this one, he thinks. “And?” he prompts.

She absently wipes her finger through the condensation on her glass. “Well, I can’t figure out why not. Your - preferences - are quite evident, and I’m sure finding a willing partner would be fairly easy for you, at least for… casual encounters.”

I don’t want casual encounters, he thinks. I want to burn pancakes for you on Sunday mornings.

He huffs out a breath of laughter. “I have it on good authority that I’m not the best company, Scully. What makes you think it’d be easy?”

She takes a long pull of her beer. “Because you’re very attractive.”

His heart stops momentarily, then starts back up at twice the speed. He scrambles for some composure. “Oh, so you think I’m attractive,” he teases lightly. He hopes she doesn’t notice the sudden tremble in his fingers.

Scully nods, as though she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him. “Yes, I do. A lot of people do, Mulder,” she adds quickly. The lighting in the bar is dim, so he assumes he’s imagining the flush on her cheeks. Or it’s the beer. “The women’s restroom at the Bureau is a cesspool of gossip.”

“Well I’m not the only hot piece of ass in the X-Files division,” he says, glancing at her over the rim of his glass.

“Don’t let Skinner hear you say that,” she quips. “He’s shy.”

Mulder grins, amused by her deflection. “People talk about you too, Scully. I’ve had to fend off suitors for you more than once.” Now it’s her turn to squirm, he thinks.

She blinks rapidly. “You’re joking.”

Mulder chuckles. “Swear. Every once in a while a guy will ask me something about you. I tell ‘em to ask you themselves, and I assume they usually chicken out.”

“What kind of things do they want to know?”

Mulder shakes his head. “Let’s just say they’re not asking me your favorite color,” he says simply, lifting his glass to his mouth once more. “You can imagine the rest.”

Scully presses her lips together. “I don’t have to, unfortunately,” she sighs. “Thanks for having my back,” she adds.

He shrugs. “I’m your partner,” he says. “I’ll always have your back.”

He suddenly remembers a conversation he had a little over a year ago, a month or so before Scully’s birthday. It seems like a fitting time to tell her.

“There’s only been one guy that I thought was alright,” he says. “I, uh, never told you this, Scully, because it was confidential, but seeing as the subject in question is now deceased…”

Scully turns to him on her stool. “Mulder, what?”

“Pendrell. He liked you.”

She knits her brows together in that adorable way she has. “I liked him too.”

“I mean, he really liked you,” Mulder emphasizes. “He asked me once if you were seeing anyone.”

“Oh,” she says. "What did you tell him?”

“I told him ‘Agent Scully’s personal life is her business, and any questions regarding it should be posed to her directly’.”

“Very formal,” she muses. “I should print that on my business cards for you to hand out.”

“The thought’s crossed my mind. Are you currently accepting applications for the position of ‘boyfriend’?” Mulder asks. “I’d be happy to field candidates.”

“Oh, I bet you’d love that,” Scully says with an eye roll. “Admit it, you like interrogating suspects. Especially when you think they’re mutants of some kind.”

“I promise that any potential boyfriends will be firmly terrestrial and completely unremarkable.”

The sentence hangs in the air for a long moment. “I don’t know that I want that after all,” Scully finally says quietly. “The husband with a nine-to-five, the picket fence, the priest over for lunch after Sunday mass. I’ve seen too much, done too much, to really fit into that picture anymore.”

Mulder feels a pang in his chest, the old familiar guilt creeping in. “This is a lonely path,” he admits. “Working nonstop to find evidence, only to have it be discounted offhand.”

“No closure, no arrests, no satisfying conclusions to leave you feeling a little bit safer knowing you did your job,” Scully adds.

Mulder rubs his hand over his mouth, nodding. “Just weird substances that nobody can explain and accounts of phenomena that nobody believes. Spooky shit.”

Scully raises her drink with a sudden levity. “To spooky shit,” she toasts.

Their glasses clink, and the contact chimes in Mulder’s ears. A kiss of half-empty pints.

Mulder bites his lip absently, gathering his next words. “So… what do you want?” he asks carefully, leaning in a fraction.

Scully shakes her head, sighing softly. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? I can’t even think about long term at this point. My life is so different from what I’d planned, and I’m still adapting.”

“Alright, forget long term for the moment,” Mulder prompts. “What’s something that you want that you can acquire within, say, the next month or so?”

“You granting wishes now, Mulder?” she asks coyly, taking a sip of beer.

“Depends on what you ask for,” he replies, voice low.

It feels as though they’re circling the truth, caught in each other’s orbit, traveling an ellipse of the unspoken. He wonders if she feels it too. The beer has him weightless, spinning out into the unexplored reaches of space between them. He wants to grab her hand on the worn bar counter, anchor himself to her sun-warmed earth.

“As strange as it sounds,” she says after a moment, “I’m… oddly contented. If I spent more time on it I’m sure I could give you a whole list of things I feel I’m lacking, but at this moment none of them really matter.”

His heart accelerates. “Must be some beer,” he jokes.

She smiles at him, a soft closed-lip turn of her mouth that warms him better than any liquor. “Company’s not half bad either. Despite whatever good authority has told you otherwise.”

He drops a hand onto hers then, gives it a brief squeeze before returning it to his glass and finishing his beer.

They walk back to the FBI parking garage, arms bumping each other as they brace themselves against the winter chill. Mulder escorts Scully to her car because he’s a gentleman and squeezing out every last second he can with her.

Scully ducks her head, seeming almost shy. “Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t been out in a while,” she says simply. “This was nice.”

Mulder shrugs, suddenly unsure how to orient his limbs. He wants to hug her, but he knows this isn’t the right time. “Don’t mention it,” he replies, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

“Enjoy your ménage à quatre with the Gunmen,” she says with a cheeky grin.

“I’ll save some kisses from Frohike for you,” he replies with a wink.

They face each other, suddenly quiet. It feels as though they waded too far into the ocean and drifted down shore, losing sight of their picnic spot. They float in the silence, buoyed by their exchange, but uncertain as to where they stand.

“Goodnight,” Mulder says finally, because he can’t think of what else to say beyond that and ‘I love you’. Or ‘come home with me’.

“‘Night,” she replies, unlocking her car door and slipping inside.

He wanders aimlessly over to his car and bundles into the driver’s seat, heaving a deep, half-contented sigh. He considers the evening a tentative success, despite a somewhat unsatisfactory conclusion.

He jerks off when he gets home, holding Scully’s sweet face in his mind’s eye as he comes shamefully into his own lonely hand.

#my fic #msr #xfiles #txf fic #fox mulder closet romantic #fmcr #I am CRANKIN this shit out okay bear with me #Molz writes too much

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bitchassbucky · 3 years

Text

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

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Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

#bitchassbucky writes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader smut #dark!bucky x reader fluff #dark!bucky x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader smut #dark!bucky barnes x reader angst #dark!bucky barnes x reader fluff

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty-nine: new kid

Sam, Aurora, and Zelda stayed in San Francisco until early Sunday morning, and even though the latter had had a room with Zetro, she stayed the night with the two of them especially since they were all headed back to the Northeast together; and meanwhile, Lars vowed to take care of them for the rest of the weekend. His fridge was full of food and his tiny house was warm and dry from the dense, cold San Francisco fog bank. Some time in between then, on that Saturday afternoon, Lars took out a faded photograph from his bottom clothing drawer and he showed it off to Sam. A young couple with a young child in between them: the man had a thick lush beard that extended down to his chest while the woman wore a light lacy shawl about her shoulders.

“It's me and my parents,” Lars told her in a low voice.

“Aw, so adorable,” Sam remarked as she cradled it in her hands. She eyed Lars nestled in between them: his apple cheeks were large and round and his bright eyes gazed back at her. “How old were you here?”

“I was—seven, I think? Seven or eight?”

“Your hair looks so soft and smooth,” Aurora added as she peered over Sam's shoulder.

“It still kind of is, too,” Lars pointed out with a stroke across the crown of his head with his palm. “Speaking of which, I feel like a shower right about now, my ladies.”

“You wanna look good for us before we leave, right?” Zelda joked from the hallway. She appeared in the doorway and rested her hands on either side of the door frame.

“That's for me to know and for you to figure out,” he retorted with a wag of his finger. Sam peered down at the photograph and she wished for her journal right then, or at least a singular sheet of paper and her black ink pens with her at that moment. She could do it right there for him.

“When I see you again after we leave here, I'll try to remember to bring it back for you,” she vowed to him.

“Oh, no, it's alright,” he told her as he put his hands on the bottom hem of his shirt. “My dad actually has the original one back at his place down in Los Angeles. That one's just a copy I got and asked the photo people to make it black and white just 'cause it looks nicer to me.”

“Right, right...” Without another word, Lars stripped off his shirt and Zelda whistled at his slightly round little body.

“Avert your eyes, girls,” he commanded with a wave of his left hand. He ran his fingers through his smooth light brown hair and he let it drift down over his shoulders and the upper part of his chest. Sam skirted past him towards Zelda and the doorway, and Aurora followed suit. The three girls filed out to the hallway and, once Lars shut the door behind them, they headed into the den to wait for him.

Once Zelda sank down on the left side of the couch, and Aurora took her seat in the spindly chair next to the table right outside of the kitchen, Sam couldn't help but laugh as she looked on at the photograph in her hands.

“What?” Aurora asked her, but she never answered with anything other than another soft snicker.

“What is it?” Zelda joined in as she drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch.

“These people and their desire for me to draw their families,” she chuckled.

“Or just them as kids,” Zelda chimed in.

“It's because art makes one youthful and timeless,” Aurora explained.

“It's also indicative of a kid's behavior, too,” Sam added, “you know how when you're in elementary school, it seems so easy to make art and make a lot of it, too?”

“Absolutely,” Aurora said with a nod of her head. She then turned to Zelda with a stern look upon her face. “By the way, I'm taking what you told me about the label into account and I'll be chatting with Jon about it once we get back to New York tomorrow. Well, not tomorrow—Monday. But, you get the idea.”

“Okay, thank you so much,” Zelda said to her as she clasped her hands together.

“You're quite the manager, Aurora,” Sam told her. “I did work side by side with you over the summer.”

“Imagine if she's manager for the Cherry Suicides,” Zelda suggested.

“It'd be quite the promotion,” Aurora pointed out. “I could be manager for you girls and Sam could one for Stormtroopers.”

“Although I don't know how hard it's gonna be to listen to any harder music, though,” Sam confessed with a shrug of her shoulders. Both Zelda and Aurora showed her soft looks of comfort. It was in fact the truth: Cliff's absence made everything feel different, especially with the thought of that music scene firmly in mind and all around them.

“Speaking of Stormtroopers,” Sam started again, “what's the story on them? They kinda just stopped, didn't they?”

“I was talking to Scott yesterday about that,” she said, “and I guess that's—not too far from the truth. It's like an outlet for him and Charlie.”

The sound of water running in the wall filled in the brief silence and Zelda snickered at the sound of it.

“What's so funny?” Aurora asked her.

“Just thinkin' about Lars in that shower,” she confessed.

“You and drummers, I swear, Zelda,” Sam joked as she set her free hand on her hip. Anything to help her with the

“'Cause I be a drummer, too, y'know,” Zelda retorted with a little gyration of her head and a pattering of her feet on the hard wooden floor beneath them.

“You can be a drummer and like other musicians after all—like you and Zetro!”

“He's got a girl, though. Besides, I can't do that to my dear Lewis, either.”

“Louie Louie,” Aurora followed up.

“Louie Louie, yeah!” Zelda then lay her head on the top of the cushion and she tilted her head up so she could look at Sam upside down. “But what comes after Cliff now?”

“Just taking care of myself, I guess?” she said with another shrug of her shoulders. “Keep making art and being friends to these boys because they need us now.”

“They do need us.” Aurora drummed her fingers on the table top before her. Silence settled over them again. Silence save for the water that ran through the pipes in the wall.

But then the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” Zelda quipped and she ducked passed Sam there at the side of the couch. She turned to Aurora there at the table.

“Are you hungry? Especially since we haven't really eaten anything all day.”

“Nah, I'm good. I am kinda dying of thirst, though.”

“Okay—”

Sam sauntered into the kitchen for a glass of water and, when she poured it out of the pitcher rested upon the counter, Zelda's voice floated in from the front foyer.

“Aurora?”

“Yes?”

“Alex is here to see you,” she said.

“Me?” Sam stopped right in her tracks, and she faced the doorway. Alex was there again, and yet she had no idea if she wanted to see him again given he was so cold to her the day before. She had no idea if he would still be nonchalant towards her and thus she stood there before the counter with the glass of water in her hand.

“—he's in the shower, though,” Aurora was saying. “So what brings you here?”

“I want you to do something for me,” Alex started in a near whisper; careful not to bring attention to herself, Sam shuffled in closer to the doorway. They were about five feet away from her and yet he spoke in a voice so soft that she stopped at the counter's corner and leaned in closer to the doorway so she could better hear him.

“Go on,” Aurora encouraged him.

“Well, it's actually for the whole band—I'm just the one telling you, though.” He hesitated for a second and Sam wondered how he was feeling.

“Go ahead, Alex. It's okay.”

A soft rustling followed.

“Want me to leave?” Zelda asked them.

“No, no, it's okay—you're a musician, too,” he assured her.

“What is it?” Aurora gently encouraged him.

