#About to start working on another ask compilation but I decided this one warranted its own post | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

baepop · 4 years

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Muse

You meet a quiet painter that helps you manage your anger.

Word Count: 4.7k

Pairing: You x Taehyung

Genre: Slight fluff, slight angst, Smut

A/N: I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I had to sit down and write it out this afternoon. I hope you guys like it 🥺

What are you thinking?

The pinkish hue of your cheeks had long subsided now, though the heaving in your chest still remained albeit at a minimal level. The part in your lips prevailed as well, if only to huff the stray hairs falling over your face occasionally.

The rest of your hair was sprawled across the back of his couch like wild seaweed. Your favorite necklace rested in the crook of your collarbone as the dainty chain tickled your sensitive neck. Goosebumps broke out across your arms as they, too, were strewn across the couch. Your pose wasn’t ideal, but you knew it was exactly how he wanted you, so you wouldn’t get up to close the window letting in a cold draft.

His apartment was quaint, a studio on the upper west side that resided above a bodega and a taqueria. You’ve had many opportunities to take it all in, yet somehow there was always something new to discover whenever your eyes wandered.

You pondered if this was all a big metaphor with some grand artistic meaning about how it somehow represented his mental state. How he, such a quiet and minimal person could be happy in such a cluttered apartment on one of the busiest streets in the city was beyond you. You peered at the ostentatious wallpaper juxtaposed with the exposed brick behind him. Paintings lent up against the walls on the ground, stacked against each other, even in the kitchen. Only one word came to mind: loud.

Your eyes eventually came back to him, and when they did, the pink hue returned except this time it was in the form of a blush. He had been eyeing you carefully, waiting to make eye contact with you. When you did, he shot you that lopsided smirk you knew so well before he returned to his canvas. It was his way of telling you to stop moving your head so much.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch again and didn’t move until he finally put his brush down. He stood and backed away from his painting to gain some perspective, deciding if he was truly finished or not.

You’d once heard that paintings are truly never finished, it was just a matter of when the artist was willing to stop. Since then, you’d always wondered when Taehyung would deem it acceptable to put the brush down, when he’d feel that he had done everything he could to capture your essence. You knew there had to be something to it, since every time you’d gaze at the finished product it’d take your breath away.

He was always able to capture your inner feelings with eerie accuracy, which was something that endlessly amazed you.

So many afternoons spent in his apartment, you venting about the latest thing that got your blood to boil while he focused on his artwork. And each time, as you’d emptied your brain of all its toxic contents, he’d make magic happen on the paper.

You watched Taehyung shake his head then return to his seat and pick up the brush again. Some days it was harder for him to decide when to stop.

As you laid naked on the upholstery basking in the afternoon sun that was now filtering in through the window, you began to reminisce about the first time you had posed for him. Your face had been the color of a tomato from complaining about a rude bus driver and your hair was a matted mess after waking up late for work that morning. You didn’t understand how you could possibly be anyone’s muse, especially that day.

You had been in no mood to sit around for hours in a strange apartment, but you had given Taehyung your word after he kindly texted you asking for you to be his model earlier that week. You both happened to take a recreational art class downtown together a year ago when he had tapped you on the shoulder two hours into the lesson and extended his phone to you for your number. You had tagged along with a friend that day to see what their art class was like, and you were glad you did when you saw how cute the shy guy across the room was up close. You were flattered, to say the least, especially when he had later texted asking you to be his personal model. After all, the class had been about learning to paint the human anatomy, so the proposition hadn’t come from left field.

But when the day finally came, you just weren’t in the mood. You showed up and took your clothes off in a huff, taking a seat in front of him and attempting the breathing exercises your anger management counselor had taught you.

As the hours went by, you realized you probably weren’t making such a good model, and your annoyance turned into shame as he moved away from his painting. When you were just about done getting redressed, he turned the easel towards you and took your breath away just like that.

He was an amazing artist, but more than that he was exceptionally observant. What you expected to be a painting of you being petulant and looking anywhere but at him, was instead of a girl that looked very unsure of herself. He’d even used a cool toned palette exclusively to convey those feelings perfectly. You could only look at him in awe, feeling more vulnerable than you had been with your clothes off a minute ago.

After that, he texted you to come over on a weekly basis, and each time you came and did much of the same. You’d take your clothes off and pose anywhere in front of where his easel stood ready and waiting. And each time, he’d reveal a part of you on the paper that you never cared to show anyone.

You were ashamed to admit that you were always angry stepping into his apartment, but each time he turned the easel towards you, a different girl stared back at you. Sometimes she was scared, sometimes she was hopeful.

A few sessions later, you felt as though you could trust Taehyung, partly because he seemed to be in tune with parts of you that you hadn’t even known existed deep under the many levels of anger and hatred that bubbled noisily at your surface. He made you want to express yourself, which was something that was tough for you to do, even with your therapist. But it wasn’t like there was anything else to fill the silence with during those quiet hours anyway. So every week you’d come over expose yourself to him in more ways than one.

You couldn’t exactly call it talking, though.

You’d tell him about what happened that day to make you mad, and sometimes what made you feel particularly murderous. Few times, you’d express something that made you happy, because those really came few and far between. And whenever you did, you felt oddly childlike, as if expressing happiness was somehow attributed to being young while expressing grievances was adult-like. Or maybe it was the way Taehyung’s eyes brightened whenever you talked about something positive. It made you want to look for more things to be happy about, and that in itself, was childlike, you supposed.

But it was all one sided. After a long time of posing for him, you began to wonder if that was the deal: you’d express yourself for him while he’d express himself on paper. You figured it wasn’t a terrible trade, but as time went by you found it increasingly frustrating not to have any reciprocation on the same level. His artwork was always a reflection of you, and it left a huge mystery about who Taehyung really was inside.

Of course, you were never one to accept things as they were if you weren’t content with them, so you slowly learned how to better communicate with someone who was mute.

At first it annoyed you that he’d never answer your questions, no matter how simple or complex they were. Occasionally, if you asked him something that warranted an obvious “yes”, he’d look up from the canvas and smile with his eyes before returning to the task at hand. Those small notions were enough to hold you over until the next question arose. And it wasn’t as if you weren’t being heard, or seen, for that matter. His paintings of you proved quite the opposite.

Your painting sessions became like therapy, in a way. You always felt alleviated after posing for him, and over time, you came to depend on them. What started off as you warily stepping into his place with your bag clutched around your shoulder checking for hidden cameras and other red flags turned into you bursting in with two coffees in your hand already starting a story about your bitch of a boss. Taehyung found your workplace gossip hilarious, though you’d never know why. And overtime, his chuckle was also something you felt was like a small yet precious gift to you, another facet of the elusive painter who was still inspired by your body countless artworks later.

Taehyung and his cluttered studio.

They started off as something you didn’t want but definitely needed. You found it quite a drag to commute to his side of town regularly especially when you were in a foul mood most days. You often kicked yourself for agreeing to go.

Yet these days, it was quite the opposite. You had managed to make some serious headway with your anger management over the past few months, partly thanks to Taehyung for giving you a space to safely and comfortably talk through your turbulent thoughts and emotions. But now, you looked forward to paying him visits, not because you needed to vent, but because you wanted to see him. You wanted to find more peculiar things in his apartment, to notice something else about his personality that you hadn’t before, to be in his calming presence. Because just as he had plenty of time to stare at every inch of your body’s anatomy, you did so too. And boy, did you take advantage.

You had already been compiling a mental list of things about Taehyung you had noticed over time, intimate details that somehow set the cosmic scoreboard even for how intimately he was getting to know your naked body.

For example, he had a crinkle between his eyebrows when he focused on painting a particular part of you that was giving him trouble to grasp. When he was really focused, he’d jut his tongue out a bit and swipe his bottom lip. He often liked to run his fingers through his hair when leaning away from his portrait to gain some perspective. He always pursed his lips before smiling, as if showing amusement was somehow forbidden. And when he gave way to a smirk, it almost always bloomed into the widest boxiest smile you’d ever seen. His hair had more highlights in it than you cared to count, and he had a weird aversion to coasters. Dried rings on countertops all over his apartment served as unquestionable proof of.

You felt like you were finally starting to grasp what kind of person he was, though it still felt as if you were outside looking in. You wanted to know him like he knew you, but you weren’t sure it was possible to be let into someone’s heart that you’d never had a proper conversation with. It proved to be a very difficult thing. But when your efforts came to fruition, the recompence you felt was beyond words.

It was during a particularly shitty day, not because anything made you mad, but because the weather was god awful. Nonstop rain mixed in with cold weather and persistent winds made for a troublesome commute. And because of it, it took way longer to get to Taehyung’s place than normal. When he opened the door for you an hour after your agreed meetup time, his eyebrows shot up in surprise but nonetheless let you in. His hair was damp and his TV was on, two things you’d never seen before.

You had dropped your bag, coat and wet shoes at the door, hugging yourself and rubbing your arms as you walked further in. His heater was on, so you immediately went to go sit by it. You hadn’t realized your teeth were chattering until he brought you a steaming cup of coffee with a sympathetic look to boot. You took it from his hands gratefully and fixed your trembling fingers over the smooth ceramic, blowing the steam away before taking a tentative sip. Mmm, dark roast.

Taehyung looked over at his art supplies, his fingers twitching when his eyes landed on his recently cleaned brush, poised and ready on the lip of the easel. But when he looked back at you, he decided it was probably best not to have you take your clothes off right away. So he brought a blanket over to you and draped it over your shoulders before returning to his seat on the couch. He was watching a horror movie, which made you all the more curious about this strange boy that never talks. What kind of person watches horror movies alone?

The coffee, blanket and heater warmed you up rather quickly, and soon you had removed your socks and your sweater before settling in to watch the climax of the spooky film. You wanted to wait for him to suggest he still wanted to paint you, feeling perfectly content to just hang out like this. For the next half hour, you both took turns glancing at each other but missing eye contact as if this was a game of tag. You started smiling to yourself, wondering why today felt so different when you had already been meeting for months now.

You bit the inside of your cheek in contemplation before decidedly moving to sit next to him on the couch. He moved over to give you plenty of room before returning your smile politely, though there was an amused glint in his eyes that you hadn’t missed before he turned to give the television his undivided attention. You wondered if this sudden electricity between you both was all in your head. It’s not like you could ask him directly, or if you wanted to for that matter. It’d be embarrassing if he hadn’t developed a crush on you over these past few months as you had with him.

Yet as you sat on the same couch you had lounged in for months, you couldn’t help but wonder what if?

You swallowed thickly and your pulse quickened as you realized how close his hand was to you. It laid in between you both, flat against the cushion. You never noticed how pretty his hands were before now, taking in the light vans that ran up his arms stemming from his slender fingers, Your own fingers twitched before you slowly inched your hand forward nand placed it over his. Your eyes flitted towards him, regarding him warily. He had been watching the movie with his head leaning on his palm, and when your skin made contact, his eyes moved sideways, first taking in the intimate gesture then looking at you briefly before turning back to the television in what looked to be a bored expression.

Your bravery crumbled and you began moving your hand away, but he caught it in his before you could get away and then laced your fingers together. Your eyebrows shot up and you tried to hold back the huge smile on your face as you finished watching the movie with your hands joined in between you both. Taehyung couldn’t help but look over at you a few more times and grinning at the blush on your face, finding it cute how shy you were when it came to making a move.

When the movie had ended, you both sat quietly, playing with each other’s fingers, you giggling girlishly and him enjoying the sight of you being so flustered. Eventually the flashing of his phone screen from across the room caught his attention and he dropped your hand, much to your disappointment. You figured that was as much as you were going to get out of him today, so you began stripping as he busied himself typing away. When he returned to you, he was surprised to see you naked and posed, ready to be his muse again. You furrowed your brow and gestured toward the easel to which he shook his head slowly. Ah, I guess he doesn’t want to paint any more today.

“Sorry, I figured we were still doing that. Should I just go and come back next week?” Taehyung thought for a moment then shook his head again, coming to sit by you once more. “Then… what? You want to sit here and hold hands all day?” Taehyung quirked his brow at you, his lips pursing as he held back a smile. “You’re so frustrating sometimes you know.” This time he smiled and scratched the top of his head while looking at the floor, not offering any semblance of what his plans were.

It’d been a while before something miniscule got you worked up and angry like it used to, so you were surprised when the way his eyes seemed to roll away from you caused a switch inside of you to click. You were growing angrier by the second and you couldn’t seem to stop it.

You huffed as you yanked your top from the floor and pulled it on over your head. You reached for your underwear and kicked your legs through the holes as Taehyung sat and watched you with patient eyes.

“I mean, you could text me or something and let me know not to come over next time. I don’t live close by you know.” You huffed as you stood up to get your sweater that still laid serenely by the radiator. You weren’t looking forward to braving the wet and cold just after you had dried and warmed up.

But before you could march over to it, Taehyung firmly took hold of your wrist, causing you to spin on your heel.

“I’m sorry, don’t go.”

You ogled at him, looking at his lips for a while to see if they’d move again. You couldn’t believe he just talked aloud. When they didn’t, you looked up at his eyes in confusion. His expression was urgent, his pupils deep pools of sincerity that you could swim in forever. He was genuinely apologizing, though you felt there was no need. You already knew you were throwing a fit needlessly.

“…I…”

Taehyung slowly smiled, realizing it was your turn to be speechless. He tugged at your wrist, guiding you to sit on his lap. Your heart raced at the newfound proximity. You were now close enough to smell his bodywash which was enough to make your head swim if it wasn’t for the fact that Taehyung just spoke in the most rich and velvety voice you’d ever heard.

“I thought…you were mute.”

“Selective.” Taehyung held your gaze for a minute as his fingers brushed against the soft skin under your wrist, feeling your pulse thump furiously. You looked into his eyes with uneven breath as the realization hit. He was finally letting you in.

Suddenly you were leaning in, craving to experience the full extent of his emotions. And so he met you halfway, molding his soft lips around yours in a deep kiss that made your heart stop altogether.

His large hands took hold of your sides and held you tightly against him as he leaned in to savor your taste. His tongue swiped curiously against your lip so you parted your mouth, allowing him full access to it. You leaned back the more he leaned in, and eventually you were both laying down on the couch with him positioned on top of you, making out intensely. When he broke away panting, his lips were swollen and his eyes full of lusty haze. You didn’t get a chance to take his demeanor in fully, because his lips were back on you again except kissing at the skin of your neck instead, leaving marks along their journey to your collar bone. Each bruise was a paragraph of text written on your paper skin, each lick a compliment he longed to give you since the first time you took your clothes off for him.

It seemed as though for all that he lacked verbally, he more than compensated with touch and emotion.

His hands sneaked underneath your shirt and pulled it off of you before he gazed at your chest. You blushed, because although he’d seen your breasts countless times before, he’d never looked at them the way he was now. You felt like a clay statue he was breathing life into as his lips latched onto your buds, causing your back to lift off of the cushions. He was as good with his mouth as he was with his brush strokes.

You made quick work of his shirt, feeling all too eager to feel his burning skin on yours. His touch was setting you ablaze, and you found the dull ache in between your legs increasingly harder to ignore. You carded your fingers through his hair as he took his pants off impatiently. You’d have taken the opportunity to take your own underwear off, but something told you you’d enjoy it a lot more if he did it for you.

Taehyung leaned back on his heels, his eyes shooting downwards as you opened your legs tentatively. He furrowed his brow in concentration as he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your panties and slowly peeled them off of you as if he was opening a present. He licked his lips as he spread your legs wide before him, taking in your glistening sex from his vantage point. Suddenly he bit his lip and stood up, disappearing behind the couch momentarily. He returned with a condom and tore into the packet as you both looked at each other eagerly.

Finally, he sat in between your legs again, brushing his thumb against your reddened clit as he licked his lips. You didn’t want to wait for him anymore, so you sat up and took hold of his lips with yours again, guiding him down onto you and wrapping your legs around his waist. When he plunged inside of you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He rocked his hips slowly at first and continued peppering your body with kisses and bites. Your nails dug into his back while he balanced himself on his elbows, his hands pushing away the hair from your face. When he kissed your lips again, your tongues swirled wildly, causing him to lose control and pick up the pace. You hissed and moaned, your hips coming up to meet him stroke for stroke.

And as his movements got increasingly rougher and more urgent, you lost yourself in them over and over again because now it was his turn to express himself.

Your sweaty bodies writhed against each other all afternoon, each moan of yours an appreciation of his affection towards you and each grown of his conveying a wordless confession.

Making love to Taehyung was like him having a conversation with your body. He knew all the right places to touch and when. He’d get so wrapped up and passionate during your afternoons spent together that he’d hardly seem like the same quiet man sitting across from you staring at a canvas for hours. He was rough yet gentle, persistent yet patient, truly in keeping with the enigma that he had always been to you.

And now, as you sat on the very same couch you both had made love on the first time and many times afterward, you found yourself eyeing him mischievously. It had been 20 minutes after he decided his painting wasn’t quite finished yet, and you were getting antsy.

He’d caught your look, and though a reaction didn’t register on his face, the growing bulge sitting pretty in between his legs was enough for you.

Your nipples were quickly hardening in the frigid air entering through the open window, though the reason for that wasn’t entirely attributed to the col temperature. Normally you were patient enough to wait until he was done, but today was stressful and you wanted so badly for him to help you relieve some of that stress.

So you didn’t bother holding back your joy when he finally stood up from his spot in the corner and sauntered over to you, giving you a disapproving look. You looked back at him apologetically, though you weren’t sure it translated well as you bit your lip lustfully at his approaching figure. He sighed, flicking one of your hardened nipples roughly. You let out a shaky breath to which he snickered as he pulled his shirt off over his head. This time it was his turn to bite his lips as you purposely spread your legs, giving him a full view of what he was capable of doing to you without so much as touching you.

He growled as he crawled onto the couch, groping your curves and dips as he contemplated how to punish you for being a fidgety model. You awaited eagerly with a shallow breath then squealed as he abruptly scooped you into his arms and off the couch. He brought you over to the windowsill and sat you down before kneeling in front of you and spreading your legs again. Your breath hitched in your throat at the first stroke of his tongue on your clit. Your hands gripped the edge of the windowsill as you scooted closer to the edge to give him better access to you. You made a mental note to interrupt his painting sessions more often.

