#it's just me and linette against the world </3

[clockwork-angels]

TLH Will/Jem Moments That Break My Heart (part 1/?)

Part 1: Chain of Gold

#1

James’s father, Will, had often told him about the patrols he used to do with his parabatai, Jem Carstairs—now James’s uncle Jem—back when they had battled demons nearly every night.

》 i dunno why but for some reason this brings me to tears

#2

I think this next one is the part everyone cried at. But I gotta say i literally had to close the book when i read it and then i wept for literally 10 minutes:

The night after they learned of Linette’s and Edmund’s deaths, Will had been sitting on the floor in the drawing room, Tessa in the overstuffed armchair behind him, and Lucie and James had been stretched upon the fireplace rug. Will’s back had been against Tessa’s legs as he stared unseeing into the fire. They had all heard the front doors open; Will had looked up when Jem came in, and Jem, in his Silent Brother robes, went over to Will and sat down beside him. He drew Will’s head against his shoulder, and Will held the front of Jem’s robes in his fists and he cried. Tessa bowed her head over both of them, and the three were united in adult grief, a sphere James could not yet touch.

#3

this one is just purely hilarious, but also imagine Will teasing Jem about 'how proud he is that his parabatai has finally found a sense of humour':

On one memorable occasion, Jem borrowed Matthew’s dog, Oscar Wilde, riled him up, and released him on an unsuspecting James during breakfast.

James thought some of Jem’s training ideas were deliberate pranks—Silent Brothers had the best poker faces he could imagine, after all. His father assured him that it wasn’t in Jem’s nature, and that however odd the training, he was sure it was intended sincerely.

#4

i love crying about both Jem/Will and James/Matthew after reading a single paragraph

Jem’s violin had pride of place—a Stradivarius carved of mellow wood, it rested in an open case atop a high table. James had seen his father come into this room just to touch the violin sometimes, a faraway look in his eyes. He wondered if he would do the same with Matthew’s belongings if one day, he lost his parabatai.

#5

laughing through the tears

The door opened, and Will stuck his head into the music room. He looked weary, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, his shirt stained with tinctures and salve. Still, he smiled when he saw James and Jem. “Is everything all right?”

“Uncle Jem was worried about me,” said James. “But I am quite well.”

Will came up to his son and pulled him into a quick, rough hug. He said, “I am glad to hear it, Jamie bach. Gideon and Sophie have arrived, and to see them with Barbara—” He kissed the top of James’s head. “It does not bear thinking of.”

I should return to the infirmary, said Jem. There is much still for me to do.

Will nodded, releasing James. “I know Gideon and Sophie would feel better if you were the one tending Barbara. Not to insult Brother Shadrach, who I’m sure is an excellent and well-respected member of the Brotherhood.”

Jem shook his head, which was as close as he got to smiling, and the three of them left the music room.

#6

“The only equivalent in real life is memory,” Tessa said, looking up as Will Herondale came into the room, followed by Cousin Jem. “But memories can be bitter as well as sweet.”

#7

“Is it selfishly awful to worry that all this business will delay our becoming parabatai? I feel I will be a better Shadowhunter when it is done. Were you not one, after you became parabatai with Uncle Jem?”

“A better Shadowhunter and a better man,” said Will. “All the best of me, I learned from Jem and your mother. All I want for you and Cordelia is to have what I had, a friendship that shall shape all your days. And never to be parted.”

#8 Will being Will AKA Will seeking solace in Jem

Will had been angry at the world, and then gone to see Jem.

#9

Will wanting to immediately share the exciting news with Jem is something that can be so personal

A broad smile spread across Will’s face.

“Then we have no choice but to give our blessing too. Cordelia Carstairs,” he said, “the Carstairs and the Herondales will be bonded even more closely now. If James could have chosen his wife from all the women in all the worlds that are or ever were, I would wish for no other.”

Tessa laughed. “Will! You cannot compliment our new daughter only on the chance of her last name!”

Will was grinning like a boy. “Wait until I tell Jem—”

#10

Was it strange for Will, she wondered, to be aging and have Jem remain in appearance still a boy? Or when you loved someone, did you not notice these things, just as her parents saw no difference between themselves?

#11

any reminder that Jem and Will were parabatai brings me to tears

“But I did it for Cordelia!” she exclaimed, as her parents drew back, her mother seating herself on the bed beside Lucie, where she could hold her hand. “You would have done it for Jem, Papa, when you were parabatai.”

Will leaned back against a post of the bed. “You aren’t parabatai with Cordelia yet.”

#12

It was his father, but Will was not alone: Uncle Jem was with him, a noiseless presence in his drifting parchment robes. His hood was down, as it often was when he was inside the Institute. Will had told James many years ago that when Jem had first become a Silent Brother, he had not liked people to see his scars. It was strange to think of Uncle Jem having such feelings.

“Someone’s here to see you,” Will said, moving aside to let Jem pass into the room. He glanced from his son to his old parabatai.

#13

If you saw humanity as I can see it, Uncle Jem said. There is very little brightness and warmth in the world for me. There are only four flames, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you.

#14

“Will.” Tessa sank down beside him on the bed. “There is no war.”

She knew why he worried. For them, there had been war, and loss. Tessa’s brother, Nate. Thomas Tanner. Agatha Grant. Jessamine Lovelace, their friend, who now guarded the London Institute in ghostly form. And Jem, who they had both lost and kept.

(stay tuned for part 2 with Chain of Iron snippets and snippets from the Tessa/Will wedding short story)

[voidcat]

– The Old Jukebox

Characters: Bokuto Koutarou/Reader

Genre & Word Count: fluff & 1.4k

Synposis: As that time of the year rolls up, your friend makes a fuss of it again. All you want is to walk home through your favorite park as the old jukebox in the corner catches your attention and takes you to a dream of dances with a certain someone.

