#it was a painstaking process to type this out like it was NOT worth it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thylacine-dreams · 4 years

Link

Thylacines likely went extinct much later than previously thought -- new research found

For three years a team of researchers combed newspapers, old books and Parks and Wildlife records in a bid to collect every sighting ever of the Tasmanian tiger. It was a painstaking process but the reward was a chance to track the extinction of the iconic species.

Small collections of sightings had been collated previously but never before had a group of researchers brought together every recorded sighting of the thylacine. Now thanks to scientists from the University of Tasmania a database exists where anybody can view the details behind every sighting since the 1930s. 

UTAS professor and Australian Lauriat Fellow Barry Brook said for the first time they were able to scientifically analyse the sightings to examine when the thylacine went extinct.

There have been no confirmed sightings of Tasmanian tigers since the last captive animal died at Hobart Zoo in 1936 despite there being more than 1200 reported sightings - the most recent of which was made last year. 

Professor Brook said it was easier to believe the species went extinct when the last captive animal died because there was no concrete evidence to show the animal still roamed Tasmania's wilderness.

But, through analysis of the more than 1200 sightings, now collated in their database, Professor Brook and his team found the likely extinction date for the thylacine to be in the late 1990s.

The group analysed each sighting and provided extra weight to "expert" sightings - those made by experienced bushmen and wildlife experts.

"Obviously there are different levels of credibility that you can attach to those types of sightings and so part of our analysis was attaching probabilities to these different sightings and accepting or rejecting them probabilistically," Professor Brook said.

"So there was a chance that even a tourist who saw something was right but it is a small chance and there was a large chance that they were wrong. So their sighting was down-weighted in the analysis as a consequence."

After assigning each sighting a probability of being accurate the group ran computer models on the data in a bid to determine the date of extinction. The models they used were widely accepted in the science of extinction biology and have been used to track the extinction of other rare species globally.

"When we did that we were able to determine that the most likely extinction dates are between the late 1990s or early 2000s which is much later than a lot of people might imagine," Professor Brook said.

"But the extinction interval is wide because of the uncertainties and the probabilities. So it could have occurred anywhere from the 1960s through to the small probability that the thylacines still exist in more remote areas of Tasmania even today."

Professor Brook said there was probably less than a one in 10 chance that the thylacine still existed in the remote areas of Tasmania.

"But it is not extraordinarily improbable as some previous work has suggested," he said.

"And that really only came about by taking a truly comprehensive look at all the records. [This work] also points out to people that it is worth making sightings and making reports to authorities, or to researchers, because they can be taken seriously. They are never believed or disbelieved -- they are taken into account."

This work forms part of Professor Brook larger look at the impact of humans on the natural environment. Along with tracking the extinction path of the thylacine the group also developed a new method of mapping the hotspots of sightings The new method could help scientists determine the likelihood of threatened species inhabiting a certain area.

"There are actually many species where we just don't know whether they are extant or extinct. They haven't been seen for either years or decades and they are hard to document," Professor Brook says.

"It is very difficult to prove that something is extinct because that is evidence of an absence and all you can really have is the absence of evidence. This is the general problem for threatened species - how do we know that a threatened species is in a particular place?  It can be important because decision on conservation might rest on whether a certain area has certain protected or threatened species in there. If they are unlikely to because they are already extinct then that will have management implications and vice versa if there is high uncertainty or there is reasonable probability that threatened species exist in an area and it is under consideration for protection or management then this is important information to contribute."

The database of thylacine sightings is publicly available. New sightings can be reported to Professor Brook via email - [email protected]. All new sightings can be added to the database.

"The idea here is that moving forward anyone can pick up this and do whatever they want with it, and add to it, and that will allow more clarity going forward into the future," Professor Brook said.

The article is behind a paywall and I can’t find any versions that aren’t, so I’ve pasted the text here. I’ve also made a few minor edits since I found some missing words and grammatical errors.

Tl;dr -- new research based on analysis of reported sightings suggests that thylacines may have gone extinct as late as the 1990s-early 2000s.

I have a few issues with this study, the main one being that not every sighting is credible/truthful. I do like that they put more weight on more “credible” sightings to buffer this, though.

Thylacines aren’t in the news very often so I’m posting this despite my reservations, since some followers may be interested!

#thylacine #Tasmanian tiger #extinct animals #cryptozoology #news

580 notes · View notes

m42-fr · 3 years

Photo

Here’s my Lore Post™ on various types of common currency around Sorneith! Note that this covers only major forms of currency that can be found broadly throughout their territories of origin, or are otherwise culturally relevant in some way. This post does not include forms of currency that may exist between individual clans. If you happen to find that any of this worldbuilding goes well with your lore, feel free to use it so long as you credit me somewhere for the idea!

And, of course, a mandatory disclaimer: the names and lore of these currencies comes from my own head (and a random name generator). Any resemblance to anything from the real world is unintentional.

Vahrani (vah-RAH-nee) are small bronze coins that originate from the Ashfall Waste. Thanks to the Flamecaller’s ceaseless forges, vahrani are the most common and well-established metal-based currency in the world - and, in fact, are the most well-established currency in the world, period. Trade with the neighboring Windswept Plateau, which exports the products of Fire’s industry to every technologically developing region on the continent, has spread Ashfall coinage far and wide.

Most vahrani have been in circulation for decades, their surfaces oxidized completely teal-black. Pristine, metallic vahrani, either newly-minted or freshly polished, are considered a status symbol by some, but certain dragons may refuse to accept them as payment for fear that they have been recently (and illegally) forged. Vahrani jewelry makes use of the holes at their corners, stringing them together into necklaces, earrings, and other forms of decoration. In a pinch, vahrani can even be tiled together to create makeshift armor.

Vahrani come in units of one, five, and ten. These coins bear an identical picture of the Flamecaller on one side and have a number inscribed on the other, which indicates their worth. The runoff copper from the creation of vahrani bronze is pulled into small lumps and stamped with the sigil of Fire while the metal is still hot, creating small, misshapen coins called vasi - or, in common slang, slag - each worth a tenth of a vahrani. Vasi are not nearly as widespread as vahrani, but they make up the majority of the payroll for poorer dragons within the Ashfall Waste.

Suuram (SOOH-ram) are long, paper-thin copper chits used as currency within the southwestern Shifting Expanse. The very first suuram were copper wires that had been pounded into rough rectangular shapes, but modern suuram are machine-punched from massive metal sheets, ensuring an incredibly consistent size and weight. The asymmetrical pattern of crescent holes at their edges is meant only to distinguish them from simple copper pieces. In practice, the holes are often used to hold chains of coins together with cord or metal clips.

There is only one value of a suuram piece. Rather than create different coins with higher values, dragons exploit the extreme thinness of suuram sheets by packing pieces into small containers; informal higher-value units consist of rectangular boxes holding a carefully-counted number of coins. Carrying around large blocks of copper sheets can become awfully inconvenient, so five-and-ten vahrani pieces have become a popular alternative currency in the Expanse. Suuram are used mostly as pocket change.

Due to the relative geographic isolation of the far coast of the Stormcatcher’s territory, suuram are not particularly popular outside of the Shifting Expanse, and lack traction everywhere past the Charged Barrens. However, suuram are acknowledged as a valid currency in every territory with flourishing trade and worldwide connections, including the Ashfall Waste, Windswept Plateau, Sunbeam Ruins, Tangled Wood, Starfall Isles, and Dragonhome.

The northeastern region of the Shifting Expanse is home to independent scavenger-clans who have little need for formalized currency. Rather than conducting trade with stand-ins like coins, they prefer to directly exchange goods and services, determining the value of each with every new trade. That being said, they do occasionally make use of a form of unregulated, low-value currency, colloquially known as scrap.

Scrap refers to any collection of relatively small, portable, usually worn-down and otherwise useless metal chunks - rusty nails, old gears that don’t fit anywhere, spare nuts and bolts found half-buried in the sand, weathered iron spring-coils and copper wires, and so on. While scrap has no immediate survival value, it serves much the same purpose of currency in that it acts as a metaphorical stand-in for something that is of value, and can be exchanged with others for goods and services. Scrap is considered a valid currency within the northern Expanse, although it is often looked down upon as a ‘primitive’ coin in the more technologically developed regions around Goldensparc and the Lightning Farm.

Paxa (PACKS-uh) are hand-carved wooden chits infused with sparks of magic that keep them pristine even under the worst of abuse. Native to the Sunbeam Ruins, paxa owe their remarkably high value to the painstaking process of crafting them. Each coin is hand-carved to impossible standards of consistency, stained a beautiful deep ebony, and protected from damage with ancient Light artefact-preservation magicks. Their magical ‘fingerprint’ is nearly impossible to fake, which guards them from forgeries. The secret to creating paxa is zealously guarded by a handful of dragons who have dedicated their lives to the craft.

Paxa are a universally recognized coin, spread throughout the world by Light’s investment in research as well as their inherent value. Future-minded dragons convert their retirement savings into paxa, knowing that unlike many other currencies, the tight control on paxa production ensures that their value remains constant. Paxa is also the coin of choice for most illegal operations in Sorneith thanks to their high value and their impossibility to falsify.

The average working-class dragon, even in the Ruins, will struggle to get their talons on any significant amount of paxa. Paxa are used to facilitate expensive transactions, and as such are favored by merchants, the wealthy, and the criminal; throughout most of the Sunbeam Ruins, workers are paid in vahrani, with the occasional handful of suuram thrown in for variety.

The origin of wek-ya, (WEK-yuh) Shadow’s mercurial coinage, is shrouded in mystery. Nobody knows when or where the first wek-ya were made - and, in fact, nobody knows how to make wek-ya at all. Ambitious blacksmiths who try their hand at smelting some are invariably struck with tides of bad luck that force them to close shop. And, moreover, the Tangled Wood can hardly be said to have an established government, so the presence of such a widespread and standardized currency is a curiosity in and of itself.

Wek-ya are crafted of pure silver, or something that resembles it. Each coin has two unique patterns - one to either side - that depict an incredibly broad array of subjects. The most common motifs are crescent moons, mushrooms, thorns, and dancing dragon figures, but there have been wek-ya known to picture oddly specific situations, such as trees being struck by lightning, rats climbing atop bookshelves, and draconic silhouettes that bear a strange resemblance to the viewer in the midst of suffering some catastrophe. Many dragons believe that wek-ya are infused with divination magic; coins are commonly drawn from bags to determine future events, and some individuals claim that their fortunes are told by the wek-ya they receive in trades.

While wek-ya are the most common form of money in the Tangled Wood, they’re incredibly rare elsewhere. Common superstition holds that removing a wek-ya from its homeland will curse the coin’s bearer until it has been returned. There appears to be some vague truth to the statement, as the coins are known to have a way of mysteriously disappearing when they’ve spent too much time away from the Shadowbinder’s influence.

Wek-ya are capable of emitting a dim glow for several hours after being exposed to moonlight. Conversely, they’ve also been known to spontaneously melt when placed in sunlight, permanently disfiguring their faces - such coins are considered overwhelmingly taboo by most residents of the Wood and are traditionally thrown into bogs, rivers, and liquid-shadow ponds, such that they may be forever forgotten.

Dazal (day-ZAHL) are large, chunky coins cut from smoky quartz. They come from Dragonhome, make for an uncommon sight in the northern Starfall Isles and Tangled Wood, and are rare elsewhere. No one institution governs the production of dazal, but most dragons don’t go out of their way to fake them - the coins are used predominantly within the handful of high-population regions of Dragonhome, particularly Terraclae and the Colonnades of Antiquity. Thanks to Light’s vested interest in archaeology, paxa are the most common currency in Dragonhome’s urbanized regions, followed by the eponymous vahrani.

Unlike suuram, which are largely shunned by Lightning’s more independent desert-dwelling clans, the value of dazal is respected by clans among even the most rural and harsh environments of Dragonhome. Most groups will carry at least a handful of them to use in trades - a few dazal will buy a weary traveler water and other goods. The nomadic routes of the Snappers often bring them to urban areas every now and again, which makes holding onto the currency useful, if occasionally burdensome.

The distribution of colors and patterns in a dazal is unique to every coin. Dazal have no varied values in a legal sense, but many individuals within Dragonhome will accept morion dazal - that is, those made of smoky quartz so uniformly dark as to be nearly black - as being worth twice as much as a singular dazal (or equivalent to one wek-ya). Some seek out dazal with unusual color schemes for collection purposes. Another commonly-sought variant is a coin without any scuffs; though crystalline, most older dazal are ridden with chips and cracks.

The Sea of a Thousand Currents has no legally recognized currency. The stinging seawater makes metal-based money impractical, and even the magical toughness of paxa and arcslivers will wear under the waves. Among the more isolated, aquatic clans, though, an informal coin known as vanes (VAIN) are used in some transactions. Vanes are seashells that have been chipped and polished into glistening, guitar-pick shaped chits.

The production, distribution, and value of vanes is entirely unregulated. Any dragon with strong hands and sandpaper can collect seashells and file them to the right shape and smoothness. As such, individual vanes vary widely in color, texture, and shape. The value of a vane is equally variable - no bank in the world accepts vanes as legal tender, although they are acknowledged as being incredibly low-value, presuming they have any worth at all.