“Do you have any idea if we have a deal with the label yet?” he asked her in a small voice.

“First off, why are you asking me this?”

“I was asked to do it while you're still here in the Bay Area. Yeah, I was literally asked to do it. Apparently the guys think because I'm smart enough that I can do it.”

“Eric couldn't do it?” Aurora was flabbergasted by that.

“He had to go somewhere. So because I can drive now, I'm here.”

“I haven't heard anything, no.” She paused. “Why? 'Cause you're eighteen now?”

“Yeah. Like—I'm kinda ready to go on tour now. I'm out of school and everything.”

“Right, right. Well—I'm not really the right person to turn to with that, but I'd be more than happy to ask around, though. There is one thing I want to ask you, though, Alex, and that's the band's name. I distinctly recall hearing about a year ago that there's another band elsewhere called Legacy.”

“It's The Legacy, though, if I remember correctly,” Alex told her, “that's as far as I know. I'm kind of the last guy in the pipeline to know these things.”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together at that. If he was so smart and so cool for his young age, then why was that the case? He was in fact that young, she remembered. She was only three years older than him.

“I think Billy said something about that,” Zelda recalled. “I have a vague memory of that—of all of us sitting in that little room together and he said something about that. I forget what he said, though.”

There was another pause.

“Is there someone else here?” Alex asked them.

“Sam's here,” Aurora replied, to which Sam herself closed her eyes. “She's in the kitchen getting me a drink of water. Which, by the way—hey, where's my water?”

Sam sighed through her nose and she headed out of the kitchen with the glass in her hand. Alex, who had taken his seat across from Aurora, had his back to her. He turned his head when she stood in between the two of them and she caught a glimpse over at Zelda, who had returned to the couch. She shook her head at her.

He knew she was there. How did he know she was there?

He gazed up at her with those deep eyes. At least he wasn't wearing the yarmulke that time around.

“How're you doing?” he asked her, still with that cold tone of voice.

“I'm doing alright,” she replied, and she shifted her weight in that spot in between them. He just sat there with pieces of his thick black curls strewn down his shoulders and onto his chest and his hands rested upon his slender thighs in repose, and yet she was unnerved by that grave expression on his face. Young and old at the same time, and that tiny gray pearl over his brow didn't help matters, either.

The water switched off in the wall across from them, and that was her cue.

“Oh, good, Lars is out of the shower!” Sam declared as she felt her face growing warm. “I have to ask him something—”

She handed Aurora the water and she bowed away from there. She scurried past Zelda and down the hall to Lars' bedroom. She pushed open the door and ducked inside.

She let out a long low whistle but she almost jumped out of her skin when Lars emerged from the bathroom behind her.

“Sam, what the fuck you doing in here?” he demanded, and she covered her eyes with one hand once she turned around. “It's okay—I'm just wearing a towel but still! What're you doing in here?”

She lowered her hand; Lars stood in the doorway with the towel wrapped around his thick waist. His hair dripped wet and his chest heaved from the surprise.

“I just needed to get out of there,” she sputtered.

“Why?” he stammered as he padded out of the bathroom to his dresser.

“Alex is here.”

He stopped.

“Alex is here? Really?” His face lit up.

“Yeah, he's—talking to Aurora right now about something.”

And then he froze.

“Wait. Why exactly are you in here?”

She ran her tongue over her bottom lip and then fetched up a sigh.

“He's—unnerving,” she confessed in a low voice.

“What do you mean, he's unnerving?” He knitted his eyebrows together.

“He's like—chilly. Like there's something off about him.”

“Oh, that's just how he is,” Lars assured her. “The kid's a work horse having to balance school and being in a serious band for a while now, so it's matured him a lot in such a short amount of time. And as a result, he does seem a little bit arrogant to a lot of people. That's just how it is with Alex. It's nothing to take personally. In fact, if it's any comfort to you at all, he intimidates all of us. He's a young Jewish kid with this ferocious fire in his belly that's totally not what his parents expected and yet he still went with it. And he was taught by Joe Satriani, too. Kirk was a student of him, too, but even he's afraid of Alex.”

“Well, he hasn't been very comforting towards me, whereas most everybody else has been, especially you and Kirk. Actually no—I take that back. You and I were pretty much alone yesterday.”

“Well,” he began again as he turned towards his dresser for a fresh change of clothes, “a lot of it has to do with the fact that you were kind of hidden away when you and Cliff were together. It was a secret he kept away from even the three of us. But now that Cliff is—out of the picture—you can mingle and integrate yourself more with these people. It's alright, though. I had the same problem when I first came to America. Exact same problem. It just helps to—be a little more assertive. I can help with that.”

“What did you do?”

“What did I do?” He took out a clean pair of underwear.

“Yeah. And—you want me to avert my eyes again?”

“Please.” And then she turned away from him. “But I talked. Just talked to people. Just introduced myself to people, shook their hand and bonded right there. That was how I did it, I don't know about you, though.”

“Hmm...”

“I mean—I hate to do this to you, but your name is Sam. You can turn around now”.

“Right,” she stated as she did. “And what about it?”

“It's a man's name. You have a man's name. You have an androgynous name.”

“And?” She shook her head at that.

“When you have a man's name, you ought to go forth like a man. Be a lady but also be a man. That's the best advice I can give—is to act. Act like how men act, but I do not mean that in a literal sense. Take Alex's cool collected demeanor. You don't have to be as cool as a cucumber like him, but it does in fact help, though.”

He slipped on a clean pair of blue jeans, left leg first followed by his right.

“I mean, the fact you were able to move to a different coast and set up a homestead there tells me that there is a bit inside of there. You just need to—” He zipped up. “—tap into it more and tap into it more often to boot.”

“Be like Zelda,” she said.

“Zelda is a good one to draw from,” he noted as he slipped on a black Deep Purple shirt over his head. “I think her being a trommer helps, too. Very visceral and just—something about sweating brings something out primeval in a person.” He lifted his dripping hair out from under his shirt and then he reached for his towel again to better dry it off. He doubled back to the bathroom to hang it up on the rung, and then he returned to her with a twinkle in his eye.

“Come,” he beckoned her, and then he stopped. “Actually, no. You should be the one telling me to come.”

“Okay, come then,” she said with a straight face and a gesture of two fingers, which brought a giggle out of him: she noticed the little indentation over his left eye, about the size and shape of a pea, something she never noticed before then.

“What's this right here?” She fingered the spot over her own left eye.

“Oh, my scar? James gave me that about three years ago. You really honest to god don't want to know how he gave it to me.”

She then gestured for him to follow her back out to the hallway. If she was to be more forth going, then it began with comfortably standing next to Alex. Lars followed her into the front room, where Alex himself and Aurora stayed at the table, but he had picked up the photograph Lars had given Sam as a reference. He showed it to him once they came back into the room.

“Is this your parents, Lars?” he asked; his voice seemed a lot bigger and louder to Sam now that they were in close quarters rather than out in the open.

“Yeah.”

Alex turned it back around for a second look. “Kinda thought it was my parents at first. And I was thinking, 'my brother probably took this.'” That brought a laugh out of Aurora, but Sam and Zelda stayed silent: the former stood next to the couch with her hand on the top, right behind Zelda's head.

“We are both Jewish after all,” Lars pointed out.

“More so me, though. I dunno if you ever had your own parents refer to you as 'meshuggah' for wanting to go into music before and for the music you play, but that's the case with me.”

“A couple o' Jew boys,” Zelda joked.

“A couple o' Jew boys, exactly!” Lars laughed, but Alex continued to look on at the photograph, still with a collected look on his face. There was in fact something intimidating about him as Sam watched those deep eyes scan over the photograph as if he was reading over something important rather than a family portrait. There was a young boy in there still, but he had been locked away behind those deep penetrating eyes and that sliver of gray.

The three girls and Lars spent the night together, and then he drove them back to the airport bright and early that next morning. He threw his arms around all three of them before he let them climb aboard.

“I already told Zetro I was leaving early,” Zelda assured him as she picked up her suitcase. “And he gave me the biggest frickin' kiss before I said goodbye.”

“Aw!” Lars laughed at that. “Alright, safe travels, ladies! And Sam?”

She whirled around for one last look at him, and his expression switched to one of seriousness.

“If you need anything at all, just call me,” he told her, to which she nodded.

“Yet another person to tell me that.”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Neither of us have much but we do have each other, though.” He then blew her a kiss and the three of them padded down the gate to their seats.

“Charlie and Marla already go home?” Zelda asked them in a low voice given it was still pitch dark outside of the window.

“Don't know,” Sam confessed. “Lars didn't say anything about them all weekend...” Her voice trailed off for a moment and then she remembered what she had said to Lars before they stepped into the plane. “By the way, Zetro kissed you?”

“I was thinking the same thing!” Aurora chimed in.

“Yeah. Just a little peck on the cheek, but yeah—he kissed me.” She halted right in her tracks. “Louie and I are just roommates,” she assured them. “I'm just paying his rent.”

“You sure about that?” Sam asked her as the image of them together at that market popped into her mind. Zelda let out an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, fine. Louie and I are in fact a couple, and we've been a couple for a long time, but—I don't think it's gonna last.”

“Why?” Sam was taken aback by that.

“Because of Legacy. They're a West Coast band and I'm a Rhode Island girl. It's been hard on him to be in the Northeast but he does it anyway because—” She pursed her lips together.

“He loves you,” Aurora stated in a soft voice, to which Zelda nodded.

“Yeah. He does. It's hard on both of us but we manage and we've managed for this long, too—we were together when Alex joined. We met at a Plasmatics show, believe it or not, and then he told me he had just joined a band and he was a drummer. And—” She then fetched up a sigh. “—I feel us slipping apart. We live together and we've lived together for almost two years now, and I feel us slipping. So I started talking to Zetro more because he treats me better.”

“That explains why you guys weren't really communicative with each other the other day at the ceremony,” Sam recalled.

“Yeah, and that's why I'm also flying home with you, too.”

Aurora gasped at that.

“Aw, I'm so sorry.”

“He'll be back at some point, though,” Zelda assured her. “He needs to fly back to Providence to fetch his things, so he needs to be back just to sign a thing saying that he doesn't live with me anymore. Or maybe I can send 'em back for him, I dunno yet...” Her voice trailed off and the three of them fastened their seat belts.

“I am gonna say this, though,” she piped again, that time with a serious look on her face and one pointed at Aurora. “The new Cherry Suicides album is going to be one worth looking at.”

“Will do,” Aurora vowed, and they took off from the blackness of the Bay Area and made the flight back to New York. Zelda picked up her car and Sam and Aurora drove back to the latter's apartment; meanwhile, Sam herself took the subway home.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Aurora asked her as she gave her one last embrace.

“Oh, yeah,” she assured her. “I have people to talk to now.”

Sam returned home and then she walked into school the next day and the next couple of weeks with a fresh feeling over her head. She continued to wear that hat but that time, she kept it on her head as she headed back home. Cliff was always with her even when he wasn't. She kept the hat next to her on the table as she ran her paint brush over the heavy grained water color paper and worked on the current painting of a cluster of red and yellow tulips.

Yellow to honor him, red to keep his spirit going even in his wake. The green of the leaves and the background meant he was part of the earth yet again.

It took her a week given the washes on the petals kept on washing out upon drying out, but she managed to make the darkest shade of red on the biggest tulip at the front with a pure bit of paint rather than from her palette. She handed it in that Friday before she walked up the block to visit Aurora on her break.

The autumnal rains were upon New York City once again as she held onto the hat by the crown. At a quick clip, she strode up the sidewalk to that vast white building on the left side of the street. The front door hung a little ajar, and she saw that the front room was completely vacant.

“Hello?” she called out, and Aurora surfaced from the far end of the hallway in front of her, complete with the deep purple sweater wrapped around her body.

“Hey! You came just in time!”

“For what?” Sam shut the door behind her and made her way down the hall.

“Two things,” said Aurora with a twinkle in her eye, “the first is we're moving.”

“You're moving?!” She was stunned by that, but Aurora burst out laughing at that.

“No, not me! Anthrax found a better place to jam and record at—a few blocks from here. The second is—meet Metallica's new bassist.”

She moved to the side and the tall, long haired boy stepped forward. He had a smooth, slightly square face, a prominent nose and brow, and yet his face lit up when he saw her. His long smooth mousy hair drifted behind him, much like Joey's hair, and he wore a short black coat that looked to be from a nearby thrift shop.

“Already?” Sam muttered aloud.

“Already,” he said in a soft voice, and he showed her a little grin as a result. “My name is Jason. Jason Newsted.”

“Hi, Jason Newsted,” she replied as she took off her hat for him and he nodded his head at her. “Awful quick.”

“I know, right? It was all kind of a whirlwind but I got into it.” He gave his hair a slight toss back and she noticed a bare spot on the right side of his head, right underneath the longest part of his hair, as if he had a cowlick there.

“He followed Metallica around for weeks on end this past tour,” Aurora told her.

“Yeah, I did! I was with another band called Flotsam and Jetsam, and when we didn't play, I studied Cliff's parts down to a T, like I took copious notes and tried it out myself. So when I tried out for the audition, Lars and James looked each other like, 'uhh, yeah? We need this guy with us!'”

“Well—I wish you best of luck,” Sam said to him in a soft voice and she held the hat close to her chest.