A/N: Happy birthday Linette!! and Happy (belated) birthday Bokuto!! I love u two<33

ps. i didnt proof read, lets hope i didnt forget any verbs<3

The day begins off rather quietly, without much of a fuss.

It’s expected, really, nothing special about it. Just like any other day, it goes on as you live it. It shouldn’t be any different just because some certain event took place on the exact same date ages ago.

Ages, you think, and try pushing back the thought. It doesn’t feel that long, neither has it been that long, certainly not filled with so much excitement, and yet using the phrase “ages” for any amount of time feels light in your head. It adds up to the dramatic effect.

So you get up, water the plants, wash your face and with a deep breath you begin your day.

As tasks move on and hours pass by, with breaks and little chit chat, tea here and there too keep you up, time rolls up to an end. Tiny greetings your way throughout the day, small smiles sent your way as well as good wishes, you cannot wait to get back home and drown in the save havens of your couch.

Before you can get the chance to pack up, your friend stands by the side and asks you out for a night. “It’ll be fun!” she says. Your vary looks tell it all and she guarantees “Not many will be there. Come on! Just a night out with friends.” A sigh of defeat leave your lips and upon your nod, she leaves.

Despite your worries the pub seems cozy and clean. One step in and you can spot the familiar faces. Although you don’t want many people, you hope you’re not the last and you decide seeing a certain someone will hurt no one.

As drinks start coming, two or three others arrive at last and the night begins, for them.

Uncontainable laughter fils the tiny space and rings in your ears, cheap snacks lunged at and finished in a second, the never dying sound of glasses hitting against each other, clink, clink, clink they go.

Staring at your glass after a while, you raise your head up to meet with the familiar tips of uncontrollable hair. Shoulders slumping when you see it’s tamed tonight, a little part of you hopes it’s for today and not for any other night-out.

“Come on, have another drink!” Yells your friend and few others. You’ve lost count of the times their voice got mixed up with strangers. Maybe that’s what they’ve always been, strangers.

With a shake of your head, you decline. As the classic “killjoy” comment comes, you reply. “I like to walk home and I’d rather do that with my head clear of any fog.” This seems to make them back off a little and they go back to another round of drinks short after.

At least there are no tacky songs or birthday music playing loud from the worn out speakers. The cast aside jukebox strikes your attention and you make sure to check it out next time you’re dragged here.

With your gazed focused on it, the chatter tones down and old tunes start playing in your mind. You can’t help but picture yourself dancing, imagine yourself swinging with someone by your side. Hands laced together, fingers intervening as well as hearts, a full laughter fills the air. It feels liberating to smile so freely, with no worries, finally doing whatever your soul aches for and asks for.

With the second laughter, not as filled with delight as the previous one, you’re snapped out of your dream and your eyes find his sadly. He seems to be talking with someone else, another beautiful smile decorating his face with the hint of something else, something you can’t name contrasting this portrait of happy.

And so the night rolls and streams flow, people scatter away one by one as the drinks increase in numbers. And with the ones in your booth looking mostly knocked up, you all get up.

Calling cabs for many of them, you hug your friend one last time and face the direction to the park.

A “Hold up!” Coming from behind, almost running to you, you wait. “Mind if I tag along and walk you home?” He offers with a trademark grin of his.

“Sure.” You say and begins the walk back.

“Doesn’t this make the walk longer?” He asks as you enter the part.

“It’s not the length but the quality of time that matters at hours like this.” You offer and walk ahead. With the long lamps lighting up the place, as the leaves shudder against one another, it’s only your and his breathing that reaches your ears.

With each step, your posture softens, your muscles no longer tense, face no longer in a forced mask; is that how taking your first breath like, as you enter this world, you wonder. As the lights illuminate the stars and blink once or twice, a melody pauses through your head and you hear it short after.

Barely a hum, a voice you are certain is not yours, you look to your side and see him swinging his head slowly to the song. Each rhythm and each note, the lyrics gaining a new life…

As he turns and his faces morphs into one of surprise, he gives you a shy smile and you realize you’ve been staring this whole time.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.” You speak into the night sky a moment later.

“Really? Didn’t notice, not like I do it intentionally.” Somehow his words sound softer than usual, you’re at a loss of what to feel.

Another moment of silence, you’re not sure for how long; and he adds as an afterthought: “It’s not like- too bad, is it? Me being quiet, I mean.”

You turn to face him with a smile reserved for him, only for it to falter. He seems down, or rather afraid. Is it because of the answer? Or stepping out of his usual cycle of things once in a while?

“No!” You almost yell, he gives a confused look. “On the contrary, I like seeing this part of you. This- unseen side of you.” As if your words bring him comfort like a warm blanket draped over his shoulders, his posture relaxes.

As the walk continues, a poke to your ribs make itself apparent, and looking to the side, you see his arm offered to you. Hooking your arm, your smile gets brighter as does his.

Steps fall into the serene rhythm of the night as you pace. Soon after he begins humming another melody, coloring the sky above you as you go. Steps carry the songs as they carry his hand to yours. Fingers interlacing oh so naturally, as if you’ve done this million times before.

As the pacing blooms into a movement completely new, your figures move with the rhythm. It feels cliché, seems like a daydream and for a moment you suspect if it is one, only to lose focus and trip on your feet for a millisecond. The pain indicates this is very much a reality.

More like a moment in between passings, when you tilt your head to whatever it is that comes from your headphones, only for the move itself to be barely acknowledged by those around, those who are not you… Another moment of hushed whispers and chocked up flowers. Of tiny laughs and shy smiles, slight movements but big dances in your hearts as you hold onto the same tie that binds you to life.

