#i also drew everyone from memory and this was like my second time drawing edward little so yeah

[lisondraws]

Voulez vous?

Modern AU Terror rough comic I made in like 3 hours one evening last month because I was like so angry that day and I needed to create something.

I've been practicing comics lately so making one seemed like a good idea, and it did calm me down, so! win-win!

(modern AU where they're all teachers and Fitzjames always throws crazy parties, made with my dear @merlintintintin over the past few months)

[aiorevelations]

A Number, Not a Name part 11!

Everyone’s on a collision course and we’re getting closer and closer to the climax. 🙈😶😁Hopefully you all can keep up with what’s going on. We know what happens and even we’re finding ourselves 😱 by these twists and turns. 🤪😆 Hope you enjoy! 💓

Chapter 11: Bound to the Dark

A week earlier:

Milena walked quickly on the cobbled pavement, her eyes scanning every direction to make note of the people gathered in the alleyway. Her right hand was placed directly over her gun, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. Around her tall dark buildings cast their darkened shadows on the ground, illuminated by the nearly full moon that hung in the night sky.

Milena stopped outside of an old bar, her eyes focusing on the sign fastened above the door. Almost all of the letters had gone out, leaving only the “k” and “o” of “Zakázáno” illuminated. Her father had once told her the meaning of the word. If she recalled correctly “Zakázáno” meant “Forbidden” in Czech yet the passage of time had clouded her memory. She walked into the establishment and up to the wooden bar at the back of the room. The bartender placed the glass she was drying behind the counter and turned her attention to Milena.

“Hello. What can I get you? We just got a new shipment of rum in, all the way from Cuba. Though of course, it’ll cost you extra.” The woman grabbed another wet glass and started drying it off.

“No thanks. I’m not here for a drink. I was hoping to see Emin. Is he around?”

“Yeah, he’s around. But he’s busy going over the books.”

“It’s rather urgent that I see him. I have some important business to discuss.”

The woman placed the glass she was holding on the counter and sighed. “Fine. I’ll take you to see him. But he better not fire me for this.” She walked from behind the counter and motioned for Milena to follow her. “This way.”

The two of them walked through a swing door marked “Employees Only” and down a winding hall. At the end of the hallway was a door marked “Private” which Dalita knocked on.

A few seconds passed and an answer came through the door “Yes?”

Dalita opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt Emin. But this woman here said she had some urgent business with you.”

Emin started collecting and stacking the papers and bills spread across his desk. “Fine. Send her in.”

She turned back toward Milena “He’ll see you.”

Milena entered the office. Dalita closed the wood door behind her and started making her way back to the bar. Milena sat down in the seat across from Emin. He folded his hands together on the desk. “Judging by how anxious you were to see me I assume you’re here for my ‘other’ services.”

Milena slightly smirked. “You could say that.”

…..

Dalita reached the bar counter and picked up the still-wet glass she had left there minutes earlier. She looked up as she heard the creaky door to the bar open and saw a familiar face walk towards her. The blond-haired woman had become one of her most regular customers as she had frequented the bar many nights over the last few months. From the consuming look of pain that from time to time shone in her eyes, Dalita suspected the woman had suffered a significant amount of suffering in her life, pain which she tried as much as possible to drown out and forget.

“The usual?” Dalita asked as the woman reached the counter.

“Yeah,” she softly replied.

Dalita poured the woman a shot of vodka and pushed the glass across the counter to her. The woman picked the glass up and quickly downed its contents. The woman placed the glass back down on the counter and reached into her pocket to grab some cash. She placed the money down on the bar and walked silently away from the counter. Dalita’s gaze followed the woman for a few moments before she turned her attention to the other customers making their way to the bar.

The blond-haired woman walked to the right side of the bar and then quickly glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching her. She went through the swing doors and quietly stepped closer and closer to Emin’s office. She came to the wooden office door and could make out the voices coming from behind it. She reached into her pocket, careful not to make a sound, and pulled out a listening device. She as quietly as possible knelt down to the floor and slid the device under the door. She stood up and made her way back down the hall, Milena and Emin’s words clearly transmitting in her earpiece.

…..

Emin sat back in his leather chair and wryly chucked, taken aback by Milena’s request. “Look, I'm in the business of making new deals. Setting up deals. Enforcing deals. Do you see a pattern here? I stay in my lane, my ‘clients’ stay in theirs. And so far it’s been working out pretty well for me.” He leaned closer to Milena. “That last thing I’m doing is giving out some info on one of my biggest customers.” Emin took a cigar and lighter out from one of his desk drawers. He lit the cigar, placed it in his mouth, and tossed the lighter back in the drawer. The gentleman took a few puffs and continued speaking. “Now if we’re talking gin or an M14 that I can always provide.”

Milena remained silent and stared directly at Emin. She reached into her pocket and threw a large brown envelope on the desk. Emin placed his cigar down on an ashtray and reached forward and dragged the envelope closer to himself. He eyed it almost suspiciously and then opened it.

“This amount should be sufficient to change your tune,” Milena remarked.

Emin scanned the money and smirked. “I’m flattered. I thought only high-ranking officials could be bribed with such an amount.”

“Consider it a very generous contribution to your business.”

He began sliding the envelope back towards Milena “One which I’ll have to refuse.”

“Really?” she asked, a hint of anger in her voice.