“A-ah….Taehyung…” You moaned softly as he sucked lightly on your clit. His eyes watched you carefully as his tongue navigated your slick folds expertly. When you threw your head back as his tongue got closer to your entrance, he pushed the wet muscle inside and fucked you with his face, causing you to buck your hips onto him. Your head snapped back down, and your fingers latched onto his hair, guiding him in and out of you as you fucked his face. You were so close to cumming, but you needed a bit more. That’s when Taehyung replaced his tongue with two fingers, plunging them inside you and curling them upwards as he milked the orgasm from you. You hunched over, holding onto his head tightly as you came all over his mouth and fingers.

“Fuck…that was…” You panted and let go of him, allowing him to stand back up as he wiped the side of his mouth with his thumb. He smiled at you brightly, all semblance of disapproval gone from his angelic features. You brough him towards you and kissed him passionately, only then feeling the cold wind licking at your backside. You shivered, so he took your hand and led you off the windowsill.

He embraced you as you wrapped your arms around his midsection, holding you in silence for a few moments. Eventually, he tipped your chin up to stare into your eyes and gauge the rest of your sentence from what your eyes could give away. You looked back at him and smiled, feeling brave enough to ask him something that didn’t have a simple yes or no answer for once.

“What are you thinking?”

Taehyung looked down for a moment then took your hand in his. He brought you over to his easel and placed you in front of today’s painting, looking at your reaction carefully. You had expected to see yourself staring at the center of the page looking horny as ever.

But as you gazed at the painting, you saw a girl who was very much in love.

Your chest tightened and your eyes glistened. Turning towards Taehyung, you looked up at his wary eyes. He held his breath as his thumb stroked your knuckles, conveying more than you had ever expected him to be able to. And for once, you were glad there were no words.

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teriwrites · 4 years

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the big manuscript search tag

I’m compiling a bunch of different tags from @cecilsstorycorner and @akindofmagictoo so this might be a long one!

My words to find: lonely, cup, drown, routine, deep, feather, rich, contact, kick, sun, pair, whisper, king, chord, chip, prove, mix, spin, water, color, need, fade, everyday

...yeah, that’s really long, so I’m going to throw the results in a read more to spare all your feeds from a wall of text

There’s a few words that don’t appear in one project or another, so I’m going to use both Castle on the Hill and Beneath Alder Creek! Because of that, the order won’t be quite the same

Castle on the Hill:

Lonely:

For the first day of break, Hans spent the entire day lounging around his house. His mother said nothing about it, except to suggest moving to a new spot every few hours so that he wouldn’t cramp up. She was in and out of the house a lot, which Hans took as a good sign. The harder days were those in which his mother spent most of it upstairs, locked away in her room. Hans had been allowed to join her, if he wished, but he’d preferred not to see her in such a state. Still, it had led to many a lonely afternoon.

Cup:

The following morning, Peter made the short trek over to the familiar cafe for his second date with Ursula. Despite having left five minutes early, Peter arrived to find Ursula already waiting at a table, with a cup of coffee in hand. He beelined for the table and tossed his blazer onto the back of the chair across from her. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” “No worries, I enjoyed the walk,” Ursula said brightly.

Drown:

“You seemed pretty smitten with this tutor girl,” Peter mused. The sounds of a dramatic breakup on the television nearly drowned him out. He fished the remote from the coffee table and muted the television. Klaus looked between Peter and Georg, who were both sending him matching smug expressions. Georg dramatically batted his eyes at Klaus, who shoved him in the shoulder and nearly sent him toppling over the side of the couch. “Come off it,” he dismissed with a snort. “I barely know her. She’s a fox, sure, but I’m not going to lose my head over a girl I’ve met once. Klaus Müller is always on the make.” Georg leaned forwards to look at Peter. “He’s speaking in the third person again.”

Routine:

“Alrighty, now that that’s out of the way, who wants to tell me what year the European Economic Community was established?” Prof. Dietrich asked brightly, shifting back into his regular routine of starting a lecture with an oral quiz. Josef avoided the man’s eye contact, choosing instead to pretend to be desperately jotting down notes. “Herr Weber? How about you give it a shot?”

Feather:

The rest of the class shifted their attention back to the lecture, but Josef’s face flushed as he fished out his notebook from his bag. He could practically hear the stories that would be circulating later. Josef Weber, the snobby inheritor to his father’s auto company, got scolded in front of a whole class. Wouldn’t that just put a feather in quite a few caps?

Rich:

“Tell me why I didn’t decide to work as a janitor,” Klaus muttered. “You’d never succeed as a janitor; you never even had to clean your own messes growing up.” One of Klaus’ arms snapped forwards and a smack that was aiming for Georg’s shoulder instead slapped smartly against the wooden back of his chair. With a sharp intake of breath, Klaus straightened in his seat. As he rubbed at his knuckles, Klaus shot back, “That’s rich, coming from a lawyer’s son.”

Chord:

“It’s a little complicated right now,” Hans said calmly. “Look, I’ve talked it all over with my mother, and she agreed that it would be best for me to stay here. It’s not that long, Josef, don’t look at me like that.” The doubt etched into Josef’s features was enough to warrant the comment, and he shook his head to try clearing it. Nothing in Hans’ demeanor pointed towards it being a lie, but something in the idea struck a false chord in him.

Water:

Though he'd managed to subdue most of his panic, Peter felt it all rushing back. A sudden pain at his hand drew him out of his thoughts, and he realized that he'd been aggressively stirring the pasta, and some of the water had splashed out of the pot.

Fade(d):

As Hans spoke, Professor Abend’s face lit up with recognition, which quickly faded into a solemn mourning. The exam lay on the desk between the two, forgotten. “I knew I had a Faust in one of my classes, but I never thought to make a connection,” Professor Abend said in a low voice.

Beneath Alder Creek:

Deep:

A deep breath, and then Winnie followed through, dragging her other foot into the creek. The water rose halfway up her calf, and continued to rise as she made her way forwards. To her thigh, then her hip, and finally up to her waist. It was the second dress she’d soaked that day, Winnie thought with a wry smile, and, in her distraction, she failed to notice a large rock in the creek bed. It could hardly be considered a fall. Winnie pitched forwards, plunging her face into the creek for only a moment before she caught her balance and straightened up. But she’d opened her mouth as she tripped, and her rise was met with a violent coughing fit. Loose strands of hair clung to her face, making it impossible to see, and Winnie pushed forwards carefully by feeling along the bottom with her foot. The progression was slow, but Alder Creek was by no means wide, and it wasn’t long before Winnie found the water beginning to ebb away. As she pulled herself out of the creek, Winnie brushed the hair from her face and finally opened her eyes. Looking to where she’d seen the fairy ring, she froze.

Contact(ing):

Contacting the fae was no easy feat; they only made appearances of their own volition, not subscribing to any convenient timetable. While it was said that certain holidays brought the mortal world closer to their realm, years had passed before any signs revealed their presence. By then, the couple had been so eager that they’d wasted no time in seeking out a deal. They were the fourth and fifth victims within the fifteen years. Nobody had been so hasty since.

Kick(ing):

Back into the bog. Winnie no longer worried herself with her skirts, allowing them to drag through the stagnant water. It was a mistake, she soon discovered, as the drenched fabric weighed her down and made the progress even slower. With an exasperated groan, she stomped at the ground, kicking up a spray and lodging her boot into the mud.

Sun:

Time steadily passed as they traveled, though how quickly or slowly it went by, Winnie couldn’t say. She could feel the blisters beginning to form on her feet, the slight ache in her shoulders where she’d slung her bag, the warmth that spread across her back as the sun’s ceaseless rays washed over them. When she fell slightly behind Taliesin, he was shining so brightly that her eyes began to burn, and she had to quicken her pace to keep in step with him.

Pair:

The first thing Winnie noticed was the boat they were standing in. It was like a skiff, sitting low in the water and directed by a pair of oars. The figure rowing seemed to be wearing some type of headgear, a hazy and elongated shape still a little too far to make out. Taliesin moved back from the shore, forcing Winnie to do the same to provide space for the skiff to breach.

Whisper:

“Don’t stare,” Taliesin reminded her in a whisper. He raised a hand in greeting, and the figure dipped their head slightly, though how they could’ve seen it without eyes, Winnie couldn’t say. “Hail, Ferryman!”

Prove(n):

Turning away from the Llion, the group soon found themselves returning once more to the thick fog of the wetlands. Winnie took the middle, knowing better than to have Taliesin and Enid side-by-side. In one hand, she took the long sleeve of Enid’s robes, and in the other, Taliesin’s cloak. He dragged his feet the whole time, still sulking, and it took all of Winnie’s self-restraint not to let go and leave him behind as punishment for his pettiness. Being proven wrong did not suit the golden man.

Mix(ed):

It was nearly a week later when Winnie found herself back at Alder Creek. The water level had dipped back to its usual shallows, which lazily drifted by. Winnie could see her face reflected as she stared down, features blurred in its [flowing surface]. The hem of her skirt had dipped into the water, which lapped at Winnie’s bare feet. Her shoes were somewhere behind her, abandoned, a sign of her troubled mind. For the most part, Winnie had abandoned the practice of walking about barefoot - how her mother would’ve shouted if she’d seen her. The thought of her mother brought a fresh wave of mixed humiliation and frustration as the events of the day replayed through her mind.

Spin:

A light flickered in the trees. When Winnie looked up, she stared at the sight. Taliesin was crouching on a branch, catlike, with his hands holding the branch between his feet. Somehow, he did not sway but remained perfectly still, patiently watching Winnie spin in circles to look for him, all with an amused half-smile.

Color(s):

The opening of the cavern shifted through several colors, like an ever-changing kaleidoscope of light through a prism.

Need:

She offered Enid no response, so after a stretch of silence, the statuesque woman continued. “This is out of some attachment to the Dusk fellow, then.” Winnie bristled at her tone. “Of course it’s not. I merely need him to ensure that my brother and I are able to depart the Fae safely.”

Not found:

King (Apparently my writing does not support monarchies lol)

Chip

Everyday

This was excessively long, so I’m going to leave it an open tag. The words for anyone who feels like it are king, chip, and everyday because I’m sure somebody out there has them, even if I don’t.

#tag game

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g0t-ri5h · 4 years

Text

Popular || Jasmine & Margot

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Drug Store PARTIES: @halequeenjas and @g0t-ri5h SUMMARY: Jasmine helps Margot with a makeup emergency. See also; ...

Sleepless nights had become sleepless weeks. Ever since she had looked into the creature’s third eye, Margot had been plagued by visions of the same entity over and over again. The more sleep deprived she became, the more it seemed that the nightmares bled into her reality. Last night, it had clasped its decaying palms around Margot’s wrists and held her down until she shook it off. When she ‘awoke’, she could swear that there were bruises on her arms, tender to the touch, but the blemishes had faded by the time the sun came up. Unfortunately, the blemishes under her eyes had not. They had grown deeper and darker, and Margot was starting to resemble a corpse more than a human. As a teenager, her mother would plaster her cheeks and lips with rouge in an attempt to distract from the baggage under her eyes, an experience neither enjoyed. Sadly Margot knew that her appearance would start to warrant concerned looks if left uncovered, so inside a drug store she found herself. She flittered between the many aisles until she came across the makeup section. Looking at all of the products, Margot became very, very lost.

While the drug store wasn’t her top choice for shopping for makeup, this particular store did have a pretty solid selection of liquid matte lipsticks. After accidentally losing the one Jasmine had in her purse, she was in need of a quick reapplication before hitting her next showing. As she made her way to the most familiar section of the store, she spotted a young woman who was clearly struggling. Her eyes were dark and her skin looked almost lifeless. She seemed to be eying through some products, none of which were right for her skin type or had proper undertones to match her skin. “Okay, you need to step away from this display entirely. All that matte mousse crap is going to 100% cake on your face and not in a good way,” she said as a matter of factly. There was no way she was going to let this otherwise pretty young woman ruin her features with awful products. “Come here,” she directed toward the display that had a medium coverage liquid foundation and concealer, “Flip your arm over so I can see your wrist.” She picked up a few shades of concealer and compared them. Her skin had cool undertones. With the right shade of Covergirl concealer in hand, she handed it to the girl. “So this is the best concealer you can find in a drug store. You’re gonna want to use this only around your eyes. I’ll grab the corresponding foundation.”

Margot flinched as the woman appeared beside her. It was becoming clear that the three cups of coffee she had medicated herself with this morning were causing her to be somewhat on edge. Matte mousse? Concealer? Margot was out of her depth. She took a step back and surrendered her wrist as ordered to the stranger. “Um, thank you?” As confused as she was by this sudden disruption, Margot was so very grateful for the assistance, knowing full well she would’ve been here for hours fretting over the many creams and powders. She watched as the woman compared her colouring with the product, something she would have never thought to do. Her makeup guru left her for a moment, compiling all of the necessities. While she did so, Margot caught her reflection in one of the display mirrors, cringing at the person that gazed back at her. The fluorescent lighting wasn’t doing her many favours, drawing out the bluish grey hues of her skin. She pinched her cheeks twice, as if that would help. “Be honest. How bad do I look?” Margot asked her, preparing herself for the harsh truth. Comparatively, her helper was dressed and primped impeccably, so coordinated and graceful. Margot felt a pang of envy.

While Maybelline definitely wasn’t her go to foundation, Jasmine knew it could do in a pinch when you needed a good spot touch. She’d need some proper sponges for it which she quickly grabbed. This shade looked perfect for the girl though it was apparent what she really needed was a solid night’s sleep. If her issues were on brand with White Crest’s norm, she doubted that would come so easily. She was hesitant to offer her help there. Unless it was ghost related, makeup help was about all she could provide. “Anytime. While drugstore makeup is not the ideal, it can do in a pinch.” With another quick lookover, she decided some blush would be needed to return some form of color to the girl’s face. Poor thing really did look rough and she was asking how bad it was. With a slight frown, she answered, “I’m always honest, and I’m gonna be honest kid, it looks like you’re in serious need of some sleep. I know things don’t always work that way though, so we’ll get some blush to put some color back in your cheeks.” Part of her felt inclined to ask, so she went with it. As she thumbed through different shades of blush, she blurted out, “So, is there a reason you’re clearly not sleeping?”

As the products were being picked for her, Margot took a deep relaxing breath. At least one of her problems was being solved. She’d find at least a bit of solace in that. The stranger was right, she did need sleep, badly. It wasn’t fear of this nightmare that was keeping her up at night, moreso the feeling it left behind. When Margot awoke she always felt helpless… Watched, as if she were a circus animal being fawned over and tormented. “Bad dreams.” Margot answered vaguely, looking down to her thumbs. She picked at her already battered cuticles until she drew blood. She wiped the drips on her black sweater. Perhaps it was tired delusion that made her ask; “Have you ever had a dream that you could swear was real? Like you’re asleep, but also not?” She thought for another moment before continuing the stream of consciousness, “It’s as if he exists behind my eyelids. If I close my eyes, there he is.” The truth was she was starting to see him everywhere, even when her eyes were open. But Margot wasn’t ready to admit that yet.

While picking out makeup always brought Jasmine a sense of ease, the girl’s answer did not. Though her tired eyes were aging her, there was no way she was older than Nell. She was just a kid and someone she had a suspicion that her nightmares were not quite natural. Her own had plagued her enough times and more so lately since that freaky fog rolled in. It was hard to not wonder if the two were related, but outside of picking out makeup, there wasn’t much else she could do for the girl. “Nightmares are a bitch,” she said plainly. As much was true, but she never had them this bad, not even after performing her first exorcism. This girl looked like she’d been through hell and back. Concern showed in her now furrowed brows as she handed her the blush. “Well, kind of,” she explained though the truth was it was actually real and she knew that, “Have you been seeing your dreams when you’re awake or something? Or just the dream feels real while you’re in it?” Two very different things though one was more likely related to the townwide bullshit currently happening. Jasmine wasn’t sure which answer was worse.

“I-I suppose.” Margot took to gazing at her hands again, “Maybe- maybe I was awake.” A shiver ran down her spine, imagining the creature existing in reality was too much. She wished it were not the truth but she knew it to be deep down. Still, there would be a logical explanation; the product of sleep deprivation or maybe even psychedelic mushrooms. That had to be it. Her mind could not handle more than that. “I don’t know how to fix it. I’m so tired.” Margot drew her hands to her face to hide her shame and sadness. After a few moments, she gathered her composure and dropped them back to her sides. She gave a weak smile, as if it would be a reassuring gesture, an attempt in showing that she was not completely losing it. “Thank you for your help. It’s probably obvious that I’m clueless when it comes to this stuff. My name is Margot. I forgot to introduce myself.” She could hear her father’s voice inside her head, chastising her for being so discourteous.

“If you’re very sleep deprived you could have been,” Jasmine answered with a hint of concern evident in her tone. Something about the way she spoke definitely sounded like a potential haunting which had her on high alert. At the same time, she didn’t want to appear crazy. “What exactly is it that you’re seeing,” she asked and kept a careful eye on the girl to read her body language. She was far from a body language expert, but she could try to go off intuition. She frowned as the girl covered her face. Sometimes, she longed for the days when she went about her life not caring about this crap, but she knew what was out there. She knew what could happen if these things were left to fester and this girl seemed so young. However, it wasn’t long before she was composed again and introducing herself. With a soft smile, she said, “Margot, it’s good to meet you. I’m Jasmine Hale and I’m pretty much an expert with all things beauty, fashion, or real estate related.” She fished around her purse quickly and handed her a card. “I’m actually somewhat good with dream stuff, too. If you need anything, just give me a call, okay?” Dream stuff. Ghost stuff. Same difference, right? Even if it was out of her realm of expertise, the Vurals and Leah might have an answer.

The concern she showed only made Margot feel more uneasy. Perhaps this was more serious than a few night terrors? “He’s uh—“, how could she put this without sounding crazy? “A man, like a dead, dirty, decaying man with these piercing eyes— three of them. The third one though,” Margot shuddered, closing her eyes and seeing him so vividly, “the third one is on his body, inside of his chest.” Margot’s eyes reopened, comforted by the light of day. She looked longingly at the stranger, a plea for help. Margot took Jasmine’s card and scanned it. She was in real estate, no wonder she was so beautiful and manicured. An expert saleswoman. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Margot smiled with gratitude. “I feel like I need to give you something, you know, for helping me. I’m, uh, good with computers. So if you’re ever looking to build a website for your business or, I don’t know, set-up some security cameras, I owe you one. Just call me.” Margot took her phone from her back pocket and dialed Jasmine's number then hung up. “Now you've got my number.”