Bags of vanes are often exchanged by coastal and reef-dwelling clans as stand-ins for the payment of debt. If an individual needs a good or service, but cannot pay for it at the time, they can hand over some vanes that serve as a sort of credit, later giving something of real value in return for their lent vanes.

Among the roughshod sailors of the Sea, bilgespray is a tawdry term used to refer to any collective mix of multiple types of currency. The wide variety of territories that they visit throughout their trading routes means that they inevitably collect a number of different types of coin. The term, ‘bilgespray,’ usually refers to a singular payout given in more than one type of currency, but used more broadly may account for any messy assortment of multiple types of money.

Popular within the urban areas of the central Starfall Isles, arcslivers (ARK-slih-vur) are tokens cut from the same magically-refined arcglass that makes up the shell of the Astrolodome. Their edges are inscribed with faintly-glowing runes that, like paxa, protect them from damage, although their enchantments are comparatively weaker. The appearance and value of an arcsliver is standardized; their production is controlled by banks within the Astrolodome and neighboring communities.

Well-wrought trading routes have established arcslivers as a valid currency throughout the entirety of the Isles. However, they have very little steading outside of Arcane’s territory. Similar to suuram, geographic isolation has kneecapped their spread, with traveling arcslivers found mostly in the neighboring regions of Dragonhome and the Windswept Plateau; a handful make their way to the Sea of a Thousand Currents and beyond from there. Though rare, they are legally acknowledged in institutions around Sorneith.

Given the extremely well-connected, trade-focused culture of the Windswept Plateau, every currency - even strange or worthless ones, like wek-ya and vanes - can be found in abundance among Windsinger’s children. Vahrani from the neighboring Ashfall Waste are the most common coin, followed by paxa and arcslivers. Wind does not have a traditional currency in the way that other territories do. Rather than use a standardized object to represent physical value, Wind’s unusual currency holds strictly social value. These objects are called kuo (KOO-oh). They are long, ribbonlike textiles, made from hundreds of tiny interwoven beads, and are as much art as they are money.

The length of an individual kuo can vary considerably. Most are long enough to be used as sashes and belts, or be hung up as colorful banners. The harvesting, sculpting, weaving, and painting of their miniscule beads takes a painstaking amount of time and skill. As a monetary system, they indicate debts, allegiances, and other forms of social ‘money,’ whether paid or owed. The perceived value of a kuo is usually based on its size and craftsmanship - the longer and prettier, the better.

While more rural and traditional clans will use kuo for their original purpose, younger generations - particularly those living in more urbanized areas - forgo the social value of kuo and create them for artistic purposes. The creation of an individual kuo ribbon is considered a long and meditative pastime. The patterns in every ribbon are unique, and the abundance of beads and paints mean that elaborate images can be threaded along the strings; given the extensive length of most kuo, many are used to depict the events of stories, be they mythical or factual. The longest kuo is rumored to be a ribbon that stretches the distance of the Cloudsong and depicts an embellished version of the Windswept Plateau’s entire history.

In recent times, dragons have begun to weave kuo as gifts and decorations. Many young lovers and best friends will create kuo for one another, its pictures personalized to the other’s interests and personality, and wear the bands that they themselves were given (usually as scarves, sashes, or bracelets) in an open declaration of their bond. Kuo are becoming an increasingly popular export of the Windswept Plateau. Eager to share their culture with the world, Wind dragons often sell and gift kuo to travelers, and some have even begun to export them to other territories.

The rough, lonesome barrens of the Southern Icefield makes the establishment of currency incredibly difficult. Like other harsh environments in Sorneith - the Shifting Expanse, Dragonhome, the Scarred Wasteland, and so on - coins are not particularly useful for immediate survival, and so trades are preferentially conducted with goods and services rather than coins. Northernmost or otherwise trade-savvy clans may occasionally cut deals with foreigners using vahrani, arcslivers, and even suuram.

The ancient institutions of the Gaolers, for all their fervence with law and order, never had reason to establish an expansive currency amongst themselves. The basic needs of all individuals are cared for free of charge; anything fancier is either owned communally, acquired by advancing in rank, or traded for without monetary stand-ins. Among a few circles, though - and particularly popular in teaching discipline to younger recruits - is a token system using units called snowcoins.

Snowcoins are very simple constructions. At their core is a singular link of a metal chain, which is encapsulated in magically-unmelting ice. The surface of a snowcoin is smooth and convex, forming an oblong shape not unlike a river stone, and they are remarkably translucent. Snowcoins, then, are a small reward earned through various services and good behavior, and can be traded in for small personal luxuries. The things snowcoins can buy consist mostly of curios and other decorative trinkets.

Given that snowcoins are used only by the Gaolers, their existence is almost completely unheard of throughout Sorneith, even in the neighboring Snowsquall Tundra. Only a tiny handful have ever made it out of the Icefield - and even then, most of those found away from the Icewarden are replicas, not genuine. Those who are in possession of snowcoins usually regard them as oddities and collectibles. They hold some mildly curious historic value, but little else.

For all their hatred for one another, the territories of the Scarred Wasteland and Viridian Labyrinth share a similar trait: neither has much in the way of currency. The Labyrinth prizes self-sufficiency and its clans want for little. Their isolationist nature has created a strict limitation on the influx of foreign currency - not even vahrani have made it past their coastal regions. Those from Nature who detest outside influence often use the derogatory term rootmuck to refer to any form of outside currency.

While Plague has a similar lack of established money, they don’t hold the same wariness of foreigners that the Gladekeeper’s children do. Most Plague clans see no reason in shunning something that may help them acquire useful things in the future. Various currencies are common at their respective borders - dazal in the north, wek-ya in the east, vahrani to the south, and arcslivers to the west.

That being said, their central clans, much like those of the northwestern Shifting Expanse, trade mostly survival supplies with one another. Guttergunk is an informal term from the Wasteland that applies to any assortment of individually worthless items that are bundled together to have some collective value. Guttergunk is not anything that could keep you alive; it’s made of things like small trophies - teeth, scales, horns -, the last of old food preserves, tattered pieces of canvas, balls of string, and so forth. Trade offers of guttergunk are considered trashy, greedy, or desperate; in other words, a sign of either arrogance or weakness, perhaps both.

Alternatively, the term may apply to anything considered gross and worthless: “Your efforts are guttergunk,” is an example of a common insult. The word has become popular in neighboring territories, particularly by residents of the Driftwood Drag and sailors of the Sea of a Thousand Currents, and among them it has much the same meaning.

#flight rising #my lore #my headcanons #my art #my worldbuilding #long post #the flamecaller #THREE. THOUSAND. WORDS.#this post KILLED me to write #but man did i have fun... the drawings were especially really neat #I'm very fond of how vahrani. paxa. and vanes came out in particular #rip vanes my worthless children but i love you anyways

237 notes · View notes

fridayfirefly · 4 years

Text

Virtual Sleepover

Read Virtual Sleepover on AO3

Masterlist

Written for Maribat March Day 4 - Internet Friends

Quarantine had been rough at Wayne Manor, but for Tim Drake, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a bright light through it all. Tim was getting ahead of himself, though. The story of Marinette Dupain-Cheng started on March 20th, 2020. Panic over coronavirus was sweeping the nation. Bruce had gathered all of the members of the Wayne family into the dining room to explain the new rules of the house. No one was to go in or out. Groceries would be delivered to the house. There would be no superhero outings for at least two weeks. Tim didn't think his family would be able to survive, trapped in a house together.

So to preserve his sanity, Tim turned to the internet. There were hundreds of cold cases that he had put on the backburner and hundreds of forums and websites dedicated to solving cold cases. Tim turned to the most popular website and started dumping information, hoping for someone to show up and work through it with him. That's how Tim met Marinette. @MarinetteDC showed up on his page with a friend request, a wide range of technical knowledge about textiles and designs, and about seven different theories on a murder case Tim considered all but unsolvable. Her sleep schedule was just as chaotic as Tim's and she also drank a near-inhuman amount of coffee. Marinette Dupain-Cheng enthralled Tim. And when the chaos of his house threatened to make Tim lose his mind, Marinette became his lifeline.

"Can you hear me?"

Tim nodded. "Yep!"

"Nice!" cheered Marinette. Tim relished the opportunity to see her face, even if it was through a zoom call. "So what do we want to do first? I don't have class until Monday, so we have the whole weekend ahead of us."

"I think we should start with the iconic sleepover classic: truth or dare," suggested Tim.

"Alright. Truth or dare, Tim?"

"Dare." Tim was confident in his abilities to pull off any stunt she might come up with. However, his confidence started to fade as he watched a devious look grow on her face.

"I dare you to bake a batch of cookies - any kind of cookies you want - without using a recipe."

Tim blinked, trying to recall the last time he had baked. Besides a few times helping Alfred out in the kitchen, Tim wasn't certain that he had ever used the Wayne Manor kitchen for anything other than brewing coffee and heating frozen pizzas. "Could I have a new dare?"

Marinette shook her head, the grin on her face demonstrating exactly how much fun she was having, watching the panic in Tim's eyes. "I'll give you one hint on how to make them, but only one, so use it wisely."

Tim groaned, unplugging his laptop from its charger so he could move it to the kitchen. "I'm not actually certain I know all of the ingredients in cookies. Or how long you bake them for. I feel like an hour is probably too long, but I feel like half an hour might not be enough time."

On the other side of the screen, Marinette tried to stifle her giggles but was unable to keep them all in. "No offense Tim, but this is going to be a disaster. I can't wait."

Tim let out another groan. "Must you torture me?"

"How about you keep the laptop camera pointed towards the oven, that way I can tell you once something starts to burn?" Marinette joked.

Tim knew that she was teasing, but honestly, he knew he could use all the help he could get. Still, he wanted to preserve at least a little of his dignity. "Very funny," Tim said sarcastically, setting the laptop down on the kitchen counter.

"Start with ingredients," Marinette advised.

"What all goes into a chocolate chip cookie..?" mused Tim. He got out the flour, white and brown sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla extract, and three different types of chocolate chips that Alfred kept stocked.

Marinette raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Tim cast a wary gaze upon his ingredients. It didn't seem like enough, but at the same time he couldn't figure out what he was missing. Tim sighed. "I'm ready to use my hint. Tell me what I forgot."

"You forgot to get out the salt, and more importantly, the baking soda," advised Marinette.

"Can I have a second hint?" asked Tim as he gathered his two missing ingredients.

"That depends on what you're asking," teased Marinette.

"I'm going to start listing measurements, and you tell me if it's too much or not enough."

Marinette pretended to think it over before replying, "I'll do it, but only because I want the cookies to come out edible, not because we're friends or anything like that. There are no friends in the Dupain-Cheng kitchen," said Marinette, her voice filled with faux seriousness.

"Lucky for me, these cookies are being made in the Wayne kitchen, and we're all very nice here, and we don't let Tim burn his cookies."

Marinette giggled. "You have a point there," she acquiesced. "Start listing your measurements."

Tim grabbed the measuring cup and starting approximating. "Two cups flour?"

"That will make about five dozen cookies."

"One cup of each type of sugar?"

Marinette shook her head. "You'll want a 3/4 cup of each."

The rest of the measuring process proceeded smoothly, with Tim guessing measurements of fluctuating accuracy (he correctly guessed that he would need two eggs, but his guess of a half-cup of baking soda led to Marinette questioning whether he had ever been in a kitchen before). Once Tim got the cookie dough mixed, spooned out onto a tray, and put in the oven, they resumed their game of truth-or-dare.

"Your turn, Marinette. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

Tim tried to think of a good question to ask. "Since you've now seen how abysmal I am in the kitchen, I want to know one thing that you're terrible at."

Marinette scrunched up her brow. "It's nowhere near as bad as you're inability to crack an egg-"

Tim winced a little, remembering the painstaking process of digging out fragments of eggshell after he completely shattered it in his attempts to crack it.

"-But I have really bad depth perception. I trip over every little crack in the sidewalk. I'm probably the clumsiest person you'll ever meet."

Tim chuckled. "And here I thought you were perfect."

Marinette grinned. "Almost perfect. Truth or dare?"

"I'll pick truth this time, and hopefully avoid being humiliated again."

"I'll go easy on you this round. When was the last time you lied, and what was it about?"

Tim combed back through his memory of the past week, trying to pick out the last time he lied. "I think it was yesterday morning. Dick asked me if the coffee I was drinking was my first coffee of the day. I said yes, but really I hadn't slept that night so I just decided to arbitrarily count my start of the day at the time I would have woken up had I actually gone to sleep."

"So how many coffee's had you had yesterday?"

Tim shrugged. "Since midnight? Probably three or four. I've gotten away with a lot more coffee since I modified the Keurig in my room to stop making so much noise."

"I'm lucky," said Marinette. "My parents sleep so far away from me that they can't hear my Keurig."

"Truth or dare?" asked Tim, continuing the game.

"Truth."

"What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done because you had a crush on someone?"

Marinette flushed red, and Tim immediately knew that this was going to be a good story. "Once I accidentally sent a text to my crush so I stolehisphoneanddeletedthetext." Marinette rushed the last few words, so fast that Tim couldn't quite make them out.

"What was that?"

"I stole his phone and deleted the text before he could read it. In my defense, I made a lot of questionable decisions at that age."