“Aurora told me about you and Cliff and—I just wanted to meet you first before we leave for Europe soon. He was an inspiration to me. You were a lucky girl.”

“And you're a lucky man,” she said, still in a soft voice.

“I have to make a couple of phone calls,” Aurora told them both.

“I do, too,” Jason added.

“And I have class in a few minutes,” Sam said as she put the hat back onto her head.

“Stay in school,” he advised her, “and I love that hat on you!”

“Cliff did, too,” she told him as she adjusted the brim. The three of them headed out of there and back to the burgeoning rain. Sam peered over her shoulder at Aurora and Jason as they headed up the sidewalk, the other way. No one could replace Cliff, but she had a good feeling about him. She had a good feeling that Metallica were in good hands with the new kid.

#fanfic #fanfiction #chapter 29 #deadly nightshade #book two #metallica fanfic #metallica #lars ulrich #legacy #alex skolnick #jason newsted #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #also on ao3 #writing #text #oc tag

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monstaxdesires · 4 years

Text

The Arrangement (Chapter Two)

(Chapter One)

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you pressed the numbers in the right order. You let out a shaky breath closing your eyes as you pressed dial. The line rang three times before he answered.

“Hello?”

You were quiet, your voice was stolen from you.

“Hello? Anyone there?” His deep voice filled your head and you fought down the familiar feeling it gave you whenever he came into the store.

“It’s me,” you say gently, nails digging into your thigh as you sit on the edge of your chair. “I wanted to talk to you about your offer.”

You didn’t have to see him to know he had that ever-charming smirk on his face. You could hear it in his tone as he spoke again.

“What changed?”

“Something I would rather not discuss right now,” you raise your shaking hand to your hair, pulling it over one shoulder nervously. “Is the offer still on the table?”

“I don’t know,” he mused and you heard a deep chuckle from him. “Depends. What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing.”

“Come to dinner with me.”

You bite your lip before counting to three and trying to make yourself relax. You could do this, dinner was easy. It was this or use your savings while you hunt down a second job which was still an option even if you went to dinner with him.

“Why?”

He clears his throat, your question taking him by surprise. “To discuss the offer. My offer was very vague if you remember and I want you to know all the facts before you continue any further.” He pauses and you hear a faint noise like glass clinking in the background. “I honestly didn’t expect you to call Beautiful. You have surprised me again.”

“Chalk it up to curiosity.”

“Then this dinner is perfect. You have a nice cocktail dress right?”

“Sure,” you answer.

Your thoughts shifting to the little black dress in the back of your closet. It had been a birthday gift from your coworkers. It belonged to the designer you worked for but had been severely marked down so they pitched in and bought it for you so you would have something nice to wear when they took you out to celebrate.

“Perfect. I will send a car for you at 7 pm sharp. Text me your address,” he instructs, his voice softer now. You shiver, the change in his tone making you feel like you were wrapped up in silk. “Oh, and Beautiful?” He says catching your attention before you can hang up.

“Yes?”

“Relax. We will discuss the offer and you will meet a few friends at a dinner party.”

“Okay.”

You hang up and send your address before you drop the phone in the chair as you march to dig the dress out of your closet.

———————————

He entered the store and you moved to greet him like usual. The dark-haired woman on his arm flashing a smile at you. You had not seen her before. She was a new one.

“Good afternoon,” you say, folding your hands in front of you and your face not giving away what you knew. He smirks at you, his eyes dragging over you like they always do before he turns to his companion. “How can I help you today?” You direct your attention to her knowing exactly how to handle him after so many encounters.

“I need a new wardrobe,” she says, her gaze glued to him now. “It is a birthday treat.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. It always was.

“No limit,” he says to both of you before he releases her arm. “Go ahead, Sweetheart.”

You turn to signal the team that was waiting off to the side that it was time to assist and they move forward and guide her to begin the afternoon-long process of picking items out to try on and let everyone admire her. They were well versed in this part of the job. It happened at least once a week, not always with him, but a group of them frequented enough that it was down to a science among all employees.

“Thank you,” he says to you but he is watching her. “Your staff never disappoints and neither do you.” He turns his gaze to you and smiles. “How are you? It has been a few weeks.”

“I am well.” You reply. He had been your first experience when you started a little over seven months ago. It had been a shock to your system but even then you had regained your composure and proceeded how you were directed to.

You liked to keep your information limited with all clientele, especially this particular type of clientele. They did the same, it was a mutual understanding. You knew his name, or the name he chose to go by, but you never learned the women’s names. Only referring to them as Miss when necessary.

“And you?”

“Well,” he agrees. His eyes are back on his birthday girl. “She’s lovely isn’t she?”

“Very.”

He flashes his perfect teeth in a genuine smile before starting to move towards his usual seat.

“The usual?” You ask softly.

“Yes, thank you.”

You go behind your desk to grab his favorite bottle of dark liquor and a glass tumbler to pour it in. You glance at him to see him unbutton his jacket before taking a seat so he could watch her enjoy her time in the store.

“Want me to take it instead?” Your coworker, Ann, asks as she moves to your side.

She noticed you seemed a little more on edge this time and you weren’t sure why, nothing was different. But something in his eyes had you a little more wary. You shake your head. He preferred things to be kept the same as always.

“He favors you, you know.” She says. You look at her with a confused expression. “You could always be her instead.”

“No,” you cut her off. “He has never and would never even dare. And I have the job I want right now. It’s enough to teach me and help me with saving for my ultimate goal. That is all I need.”

She shrugs walking away and you glance to check on him but he is staring at you. His gaze is unwavering. You inhale a breath steadying your nerves before going to him. You place the tumbler on the table beside him before handing him the usual leather-bound portfolio. You kept it for the clients that would come in and brought their significant others who needed something to occupy themselves while they waited. It was a catalog of the recent men’s designs and included a tablet for their pleasure.

“You know where I am should you need me,” you murmur your usual sentence and begin to turn on the ball of your foot to go back to your post. He reaches out, his fingers folding around your wrist in a gentle but firm grip.

“Sit with me for a moment.”

Your lips part in surprise and you glance to see his companion immersed in the staff’s presentation of the first round of clothing.

“Only a moment,” he says casually.

You take the seat beside him and fold your hands in your lap now that he has released you.

“This is for you.” He murmurs and holds it out for you.

You take it, the matte finish on it showing how expensive his taste was. It was thicker than a normal business card and much simpler. His name scrawled across the front, Wonho. He watches you flip it over and see his cell the only thing on the back. You look up at him, confused. The store had his information on file why you were you being given this. He picks up on your confusion.

“That is for your personal use.”

“Sorry?” Your usual demeanor dropping and he grins at the little peek he gets of your normal demeanor.

“I like you. You are different.”

“Different?” You ask, scrambling to get the situation back under control.

“Different,” he repeats before looking down at the portfolio resting on his lap. “I know you are aware of the situation,” he says gesturing between the girl and himself. “It is not what you may think, but it is a version of it. I can help. I like to help. The card is for you should you need my help.”

“Oh,” you bite your lip, cheeks warming with slight embarrassment. You had never meant to incline that you wanted his help. “That’s not-”

“I know,” he says opening the portfolio without looking at you. “But I want you to have the card. You do not have to do anything with if you do not wish to.” He looks at you again when you do not reply. “That is all.”

You stand, mind still racing to try and wrap itself around the situation. “I apologize if I insulted you.” You quickly try to repair any damage. You knew that their business was vital to the survival of the company and you would not let it be your fault if it was lost.

“You have not insulted me Beautiful. I have debated on giving you that card since the first time we met. Let’s leave it at that for now, yes?”

“Yes,” you reply before going back to your desk. His card pressing into your palm as you grip it tightly.

Hours later you had regained your composure and done your job well for the rest of their visit. She had wrapped up her shopping and your staff would package it all up and deliver it to the address he was now writing on a card. He placed it in the usual envelope before passing it to you without a word. You took it from him as she thanked the staff a few feet away.

“Our secret, understood?” He asks. You look at him, tipping your head to the side before eyes widen slightly.

“Understood.”

He grins. “Call me if you change your mind.”

Before you can respond she is now by his side thanking you before they leave together. He does not look back and you feel your shoulders drop as the staff all beam at one another. They scurry to your desk inquiring about the tip he had left. You open the envelope before passing the address to Ann. The delivery side was her responsibility. She accepts it with glee and reads the address. It was never his, always hers, but still, it was fun to see where they lived.

“How much?” She peaks over the counter to your hands. You finish counting before looking up at them.

“$2,000.”

They cheer in excitement and you grin. The biggest tip yet and another deposit into your savings account.

“Including the delivery team that means we each get an extra $200 on our paychecks next week. Well done team.”

They all grin and hug one another before being dismissed back to their duties. One of the accounting clerks is already waiting to take the tip. You pass it off and write down the information for your records and the department's records.

———————————

The car arrived right on time and now you were being taken to what you knew would be a lavish event. You knew the driver, it was his driver, and that helped calm your nerves some. He had greeted you without judgment and you had been thankful.

You squeezed your hands together as he turned onto a stone drive that had a soft glow from little twinkle lights intertwined in the lush green trees lining the drive.

“You look lovely,” Luke speaks and you blush ducking your head. “Mr. Wonho likes you. You will have a wonderful evening I am sure.”

“Thank you, Luke.”

“Anytime,” he smiles before pulling the car to a stop at the entrance. Your door opens and a hand is offered to help you. You grasp it as you step outside of the car to see Wonho smiling at you. He looked dashing in a fitted black tux. You had picked that tux out months ago and it warmed your heart a little to see him using it.

“You look stunning,” he says admiring you at arm's length.

“You look handsome as always,” you return and he flashes a bright smile that makes you smile a little. “If I remember correctly I suggested this particular tuxedo.”

“You did,” he confirms. You both enter the venue before he delicately plucks two champagne flutes from a platter that a passing server is carrying.

He offers you one and you take it. His free hand falls to the small of your back. The warmth radiating from his palm making you blush the slightest bit.

“A few things about tonight,” he starts as you take in everything around you. “Almost all of the gentlemen and a few of the beautiful women here tonight are similar to me. You will see some of the clients you service. Reframe from talking to them if possible,” he says turning you to face him.

He stares at you, his dark eyes warm. His hand lifts to your face. His knuckles brushing your cheek.

“Tonight you are my beautiful and stunning guest and not the girl who handles all of our affairs for your company. Tonight is a test, I have no concern about how you will do, but I want to be honest with you. If you do as well as I think you will then we will discuss how I can help you further.”

“Understood.”

“Ask any question you want and stay by my side unless you need to be excused to the ladies' room.” He tips his head admiring you before winking which makes your heart race a little. “If you are ready I would like to begin introducing you to some of my friends.”

“I would,” you say, knowing he wants to show you off. “But I think you should know that I am not a drinker other than a glass of wine when life calls for it.”

He chuckles. “Me either, but it makes everyone feel a little better if everyone appears to be drinking.”

“Ah,” you smile clueing in and keeping your flute in your grip instead of discarding it.

“Once dinner begins I will make sure you have water or wine if you desire.”

“Thank you Wonho.”

“Now, I would like for you to meet Hyungwon first.” He gestures to a tall man with slightly longer dark hair a few feet away.

You noted the blonde on his arm and the Givenchy gown she wore. It fit her like a glove and you knew she had been his companion for longer than usual. The giveaways being the gown and how he admired her when she spoke to those standing around him.

“He is in love,” Wonho says softly in your ear. “You can tell from here can’t you Beautiful?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he pats your hip. “I knew you would do well.”

You blush before peaking at him to see that charming smile on his face again. You were doing well so far.

(Chapter Three)

#Monsta X #monsta x au #shownu #wonho #Minhyuk #kihyun #hyungwon #jooheon #changkyun

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

another kind of green (5/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I hope everyone is having a good weekend! 💚

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 |

-/-

Emma filed for an annulment of her accidental drunken marriage yesterday.

She also took a pregnancy test.

Neither of those things were exactly in her life plan. Or whatever hypothetical life plan she’s supposed to have.

Luckily, that test (and the three she took after it because she does not trust those things) all came back negative because if getting accidentally hitched isn’t bad enough, getting accidentally knocked up would be even worse. That’s significantly more permanent and time consuming than marrying someone she doesn’t have to see every day, and she’d pass out from stress if she was actually pregnant.

And the extra-large margarita she had two days ago would have been a pretty big mistake.

(It was already a pretty big mistake when it made her a sloppy kind of intoxicated that had her telling Killian Jones that she liked the smell of his hair.)

(Ruby and Mulan have not stopped making fun of her for that.)

(Killian Jones, Emma Swan, and alcohol are obviously not a good combination.)

But she’s not pregnant, started her period today actually, and after going downtown to the family clerk’s office and having the nicest clerk in existence help Emma fill out the request for annulment papers, she’s officially got that off of her to-do list, which had quite possibly been the biggest weight off of her shoulder in years. Walking inside of the courthouse hadn’t been the best time, giving her flashbacks to being seventeen and having to go to trial (and jail) over those damn stolen watches that Neal set her up for, but at least she didn’t have to have a lawyer.

She stressed over that way too much, but it’s all in the past now. She’s got to keep that stress there.

Fucking Neal. He’s the scum of the earth, and that doesn’t even describe him. She wants to – no, she can’t. she can’t go there.