The word dead made her shift and stand a bit taller. Jasmine never heard of a ghost with a third eye. Ghosts just looked like how the person looked when they died. This sounded like an honest to god nightmare or something worse. She really hoped it was the latter. “That definitely sounds terrifying,” she agreed and frowned slightly at the clear discomfort Margot was displaying. “Are you superstitious at all? Apparently salt is supposed to help with that sort of thing. Probably like a placebo-- I think that’s the word, but don’t hold me to it. Sometimes little things that make us feel safer help with nightmares.” Was that kind of bullshit? Yes. But if she was being haunted, salt would help. This explanation just sounded less like an insane person’s ramblings. Normally, Jasmine was all about even exchange for her services, but Margot was just a kid and all she had done was pick out some makeup. Still, computer services could be useful to have. “I’ll keep that in mind and save your number,” she said with a smile. If it was anything too intensive, she’d still pay her, but it was always good to make connections. “Do you work with computers or are you still in school,” she asked curiously.

At the mention of salt and superstition, Margot screwed up her nose instinctively, unable to hide her dismay towards the topic. “I appreciate the advice, but no, I don’t think a ritualistic salt circle will put me at all at ease.” She couldn’t resist continuing, “You believe in all that crap? The supernatural?” Her choice of words was ineloquent and probably disrespectful to Jasmine, but the concept was blasphemy to Margot’s personal beliefs. According to Margot the only world that existed was one she could see, hear and touch. Anything else was fiction. That was the only way she could live without losing her mind. She was already such a small part of this big universe, how could she fathom it being even more complicated? ”I’m a junior at the university, though I do take on some freelance work to pay for my rent and other expenses.” A freelancer, yes, that was a polite way to describe it. Better than a hacker or felon. “Is there much business in White Crest? For real estate.” Margot couldn’t imagine why anyone would choose to move here, even though she had just months before.

Jasmine tilted her head slightly at Margot’s response. Of course she didn’t believe in the supernatural. That didn’t quite ease her concern though. She was so young and what she was going through admittedly sounded like White Crest’s personal brand of supernatural crap. Jasmine knew as much, but she played along. “Oh no,” she scoffed, “As I said, placebo. But sometimes the motions help. Like those little things people like to hang up in their homes. Does it really keep ‘ghosts’ away? Probably not because ghosts aren’t real, but it makes people feel better so they don’t think every creak the wood makes is out to get them.” She did air quotes around the word ghost and hated it. She shrugged and added, “Not the best suggestion, but hey, if you could trick your brain a little, thought it might help with the nightmares.” And ghosts. Salt would definitely help with ghosts and most other spectral creatures. If it wasn’t a ghost, well, that was another story. At the mention of freelance work, she made a mental note. “I’ll keep that in mind if I can ever use any computer assistance. Or if anyone in the office could. You know how old men are, don’t even know how to rotate a damn PDF before sending an email. Don’t even get me started on them using the ‘reply all’ feature in emails.” She perked up at the question and answered, “I mostly focus on Harris Island which is super nice, so yeah, real estate business is pretty good here. People love their waterfront properties.”

Relief washed over Margot. Finally someone who wasn’t obsessed with the occult around here. “I’ll give the salt a shot. Who knows, maybe my brain will accept the placebo.” She had a feeling her brain would accept anything in exchange for some forty winks, even if it was an irrational solution. Besides, salt on the floor would probably drive her roommate nuts; an added bonus. “Don’t get me started on how backwards some people are with technology. If I have to tell one more person to turn it off and on again, I might scream. I once got CC’ed on a college wide email and my inbox exploded like fireworks in July.” Margot could see the enthusiasm in Jasmine’s posture as she spoke about her job. “I’d love to live on the water.” Margot mused. In her past life, her family had possessed lakefront property, as well as beachfront property, and the family house in Portland. She missed that life. “Well, hey, if you ever hear of a relatively cheap rental or even someone that’s looking for a roommate, let me know. I’m growing very tired of sharing a dorm.” Margot doubted she could ever afford to live off-campus, but it didn’t hurt to put it out there.

Oh thank god. Jasmine was internally thrilled that Margot would be giving the salt placebo a try. If it was a ghost, at least she’d be safe. If not, well, that was out of her wheelhouse and only so much she could do to help. She’d still wish the best for this young woman. Maybe check in on her soon. “Yeah, may sound silly, but if it tricks your brain it could be worth it. If not, I’m telling you, melatonin supplements are a lifesaver.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the girl’s woes over the older generation and technology. Being in real estate, she had a good deal of boomers on her email list and boy, did they struggle. If she happened to leave her door open at the office, she’d be fielding questions from fellow agents all day. “That sounds awful,” she responded with a hint of a laugh still in her voice, “The whole college? That is so many notifications!” She nodded along as she mentioned she’d love to live on the water. While it was difficult to find cheaper waterview rentals, she might be able to swing something if the place was previously haunted and she cleared it out. She’d keep an eye out. “Oh, it’s totally the best,” she exclaimed, though it was better when there weren’t sea monsters and black sea water, but that had passed, “I’ll definitely keep an eye out. You have my card in the meantime if dorm life becomes a little too rough.”

Taking in Jasmine’s suggestions, Margot began compiling a shopping list in her head; salt, melatonin supplements, maybe even a scented candle? “It was quite literally the worst! I considered dropping out because I was so frustrated!” Margot felt a laugh rise from her chest. How long had it been since she had laughed? Once she had settled herself, Margot gave Jasmine a polite smile. “You know, I don’t know many people around here, but I’m really glad I met you today.” She said sincerely. Margot had been on her own for so long she’d forgotten what it was like to be cared for or worried about. At least she would know one more friendly face now. She would take at least a bit of solace in that. With Jasmine’s help, Margot already felt a little lighter, the bags under her eyes weighing her down a little less.

#popular #wickedswriting #d:jasmine

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 5 years

Text

Decryption_Error: “Undecided”

Summary: Now that the incident in the server room is becoming a distant memory for everyone at CIStech, indecision plagues Y/N as she tries to figure out just what she wants from Elliot. The real question, of course, is what does Elliot want?

Story Summary, “The Server Room, Part I”, “The Server Room, Part II” “The Long Weekend, Part I”, “The Long Weekend, Part II”, “The Aftermath”

Word Count: 5000

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel @hopplessdreamer @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @alottanothing @moon-stars-soul @free-rami @ramimedley

If you want added, let me know.

Warning: Tiny mention of something R-rated toward the end

By Thursday, the office felt normal, and I was once again left to marvel at how quickly things could snap back into place. People just . . . moved on. They continued to run their daily programs and despite a hiccup in the system, they hit reboot and it was back to normal runtime.

I was no different.

Yesterday was spent looking through the applicant pool, and I had found a few good candidates. I wanted to compile a final list by the end of the day and set interviews for next week. In another two or three weeks, it would be like Julia, Aaron, and Maurice had never even existed in the world of CIStech.

DELETE 10211291.11181514.1312118935.DSET1 PURGE

<Execution_Complete>

Elliot was just as intrigued by people’s willingness to forget a traumatic event. While Tuesday night’s text conversation lasted a long time, the subject matter stayed pretty light. But on Wednesday, we ended up texting a lot about people’s reactions to what went down.

I hadn’t been sure if Tuesday night’s texts were an anomaly until my phone buzzed at exactly 7:00 pm, the same time I had texted Elliot the night before. I actually laughed out loud a little, figuring Elliot was playing it safe by repeating a previously rewarding behavior pattern.

On Wednesday, I had again left work much earlier than usual so I could head uptown to meet my father. He had asked me weeks ago to attend a benefit with him, and I had almost forgotten about it until he called to remind me in the morning. I used my lunch hour to run home and grab a dress and a pair of shoes. I was really looking forward to seeing Dad because I wanted to decompress—if there was anyone in the world I could vent my feelings to, it was him.

When he caught me smiling at my phone and trying to sneak a text without appearing rude, he told me to have Edwin, his driver, take me home and come back for him later.

“I love you, Dad,” I said as he hugged me tight.

“I want to meet the young man who makes you smile like that, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled at my dad’s good intention.

“If only it were that simple,” I said as the elevator doors opened.

He put his hands in his pockets and gave me a long look as the doors closed. I knew he worried I worked too much and abandoning my entire family over Memorial Day weekend did not alleviate his concern one bit. Nor did it help when I finally explained the work emergency that pulled me away.

But for the second night in a row, I found myself texting until my eyes blurred. When Elliot and I said good night, I set my alarm and immediately fell asleep, something that rarely ever happened. I felt like I could breathe freely again. Elliot didn’t seem to be harboring any ill feelings about being reprimanded, so when he and I ended up running into each other in the lobby on Thursday morning, I smiled brightly when I saw him.

We said our bland good mornings as we got on the elevator, then I asked if he had any plans for after work. When he said no, I pulled out my phone and texted him to ask if he wanted to come over.

He glanced at the other people in the elevator who were staring sleepily at the buttons of the passing floors and gave me a tiny smile before nodding yes.

I smiled back and as the elevator doors opened on our floor, he stood back to let me exit before he hurried out and grabbed the door to the office. I thanked him and we went our separate ways for the workday.

Around quitting time, there was a light tap on my door frame, and I looked up to see Elliot, his eyes alert, scanning over the room and not quite willing to focus on me yet.

“Hey—come in,” I said, unable to stop the smile that spread across my face at the sight of him.

He shuffled in, his hands thrust in his pockets.

“I need to run an errand. Will you be here . . . or should I . . .” Elliot trailed off as his eyes desperately searched mine, his own mind clearly wondering if he had imagined our conversation in the elevator.

“I’m planning on working until around 7. Do you just want to meet at that deli on Platt around 7:15? We can get a bite to eat there, then head back to my place?”

“Sure,” Elliot said in his trademark monotone, immediately turning on his heel and exiting my office.

I just shook my head and chuckled, thinking, Sure, Dad. Meet my painfully awkward boyfriend, Elliot.

Boyfriend.

My mouth went dry as indecision began to beat its ugly staccato within my mind.

What did I really want?

Even more difficult to answer, what did Elliot really want?

A kiss in a heated moment was a lot less demanding of someone than asking them to be with you. And it was Elliot—did he even date? Despite all of our after-work conversations, we never really talked about romantic interests. It just wasn’t something that came up.

I continued to plug away at my analytics, hoping to drown out my thoughts about Elliot. I was about to see him outside of work again, and I would just have to test the waters, which was a scary prospect. If I pushed and Elliot wasn’t ready, I could knock over the foundation we had been so carefully building.

* * * * *

Elliot was waiting for me at the deli, so we grabbed a quiet, quick bite. By the time we reached my apartment and Elliot was standing in my entryway, shucking off his backpack, it was about 8:15 pm.

After he slid off his backpack, he bent to rummage around, and he pulled out my Columbia t-shirt.

I shook my head no.

“Keep it. I like knowing you have something of mine and that maybe, just maybe, you’re wearing it,” I said with a flirty grin.

“Okay,” Elliot said with a shrug as he stuffed the shirt back into his bag.

“Besides. You look good in white,” I said, knowing I couldn’t be deterred by one ignored comment. Elliot was wicked smart and could read people, but that ability seemed to diminish as he got closer to someone. I wondered if maybe that was why he kept his distance from most people—it made him feel too vulnerable.

Elliot looked at me, clearly determining whether or not I was joking.

“And you say I can’t take a compliment,” I huffed.

“You can’t,” Elliot said, seizing the shift in the conversation that would allow him to have the upper hand. “Your legs look good in that skirt,” he said as his eyes looked at me from top to bottom.

I narrowed my own eyes and replied, “Now see. I don’t know if you mean that or if you said it just to get me to say I don’t think it’s genuine, thus proving your point.”

Elliot chuckled. “Point proven. You can’t take a compliment.”

“Such an ass,” I said, smiling. “I should take back my meticulously planned evening.”

“Planned? So, this wasn’t just a random invitation?”

“God no. I have to mentally prepare for all my interactions with you,” I blurted out before realizing how terrible that sounded.

Sometimes it really was a blessing Elliot thought so much before he spoke so I could retract my foot-in-mouth statement, but unfortunately, his face was an open book. I could see the beginnings of hurt twist his features, so I rushed an explanation.

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. Just in an ‘I think about you a lot’ way. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and have you look at me kinda like you’re looking at me now. Okay?”

Elliot’s brows contracted before he visibly turned his face back into an unreadable mask. It was remarkable to watch—like he just flipped a switch and turned off his emotion.

He nodded, but I could tell he already assigned a negative meaning to my words. I hadn’t meant it that way, but it was exhausting interacting with him at times. I still felt like I was taking one step forward, creeping along nicely, and then boom. I scared him and he bolted and we were ten steps behind where we started.

At least my indecision about pursuing a relationship with him was pretty damn warranted.

“I’m going to change,” I said. “It’s hot as fuck outside, so you may want to put on my t-shirt if you’re not wearing one under your dress shirt.”

“We’re going outside?”

“Yup!” I said, shooting him a grin.

Elliot looked at me with suspicion, but I shook my head and took off down the hall toward my bedroom. I dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top, and I slid into some flip-flops. I pulled my hair up, knowing it wouldn’t survive any more time than it already had outdoors.

I walked back out to the living room, but Elliot was nowhere to be seen. I had just enough time to wonder if I really had scared him off before he emerged from the bathroom wearing tight black jeans and my white Columbia t-shirt.

“After last Friday, I decided to keep a change of clothes in my backpack.”

“Smart,” I said, eyeing the way his jeans clung to his thighs before sliding my eyes up to his face to appreciate how the tan tone of his skin was emphasized next to the white cotton of my t-shirt.

“Can I have another clue? I don’t really like surprises.”

“Mmmmm, no,” I said, enjoying my facetiousness. “Although, I did give you a clue earlier this week.”

Elliot’s eyes moved around my apartment as he thought back, and then, his face lit up.

“S’mores,” he said with a tiny timbre of excitement in his tone as his eyes connected with mine.

“Clever kitten,” I said as I started pulling out the supplies we had bought over the weekend.

“They won’t be as good as they’d be over a real bonfire, but a charcoal grill will serve the purpose.”

We headed up to the rooftop, which was delightfully empty given there was no special occasion and the work week was still droning on. I used my key to get out the charcoal grill’s supplies from the storage on the roof.

Despite telling Elliot to sit on the couch and relax, he hovered, watching everything I did.

“And now we wait,” I said as I prodded the coals with my tongs, encouraging them to catch. “The more they burn down, the better the taste.”

I plopped on the white couch and looked toward the setting sun. Elliot joined me and we slowly built up to a steady conversation. Away from people and when he was comfortable, Elliot talked a lot. It was almost comical to think of the juxtaposition housed within his lithe little body—it was like two people lived inside of him, one of them plagued by insecurities, and the other, just a normal guy, or rather, a guy who could just about pass for normal if it weren’t for his intellect.

Elliot wasn’t just knowledgeable about computers. He kept up with the news. He had keen insights about society. And he even liked to read the classics, or really just about any book he got his hands on.

But work was the easiest and safest topic for both of us since that was the baseline for our friendship. I finally asked Elliot how he was doing as the dust began to settle, eager to hear his thoughts in person instead of from behind the safety of a screen.

“It’s weird,” Elliot began before he broke eye contact to gather his thoughts. “People are nicer to me, or at least they seem to be going out of their way to talk to me.”

“Colin is treating you alright?” I asked, curious if he was going to be an asshole about the whole thing.

“It was him, wasn’t it? He insisted on the letter,” Elliot finished with a statement, not a question.

I was quiet for a moment, warring with myself about whether I should say anything or not. It was an HR issue, and those could be tricky, but who would Elliot tell? What damage could come from talking to the one guy who was never going to tell anyone anything?

“I know you would never say anything, but I have to say this to make myself feel better—you can’t repeat anything I say about the . . . incident.”

Elliot raised his eyebrows at me and nodded.

“Yes, it was Colin. He’s kind of a “bro,” I explained, my hands rising to make quote marks in the air. “And since you’re totally not that kind of guy, he has no even ground with you—you’re smarter than him and he can’t deal with that.”

“What makes you describe him as a “bro?” Elliot said, imitating my earlier air-quotes.

“Mmm . . . he loves every sport, plays basketball with some of the guys in the company on Saturdays. He has that arrogance about him, that unwarranted arrogance that a guy who enjoys showing off just how much of a guy he is has. He used to run every day before work and he’d come upstairs all sweaty—and I mean sweaty as in looking like he’d just gone swimming sweaty—and he’d just go “freshen up” in his office. It grossed me out so much I flat-out offered to comp him if he took time to shower at the gym and was late for work. After that, he didn’t come to work sweaty anymore. Don’t get me wrong—woo! Fitness! But gross,” I said, wrinkling my nose just remembering what he looked like and smelled like.

“Every sport?”

“As far as I know—I do think he has season tickets to the Knicks, though. When he first started working for us, he asked me to a game,” I said, volunteering the information to see what Elliot would do with it.

Nothing, of course.

“I did notice he has a Mets pennant in his office,” Elliot said, more to himself than to me.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Like I said, he’s a dude. Or he at least wants everyone to know he’s a dude.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“No. And I think that’s why he’s been extra Colin-y lately. He has a son with his ex.”

“What’s his name?” Elliot asked, quickly.

“You’re asking a lot from me because I don’t typically store information that has no relevance to myself. It’s something like Chris or Chuck or Chad?”

Elliot nodded.

“Would you want him to go—I mean, if you had a choice? Would you want Colin to leave CIStech?”

I chewed at my bottom lip a little, really considering Elliot’s question.

“I don’t know. That’s a hard question to answer. What I can tell you is that I wish I could clone JaLeah. She’s just a superfreak of an awesome person. I’ve never really met anyone as smart and dynamic as she is—she just makes everyone feel so welcome.”

“I think she’s funny,” Elliot said.

“Really?” I said smiling and arching my brow. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“I just wouldn’t have thought you would think about something like that.”

“That’s kind of insulting,” Elliot said, his voice flat and unreadable. “I do enjoy humor now and then.”

I shook my head and chuckled.

“See? I keep learning new things about you?”

“You told me I intrigued you, and that you have to figure out people who intrigue you.”

I reached out and poked at Elliot’s thigh, gently prodding.

“Is there a recording device you’re using to play back every conversation we’ve ever had?”

“I listen,” Elliot said, smiling. “Especially when people intrigue me.”

I looked at Elliot and there was a smile in his eyes even though there wasn’t one on his lips. I felt like I could drown in his grey, stormy eyes when they sparkled, housing the mischief he never really let anyone see.