Tim burst out laughing. "How old were you?"

"I was thirteen," admitted Marinette.

Tim couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity of her claims. "You couldn't have asked him to borrow his phone and deleted it then?"

"I was in panic mode. It was between steal his phone or destroy his phone."

"Those were your two options?!" exclaimed Tim.

Marinette blushed even more furiously. "It's your turn. Don't expect me to go easy on you this round. Truth or dare?"

Tim kept up the trend. "Truth."

"What was the worst thing you did at thirteen?"

Tim thought back to his days as Robin, and the many, many stories he could tell. In the end, he settled on one that Jason still brought up when he needed leverage over Tim. "It's not as bad as phone thievery, but it's still a pretty funny story, looking back on it. You know how I have two older brothers, right?"

"Dick and Jason," Marinette confirmed.

"Well, one night I managed to convince Dick to let me drive Bruce's favorite car. Now, keep in mind, I had never actually driven a car before. Surprisingly, I wasn't that bad at driving. I made it home without incident - that is, until I tried to park the car back in the garage and accidentally crashed into Jason's motorcycle. For years after that, Jason used the threat of telling Bruce about my little car crash to keep me in line."

Marinette snorted. "You think that borrowing a phone to delete a text message is worse than borrowing and crashing a car?"

Tim shrugged. "It's a matter of opinion. Truth or dare?"

With a roll of her eyes, Marinette said, "Truth."

"What's one thing you would never tell me?" It was the sort of question that could only be asked during a game of truth or dare. In Tim's opinion, it was this sort of question that made the game worth playing.

Marinette pouted. "I don't like that question."

"Too bad. The rules of truth or dare state that you have to answer it."

"Fine." Marinette looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. Just as she turned back to face her laptop, her face lit up. It was evident that she had an answer. "Usually I let people learn from their mistakes in the kitchen. However, I will now tell you - because I have to - that your cookies have been in the oven for too long. They're going to start burning if you don't take them out soon."

Tim jumped up to get his cookies out of the oven. They looked a little burnt, brown rather than the golden-brown that Alfred would make, but they still looked edible. "I'll accept your answer, but only because you saved my cookies."

"Now that your cookies are done, do you want to finish up our game of truth or dare?"

"One last question," decided Tim. "And I'll pick truth, to make it easy for you."

"What's the biggest secret that you've currently keeping from your family?"

After Tim's last question, he had expected Marinette to follow it up with an invasive question. Luckily, her question had a very simple answer.

"Easy question - my friendship with you."

Marinette looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Most of my friendships begin through the connections they have to my family. Because of that, I've never really had serious friendships that my family wasn't actively involved in."

"It's not because you're ashamed of me, right?" Marinette sounded unsure of herself. Insecurity was a side of her that Tim had never seen before.

"Of course not," Tim assured her. "You're the best friend I could have ever asked for, Marinette."

"Good, because you're not getting rid of me that easy. I still have a lot to teach you about baking. I think we might try cupcakes at our next sleepover."

Tim laughed. "We'll see about that." He had no doubts that there would be sleepovers to come, and shenanigans involving baked goods to go along with them.

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat #MaribatMarch2021 #timari #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Tim Drake #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

169 notes · View notes

adenei · 3 years

Note

Hey, again

Your answer to the beta question did help a lot, I’m glad that you’ve formed a bond with the people that help you with your writing.

I just have a few more question, since you have a good connection with the people that help you, that means that you know which Beta is good to seek advice in a certain area? For example do you have a certain Beta that can prolong the interest for the audience when it comes to suspense and cliffhangers, like pulling on the heart strings type of angst vs one that Beta that knows how to keep a nice tender and sweet moment between the characters.

Is there a way that you blend their form of writing with your own? Also when it comes to your multi chapters (which are amazing, by the way just in case I forget to mention that!) how do you keep that motivation to continue with the story, like keeping a slow burn a painstaking SLOW burn? I suppose it gets hard for you to keep the characters , whether it’s Romione or Jily apart from each other until you believe it’s the right time for them. Lastly did you have any regrets when accepting or declining advice from your Betas?

(Sorry for so many questions, I’ve just wanted to know the process in having a group of people work on a story. Almost like a group project except in this case everyone is actually participating in the project unlike in school )

I hope you have a nice night, once again thank you for your response and also thank you for being creative when writing amazing stories!! ❤️❤️❤️

Anon,

I'm so sorry. I read this ask and then got busy and totally forgot to answer (and, admittedly it's gotten lost in the fic requests that I have!)

On my beta team - we all have different strengths, but I wouldn't say I go to a certain person based on what I'm looking for. If I'm struggling with a particular area, I tend to reach out to the person who's available at the time to help or talk through things with, and I've come to know what to expect from each person's beta style (i.e: I know who will leave me all the supportive comments and feedback and who will rip my writing to shreds and call me out on the stuff that only makes sense in my mind--and I love each of them for all their efforts and help because it's always what I need!).

But honestly, talking it out seems to be the most helpful and will streamline what I'm struggling with in a story. Right now, they have been instructed to not let me slip from my plan to create the most torturous of slow-burns, and to not give into the temptation of bringing my two favorite idiots together sooner than is necessary for the story. -> lol this inadvertently answered part of your next question. Keeping them apart is hard, but if I know the payoff is worth it, I will make myself follow through (outline, outline, outline! Whether it's on paper or in my head, as long as I have the vision, I can stick to it, but that's not to say it changes and morphs along the way!).

On blending my writing with that of my betas--when I beta their fics, I'll pick up on things and say, 'oh, I want to be better at THAT'-like descriptions, setting, characterization, and I think that helps me become a better writer. My betas typically don't change my sentences or structure word for word, but they give me suggestions on how to change it, and I try to do the same for them.

Writing is so unique, and I am a firm believer that the writer's true voice should always shine, so I use that to help guide my own betaing when I'm going through feedback.

I can't think of any regrets right now! There have been times where I can get defensive of things and may not always agree with a suggestion, but that's because writing is so personal (and I can be a bit stubborn when I want to be lol)! If you develop a strong enough relationship with your beta, then you can open up the conversation and explain why did something a certain way and how to adjust it to better fit your fic rather than blindly taking advice. You always have the choice to accept or reject suggestions, and a good beta won't fault you if you choose not to change something! Clear expectations are key!

Thank you so much for your kind words! It makes me so happy to hear that you love my stories, and I can't wait for my newest projects to be revealed with the Trope fest. It feels weird not to be posting as regularly, so the little messages here and there are a huge boost to my writing motivation!

I hope you have a great night/day, and I'm sorry it took so long!

#adenei answers #betas are the best #writing advice

5 notes · View notes

poetic-beats · 3 years

Text

I still want to polish up this blog so I am almost tempted when I can get to a PC as it’s not really easy to edit and change up my blog via my IPad. It’s just not functionally made to do it on something like this, it sucks and is painstaking trying to make any changes via this which is kinda why I decided recently to not even bother trying to set up my new blog properly because I just wanted to share my writing again and it’s going to be awhile before I’ve a PC set up. Anyways when I do get my PC set up the first thing I need to do is archive every single poem I’ve ever written and posted online so I can have a back up I know I know, how can I not have gotten it done before now. I’ve been writing for almost a decade and could lose all my work tomorrow if things went wrong because I’ve just not gotten round to it. In doing so I’m also considering just wiping this entire blog clean and starting again for the most part. Organising it better, changing the theme, making better use of tags than I did when I first started and just making the experience easier on people who want to find my poems and read them direct from my blog rather than their dash. As I do feel my theme and tagging system currently isn’t set up to be user/reader friendly. Then again I never imagined this blog would become what it has, it was just a place for me to share my work for the first time outside of the one small forum I’d used. It was not even something I was confident about doing but was encourage to do so by my partner and family. Then it turned into this and its given me so much more confidence to post else where and I really would one day love to make some kind of career out of this. Okay so no I don’t expect to make a living wage from it but it’d be nice if I could have a book or two or maybe put my content out there for free but on some kind of paywall basis too - like with Ko-Fi and be able to get some small steady monthly income. That’d be nice but just to know my work has made an impact, that it’s resonated with others that’s what makes this worth it. I would be lying if that was all though hence the monetisation dreams too because who wouldn’t want to be able to earn from their passion. Okay I know some people wouldn’t want too but I would and I think that starts with being more organised, more consistent in posting and making sure I utilise more than just Twitter and Tumblr. Which is why I want to start using my Instagram again and look at using TikTok too but right now things are really just a lot mental health wise I’ve been struggling. Honestly I’ve been struggling for awhile and since my Grandmas death last year I just haven’t seemed to find that stability not that I ever truly had it I guess but I had some sense of stability and I’ve not gotten it back since she died. It’s also stressful because we’re in the process of moving we’ve been stuck in this limbo for months and months now because the place we are moving too has needed renovations and still isn’t done. We hope to finally be finished and moved in early February. Then I can hopefully work on improving my mental health through 1. Being in a less stressful environment than I am now, 2. Routine routine routine and 3. Just getting back to normality and having that space to do so. Anyways I’m rambling now so I’ll end it here plus my hands are hurting trying to type this out I’ve been getting more and more aches and pains too as of late but not much I can do about that.

#update #not poetry #erin rambles #erin talks #life update

5 notes · View notes

feastofcadavers · 4 years

Text

"So... I know you like your sciences... but which one?" Mint was happy with the situation at hand was progressing. The two of them were talking for such a short time, but it was nice to see Aloe contented. Sure, they weren't smiling or anything, but at least they weren't grimacing or scoffing at his words as they usually did. "Well... I typically have kept myself in the realms of biology, though I have more skills in psychology due to past experiences..." Ah, 'past experiences'? Mint hesitated to press on this topic, but... He supposes curiosity got the best of him in this regard. "So what did spur you into taking up psychology?"

A single glare got him to shrink back in his seat. Right. Never ask about the past. "We are staying here and obtaining sustenance to avoid the past. I suggest you do not pry about me unless I begin the topic first. Asking such is akin to asking you what made you take up the violin."

"Well, uh, I-I can answer that if you want..." It wasn't that charged of a question for him, truly. "I see..." It wasn't a yes or no answer that the researcher gave, but it was one that would be enough for him to go on. After all, it lightened that glare into a curious gaze. Huh... With how little Aloe's expression typically changed, maybe he was getting used to the little quirks of expression they did give. They weren't the first time Mint dealt with a phlegmatic figure. "In that case, uh- I kind of picked it up after I tried playing the trumpet... Or was it the french horn?" It was some type of brass instrument, for sure, but the specifics slipped his mind. It's been so long... Even he couldn't recount the years he's been playing. "I knew I wanted to be a musician since I was little, but I never could figure out what type of music I wished to make... My parents wished for me to play in orchestras, but... I felt like I was blending in too much." There was a sigh, a sentimental one, as Mint paused. He... Wasn't sure if he wanted to recount his parents and their antics. "Let us just say that after a conversation turned sour, I unwillingly was made into a soloist... It was an unforgettable experience, playing on the streets and seeing the adoration I received from my work and mine alone... Honestly, I was quite proud to make a living after I-"

"Hold on a moment."

"Huh?"

It was with mild urgency that Aloe had caught his attention. The green-haired fellow gingerly waved their hand towards the 'STAFF ONLY' door, where there was a... Far more than simply a surprising sight. That doll- Spinny was it-? "It... It's walking..." Mint murmured, being as silent as he could while keeping his volume high enough for Aloe to hear. It was with bated breath that the two watched that little mess of stitching and fabric nudge open the door and waltz right through, with a small squeak of the door as it closed behind it- er- her? Though there was chatter, the two heard nothing more than silence from what they just saw. "What... How..." Mint couldn't process it entirely, turning back to the other with an expression that could only be described as absolutely bamboozled.

"There would be no logical way for such a thing to move... Dolls... Things such as those shouldn't be alive to d- Ah, Mint!" The analyst shot themself up as casually as they could make it out to be. The musician was already making his way towards the door, which wouldn't bode well for either of them. "What are you doing?!" Their voice was stern but whispered. Nevertheless, Mint shook out of their grip and looked back at them. "That doll means a lot to the owner, clearly, so wouldn't it be concerning if she suddenly saw that it was gone? Shouldn't we go get it for her?"

"As if she would not have known it could do such a thing..."

"Then we could search out of suspicion of dark forces! Or at least... to try and learn why it's going back there..."

As much as Aloe hated to agree with Mint's actions that could land them in far more trouble than the knowledge would be worth... The thirst to know more about practically anything did spur them onwards. "Fine," they gave in, standing up the rest of the way from their seat and following the other. They returned to their standard demeanor, though there was just the smallest tinge of worried irritation within them. "However, if something were to happen to either of us... The blame falls upon you."

"Yes, I understand that... Now come on, before the thing gets too far away for us to catch...!"

Thus, the two followed, trying to seem as casual as possible despite how hurried the violinist was. Aloe couldn't help but sigh to themself while the shorter of the two opened the door, hoping that they wouldn't be tried for any criminal charges like trespassing. They didn't know any legal jargon, which would only make things worse if they happened to- "OH MY TREE-" Mint exclaimed in horror, quickly covering his mouth to prevent his already startled voice from letting out any other sounds. The researcher squinted, following the musician in to find... Uh... Something that would certainly mark this as more gruesome than the mansion's kitchen.