As the tiles of the park reach an end in the distance, you pay no mind. Instead you let yourself get lost in the warm embrace around, swing around and skip, sway and beam. The lights glow just like fireflies as the bushes resemble dark deep waters.

And when you spin once, twice, thrice; you never stop, never stop smiling, breathing, feeling. Feeling everything around, the melody inside, the smell of the old jukebox nearby, the notes gently caressing your ears. When you turn to face Bokuto again, you’re convinced your smile cannot grow any wider. And his to match yours, you lean towards one another. As you kiss, the warmth shared between the two, it feels as natural as the dance and the walk, just like fish swimming and bees buzzing, dancing from one flower to another as they bloom together.

[myelocin]

REQ #6, #7, & #8 | Stories in Passing

synopsis:

Req #6 | @hoshino-a​ : The stranger always standing across your platform never failed to leave you both amused and irritated all at once. What you didn’t expect, was to actually come to stand face to face with him.

Req #7 | @souheii​ : Doritos, capri suns, and midnight talks with a stranger at a half empty grocery store parking lot wasn’t a common occurrence, but you suppose not all bad either.

Req #8 | Linette : Your spontaneous trip to the nearby 7/11 didn’t usually end up with conversations with a monochrome-haired man with golden eyes shared under a starless sky with strawberry ice cream, but perhaps there’s a first for everything. 

 characters: Miya Atsumu, Iwaizumi Hajime, Bokuto Koutarou

#6 Miya Atsumu | For Lena | Platform 2, Ginza Line, Tokyo

He wasn’t much of a stranger to you at this point considering how you’ve filed him in your brain as the “fake blonde bitch who thinks train schedules are a competition,” for the past week or so.

Jumping into a new schedule meant that you had to take an earlier train than usual to the busier side of town to clock in at work on time.

What’s interesting on your new schedule, though, is the guy you always see standing at the platform opposite of yours across the train tracks. To be fair, he was pretty good looking, and you would be a liar if you didn’t admit that. Side swept bleach blonde hair, a dark undercut, prominent brows and a fairly acceptable fashion sense. Save for the checkered fanny pack he always wears though; you figure he could do better than that.

Then again, to each their own.

He was there every day and stopped right across you every time so you figured the two of you must be running on a similar schedule. That wasn’t much of a problem considering the fact that you’ve known yourself to be rather observant and by the third day already could pick out a few familiar faces in the morning crowd.

What was the problem though, was the stranger who always managed to stand across you on the opposite platform made it seem like his lifelong mission was to smirk at you every time his train arrived first. The glance with the telltale smirk was quick, and could have been just chalked up to a trick of the mind—but the way his eyes glinted as the corner of his lips lifted into a smirk when you looked straight at him on the days your train approached first confirmed your suspicions.

So just like that, the bleach blonde stranger had quickly become a fixture in your morning routine. Your eyes met at least twice every day, but you still didn’t know his name nor he—yours.

What you hadn’t expected though, was stepping into the train at 3:02 PM headed to Shibuya and seeing him, checkered fanny pack and all, staring straight at you as he took one of the fully occupied seats in front of the only available area for you to stand in.

And like a normal person with a sane mind which you consider yourself to have: you ignored him completely.

From your peripheral vision you could practically see him scoff before he looks straight at you and says, “For the record I arrived first.”

You nod, not sure whether you want to answer or not, but the grandmother stares at him in a way that even has you feeling bad, that he motions to stand up, quickly saying, “Take my seat.”

You shake your head and tell him, you’re getting off soon anyway, so he stays.

He looks at you, then at the grandmother shrugging when she shakes her head towards him (really, you still feel bad), and tells you, “If I didn’t know any better I’d take that this is just a ploy so I feel bad and take ya’ out for coffee or somethin’ after this.”

You roll your eyes, “Only if we get off at the same station.”

He smirks, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes again because it looks just as pompous as the one from earlier this morning.

“That’s a deal,” he says again and for the rest of the train ride you ignore him, quickly taking a seat on the opposite side when one opened up. The seemingly unending rush hour of Tokyo filled the train back up in less than a minute, so you suppose the stranger would think he just lost you in the crowd.

And because fate decided it wasn’t on your side that day, of course, the second you make it three steps out of the train, you see him from the exit next to yours waving at you.

“Well,” he says, “Wouldja’ look at that. If I didn’t know any better maybe fate’s on my side today after all.”

He’s still laughing when he shoves his hands in his pockets and fully faces you.

“Miya Atsumu,” he says, introducing himself with a smile that feels familiar despite it being the first time you’re seeing it.

“Lena,” you reply. His eyes crinkle again in a way that has you thinking maybe fate’s trying to tell you something today after all.

 -

#7 Iwaizumi Hajime | For souheii | lmao pls just think random grocery store but at like, 04:07 AM

A half empty grocery store parking lot on the other side of town at four in the morning wasn’t exactly your best idea up to date, but you guess the quiet it provides could be a redeeming factor.

The past night had simply been another one of those nights where the sandman decided to completely skip over your house, so in result, sleep could not find you even as you toss and turned for a solid hour or so. And if there was one good thing about midnight (or really, early early morning at this point) runs to the grocery store it was the feeling of aimlessly walking around the aisles and feeling so separated from the world.

The thing is, aisle three with the Doritos and Capri-suns looked the exact same whether you were there at 4AM or 4PM. The same redundant music plays over the speakers as the same monotonous beep of the cash register molds together as background music. But something about walking around there at 4AM just felt other worldly.

So you suppose that’s the reason why you hopped in your car after deciding you were far from sleep and the reason why you’re spending dusk leaned against the trunk of your car munching on doritos and sipping from your juice packet.