Positives. She has to focus on the positives, and not all of the memories she’s been tormented with over the past few days. There have been flashbacks of spending her days in a small cell and marking down the days until she could get out, her eighteenth birthday passing by her without her truly realizing it because she’d missed a few days on her chart. The flashbacks of the pregnancy test are the worst, however. The test she’d taken in jail was cheap, something not entirely reliable, and for a brief moment, Emma thought she was pregnant.

For an even briefer moment, she was happy about it because it meant she still had a connection with Neal. How messed up was she that she still wanted to be connected to the man that betrayed her trust and her heart? Why would anyone sane want that?

Why would anyone want to be connected to the man who ruined their life?

Because she loved him, let him tell her that things in her life were going to turn out right, and listening to him was her first mistake.

Emma wasn’t pregnant then and isn’t pregnant now, and she’s thankful for both negative tests even if things would have been different this time. It wouldn’t have been great, but at least she wouldn’t be a teenager in jail scared shitless over how the hell she’s going to do anything with her life because no one she cares about seems to stay. She’s got people now. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. That’s all that matters to her.

She’s got to stop focusing on those awful memories that make her stomach churn and nausea bubble up, and she needs to focus on something productive.

Like serving Killian Jones with his annulment papers.

The clerk has given her options to do that, including paying a courier to do it, but that had cost money and she figured it would be just as easy to give it over to them himself and ask for his half of the two hundred bucks she had to shell out for this. She meant to text him yesterday morning to arrange a time, but the whole pregnancy test thing threw her off. There was no way in hell she was going to talk to him after all of that. Today, however, she’s going to get her shit done and get this whole thing over with.

Emma Swan: Can you meet today?

The little bubbles pop up two seconds later.

Killian Jones: I’m booked all day today. Tomorrow?

Emma Swan: I’m booked all day tomorrow.

Killian Jones: Saturday then?

Emma Swan: I can do Saturday. What time?

Killian Jones: My place? Around noon?

Emma Swan: Send me your address.

She realizes that she never tells him why she wants to meet, but he probably knows. Despite them spending the entire evening together Monday night, they’re not casual friends who meet up to get something to eat or go to a concert together. They’re…acquaintances. She’s got no clue, isn’t really interested in defining it, and she’ll leave it at that. Their “whatever” is short term and will be ending soon anyways. There’s no need to get any kind of attached.

Her phone starts ringing, a picture of she and David from last year’s Christmas popping up, and she slides the bar across the screen to answer the phone.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” David sighs, “this is your daily reminder that you have to file your annulment papers.”

“It’s really a shame that you and Marg haven’t procreated yet because you’re such a dad.”

“How could I have a baby when I’m too worried about you? So I think we’ll keep using condoms for now.”

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles, getting up from her bed and walking the few feet to her kitchen, which is really more of a kitchenette that can barely fit food than anything. She needs to get a bigger place, but she doesn’t mind living here. Having a savings account to fall back on is far more important than an apartment with actual walls around her bedroom. “I don’t need to know about your sex life.”

“I know for a fact Mary Margaret talks to you about it.” “That’s different.” “How?”

“So, I filed the papers,” she blurts out, changing the subject.

“Did you really?”

“Mhm, yesterday, and I’ve already texted Killian so I can give him the papers in case he wants to contest it or anything.”

“Do you think he will?” “What? No. Neither of us want to be married. It was literally a drunken mistake. Nothing about it was sane. We both want it behind us.”

“Is that Emma?” Mary Margaret says.

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Wait,” Emma starts, “aren’t you at work? How is Marg there?”

“I’m home on my lunch break. I – ”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, her voice coming in clear in the phone. “I had no idea Killian was one of Ariel’s clients. I don’t know how I didn’t realize that when we did the convention. I called Ariel yesterday, and I just had to talk to her about how funny the whole thing was with the two of you getting married. We – ”

“Wait,” Emma gasps, dropping her package of Pop-Tarts to the counter, “you talked to Ariel about it? Did she know or did you tell her?”

“Well, I told her.”

Shit, Marg. “Marg, Killian hadn’t told anyone about it! I don’t think he wanted to! What happened to not telling anyone?”

“I assumed she knew.” “Did you having to tell her about it not clue you in that maybe you shouldn’t have told her?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t thinking. That’s been happening so much lately. God, Emma, these pregnancy hormones will make you insane. It’s, like, shit, my brain isn’t even my brain even more. I’ve been all over the place. I promise I didn’t mean to screw that up. It didn’t even cross my mind. Will you apologize to Killian for me?”

“Mary Margaret Nolan,” Emma whispers, “did you just say that you’re pregnant?”

“Fuck, I did, didn’t I?”

Emma barks out a laugh, leaning forward to rest her arms and her forehead against the countertop. She was just teasing David about this, and then…they’re having a baby. For all the screwed-up thoughts Emma has over her own experiences in this area, she knows this is a good, wonderful thing that David and Mary Margaret deserve.

Damn.

They’re going to be great parents.

“Congratulations, lady! I’m so happy for you guys, and I forgive you for being even more scatterbrained than normal.”

“Says the most unorganized person I know.”

“I get shit done.”

“That you do…most of the time.” Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m so happy, Emma.”

“As you should be. You guys are going to be the best parents.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Tell David congrats on knocking you up.”

“What a graceful way to put that my wife is pregnant,” David grumbles, his voice muffled. “Real classy.” “That’s me. Marg, are you going to be at any of my shoots tomorrow? I think I need to hug you.”

“I will be at your two o’clock appointment because I need to go over some of the paperwork for you.”

“Perfect. Expect the biggest hug of your life.”

-/-

“How the hell does Ariel know that I got married?”

“Well, hello to you too, Jones.”

Emma side steps around Killian and lets herself into his apartment, her eyes scanning over the place. It’s clean a lot cleaner than her place, and she wonders if it’s always like this or if he cleaned specifically because she was coming over. But that would be ridiculous, and she doubts Killian would have straightened up his bookshelves and dusted his TV off just because she was here.

“Hi, Swan,” he sighs, closing the door behind her before walking back to the kitchen where something that smells ridiculously good is cooking on the stove. “It’s nice to see you. You’re looking as beautiful as ever. How the hell does Ariel know that I got married?”

Emma sighs and pulls out a barstool to sit down, dropping the envelope of papers on the countertop. “Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret, and she told Ariel. I’m really sorry about that.”

“I mean, it’s fine. Honestly. Ariel and Eric have always been like older siblings to me, but they can get a little…”

“Overbearing, protective, annoying as hell?”

“Yeah,” Killian laughs, turning around and crossing his arms so that the muscles in his arms flex underneath his t-shirt. “You know the type?”

“My friends are the exact same way, which makes sense that they’re friends with Ariel and Eric.”

“Small worlds and all that.” “That seems to be happening lately.” Emma sighs and pushes the papers over the countertop. “So, we are officially a pair of fools whose annulment papers are somewhere bustling around in the family council office of Boston.”

His brow arches. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I didn’t get an attorney. I filed the papers out myself I didn’t ask the split any assets or anything…since we don’t actually share any. I don’t think you have to do anything unless you see something ghastly wrong in these papers, but we have to wait at least twenty-one days before it’ll get looked at. That’s how long you have if you dispute anything.”

“I’m not going to dispute anything, love.” Emma opens her mouth to dispute his little name, but she stops herself. It’s just how he is, and there’s no reason for her to be rude to him no matter how fun that could be. He’s never actually done anything wrong to her. “The only reason I’d dispute the disappearance of our marriage is the fact that I know how you kiss, and it’d be such a shame to not get to do that again.”

She takes back every nice thought about him she’s ever had. She gained a few new ones Monday night, but they’re all about to fly out the window.

“If I had something to throw at you, I would.”

“Such a violent lass.”

“I am what I am.”

Killian chuckles and turns back around to the pot he has on the stove. “I’ve got some spinach and ricotta tortellini if you want to stay for lunch.”

“Oh, I, um, I really shouldn’t.”

“Have you eaten lunch?”

“No.”

“Do you have plans to eat lunch?” He turns around to look at her, and all she can do is shrug. “Exactly what I thought. C’mon, darling. We’ll call it a celebratory lunch that we’re soon to be free of what was quite frankly a nasty marriage. I mean, my wife kept trying to throw things at me.”

“Shut up, Jones, or I’ll actually throw something at you.”

“You think that’s a threat, but really, I see it as a promise.”

The bastard winks. He’s got to stop doing that.

Killian keeps talking, asking her about her shoot yesterday and how it went. He apparently hasn’t been working as much lately but does do the occasional job like the other day to keep paying the bills until he can officially start at the Academy and get a paycheck like normal people do. Emma’s never liked talking about her job because it always seems to lead into conversations about if this is what she really wanted to do with her life. It’s not, never has been, but considering everything, this is so much better than she should have it. Maybe one day she’ll branch out into something more normal and a little calmer, but googling jobs that hire ex-convicts with a GED has never been something she particularly enjoys.

“So, how’d you get into this whole thing?” Killian asks her when he slides her a plate and hands her a bottle of water. “Someone saw you and thought they just had to have your face in an ad in a magazine?”

Emma hums, cutting a tortellini in half. “There was an ad in the paper, which makes me sound so old, for a local dress designer who wanted someone to do a shoot for some of her dresses. There was no experience required. I just needed to be the right size, and I was. I think I maybe got paid two hundred bucks for that shoot, but it opened me up to the whole industry. You?”

If she’s got to answer these questions, he does as well. Tit for tat and all that.

He hesitates. He tries to cover it up, but she can tell. He’s trying to be a cop, so obviously this whole modeling thing isn’t what he’s always wanted to do. Emma may not be some kind of genius, but she knows people pretty damn well.

“Ariel got me into it. I’d known her forever, needed some money, and it just kind of happened. I’d been piddling around in construction and bartending before that.”

“Ariel’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she’s one of the good ones, always keeping me on track.”

Killian smiles, something soft that makes the crinkles around his eyes show up where they normally wouldn’t, and Emma’s stomach flips. It’s probably because this food is really good. That has to be it.

“So, did you make these from scratch? They’re really good.”

“I bought them from Whole Foods. It’s simple, Swan. I think anyone can make it.”

“That’s because you don’t know how unfortunate of a cook I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I’m the worst. I won’t admit that to anyone who has seen me cook, but I’m definitely the worst. I could mess up boiling water.”

“That’s pathetic.”

“Hey,” Emma scoffs, flicking a piece of the bread off her plate at him. “I can say it. You can’t say it.”

“Are these in the unwritten rules of Emma?”

“Oh, absolutely. And they constantly change, so you’ll never really know.”

“Bloody hell,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press his forehead to the counter and hiding his face in his hands. She can see his smile peeking through. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Well, I assume at some point we did say ‘til death do us part.’”

“Does that mean you’re going to murder me before our papers are processed?” he laughs, those crinkles showing up again as she feels her own lips curling up to the sides.

“Obviously that’s exactly what I meant. Gonna finally put all of my police connections into use.”

“What the hell is going on out here?” someone groans, and Emma nearly falls off of her stool as someone walks down the hallway in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s got to be fifteen years old from all of the holes and faded letters. “Who the hell are you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You’re in my apartment.”

“You have a roommate?” Emma asks Killian, turning to look at him as he’s still got this shit-eating grin on his face. “You never mentioned that.”

“You never asked. Emma, this is Will Scarlet, my roommate. Will, this is – ”

“Holy shit,” Will gasps, “you’re the girl he married. I couldn’t believe it when Ariel told me. Sorry about that, lass. He’s a real piece of work, and I’m sure he didn’t get you satisfied on your wedding night.”

He did, but that was technically before the wedding, and she’s not saying any of that out loud.

“Oh, I think I’m going to like you,” Emma laughs, shoveling some more food in her mouth. “Can you tell me every weird thing Killian does?”

“How long do you have?”

“All day.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbles, pushing his hair back, “I don’t need to be here for this.”

“You do if you don’t want me to tell her about the time you went blonde.”

“Oh, I definitely have to hear that,” Emma sighs. “Tell me everything. I hope you have pictures.”

“Digital and print versions.”

“Perfect.”

-/-

Tag list: @xemmaloveskillianx @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic

#another kind of green #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

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swordarkeereon · 3 years

Text

Tech Review for Writers: reMarkable2

I got myself a piece of interesting tech this year in hopes it would get me from out in front of a computer screen more often. Meet the reMarkable2, a distraction free (i.e. it’s not connected to the entirety of the internet) e-ink tablet workhorse that’s easy on the eyes.

The reMarkable2 Tablet

First things first. The reMarkable2 tablet is not for everyone and your average person probably won’t find it the least bit useful. So let’s talk about why you don’t want this tablet first.

reMarkable 2 is not for you if:

– You want an eReader. eReaders have a VERY DIFFERENT function than the reMarkable2. Yes, you can read PDFs on a reMarkable, but it’s more for *marking up* a PDF and commenting in the margins of a PDF. Not just reading. eReaders like Kindles and Nooks often have built in dictionaries, ways to bookmark pages or passages of text, etc… that the reMarkable2 doesn’t have. You can search your documents for specific phrases and words and also highlight things in a light gray, but if you’re just looking for an eReader, I suggest a Kindle.

– You want a full functioning tablet that you can put apps on and surf the web with- If you’re looking for a full functioning tablet, you’ve missed the whole point of the reMarkable2. The main point behind reMarkable2 is so you can go to your creative place (wherever that may be) and brainstorm, free from ALL distractions. You can’t stop to surf FB or your Twitter feed on a reMarkable2, thus making it more likely you’ll stay on task and get more done.