This room, this butcher's shop of a room, left nothing to the imagination. The walls were lined with splatters of red, most of which was dried and darkened. Though the floors were... Not as lucky. Portions of the floor were soaked and coated in the dim crimson, some of which even brought to more of a blackened area where the tiled floor let the fluid seep into the crevices. The worst offender was beneath one of the tables set between boxes upon boxes of labeled body parts... Which beheld a seemingly fresh carcass upon it. Torn open, coated in that terrible red, organs exposed and draped out as if simply moved out of the way... "I-I... I think I'm g-going to be..." Mint easily lost his balance, though was kept standing by Aloe holding him in one arm as a support. The maze of gore that his mind couldn't process just... Churned his stomach into irritated mush. It took all of the will he had to not lose his lack of lunch. How the pungent scent in the air didn't get to him like the rest of this place was a mystery to him, but it... It was a sight Mint couldn't keep his eyes open much longer to see. His hand shifted from his mouth to his eyes, body trembling.

"It seems that this place is... Meant to be where the more gruesome food is prepped..." Aloe wasn't nearly as perturbed, though their stomach disliked this for... A different reason. It was a reminder to their body that they needed to eat. As painstaking as it was to ignore it with the surroundings, at least there was solace in the fact that... Oh, there's the doll. "There you are, miscreant," they snipped, "you have caused us enough trouble." They took a moment to nab up the doll, not caring all too much for how they held Spinny, and caring far more for holding Mint up. It was a slightly awkward process since they had to release the queasy musician for a moment and catch him before he fell, but leave it to Aloe to have surprising dexterity when it counts.

Giving the room another once-over, the researcher scanned the gore-stuffed boxes that lined the floor. "Hearts, intestines, bones, arm meats, leg meats..." Though they weren't the most specifically categorized, it was enough to show that there certainly was some experience in harvesting bodies for their parts. "Please-" A shy voice begged, which caught Aloe's attention. Mint was... Shaking. Worse than usual. "Stop- Stop reading them off... I can't-..." Ah, right, there were those more sensitive than the present. It was unusual, but the multi-eyed intellectual found their chest just a bit tight hearing the other barely holding themself together. "I... My apologies, let us get out of here before-"

"-Before what? You become the next delicious meal?"

The squeal that Mint gave with an already weakened heart was something that could pierce ears if it weren't for the fact that it was now Aloe covering his mouth. "That- That is highly not suggested." Aloe retorted, though their usual composure was slacked just a smidge by the surprise. There stood the sandwich maker, a wide grin on her face as she held the sandwiches- stacked by plate, sandwich, plate, sandwich- in one hand. The other rested on her hip, as if this was nothing more than a minor nuisance. "Really, huh? You waltz in and see what only I should see, and expect to just come out fine and dandy? Well, I guess you would be fine... Fine and delicious!" The twisted giggles of a madwoman rang in the two's ears, which only caused Aloe to flinch as Sandwich gave a quick little spin to snatch Spinny from the tallest's hand. "And don'tcha even think about running! This sweet little smile can make it look like you two were the crazy ones!"

"Please, if you would just listen-" Aloe tried to reason, though was caught off-guard by the sound of a butcher's knife being brought before them. Aimed towards their head. The only other attention they had was to the trembling form they still held close. "Wanna keep that mouth shut before I turn it into garnish?" Spoken with an everlasting grin, Sandwich clearly wasn't one to listen to easily. "No, I will not! Do you wish to become ill from cursed flesh?!" With a step back, Aloe let themself shift the musician behind their back. They even took off their cloak, draping it over Mint as they listened in on the laughter from the sandwich slicer. "Oh come on, you think I'm going to believe you? 'Cursed flesh'? What are you, some kinda researcher against the bloodsuckers? It's not like it's cure... a... ble?"

The buzzing of wings brought the somewhat pompous speech to a halt. Accompanied by a pained hiss from the one who spread their wings, Sandwich slowly came to realize what she was faced with. "Woah... So you weren't kidding?" The surprise soon turned to excitement as she processed the fact that this customer of her's had the insectoid wings that she was always glad to see, as if Sandwich's moods weren't already changing on a dime. "Oh! This is great! I can't believe you two are actually like me!! No wonder Spinny seemed so nervous, hehe!" With the confusing observation of the taller and worried staring from the shorter, the bread slicer paid no mind to either of their reactions as they set both the sandwich plates and the hulking knife down. She gave a bow to the two, grinning from ear to ear while the doll she'd nabbed up had somehow got itself upon and stuck to the redhead's shoulder. "Sorry about that! I just get super antsy when someone tries to find me out! Now, ah! I should probably make you two different sandwiches, huh?"

Though it was jarring, Aloe shook off what was the utter ridiculousness and sudden change in atmosphere. "Uh... I suppose? There is no need to do so, in all honesty. The most we'd like is to leave here and get back to normality since Mr. Choco here isn't very fond of-"

"Nonsense! Here, there's a door just to your right! It's all clean and spiffy for people like you two!" Sammy motioned in the specified direction, and if it was as she described, the other side would be quite jarring... "And don't worry about the costs, it's on the house! Just head on through, and we can talk later!"

"If you are sure of such..."

"Triple sure! Now go, go, go! I have fresh sandwiches to slice and dice up!"

#🎻 the court's conflicted #🌵 the rabid researcher #🥪 the eccentric slicer #sandwich cookie #mint choco cookie #aloe cookie #📝 written scriptures #feastofcadavers #gore //#🥦 an adorable snack #spinach cookie

5 notes · View notes

leaseups96 · 4 years

Text

Choosing An Equipment Leasing Company

Lease-ups

Leasing has become a preferred way of equipment financing, making up more than 30% of commercial equipment acquisitions. Every year, 1000s of U.S. companies face the task to find attractive financing to acquire business equipment. Many of these companies approach the lease sourcing process choosing the lowest lease rate. While securing a decreased rates are a rewarding goal in picking a leasing arrangement, it alone is usually not just a reliable standard for getting the best lease transaction or leasing experience.

apartment lease help

To acquire attractive lease proposals and to avoid lease blunders, make sure you select the right leasing companies to bid. Ultimately, a bad lessor choice can result in painstaking approval, inability in the lessor to offer, hidden fees, substandard lease terms, or worse. To secure the very best lease arrangement, you must do your homework in pre-qualifying bidding leasing companies. Give this element of obtaining a stylish lease arrangement your most crucial.

How Leasing Companies Differ

Leasing companies can vary in a lot of ways. Some focus on specific industries, some in lease types, some using equipment types, but still others in transaction sizes. By way of example, some leasing companies specialize only in a single industry like medical care, printing, agriculture, or transportation. Others focus exclusively on a lease type. They might just offer operating leases for equipment with attractive residual values. Some lessors concentrate on full-payout finance leases. Still others focus on small ticket transactions with equipment cost under $ 100,000. It is very important understand the specialization with the lessors bidding on the lease transaction. To obtain the most attractive deal and steer clear of the run-around, stick with lessors who pinpoint the sort of transaction you are searching for.

Leasing companies also differ in resources and capabilities. Many large leasing publication rack properties of banks, financial companies, or another large industrial concerns. These firms will often have abundant resources and comprehension of a number of leasing segments. Mid-size and smaller leasing companies greatly outnumber large lessors. While these businesses cannot match the means of these larger brethren, they frequently have highly trained professionals, sufficient resources plus much more flexibility to meet lessee needs. The thing is to obtain the best leasing arrangement to your firm. By establishing priorities for your leasing arrangement you are looking for, it will be possible to ascertain whether a leasing firm with sizeable resources a treadmill that is certainly nimble and flexible is a better choice.

When And Where To check

Time to start out your research for the leasing business is at the start of the lease-planning phase, after you have established criteria to get a leasing arrangement. Some criteria to take into account for any leasing arrangement are: pricing, monthly cash outlay, financial plan impact, the correct lease type, lease term, lease flexibility, lease facility size, and whether your equipment will be accepted for rent. Use criteria such as these and also the qualities you would like inside a leasing company to get started on your lessor search.

A great starting place to find bidding leasing companies is through professional and personal referrals. Seek advice from your attorney, your accountant, bank contacts and colleagues within your industry. Also ask friends and acquaintances who use leasing within their businesses. Asked them for contacts at leasing businesses that concentrate on your industry or that offer the sort of lease you are looking for. Call your industry association and ask whether they have names of leasing companies serving others in your industry.

Evaluating Leasing Companies

Qualities to consider in different leasing company you take into account include: 1) expertise and experience; 2) reputation; 3) ability to perform; and 4) a romantic relationship approach.

Interview prospective bidders carefully. Discuss their experience and expertise from the leasing business. Question exposure to the transaction you are seeking, involvement with similar firms in your industry, along with the types of lease products they offer firms like yours. Discuss your equipment needs. Find out if they can lease almost all of the equipment you will need. Ask whether or not they will finance your lease using internal funding or if they'll broker the lease to another funding source.

Get enough information from resulting in bidding lessors to choose if they should include them in the bid process. If at all possible, require financial information from potential bidders to judge their financial condition. Also, when you can, have a Dunn and Bradstreet report ("D&B") for every bidder. Inside the D&B report, search for lawsuits filed against the lessor, judgments, severe payment delinquencies, poor financial performance and similar conditions that might impact performance on the new lease transaction.

Request and look customer, vendor, bank and trade references per lessor. Contact each reference and verify key information provided to you from the lessor. Ask how a lessor handles its account and whether there have lots of people any problems or issues. Ask customer references concerning the lessor's capacity to perform resulting in attentiveness to customer problems and concerns.

Investigate bidders online. Check Google (www.google.com) to determine whether prospective bidders show up in any newsworthy articles. Hit the content boards and newsgroups. Look for unresolved problems, fraud, financial problems, testimonials, and awards. Visit bidders' websites to have the maximum amount of information as you possibly can before extending an invite to bid. You may well be in a position to screen out undesirables.

Lastly, make certain prospective bidders participate in several industry trade association. While membership alone will not speak for that integrity or expertise of members, almost all of the associations set standards of conduct for members.

One word About Lease Brokers

Lease brokers serve roles much like insurance brokers. They profit by placing lease transactions using the ultimate financing sources for those transactions. You should decide whether a lease broker would assist you much better than seeking direct bids from lessors. Lease brokers they can be handy to find sources for difficult transactions, on account of weak credit or unattractive equipment. They can also come in handy in placing transactions which might be highly specialized. Only work with lease brokers who've high integrity, who may have an excellent understanding of leasing, and who comprehend the market you are in.

The entry bar for learning to be a lease broker is pretty low instead of all brokers are well trained or reputable. Look into the broker's references and capabilities thoroughly. Check to see if the broker belongs to the national trade association for lease brokers, NAELB (www.naelb.org) or to one of the other major equipment leasing associations. Make use of the same guidelines for evaluating brokers as outlined above for leasing companies.

Parting Words Of Caution

Avoid high-pressure lease sellers. Whether they are brokers or leasing company representatives, chances of you being misled or disappointed with all the outcome are very high. Only assist lease representatives or brokers who have a good idea of leasing and who will be sensitive to your requirements. To perform otherwise might lead to delays or disappointment.

Avoid giving lease deposits or advance rentals to brokers. Brokers don't provide the financing directly and, in possession of your money, represent a prospective credit risk.

When the lease broker or leasing representative says something that is really a significant misrepresentation, leave. Likelihood is the very first such misrepresentation won't be the very last. There are a lot of knowledgeable leasing professionals rich in integrity. Avoid getting together with those who are unprofessional.

Lastly, provide you with at least 3 or 4 lease bids from qualified lessors, if you're able to. At the end of the morning, lease costs are market driven. Getting several bids will help give you competitive pricing and terms.

Choosing the right leasing clients are definitely worth the effort. If you take several simple steps during the planning and bidding phases with the lease procurement process, you are able to eliminate or reduce time wasted with unqualified lessors. You may also don't get the run-around. Allow ample time to check carefully out all bidders. Be keen on lessors rich in integrity, great reputations for performance, good expertise and who communicate well along with you. You will invest time upfront, but you'll thank yourself later.

1 note · View note

study-like-you-mean-it · 5 years

Photo

HOW I IMPROVED MY HANDWRITING: A GUIDE

When I was around 12, I got a piece of work handed back to me. It was an essay that I had written for an English class, a normal piece of homework, but this time, my teacher handed it back to me, and told me that she couldn’t mark it because it was, quite frankly, illegible. The years I’d spent in primary school as a left-hander grappling with a temperamental black ink fountain pen had clearly not paid off, and clearly I needed to do something about it. Thus began a very long process that took many years, but eventually I emerged with neater handwriting, and not one but two different styles of writing. Here’s what my handwriting looks like at the moment.

Just for the sake of clarity, these two styles did not emerge at the same time, and they emerged at very different points in my life (the cursive emerged long before the neater print), but I’ll talk you through how I started to fix my handwriting in order to achieve both, so hopefully you can improve yours too (this post was a request so hopefully at least one person will find this useful).