But the gods must have decided it was high time for some company because eventually the owner of the car parked across yours came back from what looked like his midnight run and did the same.

On a regular day (and under daylight) you would have jumped back in your car and drove away because one: you’re wearing a faded tshirt that looked 3 sizes too big for you, and two: your hair at this point hasn’t made acquaintance with a hairbrush for the past 10 hours maybe.

But, it may have been his stance that had you relaxing immediately, the fact that this dude was fucking hot, his superior choice of Doritos flavor (it being cool ranch), or your belief about grocery stores under moonlight being otherworldly that had you staying put in your spot.

Though really, it was just him settling in a position similar to yours and popping his bag of chips open while telling you, “Don’t worry about me, just do your thing,” that made you throw a thumbs up in his direction and stay.

Apparently his name was Iwaizumi Hajime and that his roommate had come home drunk so he decided the best option was to leave the apartment all together.

“Cheers,” you call out, raising your juice pouch in offering.

“Cheers,” he replies, doing the same with his Gatorade bottle and laughing with you.

You spend the next few hours making comments about nothing in particular, sharing the mutual silence as the two of you tear through the packaging of the snacks in your respective plastic bags.

In moments like these, you don’t really bother to learn much about the stranger sharing the hours before daylight with you, but curiosity makes you ask tidbits about him anyway as he does to you.

And as the eastern side of the sky begins to light up with touches of the burning sun’s flames, you come to know that Iwaizumi Hajime is a gemini who used to play volleyball in high school, that he loved catching cicadas as much as he loved to release them, and noticed that his mouth pushed up to a pout whenever you said something that teased him.

He, on the other hand learned that you love the rain as much as you love the sound of wind chimes, and that you crack your knuckles when you’re nervous—which he teases at that has you pouting.

Though only the skies witness how the both of you spent the minutes watching the sunrise by stealing glances at each other whenever the both of you thought either was looking.

When you dust off dorito crumbs from your shirt and unlock your car door Hajime calls out your name telling you he’ll shoot you a text soon.

This time you smile. Because despite the break of the day and the rising chatter of people driving in and out of the world waking back up—Hajime’s smile on your mind still makes the moment feel otherworldly.  

 -

#8 Bokuto Koutarou: Linette | 7/11, 01:14 AM

The best conversations happen with strangers you meet because of the uncertainty of how long they’ll stay.

Then again, people are generally like that. But in this case, strangers that you meet at 1 in the morning while you stop by a 7/11 for ice cream means that it feels a little safer to be more unfiltered.

Much like he was, you suppose. It took no more than three steps in the store, and a nod of acknowledgement to the part timer who welcomed you for him to bellow a loud “hello” in your direction. And much like you expected, your greeting in return had been more on the awkward side.

“Late night munchies?” he said as he stood up, brushed off the crumbs on his shirt and followed you to the freezers in the back.

You nodded, and tried to limit your focus to which kind of ice cream you even wanted before jolting in surprise as he stood right next to you—perhaps a little too close and pointing at the strawberry flavored tub on the left side. He only laughed at your response before picking up a tub and gesturing to the counter.

“My treat,” he said, and up until now, you still have absolutely no clue what possessed you to agree. But you did, so now ten minutes later, you’re sitting across Bokuto Koutarou, the stranger from the 7/11 right outside your apartment unit sharing an ice cream tub he bought for the two of you to share.

Conversation with him was, for one, interesting.

He didn’t exactly pry but when you did talk you could practically see the focus glint, striking and evident in whirlpools of gold. You didn’t know much about him either—most of the things he said was information you really could have done just the same without but he put it out there anyway.

“Any reason why you’re out here at 1 in the morning buying strangers tubs of icecream and eating them outside a 7/11?” you ask and he shakes his head, laughing. You think about how fitting relaxed laughter is for him.

“Not really; just felt like eating shit tonight,” is his reply and you nod your head, not really curious enough for further explanation.

“You usually say yes when strangers offer to buy you ice cream at 1 in the morning?” he asks, returning your question with the same tone as you face him pointing your spoon in his direction in your defense.

“Not really,” you say, laughing, “just felt like trusting strangers tonight.”

“That’s deep,” he comments, nodding before scooping up more ice cream and popping the smooth in his mouth.

“Midnight conversations tend to run deep,” you reply, then scoop up and do the same. You smile, strawberry ice cream always reminded you of nostalgia.

The man across you laughs exhales, slumping further down his seat as he looks up at the sky. There’s not much stars in the city, but the way he smiles when he closes his eyes would make you think like he’s looking at the Milky Way itself swirling the secrets of the universe into the sky.

The silence you shared with him felt profound, almost.

“I don’t think you’d have the same conversation if you met me here at 1PM, though,” he tells you.

“You morph into a different person or something?” you laugh, responding.

“Something like that,” Bokuto says again and continues to face up; he’s still smiling, and you take note of that too.

“Different person or different thoughts?” you ask, and he nods at you, face scrunching up in thought at your question. He looks a little silly, you think.

“Different person, same thoughts, but usually with a filter,” he answers after some time, laughing.

“Then should I be glad I’m talking to you now?” you ask.

Bokuto sits back up before leaning on the table with his elbows, his eyes locked on you. The spark in his eyes look somewhat like the reflection of the streetlights behind you with how bright they are, but the flicker tells you it’s just a trick of the eye. Though, regardless of that, you find yourself entranced as you stare back at him.

“That depends on you,” is his answer to the question, so you counter with, “Does that mean I’ll get to meet this other person?”

Bokuto laughs and you notice how it echoes in the quiet street. “I guess so.”

When he turns to face the starless sky again and smile as if he’s watching the universe unfold, you do the same.