“Yes. Now unless there’s anything else. I really am busy here” he firmly replied.

Milena picked up the envelope and shook her head slightly as she stared down at it in her hand. She chuckled and looked up at Emin, her eyes deathly cold. “If I were in your shoes I wouldn’t even consider saying no.” She stood from her seat. “It would be a shame for something to happen to that lovely little girl of yours. Eva right?”

Emin quickly shot up from his seat. Milena drew her gun and pointed it at his chest.“Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re going to sit back in that chair and behave like a good little boy. Got it?” she snapped.

“You really expect me to believe this charade. To just let you just come in here and make these baseless threats.”

“You’d better be careful what you say next. You see when it comes to such matters like this I’m much more level-headed than my partner. One more insult from you and who knows what he’d do. Also as for this whole threat being ‘baseless,’ I think Eva may have something to say about that.”

Emin’s eyes focused on Milena’s left hand as she took her phone from her pocket and turned up its volume. From the speaker came the voice of a little girl, crying. “Where’s my Daddy? I want my Daddy.” Emin felt the blood drain from his face as heard the sound of his little girl fill the room.

Another voice, that of an older man, came through the speaker “Now sit still and be good. You’re Daddy’s coming soon I’m sure.” Emin reluctantly sat back in his chair, glaring at Milena. All he wanted was to be able to wipe that smirk off her face, but as long as his daughter’s life hung in the balance that wasn’t an option.

Melina turned off the phone and placed it back in her pocket. “Now what deal did Tarek Matthins make with you?” She kept the gun steadily aimed at Emin.

Emin sighed. “Matthins arranged for Dalmar to meet with two renowned arms dealers next Thursday. Edward Delucas and Melinda Tylerson. They’re two of the best in business. It was clear Matthins and I weren’t meant to say much but from what he said I got the impression that the proposed deal is rather large. One of the largest I’ve ever arranged in fact. That— that’s all I have.” Emin hoped against hope that the woman standing in front of him would believe his words. He knew that if faced with the choice of keeping his daughter safe or not revealing the true nature of his work, he would choose his daughter every time. He prayed it would not come to that.

Melina pulled out a small black device. She slammed it on the oak desk in front of Emin. He scanned it for a moment. His eyes widened as he realized what the device was; a voice-activated recorder. Milena pressed a small button on the recorder’s side and Erik heard the sound of his voice fill his office. “The deal with Matthins is set for next Thursday. 2362 and 1131 will make contact with him at Zimmerman’s Toy Shop in Bulin. His code sign will be Zeta Delta Gamma 7104.”

The voice of a woman sounded in response through the speaker. “Excellent 4925. Headman will be pleased to hear of your report. You’ll be contacted when necessary.”

“Understood.” The recording ended leaving Emin and Milena in silence.

Milena once again sat down in front of Emin and pulled back the safety of her gun. “What about now?”

…..

Present-day:

Tasha and Jason made their way up the marble steps of the Bulin Meeting Hall. All around they were surrounded by throngs of men and women who pressed and crowded together through the arching doorway, eager to hear Dalmar’s words. The night air was filled with lively discussion and passionate chants of “No longer silenced, freedom for Krudia.” The fiery impassioned political rally was unlike anything Tasha and Jason had ever seen and an uneasy reminder of the power Dalmar had grasped in Krudia. After a significant amount of time had elapsed they were finally able to make their way inside the hall. The two of them had barely taken a seat when Dalmar was announced onstage. As he came into view thunderous applause and cheers erupted from the boisterous crowd. Some in the audience whistled, others hollered, and even a few wiped away tears from their eyes. He wore a dark blue houndstooth tweed three-piece suit, tailored to fit him perfectly, and his gray thinning hair was slicked back. Dalmar reached the podium and gave a crooked smile and wave to his mass of loyal supporters. Cameras flashed as the crowd tried to capture this moment of acknowledgment. Tasha opened her purse and pulled out her pen. She snapped several shots of Dalmar, followed by others of the large crowd. Once finished she placed the pen back into her purse. The audience continued their deafening applause until Dalmar held up his hand to signal them to come to a stop. He cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. “To my fellow citizens of Krudia, it is with profound gratitude and great humility that I stand before you here tonight and accept your unwavering support. We stand on the eve of election day. A day we will decide what future we want for this country…”

Jason leaned over to Tasha and whispered in her ear. “I’ll give him this. He sure has great fashion sense.”

“I’ll be sure to ask for the name of his designer.”

“Would you? Thanks. I was thinking a five-piece, black…herringbone pattern would be nice.”

“Sure. I’ll send you the suit…along with the bill.” She smirked.

“You know on second thought, it’s really not my style” he shrugged.

“Mmm-hmm right.” She playfully responded.

“You mind passing me your bag?” he asked quickly, attempting to change the subject.

“Here you are.” She held her brown handbag out to him.

“Thanks,” Jason said as he took the purse from her. He opened it and pulled out the black pen. “Like you said you can never have enough evidence.”

“Glad to see you’re taking my advice to heart” she coyly smiled.

“Just don’t let it go to your head.” Jason teasingly responded as he started taking more photos of the event.

Dalmar leaned forward, his hand resting on the podium. “We must demand our rights. We must demand reform. We must demand change.” He paused and stopped for a brief moment. The audience barely made a sound as they wanted to ensure they heard Dalmar’s every word. “We can no longer be silent, we deserve our freedom.” Cheers and applause once again erupted from the crowd along with the chant of “No longer silenced, freedom for Krudia.”