– You want something with color so you can highlight because what you really want is a fully functioning ebook reader or tablet. This tablet is really more of a no frills brainstorming and note-taking tool for entrepreneurs, professionals, academics, and creatives (including engineers, writers, musicians, possibly artists if they like to sketch in black and white) who use a lot of black pens and plain paper.

I bought the tablet for the following reasons (which I wrote down BEFORE I received the device):

– I wanted an electronic notebook (not a tablet). I’m one of those people who goes through 3 packs of sticky notes every month, and countless notebooks every year. I am constantly jotting stuff down to keep myself focused and on track while running my own business and helping out at the family business. My notes can be anything from putting together presentations, classes, and meetings, to extensive to-do lists for the day. Sometimes it’s just me keeping track of sales figures. As a result, my desk is always filled with papers and notebooks and I’m constantly searching for shit. The electronic notebook cleans up all this clutter and helps me organize my brain. (Have you seen my brain!? It’s a mess in there.)

– I like to write freehand, especially when I’m plotting the next book or writing a blurb, or even writing a chapter – and it must be distraction free. This is something only fellow authors will understand. The fact that the reMarkable2 can convert handwritten notes to text sent via email has me excited because, if I’m lucky and it works, I won’t have to go through and transcribe all my handwritten notes. It basically saves me time by eliminating a step. I can copy/paste the note from my email into the appropriate file on my laptop. This will also save me the clutter and weight of carrying countless notebooks.

– I am involved with projects that require me to sketch out ideas for marketing and/or artwork. I do have tablets that can do this, but nothing that does it *well*. The closest is my Surface tablet, which can do a lot of things, but it still doesn’t feel like paper or allow me the fine detail paper allows. I’m hoping this tablet is a bit more responsive in this area. – I am forever printing out rough drafts of manuscripts for markup – wasting a ton of paper and toner in the process. All because I can’t edit on a backlit screen. My eyes get tired and I miss too many errors. If I can transfer my PDF drafts to the reMarkable and mark them up there with minimal errors left over, I could save some $$. I am actually estimating that I could easily save the cost of the reMarkable2 in 6 months to 1 year’s time by not having to purchase the paper, pens, and toner I usually go through in that time frame. Plus, these marked up manuscripts often end up in a stack on my office floor for 6 months to a year after publication.

– I am forever having to read PDFs of laws and regulations for the family business, and while I usually use them on the computer, I sit in front of a computer 8-13 hours a day. I need a non-backlit screen for reading in the evenings just to give my eyes a break. Yes, I imagine I could do the same with a Kindle paperwhite, but I may just want to jot some notes in the same way I’d mark up a paper copy. I’m still a pen and paper girl. I’m really hoping the reMarkable is my replacement for that (most of the time anyway).

reMarkable2 test to sample the pen styles.

Some considerations I took into account before purchasing:

A lot of customers complained that it took too long to receive the reMarkable or to get support. From all of the research I did, and in reading their website, it’s clear to me that this company caters to academia and businesses. I ordered my reMarkable2 on January 16, 2021, and had it in my hands by January 25, 2021. 9 days. I also ordered it and paid for it through my business. I don’t know if that’s actually why I got mine so fast, but I wouldn’t be surprised. That said, I do think the company should work a little harder to increase their customer service efficiency.

With regard to customer support – the website clearly states it can take up to 10 business days for support to get back to you. And a lot of the things people seem to be complaining about have troubleshooting instructions on the website. Clearly people weren’t going to the website to try to look up their issue through the support FAQs, which likely would have helped them out sooner. They were just contacting support immediately, and angry when they weren’t getting a response after 3 days, when it’s clearly stated on the website that it can take up to 10 days due to the fact that reMarkable is a small company. But like I said earlier – they would be smart to increase their customer service team.

reMarkable’s folios are a custom fit and really pretty, but a bit pricey. I made the tablet more affordable by skipping the upgrade on the pen, because a friend of mine got the eraser feature and she wasn’t digging it initially (she loves it now), and I purchased a relatively nice folio from Amazon for under $30 (with no magnets – research told me magnets can cause dead spots in the screen of the reMarkable2). You can also just buy a 10″-11″ tablet sleeve and it would work much the same. There are also universal tablet folios that will fit 10″-11″ tablets that are free of magnets and will likely work just fine. All for under $20 bucks — even a few in faux leather. Remember that a case should protect your investment, not just make it *look* sharp.

Right out of the Box.

Right out of the box I set the reMarkable up and started using it for brainstorming. Here were my first impressions:

1. It really is pretty damn close to writing on paper.

2. You can rest your damn hand on the screen and it won’t fuck things up or make it wobble as with traditional tablets.

3. My handwriting actually looks like my handwriting and you have almost the same control with this as you would with real pen and paper.

4. The interface is simple and intuitive and anyone who uses computers and tablets day and in day out will have no issues figuring this out.

Now some thoughts on the features:

Handwriting to Text: As an author who likes to occasionally spend time writing the old fashioned way, one of the things that attracted me to this tablet was its ability to translate handwriting to text. No writer wants to have to transcribe their written notes and waste all of that time. So of course I tested it with my horrific handwriting, vs purposefully trying to be neat, and the reMarkable2 was able to convert my chicken scratch into actual text that I could read. I was able to turn the handwritten notes into a PDF, but I was also able to send the handwriting converted to typed text as the body of an email, where I was able to cut and paste it into any program I wanted. I took it further and wrote 1000 words (about 8.2 pages) longhand. It converted all the pages to text in one swoop and I was able to copy/paste it into my manuscript. While there was a little formatting and editing involved — it was a lot faster than retyping handwritten notes. WIN!

Handwriting for conversion test.

Conversion successful

PDF Transfer, Markup, and Signature: Transferring PDFs to the reMarkable is easy. You simply download the app on your phone and your desktop, and you can take any pdf from either device and import it onto your reMarkable, which you can then markup. I sent myself a slew of PDFs that I had to read and markup. It’s amazing how much more focused I am on a screen like this. I really got the same experience with editing on a digital PDF as I did with editing on a paper copy. My only caveat is that I don’t have more space to make notes since the margins are a bit small on the screen and there’s no “back of the page” to carry notes over to. I can likely manage. Despite that – what a great experience. Goodbye manuscripts all over my office floor! Hello being able to drag editing work with me wherever I go!

You can also transfer your PDFs that don’t have an electronic signature option to the device, sign them, and send them back. Talk about HANDY since I do that a few times a month by default. This just eliminates the print/sign/scan. Now I just have to transfer it to the device, sign the document, and email it straight back to whoever sent it.

Digital Planners may be something I look into for 2022 because reMarkable actually makes them feasible. I tried a tester digital planner, courtesy a friend, on my reMarkable and I have to say – it offers just as much satisfaction as a paper planner. Plus, you can SEARCH large pdfs. It won’t find search terms in your handwriting, but it will find it in your PDF. That’s definitely a handy feature when you’re working with 500 page PDFs. That said, the tablet saves your place (last page you visited) as you’re navigating a PDF, so no need to search for the place you left off. However, there is no way to bookmark multiple pages.

ePub Reading: suppose I could sideload books as ePubs, but I really have no use for this feature. If I want to read ebooks, I use my kindle or the Kindle App on my tablet or phone. Unless I start doing editing of ePubs or want to check out an ePub format for something? I didn’t buy this as an eReader, and it is terribly lacking as an eReader. Where the reMarkable excels is as a tool for marking up documents. So my guess is it would be great for that if you have a lot of files in ePub format that you have to go over. You also can’t change font sizes for easier reading. You can zoom in and zoom back out to regular size. That’s it. (And this is another reason this is not an eReader.)

Storage: Storage is a little over 6GB (you do not pay for the reMarkable website cloud-sync). But even with about 15 PDFs (some of them really long) on my reMarkable at any given time, I was only at .38 GB.

reMarkable2 Storage

File System: Like I said earlier – the system is highly intuitive and easy to use. I made folders for my most common notebook uses, then I moved the appropriate PDFs to those folders, and created any notebooks I needed for those folders.

Exporting: You can export as .PNG, .SVG, and PDF. Handwriting to text can only be sent as text via the body of an email. This is actually great for writing because then you just have to copy/paste from your email into your Word Doc, Google Doc, or Scrivener.

Importing: Imports PDFs and ePubs.

Templates: The templates are great. I generally only use graph paper, plain, and lined paper myself. But I could see how a lot of these would be useful to people. The to-do list is a crappy template just because it requires you to hide your menu to use it (you can’t tick the the checkboxes until you do this). To hide the menu tap the circle in the upper left top of the menu bar. So if you want a partial page to-do list, you can easily make your own checkbox lists using the graph paper option. There are also dot pages for the folks into bullet journaling.

A small sampling of reMarkable2 Templates

Search Feature: You can search within a PDF, but not through your own handwritten text. You must be in the PDF to search it, otherwise you can only search for file names. You can not search across documents for a phrase or word. So if you’re looking for something with the same search capabilities as a laptop or possibly a tablet, you won’t find it here.

Zooming: You can zoom in on PDF documents and write on them while zoomed. However, you cannot change font sizes to make reading easier.

Battery Life: On days where I used it heavily (about 4-5 hours), I was using around 15% power in a day because I didn’t put it in airplane mode. Three days of 4-5 hours a day use drained my battery to 50%. So me, as a heavy user, not in airplane mode, will likely get 6-7 days out of a single charge. Possibly more since clearly not every day will be a heavy use day. The device does go to sleep after 10 minutes of inactivity.

Pen:The pens are a bit pricey. I did not buy the expensive pen with the eraser and I’m okay with that. But $60 for a pen is still a bit — ouch.

Pen Nib: I am expecting I will be one of those poor unfortunate souls who will be replacing pen tips every 3-4 weeks during heavy use. Luckily the pen itself doesn’t use batteries. The pen nibs seem reasonable in price, just be sure to order a new pack with your device and when you start that pack, order another as shipping times on those can take a week or two depending where you are and how efficient your mail service is. You don’t want to accidently run out and find yourself without a pen. Yikes.

Security: You can add a password to your reMarkable to keep prying eyes out. But if you’re like me and self-employed, that’s not really an issue. Your remarkable has Wi-Fi, yes, but you can put it in airplane mode to cut the connection. Plus, it only syncs to your cloud storage. There really aren’t any entry points for viruses or people hacking into your device. But then I’m also not a tech person. Let’s just say I highly doubt security will be a huge issue on this thing. Besides, anyone who wants to take a peek at my tablet would likely find themselves bored stiff, unless they like reading really rough first drafts of speculative fiction. LOL

Backup/Download: You can easily transfer your files back to your computer by opening the app and simply exporting your finished documents, etc… to your computer, backup drive or cloud drive. You can also just email yourself a copy to make it super easy.

My Wishlist:

1. I wish I could add or append new, handwritten pages to an existing PDF. That would definitely solve the space issue. Now, I just make notes in a different file and jog back and forth between the PDF and the notes, which is a little annoying, but doable. One way to solve this issue would be to save all your PDFs to double spaced. It might make markup a little easier. I’ll try that with the next books to go under the editorial knife.

2. I wish there were cheaper alternative covers. My $17 cover looks great and protects my tablet. reMarkable could easily come up with a few additional low-cost choices here. The ultra professionals are still going to buy nice leather folios.

(I may add to this list in the coming weeks, but right now these are the two main things jumping out at me.)

Overall Review Summary

For writers, reMarkable2 truly is a remarkable distraction free device that can help improve your concentration and organization, give you the freedom to write out longhand and convert it to text without the tedious re-typing, and help you mark up drafts with ease. This would probably serve prolific and professional writers more liberally than the writer who takes a few years to pen a book. Plus, it will probably save you a lot of printer paper, toner, pens and notebooks. For business owners/users – reMarkable will likely save you pounds of sticky notes and legal pads, and hours of time transcribing your notes. Plus, it’s a great on-the-go working tool for content creators and people who review a lot of PDFs.

Have some thoughts on the reMarkable2? Feel free to leave a comment below!

#distraction-free #not sponsored content #reMarkable2 #tablets #technology reviews

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cerradofolc · 3 years

Text

This is the story where word 'cyberpunk' appears first time ever.

First published in AMAZING Science Fiction Stories, Volume 57, Number 4, November 1983

* * *

The snoozer went off at seven and I was out of my sleepsack, powered up, and on-line in nanos. That's as far as I got. Soon I booted and got -

CRACKERS/BUDDYBOO/8ER

on the tube I shut down fast. Damn! Rayno had been on line before me, like always, and that message meant somebody else had gotten into our Net - and that meant trouble by the busload! I couldn't do anything mor on term, so I zipped into my jumper, combed my hair, and went downstairs.

Mom and Dad were at breakfast when I slid into the kitchen. "Good Morning, Mikey!" said Mom with a smile. "You were up so late last night I thought I wouldn't see you before you caught your bus."

"Had a tough program to crack," I said.

"Well," she said, "now you can sit down and have a decent breakfast." She turned around to pull some Sara Lees out of the microwave and plunk them down on the table.

"If you'd do your schoolwork when you're supposed to you wouldn't have to stay up all night," growled Dad from behind his caffix and faxsheet. I sloshed some juice in a glass and poured it down, stuffed a Sara Lee into my mouth, and stood to go.