Strangers really do have stories to tell; in this case, you find yourself suddenly intrigued to learn all about his.

 -

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 3

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

TWO DAYS LATER

FORANGAL CASTLE, THE CHAPEL

Placing his hands together, Ealdorman Aegenwulf bowed his head in respect and gently shut his eyes closed, whispering a brief prayer as he stood before the chapel’s great Crucifix.

At the moment, there was no one else in here with him. The chapel was dim and grey due to its enclosed nature, and the only light that managed to seep in was through the circular window that stood aloft the lonely altar.

Strangely enough though, Aegenwulf found a sense of peace in it. He had spent so much time warring with the Danes and battling against his own grief, that the overwhelming silence of the chapel actually provided him with some tranquility.

It was the only place where he could be alone with his thoughts nowadays. Outside of these stone cold walls, everyone always seemed to be watching him; studying him. Waiting to see his next move.

And on top of that, he still had three other children to protect, in spite of losing his eldest. They were young and inexperienced, and less aware of the war’s cruelties than Gareth had been.

It was a responsibility that Aegenwulf wished on no man. The weight of his burdens often felt impossible at times, and the more the tensions began to rise in Wedenscire, the more the ealdorman found himself wondering if any of this was even worth it.

“O, Father,” he said softly, his voice low and desolate, “thou who watches us from the heavens. Forgive me of my sins, and free me of the darkness that troubles my soul. I fear this war has led me astray from the path of righteousness, and I do not wish to deviate from Your grace. Please, deliver unto the dead the paradise they could not find in this world, and protect those who still stand from the evil that would sheathe them. ”

He paused for a moment, trying to keep his composure. “...Guide my son as he finds his way into your kingdom, and embrace him with the peace that was robbed of him in death. Allow him to rest at your side, and eradicate any shadows that should linger in his heart. Teach him not to fear, for I know he is in a far better place now.”

The ealdorman brought his hands closer to his face, muttering one last word. “Soþlice.”

Standing up from the floor, Aegenwulf fell into a profound silence as the lingering echoes of his prayer bounced off the chapel’s walls, filling the air with a solemn chime.

He knew not whether God could actually hear his cries, or if He had any intentions of answering them, but in a time when comfort was so rare to find, Aegenwulf frankly didn’t care.

All he needed was peace. The death of his son had torn him apart with a grief unlike any other he had ever experienced, and as the days rolled by -- minute by minute, hour by hour -- the ealdorman found himself being drained of the tenacity he once held.

It seemed pointless sometimes, to come to this chapel. Very often, Aegenwulf felt as if his prayers fell on deaf ears, and considering how the flames of the war were rising so rapidly, part of him began to wonder if this was all part of God’s plan somehow.

Was there a meaning behind all this? Some sort of higher purpose that was being written in the blood of their fallen soldiers? Did their suffering actually contribute to anything? Or was this all simply a result of man’s nature, and the chaos that humankind often sowed?

He didn’t even know if there was a Heaven at this point. The brutalities between the Saxons and the Danes had become so horrific in the recent years, that Aegenwulf found it more and more difficult to believe that anything pure awaited them beyond their realm.

How could it even be possible for something like that to exist? In a world where death, hatred, and pestilence were so prominent, how was it that something as perfect as Heaven -- or as God Himself -- could’ve been somewhere out there, watching over them?

Aegenwulf didn’t know the answers to these questions, nor where to find them, but for the sake of granting his son the afterlife he deserved, and for preserving his own sanity, the ealdorman decided to not second-guess it. It was the only hope he had anymore, after all. And he did not wish to snuff it out.

“Ealdorman?” Someone suddenly said, drawing the man’s attention away from the altar.

Aegenwulf glanced over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn the rest of his body.

“Hundwerth,” he greeted dourly, recognizing the man’s unscrupulous voice. “Solitude is a luxury in Forangal these days. I would not have it robbed of me.”

The bishop bowed his head apologetically, approaching the ealdorman. “Forgive me for the intrusion, my lord. I know you come here for solace. But I fear there is a much more urgent matter that requires your attention.”

Aegenwulf sighed, returning to his more dutiful temperament. “What is it? And speak plainly, bishop, for I have no desire to run around in semantic circles.”

Hundwerth came to a halt, standing directly in the sliver of light that poured in through the doorway. “Your housecarl, Algar, has returned from his travels. He brings news of the ambush in Ravensthorpe, and awaits you in the throne room.”

“He’s back already?”

“Indeed. He seemed rather confident when he arrived this morning. I assume things went well in Ravensthorpe.”

Aegenwulf stepped away from the altar, addressing the bishop more directly now.

“Assume nothing in war, Hundwerth. I will not rest easy until I know for a fact that those barbarians lie dead in the muck. Are my children aware of this attack?”

Hundwerth shook his head. “No, my lord. They asked a few questions in light of Algar’s absence, but overall, they still seem to be preoccupied with mourning their brother.”

The ealdorman was relieved at the news. “Good. They keep a strong face, but I can see that Gareth’s death has shaken them all. I would not have them burdened by the troubles of this war as well.”

The bishop changed the subject, eager to inform Aegenwulf of the second issue. “There is... one other matter, my lord. And I fear this one will require a much more delicate approach. That is, if you do not wish to alarm all of Forangal and Agenbury at once.”

Aegenwulf didn’t like where this was going. “Oh? And what would that be?”

Hundwerth began pacing around the chapel, lowering his voice as he spoke.

“Your healer, Linette. I noticed she’s been acting rather... odd, recently. Different. Granted, she’s never really been an ordinary woman, but her behavior has shifted over the past two days, and not in a manner that I would consider beneficial.”

“What type of behavior are we talking about, exactly?”