Near the back of the audience, a blond-haired woman quietly sat. Her full attention was on the sight in front of her. Her eyes weren’t focused on Dalmar but rather on the auburn-haired woman and brown-haired man who sat merely a few rows in front of her. For her, they were the key.

…..

A few miles away from the meeting hall an Aston Martin pulled up in front of an abandoned warehouse. Except for a few street lights that dotted the landscape Bulin’s infamous Warehouse District was left in a shroud of darkness and shadows. Milena glanced out the driver’s window and saw three darkened shadows waiting for her by the rusted metal door of the warehouse. At least they’re punctual. Milena opened the car door and stepped into the street. Once she reached the men, one of them stepped closer to her. “Ms. Blagueur-Ohanyan, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance” he mockingly bowed.

Milena kept a blank expression on her face. Another man, it appeared to Milena the oldest of the three, spat some tobacco juice on the ground and spoke. “So what can we do for you, Your Majesty” he sneered.

Milena pulled out a brown envelope from her black overcoat and threw it on the ground. “What do you think? I need your services” she snarkily snapped.

The other man, the youngest of the three, bent down and picked up the envelope. He handed it to the oldest gentleman. He opened the package and scanned its contents. The man closed the envelope and tucked it in his jacket. “You must really hate this person. But hey I’m not complaining.”

“Now I need them alive.”

The man gave a fake laugh. “Alive huh? Well, that’s gonna cost you extra.”

“Fine.” Milena reached back into her pocket and handed the gentlemen another sealed envelope.

The man quickly took the envelope and also placed it in his jacket.“So who are the lucky people?”

Milena pulled out a picture and handed them to the gentleman. The hitmen all scanned the photograph. It was of a man and a woman who each appeared to be in their early twenties. The man had brown hair and striking blue eyes, while the woman had auburn hair and her eyes were a deep green. The man placed the images in his other pocket. “Time and place?” The oldest man asked.

“Tomorrow night. The Chardell.”

[shirlleycoyle]

That Time $50 Used Apple Laptops Caused a Stampede

A version of this post originally appeared on Tedium, a twice-weekly newsletter that hunts for the end of the long tail.

There’s been a lot in the news lately about kids trying to embrace the weird world of remote learning.

The problem is that the technology, while it’s ready to handle such use cases, isn’t as accessible on a universal scale as it needs to be.

To put it another way: Many school districts, due to budget considerations, still do not give away laptops or tablets to every student in the way that most employers give their employees a laptop (or possibly even a phone). We may believe the children are our future, but good luck getting someone to put in a down payment on a decent computer during a pandemic.

The truth is, though, that this has always been a challenge. The pandemic simply puts it into sharp relief.

Back in 2005, another strange situation put this into sharp relief—although that situation was a bit more manmade. 

Let’s go back to the time a school district decided to sell its old iBooks for $50, and the havoc that decision wrought.

23,000

The number of iBooks that Apple supplied to Henrico County, Virginia in 2001, in two separate shipments—one for high schoolers and one for middle schoolers. The plan, which was timed to the 2001 announcement of the white polycarbonate iBook G3 “Snow,” reflected how the county school district, outside of Richmond, was ahead of its time on technology, having purchased the proverbial “laptop for every student” at a time when computers in the classroom for most meant having a well-stocked computer lab. “This is the mammoth–the single largest sale of portable computers in education ever,” Steve Jobs said in a news release at the time. (That said, it does appear that many of the laptops Henrico County received were of the older first-gen iBook style, akin to the original iMac.)

How Henrico County became an iBook innovator before it became a weird footnote

There are two stories about the Henrico County, Virginia school district worth discussing in the context of computing history: The fact that the school may have been one in the first in the country to give a laptop to nearly every student, and what happened to those laptops after the district decided to upgrade.

The first is a story about a forward-thinking district leveraging its largesse for the purposes of equipping its student body for the future. The second, unfortunately, kind of has a Lord of the Flies-type vibe.

Let’s spend a little time talking about the first part, because it really was an innovative program. In 2001, Henrico County entered into a lease-to-own program with Apple, at a cost of $18.5 million, to supply an entire district with laptops. Dr. Mark Edwards, the superintendent of the Henrico County School District, spoke positively of the program when it was first launched.

“The iBook is going to change education in terms of how we teach and learn,” Edwards said in a promotional video for the second-generation iBook. “It’s a tool for collaboration; it’s a tool for invention, for exploration. With that, we developed a vibrant learning community where everyone is a learner and everyone is a teacher.”

The Apple deal had ripple effects—other nearby schools, such as Lindsay Middle School further down Interstate 64 in Hampton, Virginia, also started experimenting with laptops around this time, and other districts across the country started using laptops at slightly smaller scales. Apple’s long-standing push toward education, which helped keep the company afloat even during lean years, seemed like it was getting a few successful hits thanks to the iBook.

(Heck, Apple even developed its own specialized cart for holding the laptops when they were not in use, for schools that didn’t want students to take them home.)

But being an educational setting, there were (of course!) hiccups in Henrico County. While the program drew positive initial headlines, it gained its first hint of notoriety after 50 to 60 students were caught downloading porn on their machines—which (of course!) led to news coverage. One concerned parent let his opinion on the laptops be known.