Firstly, I settled on a bunch of pens that I rely on constantly for my writing. The first is the Bic Cristal Medium biro pen, which I have used for all my school work since I made the switch from fountain pens, and it’s my go-to, especially because it’s much cheaper than the ink pens that I’ve opted for, and since it isn’t inky in the same way as the others, my work is much less likely to smudge. I use this pen to take all my lecture notes, as well as the notes that you see in my studyblr posts. See below for an example:

I use the stabilo black pen to normally write headings in my lecture notes and also to write thicker lines in my bullet journal, but I’m excluding it from this post simply because the headings and things (like what you can see at the top of this post) are more to do with calligraphy than my general handwriting, and to improve my calligraphy it was simply a matter of copying things that I had seen and practicing it by writing all my study/lecture notes headings in calligraphy.

The MUJI pen is something I only ever really use in my bullet journal, because I like the way it looks in relation to the size of the space I have to write in. I only ever write in print with the MUJI pen, since I don’t think it looks as nice to write in cursive with it (and also I find it trickier to do so), but even if I only use it for one purpose, using my bullet journal is still a very daily action for me so it does constitute a big part of my handwriting.

With that preliminary stage through, we can now move on to the practical reality of each of my handwriting types. Firstly, the cursive:

CURSIVE

This handwriting style did actually start out as a neat kind of print, but over the years that I used it, it became more and more natural to write in cursive, and over time it became what it was. Here’s how it evolved over time from the point I decided to neaten it up:

So, you can see very clearly that it’s been a very long process to get where I am now, and there’s not shortcut around it. When I started, writing things out was absolutely painstaking, but eventually you begin to find shortcuts that firstly look neat and secondly (and most importantly) you find easy on your hand when you are writing. What then emerges is an amalgamation of the nice-looking and easy ways of writing things, and then you have a neat everyday handwriting. What you should never do, however, is let your old habits creep back in. It’s a very tough process that often requires you to be uncomfortably aware of how you write, but I promise it will pay off. It still takes a very long time, and you need to be using your handwriting pretty much daily for a matter of years before it can reach what you want it to look like, but you can’t force anything as this is very much an organic process.

My print handwriting emerged partly as a revision technique and partially as a result of wanting to start a studyblr. I wanted to present neat-looking notes, but I knew that my cursive was only going to take me so far. As a result, I painstakingly wrote out my revision notes in print, making sure to also keep my words in the middle of the space between the lines rather than on the lines, just because I personally think it makes my notes look neater, despite the fact that it takes much, much longer. It takes me slightly less time nowadays to write things out in print, but this is still a significantly longer time than for my normal cursive writing. This is an entirely artificial handwriting that makes me focus on the words I am writing much more, which is why I find it a useful way of spending time when I am revising. However, I know this is not my real handwriting as it is not as comfortable, and I know that I should never force this to be my real handwriting as it is inefficient and unproductive to think of them in the same way.

Long story short, in the case of adding more styles to your arsenal of handwriting, you need to keep a main, efficient style and not force any of these other styles to be your main handwriting, even if they may look nicer in your eyes. Improving your handwriting takes years of daily use and practice, and you don’t want to hold yourself back longer by forcing your hand to be uncomfortable

GENERAL TIPS

Writing in the middle of the space rather than on the line makes your handwriting look neater, but it will take much longer

You need to be using your handwriting frequently if you want to improve it. Try writing letters to people you don’t see enough, or switching to handwriting your lecture notes.

If you’re using margins, you can automatically neaten up your work by aligning the end of a line with the left hand margin on the other side of the page (a sort of barely-visible right hand margin). This makes it look justified, and also has the added pragmatic benefit of you being able to add notes and comments to the side of your work, which is especially useful when you’re writing essays in exams, for example.

Your pen choice (and paper choice, to an extent) will affect your handwriting, so don’t be afraid to experiment a lot in order to find what works! It won’t necessarily be the same as mine, so don’t take my word on pen choices as gospel.

Never give up! It’s a slow process and you need to stay determined to improve! Trust me, it’s worth it, as someone who gets dozens of comments on the internet and in real life saying how cool and neat my handwriting is whenever I write something down ;)

670 notes · View notes

advernia · 5 years

Text

fic: coloring inside the lines

— as they say, you always need to keep your eyes on the prize. - queen of hearts/alice the second.

1: a bit late, but here’s a happy birthday to one jonah clemence! ◦°˚\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦

These are a couple of the many things he just learned about the place she calls London:

Women, regardless of their status, are expected to maintain their elegance and decorum whether it be in thought, speech, or deed,

Another commonality, though not openly admitted, would be the pursuit of preserving natural beauty - whether rich or poor, any lady would put in some effort to maintain or enhance her appearance for her own purposes (and through her own means), but;

While makeup - powders, lotions, creams, rouges, lipsticks, you name it - was admittedly a valuable aid to the relentless pursuit, the sheer fact that it was masking one’s true beauty led to the use of makeup eventually frowned upon.

So maybe, just maybe gifting her an elaborate makeup set was not appropriate - oh no, it was totally fine if just not to upset her - never mind the fact that he just spent at least five painstaking hours in the finest cosmetics shop of the Diamonds Quarter, selecting from shelves and shelves of exquisite products with only her in his mind, urging him to focus on picking the most charming of colors and the most suitable of scents that were perfect complements to her loveliness.

It was just eight bottles of cream and lotion, three different powder jars, six varied shades of rouge, three lip salves and two lip glosses. Not a big problem at all.

True, she hardly needed the aid of any makeup to make herself even more dazzling than she already was in his eyes (though any more effort on her part was something he’d always appreciate), but in Cradle, a man giving a woman makeup as a gift carried different implications:

To give powders, lotions, or creams suggested a budding interest, for the items were for the lady’s daily use. It gave off messages along the lines of ‘remember me’, or ‘I support you’, for example.

Lipstick and rouge had more intimate meanings as both items were applied to the woman’s face - gifting the latter implied that the man was drawn to sight of her and if worn in return, it meant that she was also interested in him and was open to the notion of courtship.

The former was applied to the lips, so this was more of a confirmation: if she wore it, it meant that she accepted his affections entirely and was ‘claimed’ by him; but if not, it meant that she couldn’t reciprocate his feelings, and finally;

Giving a personal and complete makeup set carried all the messages and implications of the aforementioned items but even more than that, it also signified that only he was worthy enough to influence the beauty of his recipient; a clear cut sign of a romantic relationship in bloom.

… Well, it’s not like he wanted her to know that and maybe it’s better if she didn’t; for what truly mattered was her opinion on the subject: did she frown upon the use of makeup as well? Now that he mulls it over, her vanity was spotless, save for the bottles of perfume he gave her in the past and a vase for flowers.

Or rather than frowning upon it, was she not accustomed to using makeup? She was a confectioner, so perhaps she didn’t bother buying herself any of the sort when she already knew that she’d be too busy in the kitchen all day with little to no chances to mingle with her customers at all.

During their so-called dates the month she landed in Cradle, she didn’t look like she put any trace of makeup on, either. Then again, they were still on… unsavory terms back then, so…

… Did London also place meanings into certain gifts? If yes, did she ever receive an item conveying -

Jonah Clemence scowls, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of any more trifling questions in his mind. To vacillate is not characteristic of a Clemence, and if he had any more time to fret, then he might as well head over to her and hear what she had to say about the matter herself.

He gets his answers that night:

Contrary to his fussing, no, she wasn’t upset receiving a very ornate case filled with his five-hour exhaustive effort of fine makeup choices. Instead, she was flustered and taken aback, but after some convincing she takes the box into her hands with a winning smile that makes all those five hours worth it,

She didn’t disapprove of makeup at all and if anything else, she was honestly curious about the whole thing: she tells him that she thinks of it as some form of painting or even decorating, similar to what she did with cakes and pastries - the sudden reference to food was very like her and he snorts at that,

She had a bit of knowledge on how to use certain types of makeup thanks to her friends but true to what he thought, she admitted to rarely using makeup because her job aside, there wasn’t much reason for her to frequently use it in the first place, and;

Yes, London also attached meanings to certain gifts. When he surly asks her if she had been offered gifts with special intentions, she twiddles her thumbs and she stutters, so -

- pinning her against the wall and watching her cheeks flush a shade of pink akin to the rouge he picked out for her, he lowers his lips to the shell of her ear, intentionally allowing his breath to fan over the flesh before whispering in a low voice:

… Were those gifts so wonderful?

Teeth nipping onto her ear, she lets out a small whimper.

… Ah, yes, he did get his answers that night.

She finally, finally makes good use of his gift for her appearance in the Red Army’s annual ball as his official partner, and he takes it upon himself to observe her in the art of applying makeup on herself.

He did ask her beforehand if she required professional help, but the sheer twinkle in her eyes when she told him that she’d try doing her makeup on her own was an… unfair move, in his book. How was he to say otherwise when she looked at him like that? Well, he’d like to believe that she really did have an inkling on how to use cosmetics, but just to be sure; he insisted in watching her in case she needed help - thankfully, she accepted without question.

Now, seated in the couch of her room where he could also see her reflection clearly in the vanity’s mirror, perhaps he didn’t need to be so critical of her skill at all.

He wasn’t able to properly see her process when she started with the exposed skin of her collarbone, but he’s left staring as her fingers cheerfully and repeatedly traced the curve of her neck to apply a fair amount of the vanilla-scented cream thoroughly, then followed immediately by patting it down lightly with some of the lavender dusting powder. He raises an eyebrow when she extends the same treatment to the nape of her neck - the wavy updo of her hair did leave that part visible to prying eyes…

Next she went about applying rouge onto her cheeks, and he quietly hums his approval upon seeing the color of her choice lightly dust her cheekbones: he had to hand it to her, out of the six rouges in her set, the pastel pink shade was the most suitable pick to complement both her dress and the overall image she was exuding so far - a youthful yet elegant look, the former defined by the light colors of her whole ensemble while the latter through the style of her outfit paired with her tasteful selection in jewelry.

And last but not the least she began to paint her lips, the tip of her index finger somewhat hesitant as she dipped it into a small jar. He sees the fingertip leave the jar tinted with a light crimson stain that she brings up to her parted lips but to land on one corner of her bottom lip, dragging slowly to a center point - she does the same for the other corner and he’s transfixed on her reflection, or rather the way that her finger moves oh-so carefully, oh-so gently across the smooth curve of her lip.

When she smacks her lips together, pulling her lips inward for a brief moment only to release them with a pop, he hears himself swallow a lump down his throat.

He’s still entranced as she continues to add some paint to her upper lip and before he knows it, she was already done with her makeup and had turned around on her seat to face him.

… What do you think?

Eyes snapping back into focus, he did his best to study her from head to toe: lengthy blonde hair tamed into an updo held up by lovely butterfly-shaped adornments, light pink cheeks a nice contrast to the vivid blue of her eyes, a complexion that still appeared natural even under the light, dangling earrings and necklace with beautiful pearls similar to those sewn on the front of her bodice, a tailor-made dress in varying shades of pastel peach flattering her curves in a most discreet manner, dainty feet slipped onto pristine white heels.

Yet…

He rises from his seat to stalk over to where she sat, briefly looking into those expectant eyes gazing back at him before looking down - back down, to those crimson lips.

… Unbelievable.

He barely gives her any time to react when he takes hold of her shoulders and swoops his head to capture her lips urgently in his: a little noise manages to escape her when he presses the tip of his tongue to that same corner of her lips where she first applied the lip salve, then drag slowly to trace the curve of her lips carefully like how he had seen her fingertip do earlier.

If he recalled correctly, the shop owner absurdly stated that the crimson lip salve was a delicious new product made out of a magically brewed concoction of plant butter and oils, then mixed with in with an organic blend primarily made out of strawberries - he dismissed it as nonsense but true enough, what tickles his tongue is a tart, so pleasantly sweet taste as he keeps his lips pressed to hers.

But as delicious as it was, nothing could ever compare to the taste of her so he coaxes her to let him in and she readily complies - as she received the taste of her own lips, he’s again reliving the taste of her mouth.

And she’s still as perfectly sweet unlike anything else in the world.

When they part for air, their foreheads are pressed together and their heavy breaths mingle, lips only a small distance apart - she meets the heat of an amber gaze with the haze of her of blue, but she does manage to lift a hand up and tenderly touch the delicate skin of his bottom lip with her thumb; wiping away at the faint crimson stains she saw there.

Voice a breathy whisper, she asks:

… Too much lip salve?

He laughs softly before setting her hand on the back of his neck, then leans over to kiss her again.

2: an interesting survey distributed in the office yesterday listed some… specific turn-ons, and this is one of them lol - it’s phrased as: taking a keen interest watching your partner apply makeup on themselves… weLL… lowkey spicy times, amirite ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ 3: on that note, makeup isn’t my thing but studying victorian era makeup was pretty fun and so was giving some meaning to cradle makeup, lol! thought those on the top of my head, and i think jonah would probably be the type to be hung over the meanings of certain types of gifts given the occasion + recipient, haha!

#ikemen kakumei #ikemen revolution #ikerev fanfic #jonah clemence #ikerev alice #edgar or kyle in the bg probably:#makeUP jonah not makeOUT smh

20 notes · View notes

lyndsaybones · 6 years

Text

All These Years, Part 12 and Epilogue

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Dallas, TX 2011

Mulder looks through the garage door window and sees a tuft of curly dark hair belonging to the same woman who confronted him in Scully’s room earlier.