“She’s become distant. Secretive. Perhaps even a little paranoid. I’ve seen her pacing around the castle late at night, and making trips to the infirmary underneath the shadows. She speaks to no one during these mysterious endeavors, and often seems to actively avoid me. It’s almost as if... there’s something she would not have me know.”

The ealdorman shrugged. “So, you wish for me to investigate? Is that it?”

“No, my lord,” Hundwerth corrected. “For I have already taken the liberty of doing that myself. I entered the infirmary this morning whilst Linette was away, and found the most interesting patient lying in one of her beds.”

Aegenwulf grew tired of the bishop’s ramblings. “Get to the point, Hundwerth. What did you see?”

“A Dane, Aegenwulf. Your healer has a Dane in her infirmary, and is tending to his wounds as we speak.”

The ealdorman froze upon hearing that, not entirely sure if he understood Hundwerth correctly.

“A Dane,” he repeated sternly. “My healer is lending her aid to a Dane. Are you certain of this, bishop?”

The other man nodded assuredly. “As certain as I am that the moon will arise in the evening. Though, I should clarify, it was not Linette who brought this pagan into our midst. Based on the information I have gathered thus far, I believe she is helping this Dane at the behest of your daughter, Edlynne.”

Aegenwulf shook his head in frustration. “Oh, Edlynne... that naive girl. She carries the same compassion her mother once did, but I fear her rationality is often overshadowed by it in these situations.”

Hundwerth furrowed his brow in disapproval. “She has also been rather vocal about her interest in the Danes before, I’m afraid. It seems your daughter is drawn to them.”

“That’s because she has not witnessed the same horrors I have. She has not seen the way those savages sacrifice our people to their gods, nor what they do to our women. Edlynne believes the Danes to be misunderstood, and would have me welcome them with open arms. What she does not realize is that I am simply trying to protect her.”

“She is but a child, my lord. She will soon understand the necessity of your iron fist. Just give her time.”

Aegenwulf sighed, crossing his arms. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So, what do you intend to do about this issue concerning Linette? Shall I have the guards remove this pagan from our grounds?”

The ealdorman thought about it for a moment. “No. That won’t be enough. I know Danes. They never stop fighting until their last breath. If we wish to be rid of this man completely, we will need to kill him.”

Aegenwulf began making his way out of the chapel, swiftly heading to the throne room as his cape fluttered behind him.

“I shall speak with Algar and get his opinion on the matter. He has just returned from the very nest of these snakes, and I would like to hear what he has to say before taking any action.”

Hundwerth seemed content with the plan. “A wise approach, my lord. I shall be here in the chapel if you need my assistance. Stay safe in these trying times, for I worry things are only going to get worse.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

THE INFIRMARY

Pain. That was all he could feel. 

In the midst of the cold and darkness that currently surrounded him, Sigurd found nothing but its familiar embrace to welcome him as he finally emerged from his slumber, bringing him into an environment he did not expect.

Instead of feeling the warmth of Fólkvangr’s sun-kissed fields, or the bone-biting winds of Helheim’s wintry snows, the only thing Sigurd could detect was the comfort of a soft bed lying beneath his fingertips. 

...He wasn’t dead. Not yet, at least.

The gods had granted him a second chance.

He had been saved by that mysterious man on the shore, and given an opportunity to recover. 

But... what about Eivor? Or Randvi? Or the rest of his clan? Were they still alive, and healing from their wounds just as he was? Or had the Valkyries already escorted them to Odin’s feast, and laid them to rest?

Part of him didn’t even want to think about it, given the circumstances. He had already struggled so much just to survive, that he did not wish to hear if his brother had become a corpse by now. He imagined he was already going to have a difficult enough time trying to regain his strength, but to be entirely alone in this ordeal... the very idea of it made his heart sink.

Forcing his eyes open to a slit, Sigurd squinted as a burst of sunlight flooded his vision, painting everything in the room around him with a disorienting haze.

The only things he could make out were the soft edges of a nearby window from which the light poured through, and the blurry silhouette of what appeared to be a girl accompanying him.

At the moment, she seemed to be unaware of his newly conscious state and simply tended to her own matters, humming quietly under her breath. Her voice sounded fairly younger than Sigurd would’ve expected, and the size of her shadow led him to assume she was no more than a child. Possibly the daughter of whomever rescued him.

Lifting a hand to block the sunlight, Sigurd suddenly felt a sharp sting gripping him in the chest as his wounds strained to keep up with his movement, causing him to let out a faint grunt.

The girl instantly glanced upwards upon hearing the abrupt noise and gasped in surprise, pleased to see that her friend had finally risen from his sleep.

“Oh my goodness...!” She said softly. “You’re actually awake! Can you... can you hear me?”

Sigurd remained silent in response, still trying to get his bearings. 

This girl... she sounded like a Saxon. Though, she clearly wasn’t just any Saxon. Her appearance suggested she may have been some type of noblewoman -- or perhaps, in the service of one -- and the quality of her dress was obviously not something that a commoner would’ve been able to get their hands on.

Her hair was well-groomed and decorated with a few simple braids that stretched down to her back, and a beautiful necklace dangled from around her neck. An heirloom, perhaps?

She spoke with an unusual sense of kindness that Sigurd did not typically receive from her people, and the discretion in her voice only led him to believe that she was in the minority. Was he even welcome in this place?

“C-Can you understand me?” She asked, picking up on Sigurd’s confusion. “I know this must be... strange for you.”

The Norseman blinked a few times, finally able to make some sense of what was going on.

“What...? Where... where am I...? What’s going on?”

The girl’s expression lightened with relief. “So you do speak our tongue. That’s good. You’re in Wedenscire, friend. In the ealdorman’s castle. The infirmary, specifically.”