“We have given them adult equipment—tools,” he said in comments to the Richmond Times-Dispatch. “We have given them to kids who are using them as toys. We’re passing it down the line to kids who aren’t quite ready to use it and they’re going ape.”

And students were attempting to hack into the school district’s systems to change grades.

But Henrico County was willing to correct mistakes as needed. The wired network, which the teachers largely used, was separated from the wireless one that the students did. And in a 2002 article about the laptop program, Henrico schools technology director Mike Smith noted that the district had pretty good content filtering—an upgraded version that was 95 to 98 percent effective. He was a realist about the other 2 to 5 percent.

“The porn industry wants to get to children,” he told the Associated Press in 2002. “As long as that’s the case, you’re never going to be able to block 100 percent of it.”

All in all, pretty much what you would expect for the launch of a laptop program for classrooms in 2001.

$4M

The amount that Dell reportedly undercut Apple in a successful bid in 2005 to win the laptop contract for high-school students that Apple had earned for the iBook sale in 2001. (The middle-school contract largely stayed in place.) While the county said it valued its relationship with Apple, that deal was expensive to keep—and by the time the district started working with Dell, it had spent $43.6 million with Apple over four years.

A white second-generation iBook G3. Image: Wikimedia Commons

The day that Henrico County’s wide-scale iBook experiment turned ugly

When it comes to computers in highly organized contexts like education or business, there’s a constant need to upgrade. Generally, the cycle is around three years, maybe longer if your budget is tight.

With Henrico County, the cycle was about four years. I know this because of the strange situation that happened at the Richmond International Raceway on August 16, 2005. On that day, the county held a surplus sale in which the district sold these laptops, which originally went for around $1,400 new, for the bargain-basement price of $50.

The news stories, which got significantly more international press than the original agreement between Henrico County and Apple did, implied that desperation was driving the people trying to get these computers. People got trampled. Some needed medical care. Someone lost their sandal during the melee. One person wet themselves while waiting in line.

But these were $50 wireless-enabled computers at a time when, if you went to the Apple Store, $49 could buy you a mouse. For many families without access to technology, the value proposition spoke for itself.

Still, these laptops were fairly out of date at the time, but not to the point of uselessness. While you could get online with them, they would likely be quite pokey with the latest version of Mac OS X at the time, 10.4 Tiger. And they were soon to be made completely obsolete by the transition away from PowerPC announced two months prior.

And again, these were laptops used by high schoolers in all states of disarray. This may have been the most expensive thing a young teen ever owned, and odds are high that they’re going to break it. If a kid got a hold of a lighter and used it to melt down some of the plastic, or decided to draw on the back with a permanent marker, all that stuff was still there.

But they were computers, and they worked. And for some people, that’s all that mattered.

Now, surplus programs are generally not promoted very much, are low-key affairs, and are ways to get a computer on the cheap.

But that’s not what happened in Richmond. It was announced publicly, including on the school district’s website, and promoted to the media. A passage from the announcement:

A unique opportunity is available from Henrico County Public Schools. Used Apple iBook laptop computers will be on sale for $50 each, with a one-per-person limit. The one-day sale will be held Tuesday, Aug. 9 from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.

One thousand laptops will be sold at the school warehouse—361 Dabbs House Road beside the Eastern Government Center—on a first-come, first-serve basis. Only cash or checks will be accepted.

The white, Power PC 750s with 12-inch screens have 320 megabytes of memory, Mac OS 10.2.8, and AppleWorks 6.2.9.

The public announcement that the district was getting rid of a thousand iBooks created a frenzy, one that spread far beyond the school district’s borders and hit the international news. For one thing, Apple blogs drew attention to the event, and Apple fans are crazy, so many of them legitimately discussed traveling long distances to get a $50 laptop.

While the school district managed the devices while they were still in the classroom, the Henrico County government handled their sale and disposal, and did so in a fairly haphazard way.

Trying to find images or video of this thing that happened was surprisingly hard; I couldn’t even find video of the incident. Here’s a contemporary screenshot of a news report at the time. Image:  Internet Archive

Case in point on this issue: A quote from a guy who was beating people with a lawn chair in an effort to protect his spot in line.

“I took my chair here and threw it over my shoulder and I went, ‘Bam,’” the guy said. “They were getting in front of me, and I was there a lot earlier than them, so I thought that it was just.”

(That quote was enough to draw the attention of famed Microsoft blogger Raymond Chen, who deadpanned of the man’s claim, “That’s one of the guiding principles this country was founded on.”)

If anything, the overwhelmed reaction to the iBooks reflected something basic: While Henrico County did its students a lot of good by purchasing these laptops, and put in a lot of work to acquire them and run its program, the program did not go far enough. The school district spent tens of millions of dollars on these machines, and when they were spent, the district tried to extend their life in the most haphazard way possible.

The district didn’t even bother to limit the sale to county residents until it started getting attention on Apple blogs. And by then, the buzz around the selloff all but guaranteed a bad result.

Looking at it now, the tragedy of the situation is much more clear: There were lots of people in its community that could use these machines, and even selling them for cheap left people out. A quote from Paul Proto, the director of general services for Henrico County, seemed telling to a degree, a general misunderstanding of the situation.