"What?" asked Mom. "That's all the breakfast you're going to have?"

"Haven't got time," I said. "I gotta get to school early to see if the program checks." Dad growled something more and Mom spoke to quiet him, but I didn't hear much 'cause I was out the door.

I caught the transys for school, just in case they were watching. Two blocks down the line I got off and transferred going back the other way, and a coupla transfers later I wound up whipping into Buddy's All-Night Burgers. Rayno was in our booth, glaring into his caffix. It was 7:55 and I'd beat Georgie and Lisa there.

"What's on line?" I asked as I dropped into my seat, across from Rayno. He just looked up at me through his eyebrows and I knew better than to ask again.

At eight Lisa came in. Lisa is Rayno's girl, or at least she hopes she is. I can see why: Rayno's seventeen - two years older than the rest of us - he wears flash plastic and his hair in The Wedge (Dad blew a chip when I said I wanted my hair cut like that) and he's so cool he won't even touch her, even when she's begging for it. She plunked down in her seat next to Rayno and he didn't blink.

Georgie still wasn't there at 8:05. Rayno checked his watch again, then finally looked up from his caffix. "The compiler's been cracked," he said. Lisa and I both swore. We'd worked up our own little code to keep our Net private. I mean, our Olders would just blow boards if they ever found out what we were really up to. And now somebody'd broken our code.

"Georgie's old man?" I asked.

"Looks that way." I swore again. Georgie and I started the Net by linking our smartterms with some stuff we stored in his old man's home business system. Now my Dad woudln't know an opsys if he crashed on one, but Georgie's old man - he's a greentooth. A tech-type. He'd found one of ours once before and tried to take it apart to see what it did. We'd just skinned out that time.

"Any idea how far in he got?" Lisa asked. Rayno looked through her, at the front door. Georgie'd just come in.

"We're gonna find out," Rayno said.

Georgie was coming in smiling, but when he saw that look in Rayno's eyes he sat down next to me like the seat was booby-trapped.

"Good Morning Georgie," said Rayno, smiling like a shark.

"I didn't glitch!" Georgie whined. "I didn't tell him a thing!"

"Then how the Hell did he do it?"

"You know how he is, he's weird! He likes puzzles!" Georgie looked to me for backup. "That's how come I was late. He was trying to weasel me, but I didn't tell him a thing! I think he only got it partway open. He didn't ask about the Net!"

Rayno actually sat back, pointed at us all, and smiled. "You kids just don't know how lucky you are. I was in the Net last night and flagged somebody who didn't know the secures was poking Georgie's compiler. I made some changes. By the time your old man figures them out, well..."

I sighed relief. See what I mean about being cool? Rayno had us outlooped all the time!

Rayno slammed his fist down on the table. "But Dammit Georgie, you gotta keep a closer watch on him!"

Then Rayno smiled and bought us all drinks and pie all the way around. Lisa had a cherry Coke, and Georgie and I had caffix just like Rayno. God, that stuff tastes awful! The cups were cleared away, and Rayno unzipped his jumper and reached inside.

"Now kids," he said quietly, "it's time for some serious fun." He whipped out his microterm. "School's off!"

I still drop a bit when I see that microterm - Geez, it's a beauty! It's a Zeilemann Nova 300, but we've spent so much time reworking it, it's practically custom from the motherboard up. Hi-baud, rammed, rammed, ported, with the wafer display folds down to about the size of a vid casette; I'd give an ear to have one like it. We'd used Georgie's old man's chipburner to tuck some special tricks in ROM and there wasn't a system in CityNet it couldn't talk to.

Rayno ordered up a smartcab and we piled out of Buddy's. No more riding the transys for us, we were going in style! We charged the smartcab off to some law company and cruised all over Eastside.

Riding the boulevards got stale after awhile, so we rerouted to the library. We do a lot of our fun at the library, 'cause nobody ever bothers us there. Nobody ever goes there. We sent the smartcab, still on the law company account, off to Westside. Getting past the guards and the librarians was just a matter of flashing some ID and then we zipped off into the stacks.

Now, you've got to ID away your life to get on the libsys terms - which isn't worth half a scare when your ID is all fudged like ours is - and they watch real careful. But they move their terms around a lot, so they've got ports on line all over the building. We found an unused port, and me and Georgie kept watch while Rayno plugged in his microterm and got on line.

"Get me into the Net," he said, handing me the term. We don't have a stored opsys yet for Netting, so Rayno gives me the fast and tricky jobs.

Through the dataphones I got us out of the libsys and into CityNet. Now, Olders will never understand. They still think a computer has got to be a brain in a single box. I can get the same results with opsys stored in a hundred places, once I tie them together. Nearly every computer has got a dataphone port, CityNet is a great linking system, and Rayno's microterm has the smarts to do the job clean and fast so nobody flags on us. I pulled the compiler out of Georgie's old man's computer and got into our Net. Then I handed the term back to Rayno.

"Well, let's do some fun. Any requests?" Georgie wanted something to get even with his old man, and I had a new routine cooking, but Lisa's eyes lit up 'cause Rayno handed the term to her, first.

"I wanna burn Lewis," she said.

"Oh fritz!" Georgie complained. "You did that last week!"

"Well, he gave me another F on a theme."

"I never get F's. If yu'd read books once in a -"

"Georgie," Rayno said softly, "Lisa's on line." That settled that. Lisa's eyes were absolutely glowing.

Lisa got back into CityNet and charged a couple hundred overdue books to Lewis's libsys account. Then she ordered a complete fax sheet of Encyclopedia Britannica printed out at his office. I got next turn.

Georgie and Lisa kept watch while I accessed. Rayno was looking over my shoulder. "Something new this week?"

"Airline reservations. I was with my Dad two weeks ago when he set up a business trip, and I flagged on maybe getting some fun. I scanned the ticket clerk real careful and picked up the access code."

"Okay, show me what you can do."

Accessing was so easy that I just wiped a couple of reservations first, to see if there were any bells and whistles.

None. No checks, no lockwords, no confirm codes. I erased a couple dozen people without crashing down or locking up. "Geez," I said, "There's no deep secures at all!"

"I been telling you. Olders are even dumber than they look. Georgie? Lisa? C'mon over here and see what we're running!" Georgie was real curious and asked a lot of questions, but Lisa just looked bored and snapped her gum and tried to stand closer to Rayno. Then Rayno said, "Time to get off Sesame Street. Purge a flight."

I did. It was simple as a save. I punched a few keys, entered, and an entire plane disappeared from all the reservation files. Boy, they'd be surprised when they showed up at the airport. I started purging down the line, but Rayno interrupted.

"Maybe there's no bells and whistles, but wipe out a whole block of flights and it'll stand out. Watch this." He took the term from me and cooked up a routine in RAM to do a global and wipe out every flight that departed at an :07 for the next year. "Now that's how you do these things without waving a flag."

"That's sharp," Georgie chipped in, to me. "Mike, you're a genius! Where do you get these ideas?" Rayno got a real funny look in his eyes.

"My turn," Rayno said, exiting the airline system.

"What's next in the stack?" Lisa asked him.

"Yeah, I mean, after garbaging the airlines . . ." Georgie didn't realize he was supposed to shut up.

"Georgie! Mike!" Rayno hissed. "Keep watch!" Soft, he added, "It's time for The Big One."

"You sure?" I asked. "Rayno, I don't think we're ready."

"We're ready."

Georgie got whiney. "We're gonna get in big trouble-"

"Wimp," spat Rayno. Georgie shut up.

We'd been working on The Big One for over two months, but I still didn't feel real solid about it. It almost made a clean if/then/else; if The Big One worked/then we'd be rich/else . . . it was the else I didn't have down.

Georgie and me scanned while Rayno got down to business. He got back into CityNet, called the cracker opsys out of OurNet, and poked it into Merchant's Bank & Trust. I'd gotten into them the hard way, but never messed with their accounts; just did it to see if I could do it. My data'd been sitting in their system for about three weeks now and nobody'd noticed. Rayno thought it would be really funny to use one bank computer to crack the secures on other bank computers.

While he was peeking and poking I heard walking nearby and took a closer look. It was just some old waster looking for a quiet place to sleep. Rayno was finished linking by the time I got back. "Okay kids," he said, "this is it." He looked around to make sure we were all watching him, then held up the term and stabbed the RETURN key. That was it. I stared hard at the display, waiting to see what else was gonna be. Rayno figured it'd take about ninety seconds.

The Big One, y'see, was Rayno's idea. He'd heard about some kids in Sherman Oaks who almost got away with a five million dollar electronic fund transfer; they hadn't hit a hangup moving the five mil around until they tried to dump it into a personal savings account with a $40 balance. That's when all the flags went up.

Rayno's cool; Rayno's smart. We weren't going to be greedy, we were just going to EFT fifty K. And it wasn't going to look real strang, 'cause it got strained through some legitimate accounts before we used it to open twenty dummies.

If it worked.

The display blanked, flickered, and showed:

TRANSACTION COMPLETED. HAVE A NICE DAY.

I started to shout, but remembered I was in a library. Georgie looked less terrified. Lisa looked like she was going to attack Rayno. Rayno just cracked his little half smile, and started exiting. "Funtime's over, kids."

"I didn't get a turn," Georgie mumbled.

Rayno was out of all the nets and powering down. He turned, slow, and looked at Georgie through those eyebrows of his. "You are still on The List."

Georgie swallowed it 'cause there was nothing else he could do. Rayno folded up the microterm and tucked it back inside his jumper.

We got a smartcab outside the library and went off to someplace Lisa picked for lunch. Georgie got this idea about garbaging up the smartcab's brain so that the next customer would have a real state fair ride, but Rayno wouldn't let him do it. Rayno didn't talk to him during lunch, either.

After lunch I talked them into heading up to Martin's Micros. That's one of my favorite places to hang out. Martin's the only Older I know who can really work a computer without blowing out his headchips, and he never talks down to me, and he never tells me to keep my hands off anything. In fact, Martin's been real happy to see all of us, ever since Rayno bought that $3000 vidgraphics art animation package for Lisas birthday.

Martin was sitting at his term when we came in. "Oh, hi Mike! Rayno! Lisa! Georgie!" We all nodded. "Nice to see you again. What can I do for you today?"

"Just looking," Rayno said.

"Well, that's free." Martin turned back to his term and punched a few more IN keys. "Damn!" he said to the term.

"What's the problem?" Lisa asked.

"The problem is me," Martin said. "I got this software package I'm supposed to be writing, but it keeps bombing out and I don't know what's wrong."

Rayno asked, "What's it supposed to do?"

"Oh, it's a real estate system. Y'know, the whoe future-values-in-current-dollars bit. Depreciation, inflation, amortization, tax credits -"

"Put that in our tang," said. "What numbers crunch?"

Martin started to explain, and Rayno said to me, "This looks like your kind of work." Martin hauled his three hundred pounds of fat out of the chair, and looked relieved as I dropped down in front of the term. I scanned the parameters, looked over Martin's program, and processed a bit. Martin'd only made a few mistakes. Anybody could have. I dumped Martin's program and started loading the right one in off the top of my head.

"Will you look at that?" Martin said.

I didn't answer 'cause I was thinking in assembly. In ten minutes I had it in, compiled, and running test sets. It worked perfect, of course.

"I just can't believe you kids," Martin said. "You can program easier than I can talk."

"Nothing to it" I said.

"Maybe not for you. I knew a kid grew up speaking Arabic, used to say the same thing." He shook his head, tugged his beard, looked me in the face, and smiled. "Anyhow, thanks loads, Mike. I don't know how to . . ." He snapped his fingers. "Say, I just got something in the other day, I bet you'd be really interested in." He took me over to the display case, pulled it out, and set it on the counter. "The latest word in microterms. The Zeilemann Starfire 600."

I dropped a bit! Then I ballsed up enough to touch it. I flipped up the wafer display, ran my fingers over the touch pads, and I just wanted it so bad! "It's smart," Martin said. "Rammed, rammed, and ported."

Rayno was looking at the specs with that cold look in his eye. "My 300 is still faster," he said.

"It should be," Martin said. "You customized it half to death. But the 600 is nearly as fast, and it's stock, and it lists for $1400. I figure you must have spent nearly 3K upgrading yours."

"Can I try it out?" I asked. Martin plugged me into his system, and I booted and got on line. It worked great! Quiet, accurate; so maybe it wasn't as fast as Rayno's - I couldn't tell the difference. "Rayno, this thing is the max!" I looked at Martin. "Can we work out some kind of...?" Martin looked back to his terminal, where the real estate program was still running tests without a glitch.

"I been thinking about that, Mike. You're a minor, so I can't legally employ you." He tugged on his beard and rolled his tongue around his mouth. "But I'm hitting that real estate client for some pretty heavy bread on consulting fees, and it doesn't seem real fair to me that you... Tell you what. Maybe I can't hire you, but I sure can buy software you write. You be my consultant on, oh . . . seven more projects like this, and we'll call it a deal? Sound okay to you?"

Before I could shout yes, Rayno pushed in between me and Martin. "I'll buy it. List." He pulled out a charge card from his jumper pocket. Martin's jaw dropped. "Well, what're you waiting for? My plastic's good."

"List? But I owe Mike one," Martin protested.

"List. You don't owe us nothing."