That took Sigurd by surprise. “...The ealdorman’s castle? Why would an ealdorman save a Norse?”

“Well, he didn’t,” she clarified. “His children did. Me and my brothers brought you back from the nearby town after a fisherman found you washed up on the shore. Normally, we would’ve left you alone, but you would’ve died without a proper healer’s treatment.”

Sigurd took on a more serious demeanor, suddenly growing wary of the girl’s intentions. “So... you are the ealdorman’s daughter, then. And why would you go out of your way to keep me alive? What is it you hope to gain? Information? Secrets?”

The girl shook her head, eager to deny his suspicions. “Oh, no! Nothing like that.”

“Well, you must want something. Or did you simply save me out of the kindness of your own heart?”

She glanced downwards, admittedly a tad embarrassed to confess her motivations.

“...Well, y-yes, actually. I know that may sound incredibly naive of me, but you were dying. And I didn’t have the heart to just... leave you behind. The fact that you’re a Dane--” she quickly corrected herself, “--or a Norse, doesn’t change that. The truth is, I don’t want anything from you. I only wish to see you recover.”

The girl sounded like she was being sincere, but even then, Sigurd’s instincts urged him to keep his guard up regardless.

“...If your words hold truth to them,” he said, “then you have my thanks. I do not remember much from that night, but I know for a fact I would not have survived without your people’s help. Or your own. I owe you.”

The girl relaxed a little bit, hoping to maintain the trust between them.

“Might I ask your name? I’m Edlynne.”

He sat up, his body aching with every movement. “Sigurd.”

“Sigurd...” Edlynne repeated with a smile. “Well, Sigurd, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You’ve been unconscious for two days. If I’m being honest, part of me never expected to see you wake up.”

Sigurd paused at that. “...I’ve been here for two days?”

“Indeed. You were on the brink of death when we found you. It’s a miracle you survived. How do you feel?”

The viking glanced down at his bloodstained bandages. “Better, considering how I was before.”

“That’s good. Do you think you can walk? You sustained quite a few injuries from that night.”

Sigurd shifted his body a bit, testing its limits. “I... believe so. Just give me a moment--”

Interrupting their conversation, a boy suddenly came barging into the infirmary with a panicked expression on his face as he brought his gaze to Edlynne, quickly shutting the door behind him.

He also carried the look of a nobleman and wore a simple yet sophisticated tunic, paired with a short cape wrapped around his shoulders. As for the boy himself, he appeared to be around Edlynne’s age and had hair of the same color -- only his was cut so short that the bottom of his head was nearly bare. A relative of hers, perhaps?

“Sister...!” He said urgently, keeping his voice down. “We--”

His eyes landed on Sigurd, causing him to fade into silence.

Edlynne glanced back and forth between the two of them, unsure of what was going on.

“...Joseph?” She asked, her tone quiet with anxiety. “Are you alright? You seem perturbed.”

Joseph gestured to the viking, his eyes wide with surprise. “He’s awake?”

“Yes. He woke up not too long ago, in fact. We’ve only been speaking for a few moments.” She held an introductory hand up to him. “This is Sigurd. Sigurd, this is my twin brother, Joseph.”

The boy strode further into the room, his actions swift with haste.

“You’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood for pleasantries, but I’m afraid we have a much bigger issue to address at the moment.”

“What is it?”

“It’s father. I don’t know how, but he’s discovered that we have a Dane in the infirmary, and he is not happy.”

The girl quirked a brow. “What? How could he possibly know that? Did someone tell him?”

“I-I don’t know...! It wasn’t me or Edric, that I can assure you.” He froze. “...You don’t think it could’ve been Linette, do you?”

Edlynne rejected the idea. “What...? N-No, of course not! I know she was apprehensive about all this in the beginning, but she wouldn’t endanger the life of one of her patients, Dane or not.”

Joseph sighed in discontent. “I suppose it no longer matters. The main problem right now is that Algar has returned from his travels, and is on his way up here as we speak...!”

Sigurd joined in. “I assume this is bad news for me?”

The boy turned to him. “Considering our father hates your people and would see you all dead, yes, I would say so. There’s also the fact that Algar himself isn’t fond of vikings either.”

A thought crossed Edlynne’s mind. “Well, what about Edric? Do you think he could sway father’s mind?”

Joseph didn’t seem too confident. “Possibly. He’s speaking to father in the throne room at the moment, but you know how much he distrusts Danes. Even if he convinces father not to kill our new friend here, I doubt the outcome will be favorable anyway. If you truly want to help Sigurd, we’ll have to do something ourselves.”

The girl was at a loss. “Like what?”

“...We’ll have to get him out of Forangal.”

Edlynne gestured at the stone walls around them. “And how are we supposed to do that? We’re locked in a castle surrounded by guards. Not to mention that all the gates are shut. How do you expect us to leave with a viking in tow?”

Joseph paused for a moment, trying to devise a plan. There weren’t many escape routes they could access from the infirmary -- especially in broad daylight -- but every castle had its blind spots. There had to be something.

He perked his head up in realization, his expression lighting up with an idea.

“Wait, I might have a way out.”

“Well? What is it?”

The boy gave Sigurd an apologetic look, uncertain of how the man would react to his suggestion.

“The corpse carts.”

Edlynne blinked in confusion. “...You want to use the corpse carts?”

“Why not? They’re filled to the brim nowadays because of the war. I doubt anyone would notice if we snuck another body into the pile--”

“--Oh, for God’s sake, Joseph!” The girl exclaimed in disgust.

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

Edlynne paced around the room, crossing her arms in thought. “I don’t know, but there must be a better way. One that isn’t so... morbid. Perhaps we could disguise Sigurd? Clothe him in Saxon attire?”