“It's rather strange that we would have such a tremendous response for the purchase of a laptop computer—and laptop computers that probably have less-than-desirable attributes,” Proto said to the Associated Press. “But I think that people tend to get caught up in the excitement of the event—it almost has an entertainment value.”

Yes, that is probably the most common, least charitable interpretation of what happened that day. But on the other hand, what if that value was handed off to people who needed it the right way, say, through a nonprofit like Goodwill?

This was the age before the smartphone, when real internet access required a computer. I imagine some of these people just wanted a way to get online, or at the very least, an extra machine to tinker with or hand off to their kids.

One has to wonder if we are too quick to throw off good technology just because it’s outdated.

3.8%

The approximate value that the iBook G3 devices sold by Henrico County kept over four years, based on their $1,299 list price in 2001 and $50 selling price in 2005. (One presumes that Apple gave the school district a discount.) That means that someone who started high school in Henrico County in 2001 saw the laptop that got them through four years of school lose 96 percent of its value through normal use. Can you imagine an equivalent device depreciating at the same rate today?

We’re 15 years past the Henrico County stampede, with a bigger need for older devices than ever. And we’re struggling to manage them correctly

Part of the reason I found myself reflecting on this story was a discussion I had with a Twitter pal of mine, John Bumstead, a recycler and reseller who specializes in old Apple equipment through his company RDKL, Inc.

Bumstead often sees old machines like vintage iBooks and MacBooks pass through his purview, many of which are good enough to reuse. But for many recyclers, there is often a cost/benefit equation at play. The way he put it to me involved electric drills getting taken to iBooks. At some point, the value equation may mean even working machines find their way to the scrap heap—because its raw materials are worth more than the machine itself.

“Recyclers have the unenviable task of deciding the fate of millions of devices—scrap it, or if it’s valuable enough as what it is (a usable computer), sell it to those who would repair/refurbish,” he explained in an interview. “A laptop has about a $10 scrap value, meaning if its parts are broken down (plastic, board, screen, battery, metal), the material can be sold for about $10.”

Perhaps the saddest examples, at least on the Apple side, are the “cloud-locked” machines, which are otherwise perfectly functional but made useless by anti-theft functions contained in iCloud. Many customers get rid of their devices without turning off this functionality, and the result is that phones, iPads, even modern laptops are of no resale value beyond the worth of their metal.

During normal times, stuff like this is already bad enough. But we’re facing a historic need for computers—particularly those just powerful enough to get a 7-year-old through a virtual learning session while working remote. And computing disparities can remove learning gains. While many schools have options like Chromebooks and iPads available, many others do not.

Bumstead notes that, as a non-certified refurbisher, he’s often not put up against the more stringent standards for certification. While it limits his access to machines from more traditional supply chains, in a way, this has put him in an unusual situation where he ends up taking the machines deemed not good enough for other recyclers—often polycarbonate MacBooks that can still access the modern Internet and still work just fine with a little TLC, but are more than a decade past their sell-by date. (The video above explains his POV on this situation.)

“I’ve sold hundreds in the last few months to people using them for school. And the irony is that they came from schools, were retired to recyclers, became half-destroyed in the process … then I pieced them back together and sold them back into circulation for students of the schools to use,” he said. “It begs the question: Why didn’t the schools just continue using them? Or better yet, why didn’t they give them to students directly?”

As for the reaction Henrico County saw for its iBooks in 2005? Bumstead gets it, based on what he sees in the modern day. For many buying these machines, the need for technology often outpaces their knowledge of what makes a good gadget for their given situation. While the technically inclined might find value in the dumpster, expectations need to be set when it comes to things like laptops with working webcams and functional Wi-Fi.

“People simply don’t know what they are buying; they are simply mesmerized by the Apple symbol,” he said. “And unfortunately at a time like this, that probably leads to them getting ripped off.”

I don’t talk about this much, but there was a brief period of my adult life where I didn’t have a working home computer. It was maybe about four or five months.

And the reason that it happened comes down to a known GPU fault in the iBook G4 I had at the time. The problem hit during the worst possible time: In early 2006, amid a transition period of my life, after I had left a bad roommate situation. I was broke, and I had recently moved halfway across the country, so I got rid of a bunch of stuff before I left town, including my old desktops. Student loan bills were starting to really hit for the first time. And while I had a good job in newspapers, it was simply going to take some time to raise the money I needed to replace the dang thing.

If I had technical knowledge at the time, I perhaps could have fixed it. But the laptop was second-hand and didn’t have AppleCare, and I was hundreds of miles from the nearest Apple Store. So, instead, I kind of had to live without it. I stayed longer hours at work to handle computing-related things, and went home, and just watched Stephen Colbert and the series finale of Arrested Development. (Which, famously, ran against the Winter Olympics.)

And because I was a sucker, when I finally saved up enough money, I bought the exact same machine—this time, however, with AppleCare.

I’m sure I joked about the iBook riots online in 2005. Heck, everyone did. Had this happened when Twitter was around, it potentially could have been a far bigger pop-culture moment than the footnote it became.

But I kind of look back at this time, knowing what I know about disparities and access, and I wonder if Henrico County—despite being visionaries around the role of technology in classrooms—realized after the fact how raw a deal it was giving to those in its community who were living without home access to modern technology.

It could have been a great moment. Instead, it was a disaster.