Our eyes locked, intensely focused on one another for a long enough time that it made me look away, almost embarrassed. I felt sure he could see my interest, naked and wanting before him, but he just didn’t make a move—either to look away or to move closer. Just . . . nothing.

“Alright—let’s get our smores prepped,” I said, getting up to reach for the bag of groceries on the table.

As the sun set and the lights on the rooftop flickered on, Elliot and I made our smores. We laughed, well I laughed, especially when he caught his marshmallow on fire and waved the toaster fork causing the marshmallow to propel into one of the rooftop trees. He looked like a dark-haired version of Denis the Menace, and I had tears in my eyes at the expression of horror on Elliot’s face as his marshmallow went sailing.

I positioned his fork over the coals for the next round and he attentively turned the marshmallow, refusing to even take his eyes off of it until it was perfectly browned on all sides.

“Your hands are healing quickly,” I commented.

“Thanks to you,” Elliot said sheepishly, shooting me a quick smile before returning his gaze to his marshmallow.

After we ate our fill of s’mores, we got comfy on the couch as we waited for the charcoal to burn down until it was safe to leave for the night.

We didn’t talk as much, but relaxed, enjoying each other’s presence, and I sat in the middle instead of on the end so I could test the waters, occasionally brushing a light touch to Elliot’s jeans or his bare arm, and he even reciprocated some of those furtive touches as he poked fun at me, teasing me for my inability to keep the plots of all three of the Back to the Future movies straight.

Eventually I sighed, knowing it was getting late and I didn’t want Elliot getting back to his neighborhood too late. We gathered up the left-over groceries and I shouldered my tote bag.

We said goodbye in my doorway, and Elliot moved in to hug me tight. We lingered for a moment, but he moved away and quickly pressed the elevator button. I watched him get on and we waved goodnight, a small smile ghosting across his lips as the doors closed.

I shut the door to my apartment and leaned back, thunking my head against it.

Purgatory. I was stuck in indecision-purgatory. Elliot was never, ever going to make the first move. If I wanted our relationship to shift, I’d have to do it, but it felt wrong. I was the one in the position of power. It would make more sense if Elliot made the first move so I wouldn’t feel like I was taking advantage of him.

Why did this have to be so fucking complicated?

* * * * *

The next two weeks proceeded much in the same fashion. Elliot and I texted nightly, and once or twice a week, I’d invite him over. We’d come dangerously close to kissing, but then he’d just leave.

I dropped as many hints as I could, especially about workplace romances. I talked about how Miles (my boss) and Jayne (my secretary) had gotten together, hoping Elliot would pick up on the comparison.

If he did, he never said a word.

So, my fear of losing him as a friend left me to continue writhing in indecision. I loved how close Elliot and I were getting, and if I scared him by moving too quickly, I’d lose the first good friend I’d made in a long time.

And what was really funny was that I was certain if I talked to Elliot about this, he’d get it. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Little did I know, fate was about to lend a hand; it was just too bad that fate was such a fucking bitch.

* * * * *

“You can’t be serious!” I laughed, finishing the last of my drink.

JaLeah nodded with emphasis, and we all burst into a fresh round of laughter.

Friday happy hours were always a fun way to wind down from the work week. We had a nice mix of people who went regularly and it was well known I always bought the first two rounds. People like Miles, singularly focused climbers, always underestimated the power of building relationships. That was one of the reasons why what happened with Elliot had stuck with me—I thought I had a better team than that.

People did seem to be closer now, more inclusive. There were several new faces at tonight’s gathering, and as I listened to the chatter around me, my thoughts drifted to one particularly attractive face that was not here. People’s voices became background noise as I thought about Elliot and I felt myself wishing he were here. I knew he’d hate every second of it, but he really was, albeit inadvertently, the reason for tonight’s greater sense of comradery.

Sometimes, I truly did believe the universe revolved around me, but only so it could fuck me over for one hell of a laugh. Just as I was a million thoughts deep into Elliot, he walked in through the door, close on the heels of Sarah, his hands shoved in his pockets. When he got inside, his big eyes found mine almost immediately and as I coughed, choking a little on my drink, JaLeah looked to see what distracted me.

Her grin was wolfish.

“Don’t say it,” I warned, my voice low so as not to draw the attention of the others at our high-top table.

“I cannot believe he came,” JaLeah said, drawing attention because even when she believed she was whispering, she never was.

“Holy shit—Elliot’s here,” someone said from a few seats down.

“Don’t make a big deal,” I said in their direction as I watched Sarah and Elliot make their way across the bar to our tables.

Elliot ran a hand through his hair as his eyes glanced around as if he were checking for exits. More than a few eyes gave him a once over as he approached and I felt a pull of jealousy. Logically, I knew people were looking at him more out of curiosity than anything else, but logic wasn’t my forte when it came to Elliot Alderson.

“Hey, everyone!” Sarah said, her smile bright and a bit nervous. “Look who I dragged out.”

Elliot gave the table a small smile as people said hello and a few who were a few drinks in gave a little whoop, which seemed to startle the small smile off of Elliot’s face.

JaLeah almost knocked me off my stool as she pushed me to stand.

“Elliot’s new, so he doesn’t know to cash in on Y/N’s generosity yet. Sarah—you can take my seat. What are you drinking?

“Gin and tonic, please!”

“You got it,” JaLeah said as she pushed Elliot and I toward the bar.

“Hey,” I said, once we were standing at the bar, our bodies pressed together thanks to the crowd.

“Hey,” Elliot said, his voice barely audible as he rested his hands on the edge of the bar, his fingers pressing into the hard surface.

“What can I get you to drink? I always buy the first two rounds for anyone at CIStech who shows up.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Vodka, cran. You want that?”

“Sure,” Elliot said, his eyes still refusing to settle on any one thing.

I reached over and rested my hand on his forearm.

“Are you sure you’re okay with being here?”

“Guess you can’t hold my hand all night this time,” Elliot said as his eyes flicked to mine.

I laughed.

“No, I suppose not. But, if you sit next to me, I’ll see what I can do,” I said as I winked at him.

Elliot smiled softly.

I put our drinks on my tab, along with Sarah’s. JaLeah had already dropped off Sarah’s drink and came back to say she was pirating the corner booth because our table was full and a few more people just showed up.

We followed JaLeah and I let Elliot scoot in before me. We crammed in and I shot Elliot a smirk as our bodies were forced to press nearer to each other. Elliot’s hand was fiddling with his drink until I reached down to pinch lightly at his outer thigh. His hand shot under the table and I gave it a squeeze before shooting him another look. He genuinely smiled as he realized we could hold hands without alerting anyone to our activities, except maybe JaLeah, but I wasn’t worried about her since she knew how I felt about Elliot without me ever having said a word.

As it turned out, the folks who joined us in our booth were good company. JaLeah kept the conversation light and fun, like always, and I could even feel the vibrations of Elliot’s chuckles on occasion.

“You know, JaLeah,” I began. “Elliot thinks you’re quite funny.”

JaLeah raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s about time people truly appreciated my wit, so thank you, baby.”

Elliot grinned at her, either because he’d had a few drinks or because he genuinely liked JaLeah, and said, “You could be a character in an Oscar Wilde play.”

The table laughed and one of the tech’s jumped on the reference to talk about the new play based on Wilde’s life that had just opened.

I leaned over, my lips dangerously close to Elliot’s ear, and said, “See? This isn’t so bad.”

Elliot’s pinky wrapped around my own and squeezed, and I gave him a sweet smile before turning back to the others.

It was one of those nights when people just seemed to be having a great time. We ordered appetizers. The waitress kept our drinks filled. The conversation never lulled, and bursts of laughter kept peppering the air. Before any of us knew it, it was 9:00 and a few people at our table started checking their phones with more frequency.

“Shit—I forgot my wife’s parents were in town. She’s gonna kill me,” Travis, one of JaLeah’s techs said.

“I told my boyfriend I’d be home an hour ago,” another tech said, giggling.

“It’s been a minute since we’ve had such a good night out,” JaLeah said. “See, Elliot? You should come more often.”

“It was cool to hang out,” Travis said. “You’re usually so intense at work—kinda like the big boss,” Travis finished with a chuckle.

I could feel Elliot’s fingers brush against mine. We had been playing this touching, not really, sometimes definitely, game all night and I was wet. I was appalled at myself for being so turned on just by proximity, but I couldn’t stop thinking what if this were normal? What if Elliot were mine? What if we went home together at the end of the night?

“There’s nothing wrong with taking work seriously,” I said, smiling. “That’s why I am the big boss.”

Travis and the others laughed.

We settled our bills and said our goodnights, but I noticed Sarah lingering at the door, clearly waiting for Elliot.

“I think we take the same line home,” she said smiling up at him as we reached her.

Elliot’s hands found their way into his pockets, the material of his dress shirt bunching a bit as he shoved them in.

“I take the 6,” Elliot stated, tension creeping into his voice.

JaLeah was giving out hugs like candy on Halloween, and I laughed to myself. She was such an extrovert, and I appreciated her energy on nights like this. The others slowly went in their separate directions as Elliot stayed close by, Sarah still talking.

“Great! We can ride together. It’s nice to have someone to talk to on the train at night. I forgot my earbuds this morning,” she said, chattering happily.

“Actually, Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to, uh, come back to my place...” Elliot said, his eyes focused intensely on mine.

I could feel JaLeah and Sarah, damn near open-mouthed and watching this exchange. I felt like I might throw up on my shoes for a minute and I was thankful the street was dark because I knew there was a blush coloring my cheeks. I thought quickly, and shook my head, my words tumbling out of my mouth.

“Oh! That bug—that bug you told me about. You wanted me to run the analytics on it. I’ll send you the pin for Team Viewer and we can do it this weekend—I gotta get home. Taking care of my neighbor’s cat. Probably out of food. Have a good night!” I said, grinning like a madwoman and telling myself that Elliot did not look like I just kicked him in the face.

I waved to the three of them and took off for my train, thankful it was in the opposite direction. I turned around to see Elliot and Sarah headed in the same direction. I almost tripped over my own foot as JaLeah jumped up and down and mouthed “What the fuck, Y/N?! What the fuck?!”

I shook my head, turned around, and doubled my steps. I felt sick to my stomach. Fate had just laid an opportunity bare, spread eagle on the floor, and I walked away.

By the time I jumped onto my train and collapsed into a seat, I was fighting back tears. The look on Elliot’s face haunted me. I really, really hurt him—and I wasn’t sure I could fix it this time.

#elliot x reader #female reader #Elliot Alderson #elliot alderson fanfic #elliot alderson x reader #mr robot #mr robot fanfiction #rami malek #rami malek character #elliot

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demonicpiano · 5 years

Text

Cold-Blooded

RusCan Sprite AU

Everything is just a normal human AU except these guys called sprites are running around. Snow sprites manipulate the cold, heat sprites do well in the hot weather...yadda yadda. Our boy Canada isn’t doing so well. He keeps shivering but gets nauseous if he tries to warm himself up. Maybe it’s just a second onslaught of puberty. Either way, he’s not the only one.

Check it out on my AO3!

~.~

"It's a little chilly, eh?"

"It's winter, yeah."

Matthew gave his coworker at the next desk over a long look. No acknowledgement. He turned back to his own computer screen with a light sigh, flexing his stiff fingers before going back to compiling these ungrateful bastards'—oops, lovely reporters'—findings into a somewhat presentable column. He wore a thick turtleneck. He still shivered.

A glimpse around the cramped clumps of desks and lost souls bent over in their seats foretold nothing of sharing his blight. That guy was wearing goddamn shorts in the middle of winter. Matthew gave him a subtle shake of the head, although the tough guy wouldn't notice - he was too worried about bending over some newcomer's work and shaking his buttocks at her.

Matthew whispered to his adjacent sufferer-in-arms, "I'm going to get something warm to drink. I'll be right back, in case one of the bosses comes by."

No reply.

Matthew rolled his eyes, saved his work, then pushed from his chair. The only reason there were cocoa packets for the taking in the break room was because they were leftovers from a manager's party, and nobody wanted cocoa without marshmallows. And milk. Water would (very unfortunately) have to do. It was something warm.

Chilly hands clutched a cheap Styrofoam cup, shaking and sloshing around cocoa powdered-flavored water as Matthew slowly lifted it to his face. Instead of a nice wash of steam opening his nostrils, a slap of sweaty, undesirable muck came over him. He jerked away, waggling his tongue at the sink tempting him to dump the rest of the watery abomination out, but he decided to take it back to his desk and use it as a hot pack.

Matthew set the cup down, curling and uncurling his fingers. The cocoa's spell backfired; instead of relieving numbness, his fingers turned into noodles. At least those were supposed to soak in hot water. Not cocoa. Yes, this ruined the whole point of a steamy beverage. He was raised with standards. At least for hot chocolate. And men.

His shivering lessened to a nauseous quivering. Matthew crammed a lump back down his throat before tacking on his keyboard. He tossed more cocoa back as he started to get toasty under his sweater, regretting doing so as the taste washed over his tongue, but persevered through the rest of the dull day.

On the walk back home, Matthew tried to remember what he did for eight hours, but could not think of anything besides white walls of text. The snow banks seemed to give extra cold to the air, like Canada was a giant refrigerator and God just turned down the temperature dial.

Matthew eyed their grayed, gravel-infested lumps along the sidewalk, imagining too easily how the cold drifted and curled over his skin. Even under three thick layers, it was as if the cold was inside of him, posing as miniature ice cubes in his veins.

An uneventful walk, an uneventful handful of hours before bedtime. His flat was quiet. He kept the TV set low as news reporters poured over anything wrong with the world. Oh, and a local puppy adoption. Hey, puppies were the best.

Matthew violently shivered on the couch. He sent a weird look to the thermostat before relenting and hobbling over to give it a nudge for warmth. Back to the couch. Shivering. Thermostat again.

Oops, too warm now. Matthew shed his blanket and turned down the temperature a little. Back to the couch. Blanket intact. Weather time. It was going to be cold all week. Then a snow storm by the weekend. He bet the school kids were excited at the sound of that. He would muster up a smile at the thought of pretty sparkling flakes before relentless feet stomped it to pity if he weren't shaking in some kind of fit.

Matthew decided to keep the thermostat down, as he could always add more layers and more blankets, as opposed to shedding his skin when it got too warm. Under five blankets—yes, five thick comforters—he shivered. Of course he shivered. As if the blankets weren't going their job. Or he wasn't giving them warmth to give it back to him. Huh.

Matthew glared in the direction of his bedroom wall, twitching and shaking and quaking so much his darn muscles started to get sore. He plucked his cell phone from the nightstand, trying for the weather again, but this was so damn ridiculous, especially without his glasses, and the screen was just a blur of light jumping back and forth. He slammed the device back on his nightstand and flipped himself over with a growl.

He couldn't shiver all night. Eventually, he would pass out.

~.~

"Agh! Ow, oh, what...?" Matthew pulled his hands from the covers, gawking at his bone-white fingers. He was white, but not that white. He whipped his blankets away, putting his icicles-for-legs to the floor and hobbled around his room like the cold from the floor seeped into his feet.

"Ooh, man, this is bad," he spat between trembling teeth. "Just how freaking cold is it? This is starting to get ridiculous."

Matthew grabbed for a pot for tea or even more damn cocoa-water, something warm! Okay, he managed to fetch some milk from the fridge, hissing at the cold coming from there, like there wasn't enough in the world. He stared at the milk gently steam like an insane person would, tempted to stick his fingers in the flames below.

Hey, there was a good idea. Matthew lifted his hands, holding them a little ways to the fire warming his milk. He smiled and nodded to himself as the almost-non-metaphorical sheet of ice against his skin started to melt. Then it burned. He yelped and jerked away.

Matthew was not even close to the stove. Not that close. He twisted the knob to lower the heat, grumbling at his own stupidity. He had a roof over his head; he'd warm himself with his heating bill, not the stove top, for crying out loud.

~.~

However, Matthew did not get warm. He got ready for work with stiff fingers. Ate some doughnuts with hands made of ice instead of muscles and what not. Shivered some more. Sometimes the quiet flat was too quiet, but not in a suspicious-spy movie way. It was quiet in a 'damn, I need a boyfriend or a dog in here' kind of way. The teeth chattering filled the silence and rattled his nerves.

Surprise, surprise! It was a cold walk to work, too.

Matthew has been cold many times in his life. Sometimes it was fun. Other times, the snow or freezing rain soaked his socks, and that wasn't as fun. But he never, ever got freaking sore from shaking so much. He wondered how much of a workout was shivering. Maybe he burned (or froze off) plenty of calories from those two donuts he ate that morning.

"Oh, Mister Williams!" A middle-aged 'Can I speak to the manager' woman strode to his desk with too bright lipstick for the sorrow in her eyes. "Hey!" She nasally brayed, "How's the column going? Did you get my e-mail?"

"Um...the one about the cat pictures? Yeah..."

"Yeah?" She smiled, parting the sea of pink that shouldn't be on someone's face. "You like it? Don't lie, I can see that you do. Everyone's gonna love it. They all love cats. They better, anyway, providing you do your little keyboard magic, and move everything just right...!"

Matthew just blinked as this lady went on and on how one of the previous programmers left a stray code in the middle of her article last quarter, and they received a bunch of angry letters from people that had nothing better to do than complain that they saw 'greater than' and 'lesser than' symbols outside of a school classroom. He let out a shaky exhale, trying not to bite a chunk of his tongue off from his teeth trying to rattle up a band.

"Oh, honey!" The lady cried in a decibel that would make dogs whine. "You look so pale! Are you sick or something? Oh!" She pulled her scarf over her mouth. "I hope you don't give me anything!"

"Mm, n-n-no, I d-don't think s-s-so."

"I'll see about turning up the heat a bit for you, okay? Just...make sure you cough into your sleeve! I'll come by again to see how things are working out! I can't wait to see those kitties on the front page!"

That was new. Asking how Matthew felt. Usually the quick, 'Hey, how's it going?' did not warrant an actual response. Yet if he didn't toss a fast, 'Fine, thanks,' then he would seem rude. What a cruel world.

Matthew managed a stiff nod. Words were improbable.

His neighbor gave him a long side-eye, like the chills were contagious. Were they? Matthew didn't know. He almost started to type in the search bar, but his hand quaked as it hovered over the keyboard. A jumble of letters. He could hardly get himself to press the proper keys.