“You stay here,” he says as he takes Scully’s gun.

Scully nods and wraps her arms around Mike.

He pushes the door open and enters the murky garage. Lucy’s face is tense and tear streaked.

“Luce, it’s gonna be okay,” he says, holding out a hand.

“Why would you tell her something like that?” Katie says with a smirk. “You oughtta know how many times that’s turned out to be a lie,” she says to the side of Lucy’s head.

“Don’t listen to her, Lucy. It’s gonna be alright,” he says. “What do you want?” he asks.

“I think you already know,” she says, still smiling.

“You can’t have her,” he says.

“God, I coulda taken her out anytime,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“You can’t have him either,” he says, barely containing his rage.

“I just wanna borrow him,” she says. “Just to pick his little brain is all.”

“I’ll bet,” he nearly growls. “Not gonna happen.”

“I can see why you’d be hesitant. You two did a good job hiding him all this time. But then you didn’t know what I know.”

“What do you know?” he asks between clenched teeth.

“That they’re connected, psychically bonded. There’s a gene marker for it, did you know that?” she says. “You’re just a carrier, but those two, they’re special,” she adds.

“You. Can’t. Have. Him,” he spits each word.

On the other side of the door, Scully pulls the boy closer to her, squeezes hard.

“It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you,” she whispers into his hair.

He wraps his arms around her and squeezes back. “No one’s gonna hurt you either,” he says.

“Why don’t you come on out here, Dana?” Katie calls. “It’d sure be a shame if you had another seizure,” she warns.

Scully ignores the threat and begins to rock the boy. “It’s okay,” she says again. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Mike pulls back a moment, places his hands on her cheeks and studies her deeply.

She blinks and just for a moment, can see the soft, sleepy face of her baby.

“I always knew you were alive,” he says, just above a whisper.

“I never wanted to leave you,” she nearly sobs.

He nods and tucks himself back into her embrace. She gasps softly, holding the tears at bay.

In the garage, Lucy struggles to stay upright as Katie tightens her grip. Her shoes slip and skid against the slick floor.

“Let her go, she has nothing to do with this,” Mulder warns.

Katie chuckles again and holds up a phone positioned in her left hand.

“One way or another, I’m gonna get what I want,” she says.

She swipes her thumb across the screen, which comes to life with a strobing white light. On the other side of the door, he can hear Scully cry out.

“A prolonged seizure will kill her,” Katie says.

“The tumor…”

“Isn’t a tumor,” she says. “It’s an implant. And it has one job.”

“Dad!” Mike yells. “Dad, help her!”

“Yeah, Dad,” she mocks. “You just got her back. It’d be a real shame to have her die all over again.”

He slowly backs up and looks through the window. Scully is on her back, jolting and jerking as if she’s been electrocuted. Mike is on his knees next to her, watching in horror as she twitches.

“That bond of theirs means it won’t be long before he starts seizing too,” Katie warns.

That’s all it takes.

He levels the weapon and squeezes the trigger. One shot. The sound makes his ears ring and the echo in the cavernous parking garage is all he can make out at first.

Like surfacing from underwater, things become clear again. Lucy is screaming, bawling for all she’s worth. Auggie is banging on the car window so hard that he could probably shatter it.

Katie is on the ground, an ever expanding pool of blood spreading from the back of her ruined skull. The screen of her phone flickers and goes black.

Two Days Later:

She opens her eyes, slowly, and realizes that she is back in her hospital bed. There is a moment of sheer panic. She can hear the monitors blaring as she sits up and tries to orient herself.

“Whoa, Sarah, slow down,” a voice says.

She looks up and sees the deeply concerned face of Adam Hamilton.

“Wha-” she breathes. “What happened?”

“It’s okay,” he says. “You’re okay now. We got it.”

“Got what?” she gasps.

He holds up a specimen jar and inside, a piece metal, about the size of a quarter and the shape of a river stone, smooth and rounded.

“It was right up against your vagus nerve,” he says as he sits up on the edge of the bed. “Whatever Katie was doing to you, stops now.”

She realizes that her head is wrapped in gauze, prodding gently at the bulk of it behind her ear.

“Where’s...what about…” she doesn’t even know what to ask.

“They’re getting some rest at the hotel...your son and his father,” he says tentatively.

“They’re okay?” she asks.

“Just fine,” he says. “Mike’s been on watch for hours. Poor kid was half asleep in that chair last night.”

“He’s alright? No seizure activity?” she asks.

“We gave him another scan and EEG to be sure, but he’s perfectly fine. Totally normal results,” he assures her.

A tear escapes and she nods.

“You uh...you’re going to leave, aren’t you?” he asks.

“I- I don’t know,” she sighs.

“I didn’t get it before, why you kept your heart so guarded,” he says. “I get it now.”

She nods. “I never knew who I could trust.”

“That’s a terrible way to live,” he says. “You deserve some peace.”

She nods and settles back into the bed a bit.

“How did you know he’s my son?” she asks.

“I knew it the second I saw him,” he says with a chuckle. “He even does that thing with his eyebrow. I dropped a couple of hints to his dad and hoped things would work themselves out.”

“Thank you, Adam,” she sighs. “You’ve always been better to me than I’ve been to you.”

He nods and stands up. “You’ll be discharged in a couple days,” he says. “And if I don’t see you again, I’ll be sad, but I’ll understand. It was a pleasure, Sarah.”

“Dana,” she corrects. “My name is Dana.”

He nods, looking suddenly quite touched. “Dana, nice to finally meet you.”

She sniffles a little as he goes.

It’s been so long since she’d been called by her name that she felt like Dana Scully might have really and truly died.

The door opens again and it is Mulder, just Mulder, with a skittish smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quiet, maybe a little awestruck.

“Hi,” she responds, feeling her stomach flip. “Where’s Wi-Mike?” she corrects.

“Making the most of his time in the pool with Auggie and Lucy,” he says as he perches on the edge of her bed.

“Lucy,” she says cautiously. “She’s your…”

“Friend,” he finishes. “Good friend.”

“You two aren’t um…”

“Uh no...I’m not her type,” he says, laughing somewhat nervously. “You’re more her type,” he adds.

“Oh,” she responds, catching his meaning. “And Auggie is her son?”

“Nephew, she took custody of her niece and nephew when her brother and sister in law died. Auggie and June.”

“August and June?” she asks, quirking a little smile.

He nods in affirmation. “Lucy talked me into going to grief counseling after you...after she saw that I was struggling with…” The air shifts, her breath tightens. “I went to your funeral, Scully.”

“And I went to yours,” she sighs. “I know that doesn’t make us even. Anywhere near even.”

“I don’t want to get even, Scully. I just want you. I want you to come home and get to know your son.”

“Don’t you think I would if I could?” she says, her voice coming out in a soft tremble. “Someone paid her to do that. To watch me, to hurt me. Just because Katie is gone doesn’t mean that it’s over.”

“It is,” he says, taking her hand.

She shakes her head and a sob escapes.

“I missed,” he says.

“Missed what?” she asks.

“I took a shot at Katie and missed. Mike did it. Mike stopped her,” he says, very solemnly.

Her jaw bobs and she cannot produce a sound.

“Nothing is going to happen to him. Nothing is going to happen to any of us,” he says, squeezing her hands.

Epilogue:

Woodstock, VA 2013

Coming back from the dead is a process, a long one. It took more than a year to bring the entire Mulder-Scully clan back certifiable legal status.

They left Farr’s Corner, the little house where they were the Smiths and bought a new place in Woodstock. A couple of acres and couple more bedrooms. A fresh start.

Mike still goes by Mike. It’s all he’s ever known. Scully was tearful, however, upon discovering that his middle name was William.

Aside from the mountains of paperwork and legal fees, by far, the hardest part was reaching out to her mother, trying to explain that not only was her daughter alive this whole time, but so was her grandson. They started with phone conversations, quiet, tearful talks, apologies uttered in a litany of sniffles and sobs.

They’ve worked their way up to this moment with painstaking care and preparation. But she can still feel her heart thumping in her spine.

She fusses with her hair in the mirror that hangs in the foyer, simply because she has nothing else to fuss with. The house is immaculate, the evening’s meal is cooking in the oven, there’s nothing else to do but wait.

“You okay?” he asks as he wraps his arms around her from behind. She makes eye contact in the mirror and sighs.

He gives her a little squeeze and hunches to tuck his chin against her shoulder.

“Nervous?” he asks.

She nods, swipes a tear from her eye. She opens her mouth to answer, but is interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. He drops a kiss on her cheek and whispers against her skin.

“Breathe,” he says as he pulls away to answer the door.

Her attention is pulled to the sound of Mike thumping down the stairs at mach speed. He looks less and less like a little boy these days. He’s taller than her now and outweighs her too. He’s built like Mulder, tall, lean. They even move the same way. She found herself in perpetual and utter awe discovering all the little things about her son. He stands at the bottom of stairs, bouncing on his heels a little. He’s never had any family beyond his father, this is a whole new world for him.

Maggie Scully is already crying as Mulder hugs her and ushers her inside. Mother and daughter are drawn together like a pair of magnets, wrapping around one another in a fierce embrace.

“Mike,” Mulder beckons, waving his son to come off the stairs.

“Mom,” Scully says, pulling away with a sob. “This is your grandson.”

Maggie wipes her eyes and offers him a wide smile. “Hello Michael,” she says, opening her arms.

“Hi,” Mike answers tentatively before giving her a cautious hug.

“You look like your uncle Charles, do you know that?” she asks with a teary smile.

“Yeah, Mom told me,” he says, a little shy.

They give Maggie the grand tour before settling in at the dining room table. Mother and daughter sit close together throughout, alternating between holding hands and leaning into one another.

They head to the living room for dessert and quiet discussion of the holidays ahead, how to ease Mike into the chaos of a big family gathering.

“Oh I almost forgot! I need to give you something,” Maggie says suddenly.

Scully quirks an eyebrow and pulls back as Maggie stands up and digs into her pocket. She holds her clasped hand out to her daughter and sits back down. Scully holds out her hand to receive a puddle of gold in her palm. She gasps when she realizes what she’s holding.

“Your friend John gave that to me,” she says softly. “I thought you might want it back.”

She can barely stop the tears from coming as she nods. Mulder gets up and takes the necklace from her, helps her secure it at the back of her neck, tracing the scar there as he does.

“I’m never taking it off again,” she says.

“When are we telling Grandma about the baby?” Mike interjects.

“Baby?” Maggie asks, eyes wide.

“I guess now,” Scully says with a shocked chuckle. “We didn’t even tell you about the baby yet, Mike.”

He shrugs and looks down at his tablet. “I’ve known forever.”

She looks back at Mulder, her eyes asking if he was the one to spill the beans. Mulder’s mouth sits in a tight smile as he shakes his head.

“I told you there’s no use trying to keep anything from him,” he says.

“I guess not,” Scully says with a sigh as she turns to her mother. “I’m sorry mom, I didn’t want to spring another surprise on you already.”

Maggie laughs and hugs her close. “Don’t you dare apologize, Dana. Not anymore.”

#my writing #all these years #welp #there it is #thanks everyone!

157 notes · View notes

wellhellotragic · 6 years

Text

Of Wolves and Lambs 1/?

Summary: Killian Jones has known a lifetime's worth of pain. He's lost everyone he's ever cared about, but when the love of his life is murdered, he vows that nothing will stop him from getting his revenge. Even if it means losing his soul to do so.

What starts off as a simple quest for revenge turns into a world filled with secrets and lies. Nothing is what he thought, and no one seems to be who he thought.

Rating: E (and that’s not E for everyone)

A/N: So this was actually the first CS fic I ever worked on and, while many of you have probably never read it, I’ve been toying with the idea of finishing it, but that completely depends on reader response.

The Nolan family plot had grown throughout the years. It began with the loss of David’s father when he was young. The same bottle that had stolen him away from David night after night had finally stolen him away forever. Each year after his death, David and his mother Ruth had set aside one day to go and visit his grave. They would try to make it more often, but life had a knack for getting in the way. Even if David’s father had been cruel more often than he had been kind, David couldn’t help but love and miss his father.

It hadn’t always been bad, and even when it was, things could have been much worse. David’s father had never so much as lifted a hand to David or Ruth. Instead, he cut them down emotionally with his drunken words. The following mornings though would be fill with apologies and promises to stay sober. There would be pancakes and special outings between father and son to make amends. Those days were good, really good, and David made sure to hold those memories close to his heart.

That’s why David and Ruth vowed that every year they would make it there on his father’s birthday no matter what. They brought flowers and balloons to celebrate his life, along with a single cupcake to be left on his headstone. They would also visit the tiny spot next to it, the one for David’s twin brother James, who died just after birth. While David’s father would never admit it, he was sure that his brother’s death was what led him to drink.

When David was fifteen, Emma Swan blew into his life like a tornado. She was a breath of fresh air that reawakened something in his house. David had seen her around school, and knew that she was a foster kid. Generally he would catch her sitting in a corner by herself at lunchtime reading a book. While he didn’t join in with the other kids who gossiped about her in the hallways, he also didn’t have anything in common with her so he let her be. Sure, there were stories about how she came to live in the house on the crappy side of town, none of them flattering, but David didn’t take much stock in that type of thing.