That Time $50 Used Apple Laptops Caused a Stampede syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

Moving On

Summary:After a hunt goes badly wrong, the Reader ends up in the hospital. She’s accepted what’s coming, but she’s having a hard time convincing Dean to let go. Sam says his goodbyes. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 3,235 Warnings: Angst. So much angst. Tears. Hair-rending. Etc. Reader death (see the summary). I bawled multiple times myself while writing this—and I think that’s the most accurate warning I can give. Author’s Note: I wrote this angsty thing because I was inspired by Ana (@just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms)’s “Shit My Patients Say” 2k Challenge where I chose the prompt: “Where are all the cute doctors?” and Angelina(@atc74)’s 1k Celebration where I picked the first stanza of “I’m Moving On” by Rascal Flatts (you should listen before reading…it definitely sets the mood). Both of these awesome challenges are still open at time of posting, and deadlines aren’t until May, so check them out! This fic is set during Season 3, when Dean’s soul is sold and Castiel isn’t in the picture yet. Apologies for any medical inaccuracies. Also for the tears.

What kind of ghost isn’t repelled by salt? And stays completely invisible?

You were hurt. The blood was running from several deep cuts, almost like claw marks that had sliced into your stomach, ripping the fabric of your jacket to shreds. Ripping your skin to shreds.

It didn’t move or sound like a hell hound—but that was your closest comparison.

Except that made no sense either.

You were hurt. And you were scared.

You stumbled into another room with one arm clenched around your stomach, and saw movement from the corner of your eye, a shadow that didn’t belong in the room. A shadow that was growing.

Ghosts didn’t cast shadows. Neither did hell hounds.

What the fuck was this thing?

“Y/N?! Where are you?”

You heard Sam and Dean down the hall. No way they’d get here before that shadow reached you.

“Here!”

You aimed your shotgun, useless as it seemed to be, and fired. Maybe it wouldn’t do anything more than draw the boys towards you, but at least you’d go down fighting.

The gun was knocked from your hand, and you were thrown across the room, landing on your back. You felt those claws sink into the flesh there and you couldn’t help the scream that forced its way out of your mouth.

Your legs went numb, but you could feel the blood pooling around you, could smell it in the air. You managed to glance up at the wall in front of you and saw the shadow of a hooded figure with fingers like Edward Scissorhands.

Then the door slammed open and Sam and Dean rushed in, Dean wielding his own salt-filled shotgun and Sam with an iron bar.

“Not a ghost!” You pointed at the wall, but the shadow was already moving, and the edges of the room were getting darker.

“Dean, it’s a daeva! Flare!”

What the hell was a daeva? The room wasn’t getting darker… you were passing out. Your vision was almost gone, your hearing getting fuzzy.

You heard the snap and saw a bright glare as one of the Winchesters lit a flare, then an unearthly yell as the whatever-it-was retreated.

You came to again when Dean picked you up off the floor, the pain in your back and stomach enough that you wanted to scream again, but all you could manage was a grunt.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. We’re gonna get you patched up, Y/N, just hang on. Hang on, baby.”

Then your world went dark and it didn’t matter anymore that your legs were useless.

You heard the steady beep of a heart monitor and smelled antiseptic.

Hospital.

At least you’d made it far enough to get to one; for a moment there you’d thought the lights were going out permanently….

“She’s coming around now.” That voice was wrong. Where was Dean? Sam?

You blinked your eyes open, your throat parched. Damn hospitals should make you feel better, not drain you.

The man in front of you was probably 70 if he was a day, and bald as a bowling ball. He had kind eyes though, and you tried to smile up at him as he checked your vitals, his little flashlight going back and forth over your pupils.

He didn’t smile back.

In your experience, when the doctor wouldn’t smile at the patient, there wasn’t going to be good news anytime soon.

“So, what’s the verdict doc?” Your head swiveled towards Dean. He was sitting right beside you, his hand tight on yours. Sam was standing behind him, his eyes worried and his brow furrowed.

“Y/N’s lost a lot of blood. We’re replacing it as fast as we can, but her injuries…the bear that mauled her severed her spinal cord between the T8 and T9 vertebrae. The damage to her intestines, stomach, liver, pancreas, and the blood vessels there are all massive.”

His voice was gruff, and you absorbed each word in a trance, your face completely blank.

“She’s paraplegic, and most of her organs are damaged so bad that, honestly, there’s nothing we can do. I’m frankly astonished that she’s awake at all.”

You turned your head towards Dean, watching the storm clouds gather across his face. Sam’s hand clenched on his brother’s shoulder, holding him in his seat, keeping him from reacting physically. You felt him grip your hand tighter and you drew in a shaky breath, oddly calm.

“How long do I have, Doctor?”

The old man’s kind blue eyes met yours and measured you in the quiet moment.

“A day? Maybe a week, if we kept you on the machines? Your heart and lungs were protected by your ribcage and sternum, but the rest of your internal organs…I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

He looked at the two men, then apologized quietly again before turning and leaving the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

No one knew what to say.

I mean, hunting was a deadly business. Everyone who was on the job, died on the job—usually bloody. It was understood.

But you’d never thought you’d get a chance to say goodbyes—where the hell did you even start?

You thought over what Dean would say if he were in your shoes, and you chuckled lightly.

“Where are all the cute doctors? Seriously, I get stuck with grandpa? What rotten luck.”