"Ugh," Matthew bemoaned his blight. He sat in his chair, glaring down his keyboard as his glasses slid down his nose. If only the keys would tell him they had everything and not to worry about his work; they got it. Another shudder grabbed a hold of him, and he squeezed his eyes shut to stay sane through its hold.

"Uh...hey," his neighbor leaned forward to eye him up. "Are you...going to be okay?"

"No."

"I think you should go home."

"I just got here."

A long look.

Matthew wanted to say his colleague didn't want to get sick, that's all. He twisted, planting his heels flat to the ground before pushing himself from his chair. A slap of heat came over him. He grunted, and a sticky sheen of dampness poured from his, well, pores. The world and the bewildered faces of journalists swirled around and around and around. "Oh, maple."

The carpet came for him in a flash of ugly stained blue.

~.~

Murmuring. Beeping. Constant beeping. Brightness. Matthew groaned at it all as his head lolled to the side of a...pillow. He was lying down. His eyes flew open.

"Oh...fuck!" He spat to himself in a hospital. A damn hospital. "No, no, come on..."

Matthew was surely sick, but not that sick. Jeez, those reporters are so dramatic. They probably clutched their pearls and flapped their hands in front of their faces at the sight of him passing out. He had to have passed out. How would he have gotten there?

"Oh, God, oh, no," Matthew warbled as a strong shudder griped his body. His teeth snapped together, and he let out a furious hiss of breath. "Damn it with the shivering!"

A pretty nurse came into the room, poking around, and tossed a glance toward him looking and feeling miserable on the bed. "Oh, you're awake!" She sang. "Hi! How you feeling?"

"Cold."

"I bet!" The nurse had her best service smile on, but her eyes screamed terror. "Your body temperature was down to thirty-five! Everyone's amazed how you were still up and about like that! So...just take it easy, and the doctor will be right in to...ahem, discuss things with you."

She left in a hurry. Matthew gawked at the ceiling as his insides were shivering now, too. "Thirty-fucking-five degrees."

(Ninety-five for Americans.)

"It's getting colder," he let out a whimper. Grown adult or not, he hurt. He was freezing from the inside out like someone stuffed ice packs under his skin when he wasn't looking. Maybe they did. Those bastards.

The vent in the ceiling kicked to life, slapping his face with a wave of heat. He moaned, squirming to get away without getting anywhere. "No, no, no, turn that off, please-!" Another sickening quake grabbed him and would not let go. He doubled over and gagged. The warmth kept coming.

Matthew drew in a sharp breath, snapping, and yelled in annoyance, pain, anger, anything cold-blooded inside of him, it needed to come out. A noise from the side of his bed crinkled. Then the IV bag leading to his arm burst, raining icicles on the floor. He lifted his arm up to gawk at the tube flailing uselessly from his skin.

Okay, kids, nobody is supposed to do this, yet everybody in movies does - however, instead of ripping it out like some kind of grunting barbarian, Matthew slowly wiggled the needle out of his arm with a little 'Ooh!' and 'Ouch, ouch!'

The tube started to fog in his grip, and he went to peel and detach anything between him and the monitors. Then he was free. Now Matthew could panic.

"Agh!" He ran to the window and smacked his palms to the glass. It was snowing. Wait, snow wasn't called for days. How long was he out?

"Mr. Williams?!"

"Sir, sir! We're going to need you to come back to bed right now!"

Matthew gazed at frost etching from his fingertips, fanning icicles into crystal white designs along the glass.

Nurses approached, "Mister Williams?"

One grabbed his shoulder. The man immediately recoiled with a cry of pain, grabbing his arm as his fingers throbbed against blue-purple skin.

Matthew slowly turned around, arms held up as ice peeked from his pores, running freezing water down to his elbows and dripping to the floor. The entourage of medical staff gawked with wide eyes, breath catching in warm puffs of fog as they met the chilly air. "I think I know what the problem is," he started as the window behind him crackled with frosty intrusion. "I'm made out of ice."

A moment before the window shattered, pouring over the sill as the winter wind flung itself into the hospital room. The staff screamed, throwing their arms over their faces and ducking for cover. Matthew turned to the gray sky, to the white mercilessly pelting the streets. The ice encasing his arms reveled in contact with the biting wind. He was so cold.

"We need the E.R. team in here, stat! Mister Williams?!"

Matthew stepped toward the window. His feet crunched on the glass shards, poking harmlessly against the thickness edging along his skin.

"Mister Williams!" The nurses screeched as he pulled himself through the window, and let himself be blown into the breeze.

~.~

"I can't find the coffee stirrers. Over."

Bssch, "They're in the upper cabinet, left hand side. Over."

A man sat at a desk, in a room completely to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose before snatching the radio off his desk. "Toris! Eduard! The intercom system is for important calls and emergencies, not your personal hand-helds!"

A voice murmured from one side, "But it was important..."

"Hush!" One of the men hissed. His voice grew closer, "Uh...sorry, D-Detective Braginsky."

Ivan slammed his radio back on his desk, giving his head a shake before flicking a page of his magazine.

Various murmurs resonated through the radio, calls from around the city. He turned the dial down by a smidge. Just a smidge.

"A stray dog..."

"...my leg got stuck in a snow embankment...in front of the woman I was supposed to be writing a ticket to..."

"Not to sound stereotypical, but I could go with some doughnuts right now."

Static.

"...at the hospital. Some kind of, uh...icy intrusion."

Ivan picked up his head from his magazine.

He turned the dial back up in time to hear another cop relaying, "Yeah, like, some kind of artic blast busted into the medical center. A couple of people have frostbite and cuts from the shards."

"I hear you," Ivan said. "Wait, I'm on my way."

"Detective?"

"Yes. Hold on."

"Oh, the head detective's coming with us?"

Ivan threw on a thick wool coat and stormed out of his office. Various men and women hovering over desks and pouring over bulletin boards hunched and skittered away from his path. Their eyes pricked his broad backside on the way out.

A snow storm was well underway. Two cops popped their heads over their cruiser at his approach. "Sir! You, uh-"

"Move," Ivan said. "I'm driving."

"Uh, yes, sir! The keys are already in the ignition."

Ivan gave him a stupid look, as the vehicle was already rumbling with life and sputtering hot fumes into the air. Once situated, the pair gave each other mirroring looks of shock through the bars blocking the back seats. Worried murmurs and static came from the radio, but other than that, it was a short but extremely thick silence to the medical center.

Another cruiser and private cars haphazardly parked before the entrance, and as soon as the keys left the ignition, Ivan stormed the place just as icily as the building storm outside.

Medical staff bustled around, trying to help confused patients that crept from their rooms to investigate the disturbance. A frail old lady held up a shaky hand to a nurse and complained, "Dear, it's so cold! Won't you turn up the heat?"

Ivan pressed against a wall and snuck around the pair.

"Oh! Is that the police?! Oh, oh! What are they doing here?"

"Ma'am, please, calm down, there was just a mild disturbance..."

Another officer jerked his head to a certain room. "Over here!"

Ivan followed.

Glass decorated the tiled floor, blowing from the grand window lining the furthest wall. Warm breath came from his teammates' faces as their wide eyes scanned the perimeter. One asked, "What could have done this?"

"Who?"

A weird look.

"I spoke to the witnesses. They said a man by the name...Williams approached the window, and it burs into icy shards."

Ivan asked, "Are you sure of that?"

The officer gave him a good gawk. "Based on witness accounts! The nurses that weren't injured by the flying glass."

"And this Mister Williams escaped?"

"Yes, sir, they said he jumped right out this window."

"Well, there's no body there."

"Yes, sir. He ran off."

"He ran off? After jumping out a window?"

"Apparently."

"So you're implying he is responsible for the window shattering?"

"And injuring the staff members, yes."

Ivan curtly turned away. "Stay here and get the full story."

"Sir?"

"I'm going to bring this Mister Williams into custody." His fellow officers trailed after him. He barked, "Alone!"

"But there's a storm on its way!"

"I won't be long."

Another officer hushed, "Just...let him go. He's the only one that can handle-"

Ivan was already down the hall. Of course, the eyes of medical staff and patients hooked onto the scarf flapping against his back, waving goodbye to the place when he wouldn't. A gust of cold air and snow pellets slapped his face, pulling his coat from his legs as soon as he stepped outside. Dusk was approaching. He needed to be quick.

Shoe-marks stamped the light dusting of snow in the parking lot. Ivan paced until he lined himself below the shattered window. Glass crunched under his boot. His eyes followed down the side of the building, a two story drop, and across the parking lot. The streetlights shimmered against clumps of ice leading across the car pack.

Further, toward the street, the icy dimples morphed into foot-prints. A shallow snow bank, but someone must have fell into it and struggled to get up. The steps led down the sidewalk. Ivan darted down the road, eyes steady on the distant field still covered from the previous snowfall.

The field remained virtually untouched, except when Ivan plowed himself through the ever-deepening sea of white the further out he went. He slowed as struggling leg divots in the snow intersected with older trails until he finally stopped, glancing around sparse trees and a metal baseball cage some distance away.

Before Ivan could step forward, something snagged one of the tail ends of his beige scarf. It tightened against his throat, and he let out a quiet gasp. He twisted around to snatch the cloth away, but icy claws protruded from the snow and kept a firm hold.

"Mister Williams?"

The snow shifted.

A snow-caked head of what should be blond hair emerged. A bone-white face. Wide, hallow lilac eyes. Ivan felt his own face try to pucker into distaste. Pale lips cracked open, and the man hoarsely whispered, "What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Are you Mister Williams?"

The man was deathly still - a statue frozen to the ground. Until he barely moved to answer, "Yes."

"Mister Williams," Ivan started, fishing a badge from his coat. "I'm the head detective for this town's police department. I'm going to get you out of this storm and get you warmed up, but I need to ask you a few questions-"

"No, oh, no, no!" Mister Williams released Ivan's scarf, but his arm stayed stunted into the air, claws of ice wide apart and poised to the darkening sky. "No, no, I'm in trouble, aren't I?" His voice stretched thin as ice grasped his throat, "I hurt those people! Oh, no, no!"

"Mister Williams-"

"I'm a monster! You need to get away. B-b-before I hurt you, too!"

Ivan's eyebrows fell. Less enthusiastically, "Mister Williams, you are not a monster. Do not say that. We just want to-"

"I said...get away!" A hiss of strenuous pain, and a roar of wind poured upon Ivan's head. He threw up his arms as a fury of snow burst from the ground, swathing him in cold, unforgiving white. He shook the clumps off his coat, and Mister Williams' backside peeked from his hospital gown as he clumsily scrambled amongst thick plows of snow.

Ivan sighed, flexed his fingers, and rolled his head. "Okay, then. Hard way it is."

He swooped to the ground, planting his palms into the snow. Mister Williams had not gotten too far, lunging about in a straight line. Icicles shot over the embankments and under his hands and knees. He yelped as his nails scratched onto the sudden layer of slick, and he fell forward, rump going into the air.

Ivan straightened and approached with slight urgency.

Mister Williams pushed himself up with a delirious shake of his head, tossing a frightened glance over his shoulder, and yipped. It was a short warning before he smacked a hand to the ground, and spikes of ice lurched for Ivan's face.

Ivan's arms cut through the night air, and a sheet of iced-over snow emerged from the embankment to catch his assault.

"What the..." Mister Williams cried in shock and fright as everything crumbled to the ground. "You're...you're...!"

"Mister Williams," Ivan dully sang as he came closer. The carpet of ice withered beneath his boots, "You should try to make this as easy for yourself as possible."

Mister Williams scrambled backwards against the weakening ice. He gasped as it melted, only to clamp in a frozen lock around his hands, gluing him to the dead grass. "No! I don't want to go back! I'll only hurt more people!"

"Oh? Because you think you're a monster?"

Wriggling intensified. Mister Williams managed to burst one of the clumps of ice around his hands and flail his free arm in the air. "Yes! Look at me! What else would I be?!"

Two waves of snow rose from the ground, but Ivan swished his hands. They harmlessly crumbled into loose sentiment. He fell on top of Mister Williams' legs, much to the other man's horror, and clamped icy fingers over his head.

Mister Williams wreathed and put his own palm to Ivan's face. "What are you doing?!"

Ivan took a deep inhale as cold sank into his skin, freezing his veins, and a smile played with his lips, "You shouldn't say that! Because if you're a monster..."

Spikes of ice protruded from his pale hair, and Mister Williams could only watch as frost etched across the detective's body...

"Then what does that make me?"

A sharp breath to scream, but nothing came as the entirety of ice encasing Mister Williams receded, right into Ivan's pores. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped into the snow. Unmoving, the whiteness to his skin morphed into a slightly more healthier pink.

Ivan released his clutch, and left Williams on the ground to rise to his feet. He tipped his head to the sky, and let out a long sigh, dispelling dragon's breath of ice into the air. The frost against his clothes melted, dripping back into the ground, and he, too, looked unlike a 'monster' anymore.

Ivan dug around his coat for his hand-held. "Unit one, this is Braginsky."

His radio crackled and hissed. He held it from himself until it died down. "Unit one, do you copy?"

Hissing. A disconnected, "Sir?"

"I found Mister Williams. I said, I found Mister Williams!"

"Is he alive, sir?"

"Yes, although unconscious. He will need medical attention right away. I'm bringing him in." Ivan tucked his radio back into his coat without waiting for a reply. "Monster," he mused with a scoff. "Just for shivering and blowing out a window? That is child's play."

It was a cold, nightly walk back to the hospital with Mister Williams in tow.

~.~

Beeping.

Oh, no, heart monitor beeping!

Matthew's eyes flew open.

Just as he shot to sit with a horrified gasp, something clamped onto his chest and shoved him back down. A hospital room. Of course he was back in a hospital room. His wrists were free, however, not tied down like some wretched creature's would be. His fingers gripped the stiff fabric of his cot as he zoned on another man dwarfing a visitor's chair beside him.

"Stay down."

Matthew complied with a skittish gulp. The man's hands seeped cold back into his skin, a moment before he relinquished himself back to his own personal space. "Aren't you with the police?"

"Yes. You remember me?" Almost lightheartedly, although the big man's smile did not meet his eyes, "We had a little bit of a romp in the snow back there."

Matthew awkwardly grunted, gluing his gaze to the ceiling. He was in so much trouble. He was probably going to get life behind bars. If evil science people did not get to poke him with lots of sharp tools, first. Ice picks, probably. He was made of ice. Or at least, it felt like it. A little less. Maybe his veins were filled with slushy ice water instead.

The man raised his strong eyebrows. "Mister Williams? Are you feeling okay?"

Stinging. Tears pooled in Matthew's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know...I didn't mean for anything bad to happen." He scrunched his nose and turned his face away so he was not bawling in front of this near-stranger, "Ugh, my entire life is ruined. Ugh, it wasn't even impressive in the first place-"

A cold palm eased against the back of his hand. Matthew's fingers twitched against subtle prickles etching along his skin, "You are not a criminal, Mister Williams. You are a troubled man."

"I'm in trouble."

His company retracted his hand again with a sharp sigh. "Let us start over, okay?" He gestured to himself, to his soft cheeks yet cold eyes, "I am Detective Ivan Braginsky from the Police Department. You are in the hospital because you need help. Not because you are a monster. You are not a criminal. You are confused. That is normal. You just shot ice from your fingers. Again, that is normal. I will tell you why. We will help you."

Matthew lolled his head toward Braginsky. "Okay." He probably already was headed to the can. Minus well get answers. In a small voice, "Why?"

Perhaps it was his imagination, but a light clap of chill ghosted Matthew's cheeks as Ivan leaned forward, much less jaded and annoyed with the world. In near wonder, "You are a snow sprite."

"Um, what?"

"They are a species of humans that can manipulate and are manipulated by the cold-"

"I know what a snow sprite is."

Ivan stared.

"I've read up on the different kinds of sprites throughout my life. My brother's a heat sprite."

Ivan's eyebrows crunched together. "Ah. A heat sprite. Yet you...hm, that's odd. Are your parents...?"

"Both are rain sprites."

"Mutts?"

Matthew almost smiled. "Yeah, you can say that. Got a whole bunch of mixed blood in me, I guess."

"And out came the ice instead?"

The cold permeating the room didn't feel so bad. It almost felt warming, but not warm, in a kind sense. Matthew let out a long, easing exhale. "Yeah. Looks like it."

"You never...gave off any indication that you have these sorts of abilities?"

"Nope. Well, my brother always felt too hot to the touch. Like, if he hung on me too long, I would always sweat, and-"

"That's normal for heat sprites."

"Oh."

"Maybe it was simply years' build up. Or a late onslaught of growing up?" Ivan leaned against his chair, dragging his hand over his chin. Then a slight uplift to his lips, "You are an enigma, Mister Williams. When I got that call that some lunatic threw himself out a window in the middle of a snow storm, I was not expecting this."

"You were expecting some crack-addict, were you?"

"In kinder words."

Matthew found his own face pulling to a smile. "Thank you, Mister Braginsky. You're much kinder than the impression your stories give off."

Short lived bliss. Ivan fell solemn. Some haunt behind his eyes, "My stories?"

"I compile reports from around town for the local newspaper. I remember your name popping up a lot." Matthew tapped a finger against the bed, nonchalantly goading for attention, "There was a fire at the nearby quick stop last year. You were there. A generator, I think, overheated, and you...you 'sucked' the cold out of the air, and literally cooled it with your hands. It was amazing reading the reports. What you said about it. I could never imagine being able to do something like that. Amazing."

Ivan dropped his gaze to the hands folded on his lap. "Oh, that."

"Just 'that?'"

"I got into trouble from that. Mostly a slap on the wrist, but people say what they want to say in those kinds of situations. You're not supposed to make a big speculation of your powers around other people. Especially our type." Ivan's prominent nose curled as he hissed the words, "'Public disturbance.'"

Thoughts of getting thrown in a stony jail plagued Matthew's mind again. Scientists, with big, sharp scalpels-

"It's a solitary life," Ivan murmured. "Not enough people know much of anything having to do with us. Not enough people want to know anything. Our touch can and will hurt them. Who would you blame but yourself for your own loneliness?" He blinked, and picked up his head. A slight slap of cool air dusted Matthew's cheeks. There windows were not open. "Ah, that was a little bit too sad, yes?"

Matthew couldn't help a little laugh. "Yeah, that was real freaking sad. We are monsters."

"Now that was sad. I suppose even monsters feel it, too, yes? Does that really make us monsters, compared to those who deny it?"

"Ugh, stop it, you're making my head hurt."