Martin swallowed. "Okay Rayno." He took the card and ran a credcheck on it. "It's clean," Martin said, surprised. He punched up the sale and started laughing. "I don't know where you kids get this kind of money!"

"We rob banks," Rayno said. Martin laughed, and Rayno laughed, and we all laughed. Rayno picked up the term and walked out of the store. As soon as we got outside he handed it to me.

"Thanks Rayno, but . . . but I coulda made the deal myself."

"Happy Birthday, Mike."

"Rayno, my birthday is in August."

"Let's get one thing straight. You work for me."

It was near school endtime, so we routed back to Buddy's. On the way, in the smartcab, Georgie took my Starfire, gently opened the case, and scanned the boards. "We could double the baud speed real easy."

"Leave it stock," Rayno said.

We split up at Buddy's, and I took the transys home. I was lucky, 'cause Mom and Dad weren't home and I could zip right upstairs and hide the Starfire in my closet. I wish I had cool parents like Rayno does. They never ask him any dumb questions.

Mom came home at her usual time, and asked how school was. I didn't have to say much, 'cause just then the stove said dinner was ready and she started setting the table. Dad came in five minutes later and we started eating.

We got the phone call halfway through dinner. I was the one who jumped up and answered it. It was Georgie's old man, and he wanted to talk to my Dad. I gave him the phone and tried to overhear, but he took it in the next room and talked real quiet. I got unhungry. I never liked tofu, anyway.

Dad didn't stay quiet for long. "He what?! Well thank you for telling me! I'm going to get to the bottom of this right now!" He hung up.

"Who was that, David?" Mom asked.

"That was Mr. Hansen. Georgie's father. Mike and Georgie were hanging around with that punk Rayno again!" He snapped around to look at me. I'd almost made it out the kitchen door. "Michael! Were you in school today?"

I tried to talk cool. I think the tofu had my throat all clogged up. "Yeah...yeah, I was."

"Then how come Mr. Hansen saw you coming out of the downtown library?"

I was stuck. "I - I was down there doing some special research."

"For what class? C'mon Michael, what were you studying?"

It was too many inputs. I was locking up.

"David," Mom said, "Aren't you being a bit hasty? I'm sure there's a good explanation."

"Martha, Mr. Hansen found something in his computer that Georgie and Michael put there. He thinks they've been messing with banks."

"Our Mikey? It must be some kind of bad joke."

"You don't know how serious this is! Michael Arthur Harris! What have you been doing sitting up all night with that terminal? What was that system in Hansen's computer? Answer me! What have you been doing?!" My eyes felt hot. "None of your business! Keep your nose out of things you'll never understand, you obsolete old relic!"

"That does it! I don't know what's wrong with you damn kids, but I know that thing isn't helping!" He stormed up to my room. I tried to get ahead of him all the way up the steps and just got my hands stepped on. Mom came fluttering up behind as he yanked all the plugs on my terminal.

"Now David," Mom said. "Don't you think you're being a bit harsh? He needs that for his homework, don't you, Mikey?"

"You can't make excuses for him this time, Martha! I mean it! This goes in the basement, and tomorrow I'm calling the cable company and getting his line ripped out! If he has anything to do on computer he can damn well use the terminal in the den, where I can watch him!" He stomped out, carrying my smartterm. I slammed the door and locked it. "Go ahead and sulk! It won't do you any good!"

I threw some pillows around 'til I didn't feel like breaking anything anymore, then I hauled the Starfire out of the closet. I'd watched over Dad's shoulders enough to know his account numbers and access codes, so I got on line and got down to business. I was finished in half an hour.

I tied into Dad's terminal. He was using it, like I figured he would be, scanning school records. Fine. He wouldn't find out anything; we'd figured out how to fix school records months ago. I crashed in and gave him a new message on his vid display.

"Dad," it said, "there's going to be some changes around here."

It took a few seconds to sink in. I got up and made sure the door was locked real solid. I still got half a scare when he came pounding up the stairs, though. I didn't know he could be so loud.

"MICHAEL!!" He slammed into the door. "Open this! Now!"

"No."

"If you don't open this door before I count to ten, I'm going to bust it down! One!"

"Before you do that-"

"Two!"

"Better call your bank!"

"Three!"

"B320-5127-OlR." That was his checking account access code. He silenced a couple seconds.

"Young man, I don't know what you think you're trying to pull-"

"I'm not trying anything. I did it already."

Mom came up the stairs and said, "What's going on, David?" "Shut up, Martha!" He was talking real quiet, now. "What did you do, Michael?"

"Outlooped you. Disappeared you. Buried you."

"You mean, you got into the bank computer and erased my checking account?"

"Savings and mortgage on the condo, too."

"Oh my God . . ."

Mom said, "He's just angry, David. Give him time to cool off. Mikey, you wouldn't really do that, would you?"

"Then I accessed DynaRand," I said.

"Wiped your job. Your pension. I got to your plastic, too."

"He couldn't have, David. Could he?"

"Michael!" He hit the door. "I'm going to wring your scrawny neck!"

"Wait!" I shouted back. "I copied all your files before I purged! There's a way to recover!"

He let up hammering on the door, and struggled to talk calm. "Give me the copies right now and I'll just forget that this happened."

"I can't. I mean, I did backups in other computers. And I secured the files and hid them where only I know how to access."

There was quiet. No, in a nano I realised it wasn't quiet, it was Mom and Dad talking real soft. I eared up to the door but all I caught was Mom saying "why not?" and Dad saying "but what if he is telling the truth?"

"Okay Michael, Dad said at last. "What do you want?"

I locked up. It was an embarasser; what did I want? I hadn't thought that far ahead. Me, caught without a program! I dropped half a laugh, then tried to think. I mean, there was nothing they could get me I couldn't get myself, or with Rayno's help. Rayno! I wanted to get in touch with him, is what I wanted. I'd pulled this whole thing off without Rayno!

I decided then it'd probably be better if my Olders dind't know about the Starfire, so I told Dad first thing I wanted was my smartterm back. It took a long time for him to clump down to the basement and get it. He stopped at his term in the den, first, to scan if I'd really purged him. He was real subdued when he brought my smartterm back up.

I kept processing, but by the time he got back I still hadn't come up with anything more than I wanted them to leave me alone and stop telling me what to do. I got the smartterm into my room without being pulped, locked the door, got on line, and gave Dad his job back. Then I tried to flag Rayno and Georgie, but couldn't, so I left messages for when they booted. I stayed up half the night playing a war, just to make sure Dad didn't try anything.

I booted and scanned first thing the next morning, but Rayno and Georgie still hadn't come on. So I went down and had an utter silent breakfast and sent Mom and Dad off to work. I offed school and spent the whole day finishing the war and working on some tricks and treats programs. We had another utter silent meal when Mom and Dad came home, and after supper I flagged Rayno had been in the Net and left a remark on when to find him.

I finally got him on line around eight, and he said Georgie was getting trashed and probably heading for permanent downtime.

Then I told Rayno all about how I outlooped my old man, but he didn't seem real buzzed about it. He said he had something cooking and couldn't meet me at Buddy's that night to talk about it, either. So we got off line, and I started another war and then went to sleep.

The snoozer said 5:25 when I woke up, and I coudln't logic how come I was awake 'til I started making sense out of my ears. Dad was taking apart the hinges on my door!

"Dad! You cut that out or I'll purge you clean! There won't be backups this time!"

"Try it," he growled.

I jumped out of my sleepsack, powered up, booted and - no boot. I tried again. I could get on line in my smartterm, but I couldn't port out. "I cut your cable down in the basement," he said.

I grabbed the Starfire out of my closet and zipped it inside my jumper, but before I could do the window, the door and Dad both fell in. Mom came in right behind, popped open my dresser, and started stuffing socks and underwear in a suitcase.

"Now you're fritzed!" I told Dad. "I'll never give you back your files!" He grabbed my arm.

"Michael, there's something I think you should see." He dragged me down to his den and pulled some bundles of old paper trash out of his desk. "These are receipts. This is what obsolete old relics like me use because we don't trust computer bookkeeping. I checked with work and the bank; everything that goes on in the computer has to be verified with paper. You can't change anything for more than 24 hours."

"Twenty-four hours?" I laughed. "Then you're still fritzed! I can still wipe you out any day, from any term in CityNet?"

"I know."

Mom came into the den, carrying the suitcase and kleenexing her eyes. "Mikey, you've got to understand that we love you, and this is for your own good." They dragged me down to the airport and stuffed me in a private lear with a bunch of old gestapos.

I've had a few weeks now to get used to the Von Schlager Military Academy. They tell me I'm a bright kid and with good behavior, there's really no reason at all why I shouldn't graduate in five years. I am getting tired, though, of all the older cadets telling me how soft I've got it now that they've installed indoor plumbing.

Of course, I'm free to walk out any time I want. It's only three hundred miles to Fort McKenzie, where the road ends.

Sometimes at night, after lights out, I'll pull out my Starfire and run my fingers over the touchpads. That's all I can do, since they turn off power in the barracks at night. I'll lie there in the dark, thinking about Lisa, and Georgie, and Buddy's All-Night Burgers, and all the fun we used to pull off. But mostly I'll think about Rayno, and what great plans he cooks up.

I can't wait to see how he gets me out of this one.

Brought to you by The Cyberpunk Project

Page last modified on Monday, October 2, 2000.

#cyberpunk.ru #cyberpunk #Bruce Bethke #dystopia

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konohagakurekakashi · 4 years

Text

Rinne-Whoops: Who Died and Brought You Back Out?

Don’t even ask--Post continued from here

@minaa-munch

@senjutsunade

“Inōichi-senpai?” Izumo murmured as all four shinobi continued to stare at the Kage in contemplation, afore Kakashi nodded (in answer to both Izumo and his yellow-haired, former Sensei) the arm, rubbing at the nape of his neck venturing further upward to tug his forehead protector back into place over his left eyelid. “Hai, he will be the most qualified to help with, Yondaime-sama’s muddled memories.” The Iryō-nin whom had her palms clasped in front of her chest agreed with him in a low hum, dark hues shifting from the slumped Fire Shadow towards the Jōnin. Kotetsu seemed less convinced however, sharing a brief glance with his partner, before his digits came to rest on the juts of his hips. “Demo…would it be wise…to let someone from the Intelligence and Interrogation unit know…won’t they…catechize him, Kakashi-senpai? I get that we can’t exactly keep this type of thing a secret, but maybe just until Tsunade-sama wakes up? I mean…He already seems to be in pain…” The Chūnin trailed off lamely, his own orbs flittering over the shambolic cavern, the edge of his sandal toeing at a scroll fragment.

“…That is exactly why we need to enlist Inōichi-san’s help.” Kotetsu blinked, looking up to find the Hatake had yet to sever his gaze with the cerulean-eyed Shinobi. “It is as you said, we can’t keep this type of thing secret for long, but we can govern who gets to know of this /first/. Inōichi-san is a loyal shinobi, an avid believer in the Third’s Will of Fire…but he was also a good friend of the Yondaime. I don’t believe catechizing an old comrade would be something Inōichi would do right off the bat.” It was then that the Hatake shifted, a begloved palm landing heavily on the Chūnin’s shoulder. “…If he sorts through Lord Fourth’s memories and ends up putting them back into the right order, I doubt an official interrogation will be necessary. You both did good bringing me here, demo, you can leave now…” His single, visible hue curved in what he hoped to be a show of ‘encouragement’, before he let the other go, deft fingers coiling into the familiar signs of the Tiger Seal. “M-Matte, Kakashi-senpai! What do you mean? You can’t expect us to just do nothing.” Kakashi in turn cocked his head to the side as if ruminating over the other man’s words, mouth twitching underneath the fabric of his mask, though not enough to be considered as a smile.

“Iie…I never suggested that…Domo, a lot of time has passed. The two of you should return to Shizune, though stop by the Ikayaki tent on your way; maybe consider a side-order of fried rice, brown. When Shizune asks for Tsunade-sama’s files just confirm that you met me half-way and that I offered to get it in your place, as I was already on my way to the outer-rim. My chakra imprint is all over this cavern, but yours aren’t. Plus I’d be willing to wager my signed copies of Jiraiya-sama’s special anniversary addition of Icha Icha Paradise that neither Shizune nor Sakura have left Tsunade-sama’s side to eat something decent since she’s collapsed. Nothing quells ire or an array of unwelcomed questions quite like a nice, warm meal…ne?”

Kakashi’s leaden gaze flittered towards the Kunōichi. “As for Hakui-san…It’s best that you return to the medical tent before you’re missed. With skills like yours and with construction accidents on the rise, I’m certain that your chakra will be needed to do a lot more good.” Kakashi then proceeded to mould his own chakra, the mauve energies, bubbling and pitching, before divvying into half—an exact clone appearing at his side amidst a puff of smoke. “It’s a hassle…but my Raitōn Clone will look for the Godaime’s papers while I’ll make sure Minato-sensei gets to the Yamanaka Compound…luckily it’s not far from here…That’s the plan for now at least. I don’t need to stress that neither one of you were here. At all. Yes?”