Sam’s smile was painful to watch. Dean didn’t even try, his eyes still dangerously dark.

You couldn’t look him in the eye. You couldn’t say goodbye to him. You looked up at Sam instead, not loosening your grip on Dean’s hand.

“So, what was that thing? You recognized it, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam cleared his throat, his hand going up to wipe over his mouth. “We tangled with one once before; it’s a daeva, a shadow demon from Zoroastrianism…. Hell hound with less training basically, controlled with powerful spell work. We used the flare to—“

“Y/N, I know what you’re doing.” Dean’s voice was low and steady, despite the fire in his eyes, and Sam stopped babbling immediately.

“Dean… it’s the gig. You know that. And if it’s my time, then—“

“Don’t give me that shit!” Dean was up on his feet and crossing the room, his arms crossed over his chest. He leaned against the wall, glaring at you.

“We are not giving up on you. And you are going to fight this until we find some Hoodoo man or… spell, or something.”

You looked over at Sam, who avoided your gaze, the chicken-shit. Fine.

“Dean, you know better than pretty much anyone, the miracle cures that do exist out there always come with a price tag.” You saw Sam wince at that, and knew it was a low blow, with Dean’s soul currently under contract for Sam’s miracle.

You’d met the Winchesters not long after that, and despite Dean being up front with you, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from falling for him. You knew it was doomed, but like Sam, you weren’t going to let Dean get dragged downstairs without a fight.

Who knew your time would run out before his?

God, you’d never wanted to do that to him. You felt the burden of blame for Dean’s heartbreak already—this might just finish him off. You had to get him to let you go.

“I’ve been a hunter for a long time, Dean—practically my entire life. I’ve dealt with my ghosts and faced all my demons. I’ve seen and done things in this life, lost loved ones… and I met you two. And you took me in. You helped me to finally be content with a past I regret. I was trapped in the past for too long—lost in revenge and blood. You gave me something to fight for.”

You took a deep breath.

“I love you, Dean. But I can’t stay like this,” you gestured to the beeping machines that were keeping your body alive right now, to the dead legs in front of you on the bed that you couldn’t move or feel at all.

Sam sniffed beside the bed and you looked over to find tears in his eyes. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to control himself, and your heart clenched in your chest.

“Sam—I didn’t mean for this to—“

“Don’t, Y/N. This isn’t your fault. If we had been with you…” He tightened his jaw, then nodded, “I’ll call Ruby; maybe she—“

“No, Sam.” Your voice didn’t have the slightest hesitation in it. Sam should have known better than to bring her up.

“I don’t trust that bitch. She’s poison, Sam.”

You swallowed your anger, not willing to let their last memory of you be a lecture.

“Look, I’ve made my decision. I’m moving on. And I need you two to make peace with that. Because it is my decision.”

Sam let that sit in the room for a second, then turned on his heel and followed the doctor out of the door. Knowing Sam, he was probably going to pace the hallways. He always felt less helpless when he was moving.

Neither Winchester handled helplessness easily.

“So… your decision is to leave me, leave us. To give up.”

Dean’s voice was angry. You knew it was masking his pain, his fear, his guilt. But you didn’t enjoy being called a quitter. Especially not by a man who’d traded his own life without blinking.

“Dean, for once, I’m at peace with myself. As far as ways to die go, this one isn’t so bad.” You hated how he winced at the word die. You hated how the word felt on your tongue.

You didn’t want to die!

You had more to do… you couldn’t leave them like this! You still hadn’t figured out how to save Dean.

But try as you might, you couldn’t see your way out of this one. And you couldn’t bear the idea of watching them try to find a solution to this and failing. That would kill Dean as surely as the hounds were going to try to.

Dean walked over to your bedside again, sitting down in the chair next to you with a heavy sigh.

“I can see straight through that bullshit, you know. You aren’t all zen right now about this, either. And you shouldn’t be. I want you pissed. I want you fighting. I want you—“

“To live? To get out of this bed and walk out of here with you? To whine and cry about the unfairness of life? To make sweet love to you, get married, and have kids, and…” you voice broke, “and grow old together? What the fuck kind of good would that do, Dean? I’m all but dead right now.” You finished on a whisper, “You might as well be talking to my ghost.”

You couldn’t hold back the bitter outburst, and felt bad about your moment of weakness as soon as it was out in the open.

Just because the situation was hopeless didn’t mean that admitting it made it any easier.

Dean stood up, grabbing your hand and leaning over you, his forehead resting on yours, his closeness and the scent of his breath working almost as well as the drugs coursing through your system—numbing your pain and making it easier to get a grip on yourself.

His instinct was to comfort, but you could feel the tension in his jaw, in the tight grip on your hand. You reached up with your other hand, threading it through the short hairs at the back of his head, holding him close to you as you closed your eyes, unable to stop the tears from sliding out from between your lids.

“No, baby, please, don’t—“

Dean’s voice was a rough whisper, and he was kissing away each tear drop as one fell after another. You sniffed loudly, trying to pull yourself together, trying to find that hard outer shell that every hunter develops to do the job. Trying to find strength enough to finish this damn goodbye and stop hurting the man you loved.

“Dean… you’ve got to let me go. I can’t stay like this. I’ve got to move on.”

Dean leaned back enough to look you in the eyes, his own green ones wet now with tears he didn’t want to let go.