Ivan let out a giggle. A giggle. The grin cracking along his pale face attracted eyes more than that gloom hanging over the room. "It is not all bad news, Mister Williams."

"Really, you can call me Matthew. And what is it?"

"Matthew. Matvey. No, Matthew. Yes. Uh, you're most likely going to get charged with the cost of window repairs."

"I knew that. That's not good news, anyway."

"You also hurt people."

"Detective, I thought you said you had good news."

"You're not going to get arrested, or tossed in some spooky prison."

Matthew's eyes went wide. "What?"

"The hospital is not pressing charges, as long as you cover the damage. Not as a criminal, at least, but there was nothing I could do to dissuade them from seeing it as an onslaught of mental health issues."

Matthew fell back against his pillow. "They probably are, anyway."

"Don't say that."

"Whoops."

Ivan scrunched his face for a moment, before it fell back into a sly grin. His hand breeched the mattress, crinkling the hospital sheet, "You live in a good place. People will take care of you. Maybe...when you come back...if you find yourself without a job, the station is always looking for honest people to share our stories. Journalists. Reporters. Programmers, too. Those are always in demand."

"What?" Matthew gasped, "Mister Braginsky, no. You can't. You shouldn't-"

"I'll put in a good word for you."

"Why?"

"I like your stories." Ivan almost said he liked Mister Williams. That would have been a bit too soon, wouldn't it? He just tackled the guy to the snowy ground and knocked him out, after all. Usually people don't make friends that way. Usually he didn't make friends at all. He decided to go with, "I always read my stories coming back to me, from you."

Matthew's hands curled over his own face. "Oh, no..."

"I think you even called me a 'hero' once-"

"No, no..."

Ivan grinned, "I actually don't live an impressive life, Matthew."

"Says you." A ripple of cold air drifted across the cot. Matthew shot the detective a look that was supposed to be threatening, almost as if goading him to 'Try me.' "I think...what you did...I thought that was impressive."

"Do you mean, what I did a few hours ago, or just in general?"

Matthew lightly smacked Ivan's shoulder, grinning, "Shut up."

Ivan found himself copying the mingling chills in the air. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions about what happened."

After some thought, "Okay, Mister Detective. Ask away."

It took some guts to reach over and put an icy palm to another.

At the end, Ivan stepped out of Matthew's hospital room, realizing his interrogation was something more of a self-indulgent questionnaire. Snow sprites live solitary lives. Maybe this one didn't have to.

#oh hell yeah my dudes I like me some #RusCan #THE SIN BIN #hetalia au #hetalia fic #hetalia #hws RusCan #hws Russia #hws Canada #my fic

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objectivesubjectivity · 5 years

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Second Chances: “A” Albums

The following are “A” albums I wanted to give another shot at Top 100 Condenterdom and/or favorite “A” albums of my peers. This is their last chance to continue on in the quest.

The Beatles - Abbey Road

For what it’s worth, my mom was an avid Beatles fan and procured most of their records in her teenage years. However, a handful of these albums were met with a sharpie from her sister who decided, if her name was on the item, it was hers. I’m pretty sure Abbey Road was one of those albums because I don’t remember seeing it on our record shelves growing up. Perhaps that is one of the reasons I don’t find it to be, as a facebook friend once commented, “not so much an album as it is a magical ray of sunlight dropped from heaven to prove that perfection is possible.” Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very good album with very good songs and a killer ending opus, I just find it flawed in ways I don’t have the history to overlook.

And this brings up a larger conversation about subjectivity and objectivity. I have long held the belief that the more people agree upon a certain opinion, the blurrier the line becomes between subjective and objective. “Graceland” being a “good” album is nearly an objective fact. Motown at a wedding party: “good.” the final season of Game of Thrones: “bad.” These are purely subjective takes that have found enough consensus to almost become objectively true. But how we land on that subjectivity in the first place makes a difference. And, for my money, it seems to be a combination of personal history and social influence.

Think about it: Most of the opinions on the Beatles I come across stem from a deep history with the band. It helps that plenty of my peer group had parents who grew up in the hayday of Beatlemania and that adoration has filtered down through the generations. One might wonder, as Danny Boyle recently did, if one wasn’t to grow up on the fab-four, and was instead introduced to them much later in life, would this same reverence take hold? Or would they go down the Ben Shapiro “overrated” route?

And then there’s social influence. The more people that subscribe to a similar opinion, the wider that net becomes and the easier it is to access, often with less work. Take Nickleback for instance. I would put money down that most people who equate that band with the anti-Christ haven’t listened to more than a handful of hits. The general consensus is that Nickleback is “bad,” and so it’s much easier to stick to that opinion than to do the work necessary in actually forming it for yourself. Case in point: I personally received quite a bit of social media scorn for expressing enjoyment of Puddle of Mudd’s “Come Clean” (sorry, it’s an enjoyable listen).

So back to Abbey Road. Clearly, in the musical world, there is consensus regarding this particular album (although even the Pitchfork 10/10 review doesn’t understand the appeal of “I Want You (She’s So Heavy)”), which makes my subjective opinion stick out like a sore thumb. And that sore thumb feels immense pressure from the musical zeitgeist to heal itself and become part of the fold. It is much easier to plop down in the wide, comfortable hammock of belief than to bear the weight of the side-eye, scoffs, and shame when you choose the stubborn old rocking chair.

But I’m choosing to do the work on my opinions. Over 3 years worth of work. And objectively, I’m sticking to my subjectivity and leaving Abbey Road off the list.

R.E.M. - Accelerate

“Accelerate” initially jumped out at me because it accomplishes a rare feat: it actually sounds like a return to form. Mind you, the form it’s returning to is more “Monster” than “Murmur” but it’s light years away from “Around the Sun,” and to call that a welcome change would be a massive understatement. But it’s also light years away from “Automatic for the People” and “Life’s Rich Pageant.” And seeing that the latter didn’t make the cut the first time around, there’s no way this album’s gonna make it either.

U2 - Achtung Baby

This is a recent pick up and only got the second listen because a friend ranked it as one of their top “A” albums. In fact, I’ve only recently acquired any U2 albums at all. I don’t think I’ve spent enough time with them on the whole to make an opinion on which one of their albums I like the most and whether or not it belongs on this list.

Neil Young - After the Gold Rush

If you were to ask me, going into this week, what album had the highest likelihood of landing a spot on the list, I would have told you this one. I had only listened to it once (I grabbed a copy of it mid-way through phase one) but it made an immediate impression upon me and I was eagerly awaiting a second listen. So it came as a surprise that I was left feeling underwhelmed upon a second spin.

But then I happened to be at a friend’s party on Saturday and this friend put me in charge of choosing a record to play. There was a stack left on top of a speaker and hanging out underneath a stack of reggae compilations and a dusty copy of “Graceland,” there it was.

Perhaps I should add fate to that “history + social influence = subjectivity” equation because, after one more listen this morning, the contender list bumped back up to 119 again. Congrats, Neil.

Sufjan Stevens - The Age of Adz

This is a really good example of how loose and free I was at the start of this journey. This album is far too overwrought to warrant a possible Top 100 slot and yet, I dabbled with that thought way back in 2016. Also, he’s still got two albums on the contender list, so there’s no big loss here.

fun. - Aim and Ignite

This album is a great example of what happens when there are no wrong answers and that’s probably why it struck me so hard the first go around. But while that limitlessness brings about ample moments of unexpected brilliance, it also can feel like no one’s really helming the ship and there are only so many times I can find joy in getting lost.

Steely Dan - Aja

Ultimately, it’s too jazzy for me, but I don’t regret giving it another solid listen. And I love me some “Peg.”

Grateful Dead - American Beauty

This was a tough one. On the one hand, these are 10 well-crafted tunes that clock in at a respectable 42 minutes and make for a very comfortable (and comforting) ride. On the other hand, they’re played with a looseness and devil-may-care attitude that, honestly, feels a bit disrespectful. But then again, I’m not a dead head; I’ve never quite understood the thrill of a 10 (20? 30?) minute solo. And to someone who lives for those meandering discoveries, perhaps the sloppiness is as necessary as the thoughtful arrangement. Perhaps those moments of infallibility make it all the more human and endearing. “American Beauty,” is staying off the list for now but it’s probably not the last time I’ll give it a good listen on this quest.

Rancid - ...And Out Come the Wolves

There are only so many ways you can go from the 1 to the 4 or the 5. And the more I listen to this album, the more that sentiment rings true.

OutKast - ATLiens & Aquemini

It may be a couple years before I get to “Stankonia,” the OutKast album currently on the Top 100 Contender list, but I cannot listen to these albums without thinking about its strange and circuitous path and how that keeps its 24(!) tracks fresh. Both “ATLiens” and “Aquemini,” are stunningly forward thinking and ambitious, but their journeys’ aren’t nearly as thrilling or strange as “Stankonia.” And I can’t seem to get over that hump.

The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Are You Experienced

I don’t do enough drugs for this to make the list.

It’s also not fair to judge this album solely on the US version, seeing that the track listing on the UK one is vastly different. But both contain “Third Stone from the Sun.” And I just can’t dig it man.

What I listened to last week:

Top 100 contenders in bold.

The Beatles - Abbey Road

R.E.M. - Accelerate

U2 - Achtung Baby

Neil Young - After the Gold Rush

Sufjan Stevens - The Age of Adz

fun. - Aim and Ignite

Steely Dan - Aja

Grateful Dead - American Beauty

Rancid - ...And Out Come the Wolves

OutKast - Aquemini

The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Are You Experienced

OutKast - ATLiens

Albums listened to in total: 2,283

Top 100 Contenders: 119

Next week’s album: Aimee Mann - Bachelor No. 2 (Or, The Last Remains of the Dodo)

Think I missed an album? Challenge me! The list is alphabetical by letter.

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redvsvblue · 7 years

Text

Two Halves Of My Rainbow (3/?)

This got out of control. More of that Jerevinwood FBI agent soulmate AU.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, AO3

Ryan’s startled awake when a crash floods his headphones – it’s two days after his discovery and too much coffee and not enough sleep and god, he hasn’t fallen asleep at his desk since grade school, get your shit together, Haywood. The backseat of his car’s been treating him pretty decently, though, and his back doesn’t ache as much as he expected.

He wipes the drool from his mouth and hurriedly clicks over to the webcam screen again to see Gavin and Jeremy hastily opening drawers and bags and – and packing, it looks like, stuffing clothes into duffles and oh that’s definitely a gun.

“What about T?” Gavin asks.

“We’ll have to tell him later,” Jeremy says, panic high in his voice. “Fuck, fuck, we’re not gonna make it out of here, god - ”

“Hey, hey,” Gavin says sharply, pausing to grab Jeremy’s shoulders. “We’ll get out, okay? You know the plan, right?”

Jeremy nods and pulls Gavin in for a quick hug, their panting loud in Ryan’s ears.

“We fucked up, though, Gav, the cops – ”

“It happens, we made a mistake, let’s just bloody go,” Gavin replies, turning to continue packing.

Ryan’s fingers fly over the keyboard as he brings up Austin news – nothing. Jack shit nothing and he turns to the police database, slips in through the metaphorical backdoor in that technically-illegal way he’s not supposed to do, and through that and scraps of Gavin’s and Jeremy’s conversation, he figures out they’ve been caught. The police know their address, know their faces, there’s already a warrant in play and they are fucked unless they get out of there.

Which is what they’re doing.

Ryan’s torn between staying quiet like he’s technically supposed to and reporting this like he really really should, should storm into Kelly’s office right now – no, no, it’s ten p.m., most of the office is gone already, he remembers – should storm into Kelly’s house and call the Austin PD and give them all the information he has, including –

“Car’s got enough gas, right?”

“Should do.”

“Should?”

“It’s a thousand mile journey, Jeremy, I planned it as best I could!”

“Did you? Or did you fuck it up like last time - ”

“Oh shut up, Jeremy, you know that wasn’t my fault.”

A pause.

“Shit. Shit. ‘M sorry, Gav, I didn’t mean it, I’m just – I’m sorry - ”

“It’s okay,” Gavin sighs. He sounds tired. “It’s okay, I understand, let’s just – let’s just go, okay?”

There’s a crack in his voice that makes Ryan’s heart ache.

“...how long’s the trip?”

“Just over a day if we take shifts.”

“Are we stopping on the way?” Jeremy asks. There’s a silence.

“We can rest once we’re in Los Santos,” Gavin says quietly. “I don’t want to chance it before - ”

“Okay. Okay, Gav, that’s fine, I just wanted to know.”

“...thanks.”

“I love you, yeah? I understand.”

Including the fact that Ryan knows they’re headed to Los Santos. To him. Fuck.

Ryan should definitely report this. Should compile the recording and write it up and email it to all his higher-ups. Make the necessary phone calls. Alert the PD to this. Get a tracker on Gavin and Jeremy, get tails on them. Find their trail and hunt them down. Arrest them. Or worse, if they resist.

And they would resist, that Ryan can safely guess. Jeremy’s not the type to go in silently, Gavin’s not the type to let Jeremy go in by himself.

Ryan tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to lose the newfound colour in his life if they – if they. If they don’t make it. He doesn’t want to go back to monochrome mornings and greyscale evenings.

That’s what he tells himself.

That’s his weak, weak excuse as he sits there. And watches. And does nothing. Pretends it’s because he wants to know when his tie matches his suit and when his phone’s flashing red.

The laptop is the last thing to get shut and packed away, and the last frame Ryan sees is of Jeremy’s panicked face.

Deleting the footage almost hurts.

The next 24 hours are the most nerve-wracking of Ryan’s life, tracking Jeremy’s invisible route to Los Santos and trying to figure out where they would be at any point after X hours of driving, after X number of possible rest stops, and he imagines them bickering about the radio and laughing about the other drivers.

He misses their voices.

It’s stupid, he knows, to miss the one-way voices of people he was merely assigned to watch, a permanent outsider to their bright, colourful lives, looking in on a vibrant fishbowl filled with all the shades of blueredpurplegreen that Ryan had been missing his whole life.

No one bothers him except for the worried glance Geoff casts his way.

Ryan just ducks his head and listens to the static.

Jeremy and Gavin are in Los Santos. They have to be, it’s been far more than a day, but when Ryan tracks the laptop again he find its coordinates in the Pacific Ocean.

So they’ve dumped the laptop. Unsurprising, really, but Ryan was holding onto a shred of hope that they wouldn’t.

Ryan’s damn near vibrating out of his skin where he is, just trapped at his desk and pretending he’s working when in reality he’s panicking. They’re here. They’re here and they’ll be another crime statistic added to the mile-long list and Ryan’ll probably be on the team to catch them if they’re bad enough – it’s been a while since Ryan’s been in the field, but he’ll still medically fit enough to be sent out.

Gavin and Jeremy are going to get themselves killed in Los Santos.

Ryan knows this with every fibre of his fucking being. It’s nothing like Austin, Los Santos. It’s skyscrapers and scenic sunsets and beaches and villas – and gritty alleyways and souped-up street races and cocaine deals in backstreet cafés and violent gang attacks in abandoned car parks. It’s nothing like the two-bit petty crime Gavin and Jeremy have been pulling in Austin.

Auto theft? Old news, barely even chased up anymore unless someone complains. Your fault for parking in the wrong spot.

Manslaughter? Just don’t piss off the wrong people.

And knowing Gavin and Jeremy, they’re going to piss off the wrong people.

Ryan doesn’t want to forget the colour of his eyes.

Ryan doesn’t want to unlearn the rainbow.

It feels strange, not driving to work at six-thirty on a Friday morning, feels stranger to still be in bed.

Not that Ryan’s slept much - overactive imagination, overthinking everything, but he pictures his empty desk and thinks determinedly that it’s going to stay empty.

He hasn’t formally resigned, but he’ll do something damn well close to it.

This time he kicks the covers off and doesn’t make the bed. Forgoes his boring array of suits and goes for the jeans and old T-shirt knocking around in the drawers, an old leather jacket an ex bought him. He frowns as he tugs at the shirt hem – he’s gotten softer around the middle in recent months, too much time at a desk and not enough in the field. Pushing those thoughts aside, he rakes a hand through his hair and looks at himself in the mirror. He’s imposing enough, he decides. And for once, the all-black isn’t from necessity, from not being able to match colours, it’s from choice.

It feels good. Freeing in a way that scares him a little.

Ryan tugs off the fake wedding ring and leaves it on the bedside table on his way out.

Ryan knows enough from being on the other side of the law to know the basics.

1. Leave no evidence.

2. Leave no evidence.

He pays for the mask with unmarked bills, gets himself a new pair of leather gloves while he’s at it. Fits the mask over his head and the gloves on his hands and feel something settle inside him, a sense of relief that at least he’s not as easily recognisable now.

It’s still too early to go poking around – barely even dusk, and after he’s spent all day securing burner phones and quietly erasing himself from the FIB database, he figures he deserves to grab a meal first.

He’s never had lunch at the pier, he thinks. It sounds like a good memory to make.

After dark is when Ryan starts the real work.

He should probably feel worse for just up and quitting his good, steady job, but all he feels is glad. Free of the government, free of Kelly, that itch in his palms and on the back of his neck finally allowed to break into action, into the aggression he can use to get his way.

He knows who to go to.

Ryan damn near kicks the door in on Diaz’s shitty little office, lodged between a laundromat and a Chinese takeaway place, to find it completely empty. He growls and glances around – no sign of any unusual disturbance, just as shabby as it’s always looked, simply no sign of Diaz anywhere.

Well. Ryan didn’t come all this way for nothing. He backs into into a corner and brandishes his gun, ready for whenever Diaz does return.

Only half an hour later, the door creaks open, and the moment it shuts behind Diaz, Ryan’s on him, yanking his arms behind his back and pressing him face-first into the wall, nudging his pistol against Diaz’s ribs in a threat as he kicks his legs open unsteadily wide.

“Jesus,” Diaz breathes, his cheek smushed into the door. Ryan growls and clamps his fingers tighter around Diaz’s wrists, grinding the bones together.

“Don’t scream,” Ryan warns. Diaz’s breath hitches and his head turns ever-so-slightly and -

“Ryan?” He asks. Ryan’s heart kicks up in his chest and when he doesn’t answer, Diaz’s head twists more.

“How did you know?” Ryan asks, knows that’s just giving himself away, but he has to know. Diaz laughs pleasantly.

“Oh dude, I remember you!” He says. “Shit man, why you cornerin’ me like this?”