It wasn’t until he walked in on her in the gym fighting another classmate, defending a smaller boy, that David realized that Emma wasn’t the scared shy little girl everyone seemed to think she was. Emma had spunk. When he saw what was happening he rushed forward to help her, but stopped a few feet short of her when he realized that she didn’t need him. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. She had won the fight without throwing a single punch. It had ended with the bully flat on his face with his arm wrenched behind him as he cried out in pain. His cries had caught the attention of a few faculty members who immediately deemed Emma at fault as the instigator of the fight. When they pulled Emma off of the boy they told her that they knew she was trouble and they were going to make sure that she’d be expelled permanently. If David hadn’t come to her defense and argued on her behalf so adamantly that’s probably exactly what would have happened.

Emma begrudgingly thanked him, explaining that she wasn’t used to people helping her. It was in that moment that David realized that Emma would become important to him, and he to her. David befriended Emma, slowly. She was skittish, and slow to trust anyone but he was patient and persistent.

Seven months later Emma informed David that she was leaving town, not by choice of course. She had never had much say in her living arrangements, but refused to let David pity her.

She told David that she would do her best to keep in touch when she got to her next foster home, and he made her promise that she would come over for dinner one last time. She acquiesced; after all, it was their thing. By their fourth month of friendship Emma was spending more time at David’s house than her own, and only missed dinner one day a month. That was the day the social worker came over to check in on Emma, and her foster parents put on a show to prove that they were earning their monthly checks from the state of Massachusetts.

On Emma’s last day of school, David skipped his final class and told Emma that he’d meet her at his place after school. David had rushed to his mother’s office to explain that Emma was being sent away as he begged Ruth to let Emma move in with them. Ruth told him she would see what she could do but that he shouldn’t get Emma’s hopes up. When Emma left after dinner that night, he was so sure that she’d come to live there the next morning that he only gave her a quick goodbye. It wasn’t proper, it wasn’t the goodbye she deserved from him after all that time, but he knew in his heart that he’d see her waiting for him in front of school the next day. What David couldn’t know was that it wasn’t that simple.

The state had already prepared all of the proper documents to have Emma sent to a group home half way across the state. What he couldn’t know is that her caseworker decided to get an early start on Emma’s transfer and had actually picked her up right after she left David’s the night before. She was there and then she wasn’t, and his heart broke when he walked up to the front yard and her spot against the railing was empty.

It took three months of fighting tooth and nail for Ruth to bring Emma home where she belonged. When they finally got Emma back, David couldn’t help but notice that she seemed less shiny. He thought she’d be excited to be home, to have a room that was all hers to decorate however she wanted. David couldn’t figure out what was going on with her, but he knew that something in the last three months had killed her fire. He begged her to talk to him, but she shut him out. She’d go to school, go home and do her homework, eat dinner, and then lock herself away in her room. David missed the ferocity she once held, and he was willing to do anything to relight those embers.

He tried and tried, but she had built up walls that were indestructible. Eventually David had had enough though. He couldn’t take it anymore. She was a shell of her former self and he missed his best friend dearly. On that day, when Emma came home she found that all of the doors in the house had been taken off their hinges. David told her he wouldn’t allow her to run anymore, that she couldn’t hide and shut him out anymore. She broke down and cried for what felt like an eternity. They slumped against a wall in her bedroom next to each other, and after an unbearable silence she finally spoke. She told him she couldn’t let him in because it was only a matter of time before he and Ruth realized they had made a mistake. She said that eventually they’d send her away just like everyone else, and if she let him in, that when the time came to send her back, it would destroy her. David broke. He had always seen her as a force to be reckoned with. She had always had this intense confidence, and he never would have guess that inside she was so scared and lonely. He promised her that they would never abandon her. He told her that she was his sister now, and that family stuck together.

It took time, a painstaking amount of time, before Emma finally started to lower her walls. It was on Emma’s sixteenth birthday that she officially became part of the family. The process to adopt Emma hadn’t been difficult, but it had been long and tedious. Every time they saw a light at the end of the tunnel, they were greeted with more paperwork.

It took over a year to finalize, and when asked by the judge if she wanted to change her last name to Nolan, Emma declined. She told the judge that while she appreciated everything the Nolan’s had done for her that it would be easier to remain a Swan. All of her school and medical records had her down as Swan and it would have been far to much work to explain it to people. She also told him a name was meaningless in the grand scheme of things, they were family now, and one single word wouldn’t change that. Emma had seen how hard Ruth and David had worked to keep her, and she realized that it was because they wanted her, something she had never experienced before.

When David went off to college he decided to move into the dorms. He said it would be easier to get around campus and it was a right of passage of sorts. He had chosen to stay local and Emma was grateful. It was hard enough having him across town; she couldn’t stand the thought of him across the country. As the year went by, David had made friends. He didn’t come home as often as Emma would have liked but she understood that he had already given up so much of himself for her, and he needed this for himself. He promised Emma that when she started school with him the next year that they’d get a place together just off campus. She wasn’t as sure of his promise as he was. David made friends very easily, and she knew that they’d want David to live with them the next year.

He still made it home for Sunday dinner, and he began to bring home another stray as he affectionately put it. His name was Killian Jones. He had moved to Boston from England to study mechanical engineering and was randomly selected as David’s dorm mate. David knew he didn’t know many people in town and forced him to come to their weekly family dinner.

The first time David brought Killian home, Emma had been absent. She had been absent the next two times as well. Ruth explained that she was out with August getting into who knows what kind of mischief. David had met August once or twice, and while David didn’t dislike him, he wasn’t a huge fan of Emma spending vast amounts of time with him. August had been a foster kid too, and had spent time in a home with Emma years ago before landing in a more permanent place a few roads down. Since David had left, Emma and August had practically become inseparable. Perhaps that’s why David didn’t love the idea of them together. He felt as if August was going to replace him in Emma’s life.

The fourth time David brought Killian home, he was shocked to see Emma in the dinning room helping Ruth set the table.

“Do I know you? You seem vaguely familiar?” He meant it as a joke but the words came out a bit more accusatory than he meant for them to, and the smile Emma had plastered to her face upon seeing him fell.

He introduced Killian to Emma but she barely acknowledged his presence. She was quiet all through dinner while David told her and Ruth about a girl he started dating that lived down the hall from his dorm room.

David probed Emma with questions about school and she gave him only one-word answers. It hurt him knowing that she was shutting him out again. Each question he asked filled her with more and more rage. Realizing that Emma must have been jealous about him spending so much time with a new girl he asked if her foul disposition had something to do with Mary Margaret. Emma wanted to scream, and he could see it. Over the years he had learned what each silent facial expression meant, and he knew she was about to blow. Instead Emma calmly asked Ruth if should could be excused. When Ruth nodded in agreement, Emma stood, looking to Killian with a weak smile and told him that it was nice to meet him. With that she was off and out the front door.

David sighed and apologized to Killian for Emma’s behavior. Ruth let out an eerie laugh, one David had never heard before.

“You think Emma was the problem tonight,” she asked him cautiously. Ruth didn’t say anymore and instead picked up some dishes from the table and took them to the kitchen.

David shot Killian another apologetic look and followed his mother into the kitchen. Ruth was quiet, and David knew that she was disappointed in him, but he wasn’t sure why. Finally she asked David if he could put the leftovers in the fridge. He smiled in return feeling a bit victorious that she had broken the silence first. He grabbed a dish and opened the fridge door to stick it in. When the door closed with a little more force than he meant for it too, a small calendar fell from the fridge. He bent over to pick it up and flipped through it trying to find October. As he made his way through each month, he saw it plain as day.

September 24th, circled in both red and black markers. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks and the air was forced from his lungs. He had been so engrossed in his new romance that he had missed the most important day of the year. His error was made even worse compounded by the fact that he had missed not only Emma’s seventeenth birthday, but her adoption day as well. Family Day. He looked up and Ruth and she gave him a small tearful smile, telling him that it was late and he should get back to the dorms. He gave her a small hug and promised that he would fix it. When he returned to the living room to gather his coat, Killian asked him if everything was okay and apologized if his presence had upset Emma. David assured him that it had nothing to do with him and that everything was his fault.

David called home everyday for two weeks after that but Emma had refused to speak with him. On the third week he had had enough again, and like before Emma returned home to find all of the doors missing. He pleaded with her to forgive him but she insisted that everything was fine. He knew she was holding it all in. He hoped if he could make her angry that she would open up without realizing it. He told her that it wasn’t fair of her to be angry that he had made new friends. He pushed her as far as he could but the dam never broke and it terrified him. She had written him off and he wasn’t sure that any amount of groveling would fix it this time.

He left in defeat but not before telling her that while it would always be the two of them against the world, it couldn’t always be just the two of them. Things between David and Emma were never the same after that. They would still do Sunday family dinners with Killian present, and from time to time Emma would go to the movies or to dinner with David at Ruth’s insistence, but she was distant. She kept him at an arms length and their conversations were superficial at best.

When Christmas time rolled around and he and Killian had to leave the dorms they found their way back to Ruth’s house. Killian’s older brother was deployed with the Royal Navy and Killian’s parents had died years earlier. He said it was pointless to go home so David did what he did best. He brought the stray home and made him part of the family. Over the next three weeks David couldn’t help but notice that something was blossoming between Killian and Emma. At first he attributed it to jealousy. He missed Emma, and for some reason she seemed to take to Killian easily, easier than she had taken to David and it irked him. Killian told David that he and Emma were somewhat kindred spirits. They had both lost their families and understood each other in a way others couldn’t. David felt there was more to it though. He noticed the way they watched each other when they the other wasn’t looking. They had inside jokes that he wasn’t a part of and late night conversations on the couch when neither of them could sleep. They had formed a bond that David would never have with Emma.

When it was time for the boys to return to their dorm in January, David had finally built up the courage to ask Killian if there was something more going on between him and his sister. Killian assured him that they were just friends but asked if it would bother him if he wanted there to be more. David knew Killian was a good guy. He kept himself out of trouble, avoided partying, kept good grades, and hadn’t dated often. David assumed that the last bit was just because Killian was so focused on school but now understood that Killian had developed feelings for Emma.

David let his jealous consume him when he answered. He told Killian that it would be a horrible idea and he made Killian promise that he would stay away from his sister.

The first family dinner back was awkward. David had built an invisible barrier between Killian and Emma. Anytime Killian spoke to Emma, he could feel David’s eyes boring into him. He kept his responses short and to the point after that. Emma’s mood seemed to sour as well.

Great, he thought to himself. It was bad enough he had inadvertently pushed her away, but now he was taking another person from her. That night he felt awful. He apologized to Killian and explained that while he still didn’t want them dating he didn’t want her to lose another friend.

David tried a few more times to apologize to Emma but again she assured him there was nothing to apologize for. She remained distant despite his best efforts and over time he gave up. He resigned himself to the idea that she was being selfish and there was nothing more he could do. He and Emma stopped talking aside from their weekly dinners.

Killian and Emma remained in contact on occasion, and Killian still didn’t date, even though he had multiple offers from a number of beautiful women. When David tried to set Killian up on a double date with his girlfriend’s roommate, Ruby Lucas, Killian had refused stating that he needed to focus on his studies.

The year went by quickly as April arrived. David had remembered Ruth mentioning that Emma had school visits coming up that month, but he hadn’t thought anything of it until he saw her sitting in his calculus class. Her councilor had suggested that with Emma’s advanced academic standing, it would be more beneficial if she immersed herself in a few courses instead of following the normal school tour. David winded though the auditorium seats with Killian following close behind and sat next to her. Before he could say anything she was on her feet mumbling an apology.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in this class,” she said has she picked up her bag. “I can just go.”

Before she could turn to walk away David grabbed her arm and asked her to stay. Part of him missed her and wanted her to be there, if even for one hour. Another part knew that they had the hardest professor on campus and everyone was struggling in the course. He knew Emma was brilliant and was curious about what might happen when the professor called for answers. Every lecture there was one question posed by the professor that had stumped everyone in class. It was the same equation each week but with different numbers to keep students from cheating. The professor stated it was a simple equation and that if people were paying attention it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to solve. Despite the best efforts of the some of the brightest students in class, the equation remained unsolved.

The ninety-minute lecture drug by, for everyone. David noticed how bored Emma looked every time he glanced over at her. Eventually, the unanswerable question was posed, and everyone in class groaned. A full two minutes passed by before David looked up from his notebook to see Emma passing a folded piece of paper to Killian. Killian took it, and when he opened it up his smile grew wide. Emma nudged her head towards to board and Killian silently stood up walking towards the front of the room with the paper. He watched as Killian picked up a black marker and wrote the answer down on the bored quickly before returning to his seat. When David looked back up to the front of the room he saw the professor look to the whiteboard. When she turned around to look up at Killian, she gave him a small nod and smiled. Everyone in the class seemed floored by Killian.

When the class was released, the professor called for Killian and David to come to the front of the room, and Emma followed them. The professor asked the boys who their friend was. David explained that she was his sister sitting in during a campus visit. The professor gave them a subtle grin and asked David and Killian to wait outside so she could have a private conversation with the girl who solved the equation. David’s jaw fell. He felt his palms become sweaty as nerves rushed through his body. He felt Killian tugging him out of the room into the hallway.