“How, Y/N? How do I… I can’t just let you go….”

Your lip quivered without your permission and the tears started to fall again. Your brave Dean.

“I know, babe. You’ve never let anyone go—you’ve always fought for your loved ones, done everything you could to protect them. But this isn’t some monster you can kill for me. There’s no deal you can make that can save me.

“I’m going to die. I don’t want to leave you, especially not like this, but my reaper’s on the way… and, I’m going with it.” You gave him a shaky smile through the tears and little gaspy breaths that you were giving. “Hey, if I’m lucky, my heaven’s just going to be a lot of reruns with you anyway….The day we met and I kicked your ass.” Dean tried to smile at that, “That night at the lake in Michigan… That morning when you told me you loved me in Baby’s backseat….”

You let your voice trail off, slowly regaining control, stopping the tears through sheer force of will and stubbornness. Dean wiped away the one tear that had escaped down his cheek.

“What am I supposed to do, Y/N?” It was said so softly, it might have been rhetorical.

You pushed him gently, and he leaned back the rest of the way, sitting beside the dead lump that was your thigh. You were glad the bed had you sitting slightly up so you could look him in the eye easier.

“You give me a hunter’s funeral. You hunt down the sonofabitch that is controlling that daeva thing and get the revenge I know you’ll need. Then, Dean Winchester, you figure a way out of that damn deal. Just because I’m leaving, doesn’t mean you have to. Sam needs you. Hell, the world needs you both.

“And many, many, many years from now, when you finally do kick the bucket, you get your ass to my heaven so my reruns can become real. You hear me?”

Dean locked eyes with you, the pain in them almost enough to break your resolve. But you stayed strong. Because it was what he needed.

And it was what you needed too.

He linked his fingers through yours and nodded slightly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You had signed all of the necessary paperwork, removing yourself from the life support—basically pulling the plug on yourself. The doctor said he’d up your pain medication so your last minutes, or maybe hour or so, wouldn’t be in agony—which you were thankful for. Not so much for yourself, but for Sam and Dean’s sake.

You hadn’t been able to convince them to leave the room.

Though, maybe you hadn’t tried as hard as you should have.

The truth was, you didn’t want to die alone. You wanted them both there for as long as possible. And if that made you selfish, then so be it. You were about to die. You were entitled to be selfish one last time.

The doctor finished what he was doing with the machines, then stepped back, pulling the privacy curtain around you and the brothers.

This was it. God, you wished you knew what to say.

God, you wished you could stay—Stop it.

Sam was there, leaning over you, wrapping your torso up in one of his large bear hugs, his giant arms pulling you away from the bed gently to pull you into his broad chest.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and returned his hug, letting the tears fall as Sam held you close.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know how I would have kept sane in these last few months without you. Thank you for helping me with Dean, for….for…”

He broke off, leaning back and releasing you. You nodded, knowing what he meant, even if he couldn’t say it.

“Goodbye, Sam. Tell Bobby, Jo, and Ellen that I love them, and that I’ll look over each of you as much as I can…. Be careful, you big lug. Your brother needs you—and I need you to look after him for me, since I’m not going to be around to do it anymore, okay?”

Your voice was thick with tears again, and his started to roll down his face as he licked his lips, nodding his agreement.

Then he backed up and Dean moved in, sitting on the bed like he had earlier.

The two of you locked eyes, then looked away. It was awkward, with Sam there, and the old doctor just behind the curtain. Or maybe it was awkward because he was Dean and you were you.

The numbness of the pain medication was spreading up from your waist, and you hurried to think of something before you lost the chance forever.

I love you? He knew that already.

Thank you for everything? What was this, a Hallmark card?

“Dean…I….”

He shook his head slowly, leaning forward and placing the gentlest of kisses on your lips.

Fuck that. If you were dying, that was not going to be your last kiss.

You grabbed his head, holding him close as the tears streamed down your face, throwing every ounce of passion left in your sleepy body into the kiss—transforming every bit of love, pain, regret, and loss into that tangle of tears and tongues. Dean’s arms scooped under your shoulders, and he lost himself in the kiss too.

You broke apart, and your lungs struggled to breathe. The kiss? The medicine? Death?

How much longer did you have? He only had three months left.

“Dean, promise me—no matter what happens, don’t ever stop being you. My Dean. My brave, stubborn,” you cradled his face, and he did the same to you, “self-sacrificing, idiot Dean. You remember what’s important—family, and friends, and love. And you remember that it was worth it.”

You pressed your fingers into his face, forcing him to look into your eyes, to really listen to you. Your tears were drying on your cheeks, and you could feel the tracks clearly. There weren’t any left to cry. There was no time left anyway.

“You hear me, Dean Winchester. It was worth it. I wouldn’t trade a single damn minute. Not one. So you promise me.”

He cleared his throat. His voice was broken, and it broke your heart. “I promise, Y/N. I promise.”

And then Dean Winchester leaned down and placed his forehead on yours. You closed your eyes on that rickety uncomfortable hospital bed and breathed in your lover’s scent and gave permission for the numbness to take over the rest of you.

The darkness followed soon after, but you held onto Dean’s scent.

You held onto the sound of his breathing, the feel of his calloused hands cradling your face.

And when you took your last shuddering breath on Earth, when you moved on from this life, it was while you were in Dean Winchester’s arms.

And that was enough to hold onto for forever.

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