A surge of guilt rises in Ryan and he lets Diaz’s wrists slip out of his grip, stepping back with a sheepish apology.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tucking the gun away again as Alfredo turns around, slumping against the door. “I – I didn’t know you’d remember me.”

Alfredo studies him for a moment and shrugs, patting him on the shoulder on his way to his desk.

“It’s okay,” he says easily, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms. He frowns at Ryan and Ryan shoves his hands into his jacket pockets to hide his nerves. Fuck, he should’ve gotten body armour.

“You look different,” Alfredo notes. He winks. “I like it. Leather suits you.”

Ryan scoffs and Alfredo laughs, cocking his head a touch as he studies Ryan.

“So, what brings you here, Agent Haywood?” He asks. “I know it wasn’t just for my fashion opinion.”

“I need help,” Ryan says.

“Start from the beginning.”

Ryan swallows and looks off to the side, at the small pile of rifles nestled in the corner of Alfredo’s office.

“There isn’t one,” he says. “I just need a jumpstart.”

“A jumpstart? For what?”

“Let’s just say I’m not on the right side of the law anymore,” Ryan says carefully. “That’s all you need to know.”

“You want a reputation.”

“I want another life.”

Alfredo gives him a once-over, his eyes glittering with mischief.

“I think I know where to start.”

#ragehappy #jerevinwood #fanfic #mine #soulmate AU #my other #rainbow

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bigyack-com · 5 years

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Donald Trump impeachment report may be out by next week - world news

The witnesses have spoken, the politics are largely settled. Now impeachment investigators will make the case for public opinion.On Monday, hundreds of pages from Democratic Chairman Adam Schiff’s intelligence committee were being compiled into an exhaustive report that will begin to outline whether President Donald Trump engaged in “treason, bribery or high crimes and misdemeanors” by withholding $400 million in aid as he pushed Ukraine to investigate Democratic rival Joe Biden. The report may come as soon as next week.There are rising political stakes for all sides. Americans remain deeply split over the impeachment question, despite hours of sometimes riveting testimony, and the country’s polarization now seems to foreshadow an outcome: Democrats are poised to vote to impeach the president while Republicans stand firmly with Trump.Sending the case on to the Judiciary Committee, which is ready to start its own round of hearings in December, provides yet another chance to sway public opinion before a House vote expected by Christmas and a Senate trial in 2020.“The evidence of wrongdoing and misconduct by the President that we have gathered to date is clear and hardly in dispute,” Schiff told colleagues in a letter Monday. “What is left to us now is to decide whether this behavior is compatible with the office of the Presidency, and whether the Constitutional process of impeachment is warranted.”Republicans are not necessarily disputing the evidence, but insist the president did nothing wrong. While Trump lawyer Rudy Giuliani pursued the political investigations with Ukraine in what witnesses described as an irregular foreign policy channel, Republicans argue it’s not clear the president directly intervened to withhold the money to Ukraine. Besides, they say, the military aid for the Eastern European ally countering Russian aggression was eventually released.Trump gave Giuliani a vote of confidence Monday.“Rudy is the best mayor in the history of New York. In my opinion, the strongest mayor, the best mayor,” Trump told reporters in the Oval Office.However, in a setback for the administration, a federal judge late Monday ordered former White House counsel Donald McGahn to appear before Congress. The president has tried to keep top aides from testifying, which Democrats say amounts to obstruction of Congress and potential grounds for impeachment. The administration will appeal the ruling.Some Republicans, led by Sen. Lindsey Graham, prefer to keep digging into unfounded claims that Ukraine was involved in 2016 election interference, a theory that contradicts the findings of U.S. intelligence. They also see reason to scrutinize the work of Biden’s son, Hunter Biden, for a gas company in Ukraine.“The whole Ukraine issue, particularly the way the House of Representatives is doing it, is a joke,” Graham tweeted Monday. “We’re less than a year away from the 2020 election. If you don’t like Trump — vote against him.”When Congress resumes next week, Schiff is expected to send the report, compiled from 17 closed-door depositions and five public sessions, to the House Judiciary Committee, where Chairman Jerrold Nadler will soon begin hearings that are expected to result in articles of impeachment against Trump.Rather than gather additional testimony, Nadler’s panel is likely to drill down into the questions surrounding impeachment and whether Trump’s actions toward Ukraine meet the bar.For many Democrats, Trump already proved the case when he released a rough transcript of a July call in which he asked Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy for a “favor” — the investigations of Biden and the Democrats.“The unusual fact about this inquiry is that the most explosive evidence is the first evidence we got: It was the President’s transcript,” said Rep. Peter Welch, D-Vt. “All the other evidence is confirming it and showing how elaborate and sustained the effort was to put the squeeze on Ukraine to get the Biden investigations.”Republicans are just as insistent the end result will not remove Trump from office.“The only prediction I can make is that I can’t imagine a scenario under which 67 members of the Senate would remove the president from office in the middle of a presidential election,” Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell said during an event Monday in Kentucky.Even as investigators race to compile the report, Democrats aren’t ruling out more testimony.The Intelligence Committee still could hear from John Bolton, the president’s former national security adviser, who left the White House after saying he didn’t want to be involved in whatever “drug deal” Giuliani was cooking up, according to testimony from a top aide, Fiona Hill.Schiff said Sunday he’s also in discussions with counsel for Lev Parnas, the Giuliani associate who was arrested with business partner Igor Fruman on campaign finance charges.Bolton has so far declined an invitation to testify. The panel has issued a subpoena to Parnas for documents about the matter.“We are open to the possibility that further evidence will come to light,” Schiff said. If other witnesses agree to testify, he said, “We are prepared to hear from them.”One witness Schiff does not expect to hear from is the still anonymous government whistleblower whose complaint about Trump’s phone call with Ukraine sparked the impeachment probe.Schiff said over the weekend that the panel initially wanted to hear from the person, but Trump’s attacks have put the person’s life in danger. The committee is now trying to protect the whistleblower from retaliation. Source link Read the full article

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cargopantsman · 7 years

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Signy: Vengeance and Filicide

I started this one by copying (almost) all of Signy’s lines/notable moments in the saga. And then realized that in the relatively vast expanse of the narrative in chapters 2 through 8 (Finch translation btw) Signy gets very little “screen time.” And as such, I actually found it rather powerful to see her part put together in one fell swoop. So bear with me on this, I’m leaving everything below as I compiled it.

Also trying a read-more tag... I know mobile tends to not like those...

A Snapshot of Signy “Their eldest was called Sigmund, and their daughter Signy. They were twins and in every way the best looking and the most remarkable of King Völsung’s children, though, indeed, all of them were outstanding, a fact long recognised, just as the Völsungs have long been famed for their autocratic inflexibility of purpose, and for being far ahead of most people, as old stories tell, in knowledge, attainments and in enterprise generally.”

“[King Völsung] was favorably disposed to the idea [of Signy marrying King Siggeir], as were his sons, but she herself was against it, though she asked her father to decide about this as he did about other matters concerning her. And the king thought it advisable for her to be married, and she was betrothed to King Siggeir.”

“Signy now spoke to her father: ‘I don’t want to go away with Siggeir, nor do I feel at all warmly towards him, and my gift of second sight which runs in the family tells me that this business will result in a great deal of misery for us, unless this marriage is speedily annulled.”

“That same evening, Signy, King Völsung’s daughter, came to ask her father and her brothers to have a private talk with her. She then said that in her opinion- it was also King Siggeir’s own! - Siggeir had got together a large force that was invincible- ‘And he means to break faith with you. So I beg you,’ she said, ‘to get back to your own country immediately. Get hold of as large a number of men as you can, then return and get your revenge, rather than walk into this trap, for you’ll find no lack of treachery in him if you don’t adopt the plan I desire you to.”

“Then Signy wept bitterly and begged not to have to go back to Siggeir.” … “So Signy went back…”

“Signy discovered that her father had been killed and her brothers captured and sentenced to death.”

She-wolf episode here.

“And we are told that when the elder son was ten years old, Signy sent him off to find Sigmund so that he could help him, should he wish to make any attempt to avenge his father.”

“The next time Sigmund and his sister met, he said he seemed no nearer to getting a man, even though the boy was staying with him. ‘Then seize and kill him,’ said Signy. ‘There’s no need for him to live any longer.’ And that’s what he did.”

Repeat 1x.

“He killed the boy at Signy’s bidding.”

Body swapping and twincest.

“Before sending her first two sons to Sigmund, she had submitted them to the following test: she sewed their tunics on to their arms, stitching through skin and flesh. They stood up to it badly, and screamed as it was being done. She did the same to Sinfjötli. He did not flinch. Then she stripped the tunic from him, so that skin came off with the sleeves, and she said that this would hurt him.’

Robin Hood and Little John running through the forests....

“Then he [another young son of Siggeir and Signy] ran back into the hall to his father and told him what he had seen [Sigmund and Sinfjötli in hiding]. .. Now Signy heard what they said. She stood up, took both children and went into the outer room to [Sigmund and Sinfjötli] and said that they ought to know that the children had given them away- ‘And I think you had better kill them.’” [Sigmund, this time, hesitates. Sinfjötli does not. At all.]

“And while [the serfs] were busy covering over the mound [which held Sigmund and Sinfjötli] with turf, Signy came up with an armful of straw [containing a chunk of pork and also the sword from Stabby McOne-Eye the Murder Hobo]. She threw it into the mound to Sinfjötli, and told the serfs to conceal this from the king.”

“[Sigmund] told his sister to come out and receive from him every consideration, and high esteem, meaning in this way to make up for what she had suffered [for roughly 27 years at this point].

‘You’ll know now whether or not I have remembered King Siggeir’s killing of King Völsung against him!’ she answered, ‘and I had our children killed when they seemed to me all too tardy in avenging our father, and in the shape of some sorceress I came to you in the forest, and Sinfjötli is your son, and mine. His immense vigor comes from being King Völsung’s grandson on his father’s as well as his mother’s side. Everything I have done has been to bring about King Siggeir’s death. And I have done so much to achieve vengeance that to go on living is out of the question. I shall now gladly die with King Siggeir, reluctant though I was to marry him.’

Then she kissed her brother Sigmund, and Sinfjötli, and walking into the inferno she bade them farewell, and thereupon she perished there with King Siggeir and all his men.”

Vengeance and Filicide Revenge is, I’m guessing, going to be an ongoing theme here, so what constitutes revenge in the old Viking, or possibly slightly pre-Viking, society? If one person kills another the family of the victim is entitled to compensation, which can come in three varieties:

Weregild: An economic payment of either currency, valuables, livestock or land commensurate with the societally agreed upon value of the victim. Blood vengeance: The murderer is executed. Outlaw: The murderer is banished from society and whatever happens, happens.

This is pretty clear cut as long as the death is not part of a battle in war or that it is not an instance of kin-slaying.

Kin-slaying in most societies is a big no-no. Family members "are caught between irreconcilable duties: to extract vengeance on the one hand and to honor the bonds of kinship on the other hand." [Lindow, John (1997) Murder and Vengeance among the Gods. Baldr in Scandinavian Mythology.] Even Óðinn had to take a moment when Baldr died to figure out how vengeance was going to be had. In a parallel of this, Óðinn goes off and knocks up the giantess Rindr, rushes the birth, and after being alive for one day (apparently enough time to learn how to crawl, walk, brandish a longsword), Váli slays Höðr. Because, supposedly, if Óðinn himself took vengeance on Höðr, Óðinn would then have to take vengeance on himself for kin-slaying. [Margaret E. McKenzie (2012) Filicide in Medieval Narrative: A Dissertation]

Interesting point here is that, even amongst the gods, a vengeance killing apparently does not wipe the slate clean. While, by law, a society cannot punish one for exacting a warranted revenge, it doesn’t seem that no one is restricted from taking revenge on the avenger as well.

So Óðinn gets out of having to directly avenge Baldr by having a half-brother take the blood. In this case we can surmise that uncles and half-brothers are distant enough to commit a kin-slaying without bearing the complications thereof. (I have absolutely no source for this thought and it could be wildly erroneous.)

The slaying of children, particularly by, or at the behest of, a parent wasn’t as big a taboo as outright kin-slaying. Leaving infants or small children out for exposure was not unheard of in these times, though it was frowned upon. [MacKenzie 2012] But a parent killing their own, young, child seems to somehow skirt the complications of invoking a need for revenge upon the murderer. Two of these filicides happened to boys that were near the age of majority (at least by Icelandic standards at the turn of the millennium, which was about twelve years old). The next two to be slain were probably significantly younger yet given the descriptions of them at play in the hall. So perhaps being children and not yet adults in some way puts them outside the law in regards to reprisal just as they are too young to participate in legal matters on their own.

A Profile of Signy Given the few direct references we have to work with regarding Signy, it is difficult to figure out who she would be as a person and not a plot device. When reading the saga in its complete text, she is thrown in the background so often that it is easy to dismiss her as cold-hearted, as the stereotypical “disposable” princess that is there only as a political pawn.

But considering what a daughter of Völsung, the greatest warrior and king in the history of Hunaland, would be like within the confines of the family, it wouldn’t be hard to surmise that she had a happy enough, comfortable enough upbringing. “The Völsungs have long been famed for their autocratic inflexibility of purpose, and for being far ahead of most people, as old stories tell, in knowledge, attainments and in enterprise generally.” She would have had a sense of duty of course, but also education and, with a valkyrie for a mother, no small amount of initiative of her own. That she defers her will to her father’s on matters says less about Signy as it says more about King Völsung, who from a young age was successful in war and kingdom building. Despite my earlier jibes at the man regarding how he handled the voyage to Gautland, we are supposed to take from this saga that King Völsung is a powerful, forceful figure that commands respect and oozes leadership, even among his own children no matter how “remarkable” and “outstanding” they may be.

Arranged marriages, as repulsive as we may find them nowadays, were how international politics worked then. Signy would have known this and while she may not like the prospect, her respect for her father, her sense of duty to the family, to her position, and her own pride would not let her back down from the proposal.

Of course this changes shortly after the marriage itself, whether it was purely based on kynfylgja alone or a few other factors grouped in with that for brevity, as Signy very much does not want anything to do with this. While the saga thus far has been lacking in emotional flare in the telling of the characters thus far, it does say something that against a tremendous respect for her father, despite her proud duty to her family, she asks to be released from this arrangement. Someone like Signy, daughter of an Óðinn blessed king and a valkyrie, would not do this just because she doesn’t want to be with Siggeir. Even when her family arrives in Gautland and is about to be betrayed and slaughtered, when Völsung confirms he will not back down from this fight as he never had before, she asks again to be released from the marriage.

“Then Signy wept bitterly and begged not to have to go back to Siggeir.” Völsung responds, dutifully as ever, “Of course you must go back to your husband, and stay with him, whatever happens to us.”

If ever Signy is to be described as cold-hearted, it should only be considered in this moment, where we see the most emotionally filled line in the saga to this point in six words, that Signy’s heart has broken. We know the Völsungs are defeated and she is doomed to be with Siggeir for the rest of her life, but on the other side we should consider that if Völsung had defeated Siggeir and killed him, if Signy would have had to prepare herself to follow him to Valhalla. If that custom were valid for the era and place of this episode, then Signy is facing the end of her life, either literally or metaphorically.

As Hamlet learns from his father’s ghost that his death was due to “something rotten in Denmark,” we can easily see Signy slipping into a similar despair, depression, and trauma induced madness. For whatever reason she must sit idly as over the course of nine nights she loses nine brothers. Imagine how long those days must have been, how sleepless the nights?

With only the consolation that she has her twin brother escaped and hidden in the forests does she have one small hope in the world for her true family. So she spends days as Siggeir’s wife in Siggeir’s hall surrounded by Siggeir’s men and bearing Siggeir’s children all while hating him, his country, his kingdom for leaving her alone in the world. Vengeance becomes the only road to hope. That Siggeir dies and Sigmund can be free to rebuild their legacy.

Her sons are Siggeir’s sons, but they are half Völsung. So perhaps they can be instrumental to avenging King Völsung. Women were not supposed to take up revenge themselves according to the old laws, but they could readily incite it. [Andersson, Theodore M. and William Ian Miller. (1989) Law and Literature in Medieval Iceland] Even if she were to entertain the idea of slaying him herself, she would then be in a position of being kin-slayer. Though she may disregard her own life even at this early point, it could damage the family reputation.

She subjects her first two sons to a sadistic test of having their tunics sewn to their flesh. This appears to be an intentional sadism, perhaps as a post traumatic symptom, transferring her hatred of Siggeir to these children. It is extraneous since there’s no reason to believe these boys would not have been raised to be warriors in accordance with Germanic tradition. Furthermore, despite that “they stood up to it badly, and screamed as it was being done,” she still sends them, in turn, to Sigmund anyway. This is a cruelty, clearly done with a sociopathic, methodic coldness which could suggest that these children lived their entire lives with a stony mother that from day one made every conscious effort to quell any maternal warmth she may have had for her children lest she lose focus on her goal, her vengeance.

That she also so casually permits the murder of her children by Sigmund should also put us in mind of her resolve to attain this revenge. Beyond the initial shock value of a mother saying ‘Then seize and kill him. There’s no need for him to live any longer,’ it stresses that, for Signy at this point, there is only one reason, need, to be alive and that is to see Siggeir’s death. This point may have held more weight in the time the saga was written. While we modern reader’s tend to focus on the children as actual living humans succumbing to a murderous mother, ‘some scholars have argued that children in medieval narrative exist merely to aid in the plot; in that way, they lack agency and are considered more as objects than as people’ [MacKenzie 2012] and a contemporary listener to the saga may have likely just been impressed at Signy’s single-mindedness in avenging her legendary father.

The drive to this end becomes more apparent when Sigmund and Sinfjötli have entered Siggeir’s hall and are hiding in a side room, waiting to strike. Another son of Siggeir and Signy discover them when a toy has rolled away from him. It isn’t until after Siggeir has been warned of intruders that Signy gathers up both of her young sons and brings them to Sigmund to be dealt with. Being so close to the end, with “the wolves in with the chickens” so to speak, Signy sees these children as obstacles. They are not needed for Signy’s purpose, Sinfjötli is clearly capable of being the avenging son/grandson. At this point Signy may know her life will not extend much beyond Siggeir’s and has no notions of ever being able to be a good mother for these children. Having the blood of two sons already on her hands, what’s two more?

A side note here on Sinfjötli; Signy has yet to reveal his incestuous origin, so effectively we witness him committing full-brother kin-slaying.