The Chūnin chorused their accord, before slowly meandering their way toward the corridor, unable to find fault with the Jōnin’s nippy reasoning. Only Izumo hesitated for a beat longer, his visible hue skimming over the mess of wood-chips and paper. “Not gonna lie, Senpai, I feel bad about leaving you to deal with the dirty work, even just your clone…” Kakashi gave an evasive wave of his palm, sucking in a long, impassive breath. “..It’s fine…It’s fine…Though I could use your bandana…bandana yes…give it here, Izumo.” Izumo’s dark orb blinked, digits rising to fumble with the navy material, but found nothing but a mess of chocolaty strands as the Jōnin already nicked the accessory from off his head, shoving the man towards the corridor at the same time. “Arigato, Izumo-kun, your sacrifice was a very noble one, best not keep Shizune waiting any longer. Bye-bye.”

Turing on his heel Kakashi inclined his covered chin at his clone to get him to work, before his gaze settled on the form of the Kage once more. For the first time the two of them found themselves alone, Kakashi’s gaze assuaging at the soft echoes of ‘please’ and the sheer helplessness cleaving to the Kage’s form like a second shroud. Not wanting the man to suffer from the onslaught of his own thoughts and memories any longer, the Hatake moved to crouch in front of the rock lip. “I’m not ‘gonna put you under, Minato-sensei…but I am going get you some help….Just…” The Jōnin paused to peer at the pallid, pained features of the Yellow Flash, before he leaned forward to hide the distinguishing, yellow spikes with the Chūnin’s pilfered bandana, careful not to rub against the red, inflamed scrapes and nail indents visible along the sides of his temple. “….Trust me?” The Jōnin then lifted the Kage’s arm, wounding it about his neck, while his own limb curled about the man’s middle, heaving him upward and out of his sarcophagi.

Moving the former Leader was far from an easy task, the man practically a dead-weight, slanted into Kakashi’s side and still wrecked with uneven breaths and the occasional cough. But Kakashi expected as much as he maneuverer the both of them through the chamber towards the passageway the others disappeared through prior. The plus side was that they met no resistance along the snaking, narrow warren; nor did the Jōnin feel the flecks of any prying chakra signatures. Years of experience advised that in itself wasn’t enough of an indicator that they weren’t being watched and/or followed, so Kakashi remained alert, muscles starting to twinge with how tense he held himself—and as the dimness began to lift, the faint tinges of afternoon sunlight signalling the exit up ahead, Kakashi adjusted his hold on his former mentor, before urging forward once more, pace perpetually slow.

“The Exit is up ahead, it seems to be late afternoon still, so you might want to…shield your eyes.”

Kakashi didn’t check to see if Minato complied by fluttering his lids closed, choosing instead to alter his intent stare down the rough iron steps and into the crater where everyone was still bustling along like little, carpenter ants. Any minute now people would start to pack up their tools and wander towards their respective tents, the barracks, their homes; increasing the chances of being spotted by a weary individual or two (not to mention the receptive ANBU Platoons, as Kakashi has it on good authority that Ibiki upped the patrol roster in lieu of the Pain attack) As such Kakashi called on his chakra reserves (those violet swirls not tasked with keeping his clone within this plain of existence) to haul both of their forms from the Hokage Mountain in a concise body flicker to appear once more at the foot of the steps.

Sure, it might not be the best tactic when supporting a severely /disoriented/ resurrected, but the Hatake reasoned that cleaning chunky spew from his flak-jacket and standard-issue blues, would heavily outweigh the panic and outright bothersome questions he might have to consider answers for /if they were caught/ not to mention the datum of time, time which they did not have. The silver-haired shinobi could not put his finger on it, but there was a nagging feeling at the back of Kakashi’s skull that caused him to constantly shoot a narrowed hue over the swell of his shoulder. A feeling like he failed to take something important into account, that he /missed/ something, though re-examining his chosen actions thus far failed to provide further elucidations. It only urged the Jōnin forwards that much faster and placed a heavy hope on the shoulders of his Raitōn clone. Kakashi hoped that he would be thorough whereas Kakashi was heedless.

They made their way passed the off-turn which lead toward the Hattori Clan Ruins, the towering Hashirama and Ginkō trees passing by in blurs and blotches of green and brown, a tell-tale that they reached the boundary leading into the Nara Clan Forest. If Kakashi wasn’t certain that Shikakū was still in the presence of the old war-mongerer; he might have consider cutting through the deer forest towards its compound neighbour, but as the current Head was still indisposed, the Jōnin thought better of chancing his luck via trespassing. The two shinobi continued to travel along the borderline, Kakashi stopping only twice (once to avoid two Akimichi huddled around a cluster of brightly coloured mushrooms, the second to avoid the kids who were once Kurenai’s Genin team) afore they finally made it to the outskirts of the Yamanaka Clan Compound. The clan dwelling was the most centred of all of the Konohagakure Clans, a fact evident in the vast amounts of dirt and debris littering what used to be fields of wild Lavender and Tiger Lilies, the depository houses the Hatake knew to have contained many herbs and flowers of all shapes and usages, all but destroyed.

As Kami would have it, the main estate seemed to be mostly intact, save for a few missing roof-tiles and the windows on the west side of the house that were replaced by a see-through, green tarp. Kakashi ambled forward, praying that the elder Jōnin was home and in a particularly benevolent mood, while his digits flexed against his mentor’s side. Despite being an active shinobi since the tender age of five (many of said years spent within the sombre underbelly of the ANBU) Kakashi only ever worked with the Head of the Yamanaka clan once or twice where a mind-probe proved an ineffective interrogation method thanks to tricky conscious seals and the Sharingan was required as an alternative. As such Kakashi wasn’t as versed in the Clan Head’s habits and methods as he was in the ways of the man’s two teammates. Yet the Yondaime’s laboured breaths urged him to swallow any uncertainties (those he never dared voice to the three Chūnin) as soon as it dared to flicker into existence.

‘Maa, a shinobi should never second guess his actions, huh.’

The Hatake found himself uttering with some amount of discontentment, while calloused fingers rose to rap twice against the door. It took a moment, but soon Kakashi’s ears picked up the steady thuds of feet and the door opened to reveal a tired Ino still smudged with the sweat and grime of a hard day’s work. Periwinkle orbs widened as they fixed upon Kakashi’s hunched form, before they shifted briskly towards the other shinobi slumped against the Jōnin's side, his chin dipped toward his chest and obscuring any features from the girl’s keen inspection.

“Aa…Ino…Is your Tou-san home? I would really like to speak to him, it’s a bit of an emergency, you see…”

#konohagakurekakashi #Hatake Kakashi [The Scarecrow]#Namikaze Minato [Flake-sensei]#Senju Tsunade [Godaime Sake-sama]#Also known as: Sleeping Beauty #AU Verse: Rinne-whoops #Ressurection AU #Timeline: Kaka-Sensei/Part II #Well that experiment was a major Fuck-up #Here follows a string of profanities that requires the Censor no Jutsu #Censor #Censor Tumblr Censor Censor #u-u #Minaa-Munch #Senjutsunade

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magioftheseas · 4 years

Text

The Hinata/Kamukura Files - Makoto

Written for @the-hinata-project

Day 4: Awakened Hinata -or- White/Snow/Shiny

Rating: G

Warnings: Mild identity issues for obvious reasons

Notes: I don’t write enough Naegi-kun. It’s a good thing he was the obvious pick for this day’s prompt. Since last year just focused on the sdr2 survivors, it is nice to write about the dr1 kids because they, too, are a good bunch. But Naegi’s relationship to the sdr2 kids in general and to Kamukura/Hinata by extension is rife with untapped potential. This, again, was a lot of fun so I hope you all enjoy reading, too. :>

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

In the sparkling, glitching light within the simulation, the AI of my former classmate lamented. Tired, overworked, and exhausted, it was easy to see she really had just been a recreation all this time. I suck in my breath, and look towards the former Ultimate Hope, who was shining brightly.

Shining like the sun, eyes a passionate, burning red, the one who called himself Hinata Hajime-kun grinned.

And I smiled back.

“See, Togami-kun?” I asked cheekily. “They pulled through.”

“Some of them,” he retorted.

“Let’s not count those other others out yet,” Kirigiri-san remarked kindly. “Since they’re ready, let’s begin the shutdown.”

There was nothing to do but agree, leaving behind the simulated Jabberwock, the simulated Hope’s Peak, and the program that by all accounts was a major failure—but still worked out where it mattered.

Hinata-kun and the others were proven to be capable to overcome despair, to face the future head on in spite of everything. That was enough. More than enough.

Even if the rest of the Future Foundation refused to accept it, I’ll insist on it until the end of time. Until they at least have to bend if not outright break.

The program shut down. I woke up first, alongside Kirigiri-san and Togami-kun. Kirigiri-san helped me up, Togami-kun grumbling all the while.

“We’re not out of the woods yet, Naegi,” he pointed out. “The simulation shutdown was only the beginning.”

“I know, I know! But you could’ve said that about us escaping the second killing game! I’ve got a good feeling then and I’ve got a good feeling now!”

“Ever the insect, satisfied with just survival.” Togami-kun huffed. “While Kirigiri and I will have to do everything we can to keep the Future Foundation head from killing you for your insolence.”

“No, it was my plan, so I’ll be the one to talk to them,” I argue. “You and Kirigiri-san have done enough.”

“By choosing to accompany you on your ridiculous mission to save the remnants of despair, we’ve labeled ourselves traitors as well. Don’t be so foolish as to suggest our involvement can simply cease here.”

“Togami-kun is correct about that,” Kirigiri-san sighed, brushing back her hair. “But, it was for our former upperclassmen. For Hinata-kun and the others. No matter what happens to us now, Naegi-kun won’t regret any of it.”

“Absolutely not! Because! Hinata-kun and our upperclassmen—still have hope and a future! I won’t let anyone take that away!”

It was a decision I made without question. The second I met Hinata Hajime-kun—or rather, Kamukura Izuru-kun at the time.

“Do you truly believe you can save anyone?” he had asked, coldly and blankly. “You had failed with that woman, hadn’t you?”

“I’m willing to save anyone who wants to be saved,” I replied without hesitating. Because it was true, wasn’t it? As long as a person was willing to push through, I’d do anything to support them. I knew that with all my heart.

And, perhaps, Kamukura Izuru-kun had saw how serious I was just from whatever expression I made at the time.

All that—and I didn’t know he’d be erased by the program created to save them.

I don’t have any regrets trying to help anyone, I don’t have any regrets doing everything I could to save them—but I did wish I knew of a way to protect both of them.

Even though it was likely that, as with Enoshima-san, Kamukura Izuru-kun similarly didn’t want to be saved.

When thinking that, my steps quickened towards the pod as it began to drain. It unlatched automatically and I practically scrambled forward.

“K-Kamukura-kun! Hinata-kun!”

The person within the pod stirred, face scrunching up.

“I, I...” I can hesitate now. I can flinch as the other slowly pushes himself up. My heart’s pounding, and it’s now that I feel overwhelmed enough with everything to cry.

“Hinata-kun,” Kirigiri-san calls, calm as ever. Reassuring as ever. “Or Kamukura-kun?”

“I...” The person hesitates, too, and then, slowly but surely, mismatched eyes begin to open. One side hazel. The other side crimson. “I should not be awake as well—Kamukura Izuru should not be... Hinata Hajime—Kamukura Izuru, Hinata Hajime, Kamukura Izuru, Hinata Hajime, Kamukura Izuru, Hinata HajIME—!”

I grab his trembling hands quickly.

“Breathe, breathe. Shhh, shhhh. It’s okay, it’s okay.” I squeeze and stroke his knuckles, smiling in spite of how pale and taut they were against his bones. “You’re here. You’re awake. That’s all that matters. You’re here. You’re awake. Don’t lose hope. You still have a future.”

“Some cognitive dissonance if not collapse would have been accounted for if we had known the truth,” Kirigiri-san murmurs. Togami-kun scoffs.

“But as long as that idiot can function remotely similar to a human, we should consider ourselves fortunate, then?”

“The others should be waking soon, Togami-kun. Let’s leave him to Naegi-kun for now as we check on them.”

“Hmph.”

I barely hear their strides over heavy breathing, my own heart hammering, the other shuddering. Inhale, exhale, inhale. I mirror him thoughtlessly, and that seems to help.

“Naegi...Makoto... Right?” His voice is almost as disoriented as it is distorted, but then, that person’s gaze sharpens to focus. “Did you know this would happen?”

“I might have hoped for it,” I admitted a little sheepishly. “While I wanted Hinata-kun to live on, of course, I didn’t want Kamukura-kun to simply disappear. I’m sorry. I’ll think of a way that both of you can—”

My mouth is covered. I immediately froze.

“Sorry. Your voice, it’s...just a lot at once.” That hand is removed slowly. “The weather outside—how is it?”

“It’s cloudy,” I answer, tasting residue on my lips and ignoring it. “It’s pretty cold. But, I can take you to a window later. For now, we need to get you washed off, dressed, and... Ah. Right. I should probably say good morning since you just woke up, right? What do you want me to call you?”

“Guess.” A wry smile pulls across his lips. “You’re lucky, right?”

“Aha.” I didn’t know about that—but I knew what he meant, so I smiled back. “Good morning. Hinata-kun. Kamukura-kun. Welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back, Naegi. Thanks.”

#thehinataproject2019 #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #makoto naegi #naegi makoto #Magi fics #sdr2 spoilers #byakuya togami #kyouko kirigiri #KamuHinaegi #also mild #Tonaegiri #I guess #it's background stuff #kamuegi in general has a lot of potential but barely anyone explores it #I guess there are doujins #yeah

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