David began pacing the moment the door closed. Killian assured him that everything would be fine. When David countered that he couldn’t possible know that, Killian reminded him that the professor had smiled, for the first time all year. It should have calmed David down but instead it did the opposite.

It was nearly forty-five minutes before Emma emerged from the classroom. David asked if she was all right and ask what had happened. Emma simply stated that they had talked. He knew Emma, and he knew that was all he would get from her. He hoped that maybe she might tell Killian later and he could get answers from his roommate, but she never spoke of it again.

The rest of the school year was over in the blink of an eye. When the summer came, Killian returned to England and David found himself back in his childhood room. He went to Emma’s high school graduation the first weekend he was home. The next morning he woke to find suitcases in the hallway. When the shock wore off he asked her what was happening. She pulled him into her room and sat him on the bed. She took a seat next to him.

She explained that he had been right before. It couldn’t just be the two of them forever. She told him that as a kid, she never really thought much of the future. She assumed that she would stay in the system until she aged out and then she get a crappy job and a crappy apartment and that just how life would be. Then she found the Nolan’s and everything changed. David helped her realize that there was more to life than just surviving from day to day. The problem though was that she didn’t know who she was outside of being the poor little foster girl the Nolan’s took in. She needed to leave to find herself. She was going to work with a group that helped provide clean drinking water to villages all over the world.

She left that afternoon and didn’t return for three years. She didn’t return until Ruth’s funeral, and then she left again, for seven more years.

Killian returned in the fall, moving into a house with David. Mary Margaret spent more time at the house with them than she did at her own apartment. When Killian learned that Emma had left, he became distant. He seemed distracted and his grades began to suffer. This time, when he went home for the holidays he too didn’t return for many years.

Eventually Mary Margaret and David became serious, and David proposed using Ruth’s old wedding ring. They were married in a small ceremony with only a few close friends there to celebrate.

After Ruth died, David found himself making two trips each year. One of those days still reserved for his father, and now one for his mother’s birthday as well. Mary Margaret would accompany him both days, which David appreciated. His wife had always had such an optimistic point of view on life. Emma always had refused to go with David to visit his father. She said it was weird to go and mourn a man she never knew. Mary Margaret though said it was only fitting to honor the man who helped raise the love of her life.

Now they were there once again for the third time that year, bringing a single vanilla cupcake to lay on the headstone for Emma Swan. The spot had originally been saved for David, but he couldn’t bare the idea of leaving Emma to rest alone. She had been alone for far too long, and he needed her to be near family. Instead he bought two spaces one row up so that in time, he and his wife could still be near by.

David sighed to himself as he stood at the foot of Emma’s grave. Not nearly enough time had elapsed since her funeral and his emotions were still running over. The memories of the last month flooded through his mind as he stood there.

#cs ff #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #of wolves and lambs #wellhellotragic

47 notes · View notes

daphnegeeksout · 6 years

Text

If You Were Here (4/9) [Tony Stark x Reader]

Read it on AO3

By: daphnethewriter

It’s hard to live this way… to only see someone through the other side of a screen. Tony stumbles across a computer bug that’s more than just a bug. You need his help, but first you need to win his trust. Hopefully you can do it before time runs out.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Words: 2,219 Chapters: 4/9 Language: English

Chapter 4

Tony watches your hologram pace the edge of the observation area. He suspects you do it for his benefit, since you can't actually have nervous ticks. It's just one of the tiny ways in which you try to be human. The little connections like that get to him.

<What's the point of using anesthesia?> you ask.

"It's just a precaution," Tony says.

"You don't know that." He leans into his chair, looping his arms over the backs of the seats beside him. "Maybe you'll be sucked back in at any moment. You don't really want to wake up with your skull missing."

Your hologram moves to the side of the observation room to peer into the surgical area below. Again, it's pointless. You can view the surgery perfectly well from the cameras placed there. This is you interacting. He's noticed that you do that when you're nervous. You put your hologram in his presence, seeking his attention.

"Dr. Cho is the best," he says, an attempt at reassurance. "She knows what she's doing."

"Strange would have taken one look at your scan and written off the entire thing. You still look braindead on paper. At least Helen knows that you're real."

You grumble and the hologram sits in the seat next to Tony. It's bald now, an update you made that morning when Tony shaved your head for the surgery. He thought you would put up more of a fight, but you shrugged and assured him it wasn't the edgiest look you've ever had.

The surgery is painstaking, moving by inches and Tony contracts some of your antsy behavior. He would prefer to be in his lab, but, with the mesh created, there's nothing for him to do there now. He knew that you would be here, wanting to see how things turn out.

"So, what's the first thing you're going to do when you get your body back?" Tony asks. It's a loaded question. Will you stay? Will you leave me?

<Eat everything,> you say, completely circumventing his thoughts. <Just get really, really fat. I miss Thai food. And pizza. And eggrolls. And Dim Sum. Ooh, and ice cream cake.> Tony laughs and your hologram smiles, a sort of sheepish gesture.

"Your grandma will be happy to see you," he says. The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He tries not to dwell on the thought of what happens after this, when you leave and your laughter no longer fills the lab, when he can't count on your hologram popping up beside him the second he needs something.

Your hologram rests her chin in her hand. Behind her ear, revealed when Tony had run the razor over it, is a lotus flower tattoo. Another playful smirk and Tony's heart clenches.

The anchor mesh that Tony created floats in a bath of sterile liquid, shimmering under the blaring lights of the surgical room. Dr. Cho removes the back of your skull, exposing your brain to the sterile air of the room. She places the mesh through the opening, allowing the material to sink into the folds of your brain.

"I'm going to need you to wear the Stark Industries logo for the rest of your life," Tony says. "I hope that's okay."

Your hologram smiles. <If this works, Tony, I will let you personally tattoo your logo on me wherever you like.>

"I'll hold you to that. Five by three inches. You think you have that much spare skin?"

Tony smiles. He can't worry now about what you will do once you're back to yourself. There is a more important piece of the puzzle to place now. With the mesh implanted, he can move on to the software phase. How is he going to make the transfer without accidentally deleting you?

Tony sits at his computer, like a composer at a piano. His fingers dance over the keys, weaving code from thin air. The software will configure the mesh that now wraps your brain like a present. It's the final piece that will let you make the jump between your digital and physical homes.

<Tony, no, that's not going to work,> you say, halting his cursor as Tony started another unnecessary subroutine.

"Quit erasing while I'm typing or I'll boot you from the system again," he says.

If you had eyes, you'd roll them. As it was, you were immersed in Tony's code, not bothering with the holographic form for once. Tony wouldn't be paying attention to it anyway. <That's counter-productive and you know it.>

"Just let me get it down, okay? Can I get it down, just once, before you jump all over it?"

"I am not doing it wrong. If you would just let me finish—" He springs one of his many traps (when does he make these things?) and you're too preoccupied for a moment to micromanage his coding.

<Fine,> you say, relinquishing your hold on his computer. You flit into the surrounding lab, twirling one of the bots in a lazy circle as you pass. He's been at this for a few weeks now. You hadn't expected it to take that long. Tony is living mostly off of coffee at this point. His usually neatly groomed goatee has turned a little scraggly, grown in with scruff. He's focused on this and all for you.

Meanwhile, you're trying not to think about what happens next—which is hard because you can process dozens of thoughts in a second. The next phase is all up to chance and your own abilities. Bruce thinks that the survival instincts of your body will stay intact. You shouldn't have to worry about getting your breathing and heartbeat under control right away, but that is not certain.

In theory, in theory. It's all theory. Nothing like this has been attempted. You can't run any tests. You can't try it then back out if it doesn't work. It's possible you'll get stuck somewhere in between. You don't know if the way your brain works will even be compatible with… whatever you are now.

But staying here isn't acceptable any more. You can't bear this, sitting on one side of the screen while Tony sits on the other. You've seen his fingers linger on the back of your hand and you want to feel it.

12:55 am.

Tony sits back from his workbench and the lab falls into silence for the first time in days. You perk up from where you'd nestled in the background processes of the Avengers' system, monitoring him, but otherwise keeping your profile out of the way. You whir to life, conjuring the hologram back into being.

<Are you done?> You lean your holographic form over his shoulder, as if you're looking at his work.

"Yeah." The word is hushed, oddly subdued for Tony.

You flit through the program, feeling it in a way you couldn't describe to Tony even if you could describe it to yourself. The pieces settle together like interlocking fingers, a safety net of purpose. Done. It's done. You can go home now.

Tony stands abruptly. "I'll get Bruce."

You disentangle yourself from the program to focus on him. <Right now?>

"You want to get this done as soon as possible." Tony's standing a little too stiffly, his voice tilting higher than normal.

<Yeah, but… right now?> After weeks of waiting, everything is falling into place. Why… why aren't you jumping at this?

What if it doesn't work? What if you really do get lost in the space between where you are now and where you're supposed to be? What if… what if you don't ever get to see Tony through actual eyes?

"Don't worry," Tony says. "Check it over. I'll get Bruce and we'll have you sorted out in no time."

'No time' turns out to be fifteen minutes, woefully little time to prepare yourself. Faced with two paths of possibility—humanity on one side, oblivion on the other—things you hadn't thought to say well up. Tony and Bruce stand in the medical suite with your body. Everyone else is asleep. You prefer it that way. If you don't make it through this… well, at least, fewer people will witness your death.

"Ready?" Tony calls to the room. He rubs his hands together.

No, you're not ready. There are things you need to say. Thank you, for one. Sorry, for another. Tony put so much effort into this. He really gave you his all. If this doesn't work out… you'll be the one leaving him. There won't be any piece of you left to comfort him—and you know he'll never forgive himself

<Tony,> you say. Your voice is uncertain.

"You can tell me after you come through." He's busy double-checking the monitors even though he's done that already.

<Yeah, but, just in case something goes wrong—>

"Nothing's going to go wrong," he says. "You double-checked everything yourself."

<Tony, I—>

"I'll see you on the other side."

<…Okay.> Why can't you just fucking say it? 'Thank you for everything' 'I'm sorry if I die. It's not your fault'. Is that so hard?

He flips switches, watches as his servers whir to life. There's one shot at this. If you don't get back into your body this time… well, that's not worth thinking about. You double-checked his math. And his math is always right.

"It's all up to you." He activates the program.

The lights in the room dim with an audible hum. Tony looks around, but the machines are still holding. So far, so good. Another switch, another stage. Your body convulses with the current of electricity that flows through it, the current that should allow you to make the leap back into your own biological circuitry. The hum grows as power surges through the system. Tony feels a flutter where the arc reactor used to sit in his chest. With a last surge, the lights in the room grow brilliant, then go out completely.

"Tony…" Bruce says.

"It's okay." Tony rolls in his chair over to the other console. "I thought this might happen."

The backup power kicks in and the lights come on. Tony looks expectantly to you. You lie in the bed, still as ever. Your chest rises and falls with the rhythmic beep of the monitor.

Maybe you didn’t go through…? "Cheshire?" he calls to the empty space of the ceiling. No answer. Tony wheels to your side. "Rise and shine. Time to get up." He pushes down the panic that rises in his chest. He runs his fingers over your cheek. You don't respond. The lights on the monitor don't respond. A flicker of doubt flashes in his mind.

"Tony…" Bruce warns.

"It's okay." Tony's hand goes to your shoulder. "It might take a minute for her to get settled. Reboot or whatever." He ignores Bruce taking your wrist in his hand, feeling your pulse.

Bruce looks to the EKG. "Tony, there's nothing—"

"Just—" Tony stops and swallows the panic in his voice. "Just, give her a minute."

A minute passes. An hour passes. Your condition doesn't change. Tony paces the edge of the room while Bruce sits dutifully at your side, watching the EKG.

Tony returns to your side to take your hand. "Come on, baby," he says, realizing he'd used the endearment only after it had slipped off his tongue. He'll overanalyze that later. "Don't do this to me." He holds your hand in his, his lips pressed to the soft skin of your fingers, the lace pattern that covers your knuckles. The beeps on the monitor stutter. Tony looks up at it, eyes wide with hope. Then his heart plummets as the line on the monitor becomes erratic.

Bruce moves in front of him. "She's going into cardiac arrest."

Tony stands by helplessly as Bruce preps you, moving over your form with medical precision. When he pulls out the defibrillator, Tony's brains surges forward as if it had been jumpstarted. "No! If you do that, you'll fry the connectors!"

Bruce shoves him off. "If I don’t, she'll die."

Tony staggers back, suddenly struggling to find oxygen where there had been plenty before. He had thought he might lose you, but not—not really. Not without saying goodbye.

Bruce shocks you three times. Three agonizing moments for Tony, watching as the current surges through your body—every muscle seizing—and rips through the fragile mesh that connects your consciousness to your body, frying every connection that holds you in a physical form. Destroying every thread that could bring you back to him.

In the end, he leaves the room.

"Tony—" Bruce calls after him, but Tony ignores it.

What's the point? Bruce saved you. Your body is alive, but only a vessel. Now, there is nothing that could ever fill it.

Tag List:

@abovethesmokestacks @winterboobaerchen @netflixa

If you would like to be added or removed from the tag list, please let me know.

#tony stark #avengers #ironman #tony x reader #fanfiction

2 notes · View notes