Finally, after escaping capture in which Signy has returned Sigmund’s sword to him, Sinfjötli and Sigmund return to Siggeir’s hall and, apparently able to just saunter up and set a ton of wood down, light it on fire.

Signy gives a final monologue, her only goal in life having been accomplished. ‘And I have done so much to achieve vengeance that to go on living is out of the question. I shall now gladly die with King Siggeir, reluctant though I was to marry him.’ Which shouldn’t be too surprising. With everything she had endured and done in the course of 27 years, over half her life; in losing her family, being trapped by duty with the betrayer of her family, in being a cold mother, and a cruel one, dismissive of her children’s very lives, you can’t blame her for being done with vengeance and with life.

#norsereadalong #volsunga saga #signy #tragic #norse mythology #projectnorsemyth #week 3 #this went on a lot longer than i thought it would #im sorry #so wordy

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jomfslayah27insurance-blog · 5 years

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mikemortgage · 6 years

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AP FACT CHECK: McCain can’t respond but his record speaks

WASHINGTON — President Donald Trump says John McCain failed his fellow veterans, stained public policy and took anti-Trump fake news to the FBI before the 2016 election.

McCain can’t respond but his record speaks.

Trump misrepresented it, on matters stretching from McCain’s school days to his funeral, as he went on a tear about the late Arizona senator, Republican presidential candidate, Vietnam War naval aviator and tortured prisoner of war.

A look at Trump’s bad-blood comments on McCain and his words on other subjects over the past week:

McCAIN

TRUMP: “I gave him the kind of funeral that he wanted. …I didn’t get ‘thank you.’ That’s OK. We sent him on the way. ” — remarks Wednesday at the Army tank factory in Lima, Ohio.

THE FACTS: Trump did not “give” a funeral for McCain. He did sign off on the military transport of McCain’s body. But the venues and arrangements were the responsibility of others. And thanks were conveyed.

At the time, McCain family spokesman Rick Davis cited “the Trump administration, the White House,” the defence secretary and department, and the Military District of Washington for their combined effort on logistics. “We really thank them for coming together very quickly and pulling together all of the federal resources,” he said.

McCain’s family made clear that Trump was not welcome during the weeklong, cross-country ceremonies that the senator had planned himself. Instead, McCain invited former Presidents George W. Bush, who defeated McCain during the 2000 GOP nomination fight, and Barack Obama, the Democrat who defeated him in 2008, to deliver eulogies on the value of pursuing goals greater than oneself. Trump went golfing and was uncharacteristically quiet on Twitter during the Washington events.

——

TRUMP, asked why he is criticizing a dead senator who can’t defend himself: “When they ask me the question, I answer the question. But you people bring it up. I don’t bring it up.” — Fox Business Network interview broadcast Friday on “Mornings with Maria.”

THE FACTS: This is false. Trump has been assailing McCain without any prompting by the media. He tweeted a week ago about “last in his class” McCain (who wasn’t last in his class), after a tweet about “stains” on the late senator’s record.

And after extended opening remarks in the speech at the Army tank factory on Wednesday, Trump abruptly segued by telling his audience: “A lot of people are asking, because they love me, and they ask me about a man named John McCain.” He went on to devote nearly 800 words to criticisms of McCain.

——

TRUMP: “McCain didn’t get the job done for our great vets. … The vets were on my side because I got the job done. I got Choice and I got accountability.” — remarks at tank factory.

THE FACTS: What Trump got done was an expansion of the Choice program achieved by McCain and Sen. Bernie Sanders, co-authors of legislation giving veterans the choice of private medical care at public expense if they have to wait too long for Veterans Affairs Department care.

That legislation was signed into law by Obama, not Trump.

McCain didn’t rest after the law was enacted. He fought to expand the program and achieved that, too, in his last months.

Congress approved the expansion in May and Trump signed the legislation in June. It’s named after three veterans who served in Congress.

One of them is McCain.

It’s called the John S. McCain III, Daniel K. Akaka, and Samuel R. Johnson VA Maintaining Internal Systems and Strengthening Integrated Outside Networks Act of 2018.

——

TRUMP: “Well, you better love me; I kept this place open, that I can tell you.” — opening line in speech at tank factory.

THE FACTS: He may have a plausible case to make that he has kept the plant open. It was at risk of closing during the Obama administration, and Trump achieved a large increase in military spending last year.

Trump did not mention the formal name of the act he signed that increases the military budget. It’s called the John S. McCain National Authorization Act in honour of the senator’s efforts to support military capability as well as higher pay for troops, which the law provides.

Trump signed the law Aug. 13 and did not credit McCain then, either. The senator died Aug. 25.

——

TRUMP: “John McCain received a fake and phoney dossier. Did you hear about the dossier? It was paid for by Crooked Hillary Clinton. Right? And John McCain got it. He got it. And what did he do? He didn’t call me. He turned it over to the FBI, hoping to put me in jeopardy.” — remarks at tank factory.

TRUMP: “So it was indeed (just proven in court papers) ‘last in his class’ (Annapolis) John McCain that sent the Fake Dossier to the FBI and Media hoping to have it printed BEFORE the Election. He & the Dems, working together, failed (as usual).” — tweet March 17.

THE FACTS: Trump’s chronology is incorrect. McCain did not present then-FBI Director James Comey with a copy of the memos compiled by former British spy Christopher Steele until December 2016, after the election, according to a deposition from a McCain associate, David Kramer. FBI officials had access to Steele’s research on Trump before the election, as they referred to it as part of an application for a secret search warrant of Trump associate Carter Page.

Trump often claims falsely that special counsel Robert Mueller’s Russia probe was based on the dossier. That probe examined Russian interference in the 2016 U.S. presidential election and possible co-ordination with the Trump campaign. The FBI’s investigation actually began months before it received the dossier of anti-Trump research financed by the Democratic Party and Clinton’s campaign. The FBI probe’s origins were based on other evidence — not the existence of the dossier.

There is no evidence that McCain provided the dossier to the news media.

And while McCain famously racked up demerits and earned poor grades at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland, he ultimately graduated fifth from the bottom of his 1958 class, not last.

——

ECONOMY

TRUMP: “We’ve created more than almost 6 million jobs since the election. And if I would have said that to the fake news during the campaign they would have said, ‘He exaggerates.’ … Including almost 600,000 manufacturing jobs.” — remarks at tank factory.

THE FACTS: He’s not exaggerating on job creation. But that record is not all his, and it’s not remarkable.

The economy created about 6 million jobs in the roughly two years before the election, then again in the roughly two years after.

By counting since the election, he’s taking credit for jobs created in the last months of the Obama administration. The country has added 466,000 manufacturing jobs, not “almost 600,000,” since Trump took office.

——

TRUMP: “Everyone said, ‘You couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring back manufacturing jobs.’ … We’re bringing them back beyond anybody’s expectations.” — remarks at tank factory.

THE FACTS: It’s hard to show that manufacturing has been “brought back.” There are now 12.8 million jobs in U.S. factories, below the 13.7 million just before the recession started and far below the roughly 17.2 million in 2000, just before China joined the World Trade Organization and gained greater access to the U.S. market.

——

TRUMP: “And we just came out — another chart — we just came out with numbers — the Economic Report of the President: 3.1 per cent GDP. The first time in 14 years that we cracked 3, right? That’s pretty good — 3.1. The press tried to make it 2.9. I said, ‘It’s not 2.9.’ What they did is they took odd months.” — remarks at tank factory.

THE FACTS: It’s a fiction that 2.9 per cent growth comes from a calculation based on “odd months.”

It comes from a traditional measure of gross domestic product, comparing growth in the size of one year’s economy with the previous year’s. That measure shows 2.9 per cent growth.

But there’s another way to measure, which Trump goes by because it looks better. He is citing a comparison in the size of the economy in the fourth quarter of 2018 and the fourth quarter of 2017. That shows 3.1 per cent growth.

Some economists consider this measure to be a legitimate way to look at growth, if not the usual way. But when comparing quarters from one year to the next, Trump is wrong to say that growth hasn’t cracked 3 per cent in 14 years. In 2015, the second quarter was up 3.8 per cent from the year before.

——

TRADE

TRUMP on the World Trade Organization: “We’re doing even better with WTO. We’re winning cases all of the sudden, because we never won cases, now we’re starting to win cases because they know my attitude. If they don’t treat us fairly we get out.” — Fox Business Network interview broadcast Friday.

THE FACTS: It’s not true that the U.S. always lost trade cases adjudicated by the World Trade Organization before Trump.

The U.S. Trade Representative Office announced in September 2016 a “decisive” WTO victory in a case that the U.S. said had cut its solar exports to India by 90 per cent because of that country’s domestic content rules.

The office said the Obama administration had brought 23 cases alleging unfair trade practices to the organization and won all of them that had been decided by that point.

——

TRUMP, on Mueller’s report on his Russia investigation: “I want to see the report. And you know who will want to see it? The tens of millions of people that love the fact that we have the greatest economy we’ve ever had.” — remarks Wednesday to reporters at the White House, before Mueller sent the report to Attorney General William Barr on Friday.

THE FACTS: The president is vastly exaggerating what has been a mild improvement in growth and hiring. The economy is healthy but not nearly one of the greatest in U.S. history.

The economy expanded at an annual rate of 2.9 per cent last year, a solid pace. But it was just the fastest in four years. In the late 1990s, growth topped 4 per cent for four straight years, a level it has not yet reached under Trump. And growth even reached 7.2 per cent in 1984.

Independent economists widely expect slower growth this year as the effects of the Trump administration’s tax cuts fade, trade tensions and slower global growth hold back exports, and higher interest rates make it more expensive to borrow to buy cars and homes.

——

RUSSIA INVESTIGATION

TRUMP on the formation of the special counsel investigation: “Again I say, a deputy, because of the fact that the attorney general didn’t have the courage to do it himself, a deputy that’s appointed appoints another man to write a report.” — remarks Wednesday to reporters at the White House.

THE FACTS: The attorney general at the time, Jeff Sessions didn’t lack courage in the matter; he lacked standing. He recused himself from anything to do with the Trump campaign’s interactions with Russia because his work for the campaign placed him in a potential conflict of interest. It then fell to Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosenstein to decide whether to appoint a special counsel, and he did. Mueller sent his report to the attorney general on Friday.

——

TRUMP on Mueller: “I know that he’s conflicted and I know that his best friend is Comey, who’s a bad cop.” — remarks Wednesday at the White House.

THE FACTS: Though James Comey succeeded Mueller as FBI director, and though they served together in the Bush administration, the men are not known to be social friends. There is certainly no evidence, as Trump has repeatedly suggested, that they are “best friends.”

——

TRUMP, on the Mueller report: “It’s sort of interesting that a man out of the blue just writes a report.” — remarks Wednesday.

THE FACTS: Mueller didn’t wake up one day “out of the blue” and decide he wanted to write a report. It’s mandated under the regulation that spells out the grounds for his appointment and duties as special counsel.

——

VETERANS

TRUMP: “Instead of waiting in line for two days, two weeks, two months, people waiting on line — they’re not very sick, by the time they see a doctor, they are terminally ill — we give them Choice. If you have to wait for any extended period of time, you go outside, you go to a local doctor, we pay the bill, you get yourself better, go home to your family — and we got it passed. We got it done.” — remarks at tank factory.

THE FACTS: As he does routinely, Trump exaggerated what’s been accomplished with his expansion.

Veterans still must wait for weeks before they can get private care outside the VA system.

The program currently allows veterans to see doctors outside VA if they must wait more than 30 days for an appointment or drive more than 40 miles (65 kilometres) to a VA facility. Under new rules to take effect in June, veterans are to have that option for a private doctor if their VA wait is only 20 days (28 for specialty care) or their drive is only 30 minutes.

But the expanded Choice eligibility may do little to provide immediate help. That’s because veterans often must wait even longer for an appointment in the private sector. Last year, then-Secretary David Shulkin said VA care is “often 40 per cent better in terms of wait times” compared with the private sector. In 2018, 34 per cent of all VA appointments were with outside physicians, down from 36 per cent in 2017.

The VA also must resolve long-term financing because of congressional budget caps after the White House opposed new money to pay for the program. As a result, lawmakers could be forced later this year to limit the program or slash core VA or other domestic programs.

Also key to the program’s success is an overhaul of VA’s electronic medical records to allow seamless sharing of medical records with private physicians, a process expected to take up to 10 years. VA Secretary Robert Wilkie has said full implementation of the expanded Choice program is “years” away.

——

2016 ELECTION

TRUMP: “I got 306 electoral votes against 223. That’s a tremendous victory. I got 63 million more — I got 63 million votes.” — remarks Wednesday at the White House.

THE FACTS: He did not have as lopsided a victory over Democrat Hillary Clinton as he suggests.

Trump did indeed win nearly 63 million votes in the 2016 election, but it was fewer than the 65 million for Clinton, who won the popular vote after racking up lopsided victories in big states such as New York and California, according to election data compiled by The Associated Press. Clinton, however, lost the presidency due to Trump’s winning margin in the Electoral College, which came after he narrowly won less populous Midwestern states, including Michigan and Wisconsin.

As is typical, Trump also misstates the Electoral College vote. The official count was 304 to 227, according to an AP tally of the electoral votes in every state.

——

Associated Press writers Kevin Freking, Eric Tucker, Jill Colvin and Laurie Kellman contributed to this report.

——

Find AP Fact Checks at http://apne.ws/2kbx8bd

Follow https://twitter.com/APFactCheck

EDITOR’S NOTE — A look at the veracity of claims by political figures

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jenniferramona1 · 7 years

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Trade Secret Litigation

A trade secret is information that derives actual or potential value from not being known to the public and that is subject to reasonable efforts to maintain its secrecy. A trade secret can consist of formulas, patterns, compilations, programs, devices, methods, techniques, or processes. In fact, protection of trade secrets can cover everything from microchip design to religious practices. Some of the most famous examples of trade secrets include the formula for Coca-Cola and the algorithms behind Google’s search engine. However, information does not need to be famous for it to warrant trade secret protection. In fact, many valuable trade secrets are valuable precisely because the public does not know about them.

Every state allows an owner of a trade secret to seek legal relief when that trade secret has been disclosed or used without authorization. Moreover, nearly every state has adopted a version of the Uniform Trade Secret Act, which was originally published by the Uniform Law Commission in 1979. This act sets forth specific requirements and procedures that are unique to trade secret claims. As Utah attorneys, we’ve handled several of these cases.

Because trade secret cases are a particularized area of intellectual property law, attorneys who deal with trade secrets must be familiar with the procedural and substantive nuances of misappropriation claims. As an example, it is crucial to any misappropriation claim that the plaintiff, at an initial stage of the lawsuit, identifies the information claimed to have been misappropriated with reasonable particularity.

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Prenuptial And Postnuptial Agreement Lawyer

Why Get A Prenup?

The idea of a prenuptial agreement rubs quite a few people the wrong way. “Why get married if you anticipate a potential failure?” they may ask. They may fear that a prenup will become a self-fulfilling prophecy of marital breakdown. Judgments such as these tend to overlook several realities that engaged people should face head-on as they prepare to marry:

About half the marriages in our society end in divorce. Entertaining the notion of a possible divorce someday can be realistic and even prudent.

Many people preparing to marry have financial and family complications to take into consideration: inherited assets, business interests, wide income differentials between spouses or children from previous marriages.

Divorce litigation dealing with division of assets can be very costly.

A prenuptial agreement can serve as a sort of “insurance policy” against potentially nasty legal maneuvers in the event of a marital breakup.

Who Needs A Prenup?

At our law firm, we often see clients who are considering prenuptial agreements falling into one of two categories:

Young people who have special financial circumstances such as gifting by older generations

Older people who have worked their whole lives and have substantial assets

Rest assured that if we help you craft a prenuptial agreement, we will do so fully hoping and expecting that you will never have to use it. On the other hand, we can predict from experience that you and your fiancé or fiancée will find peace of mind in putting down in writing the expectations that you both bring into the marriage with regard to each other’s assets.

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Postnuptial agreements, on the other hand, have several common applications; namely:

As tools of reconciliation

As a way to keep business interests of spouses separate

As a way of spelling out how inheritances will be treated

Parental Rights For Unmarried Couples

In today’s society, it is not uncommon for unmarried people to have children together. When these couples split, there is usually not any sort of court order guiding how important decisions regarding the children will be handled.

Resolving Parenting Issues

Our attorneys have extensive experience establishing parental rights for unmarried couples. We work with our clients to obtain a clear understanding of their objectives, and then take the steps necessary to meet those goals. We help our clients obtain court orders that will cover critical parenting issues, including:

Child custody

Visitation

Child support

Medical decisions

Child care

Health care

Education

Religion

Why Paternity Is Important

In Utah, before custody or any other parental rights are given to a child’s father, paternity must be established. Paternity determines who is the legal father of a child. Many fathers are unaware that having their name on a child’s birth certificate is not enough to establish paternity.

Paternity is important because it not only gives the child’s father legal rights and responsibilities, but it also offers protections for the child. Once paternity is established, a child may be put on his or her father’s health insurance plan and is entitled to receive benefits, such as Social Security or veterans benefits. The child also has inheritance rights in the event that the father passes away.

Paternity is also important for the unmarried mother because it entitles her to receive child support from the child’s father.

Establishing Paternity

Paternity can be established in one of the three ways:

Voluntary Declaration of Paternity (VDP) — This is a legal acknowledgement of paternity that is often signed by the parents along with the birth certificate when the child is born.

Administrative Paternity Order — Paternity can also be established administratively through the Office of Recovery Services if a parent applies for child support and paternity is proven.

Judicial paternity — This is the most powerful way of establishing paternity because it is the form of paternity that enables the ORS to set up or enforce custody or parenting time arrangements with the child. To obtain a judicial order of paternity, either parent or both parents have the right to petition to court, establishing paternity.

As soon as paternity has been established, the unmarried parents will stand in the same position as divorcing couples.

Free Initial Consultation with Lawyer

It’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when. Legal problems come to everyone. Whether it’s your son who gets in a car wreck, your uncle who loses his job and needs to file for bankruptcy, your sister’s brother who’s getting divorced, or a grandparent that passes away without a will -all of us have legal issues and questions that arise. So when you have a law question, call Ascent Law for your free consultation (801) 676-5506. We want to help you!

Ascent Law LLC8833 S. Redwood Road, Suite CWest Jordan, Utah 84088 United StatesTelephone: (801) 676-5506

Ascent Law LLC

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