“Disguise him?” Joseph repeated, clearly not on board. “Look at him, Edlynne! Unless you can get him a full suit of armor with a helm and cloak, he’s not getting past anybody.”

The girl grew frustrated. “The same could be said about the corpse carts. Our guards might be lazy sometimes, but they’re not stupid. Those bodies have been in there for days now. Surely, they’ve already rotted and turned grey. You really think they wouldn’t notice a living person hiding amongst them?”

Joseph shrugged in defeat. “Well, Sigurd looked pretty dead when you first brought him here.”

“That isn’t--”

“--My, my.” A fourth voice said, causing the twins to fall completely silent. “Bickering already?”

They both turned towards the door, only to see Algar himself standing in the entryway. 

“...Shit.” Joseph muttered, sticking close to his sister. “Hello, Algar.”

The housecarl leaned against the frame, greeting the siblings. “Lord Joseph. Lady Edlynne.”

Algar was a mountain of a man. Even without the thick layers of plated armor to bolden his towering physique, the man himself was intimidating enough.

His face was lined with deep creases around the eyes and nose, and the shape of his brow always seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl. There were multiple scars littered across his skin -- the most prominent one being a gash that traveled from the top of his head all the way down to his cheekbone -- and one of his ears had been sliced clean off.

Despite his damaged exterior though, Algar still seemed to look after his appearance somewhat. His dark hair was short and parted -- save for the baldness that had been rendered by his scar -- and his beard had been neatly trimmed to  fit his jaw.

He was certainly unlike any other Saxon Sigurd had ever seen, and the further he stepped into the room, prowling towards the viking like a lion, the more the Norse began to wonder if there was any hope of him surviving this day.

“My God,” Algar said with a chuckle as he gaze landed on Sigurd. “You really do have a Dane in here. I didn’t believe Hundwerth when he first told us about your new friend, but it seems that the bishop isn’t completely full of shit, after all.”

He glanced at the twins. “Where’d you find him?”

Edlynne knotted her hands together out of nervousness. “I-In Agenbury.”

“Agenbury?” He said, his voice quiet like the hiss of a snake. “Odd place for a viking.” He turned to Sigurd. “Care to explain what you were doing there, Dane?”

Sigurd scoffed. “You speak as if I was there voluntarily. The river carried me there when I was unconscious. I had no intentions of delivering myself into the hands of the enemy.”

Algar smirked. “No, but it seems that God did. For He knows of your crimes, and He knows you must face retribution.”

Joseph stepped in, admittedly uncomfortable about letting the housecarl too close to their new friend. “Why are you here, Algar? What does father want with Sigurd?”

“He wishes to meet the man. Face-to-face.”

Edlynne didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. “That’s... it? He just wants to meet him?”

Algar nodded. “Indeed. Unlike some of the other ealdormen in England, Aegenwulf actually looks his enemies in the eye before executing them.”

“No!” Joseph protested. “You can’t kill him! He’s done nothing wrong!”

The housecarl gave him a cautionary glare. “Calm yourself, little lord. Whatever your father commands is what I will carry out. If you have your quarrels with him, I’d suggest taking them to the throne room. He’s rather eager to see this Dane removed from our midst... and so am I.”

Algar placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, urging Sigurd to follow him. “Well, come along then, Dane. Ealdorman Aegenwulf awaits.”

Edlynne timidly approached the man, hoping to dissuade him. 

“Please, Algar. Leave him be. He’s still injured. Can’t you let him rest for a moment? W-We don’t even know if he can walk yet.”

“Then I’ll drag him by his bloody ankles.”

She glowered at him. “You can’t just--!”

“--It’s alright, Edlynne.” Sigurd reassured, holding a hand up. “I’ll follow him.”

“But...”

“It’s alright.” He reiterated. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with an ealdorman.”

Joseph placed a hand on Edlynne’s shoulder, attempting to calm her down. “Let it go, sister. There’s nothing we can do now.”

The girl let out an uneasy breath, but stood down nonetheless.

As for Sigurd, the man slowly threw his legs over the edge of the bed and braced himself for the upcoming trip, uncertain of how his body was going to handle his weight.

It had been days since he last stood on his own, and judging by how severely his wounds reacted to him simply lifting his arm earlier, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to walk without leaning on something -- or someone.

Pressing his feet against the stone floor, Sigurd grunted in effort as he pushed himself up from the bed, trying to ignore the agony that was now piercing his flesh.

It was clear that he wasn’t quite ready to be roaming around just yet, but based on the urgency of the situation, he assumed he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Well, would you look at that...” Algar taunted with a grin. “The dog’s still got some bark left in him.”

Edlynne stared at Sigurd with a shocked expression, evidently taken aback by his surprising height. The viking wasn’t quite as tall as Algar, but he still towered over the twins like a walking Goliath.

“How do you feel...?” She asked.

Sigurd clutched his arrow wound, attempting to suppress the pain. “Far better than I look, I assure you.”

Algar beckoned the Norse. “Then you’ll be fit enough to see Aegenwulf.” He turned on his heel, taking his leave from the infirmary. “Follow me, Dane, and try not to fall over. We don’t want your blood staining our floors.”

Staying behind for a moment while the housecarl made his way out, Sigurd exchanged looks with the twins and fell into an agitated silence, unable to deny that he shared their fear.

He had no idea if he’d be leaving the throne room alive, or if he’d even get the chance to make it that far, but seeing as how Edlynne and Joseph were fond of him, he hoped they’d be able to convince the others to spare him.

He wasn’t normally in the habit of begging Saxons for his life, but with the state that his body was currently in, Sigurd had no intentions of provoking anyone just yet. He may have been a warrior, but he certainly wasn’t stupid.

“Be careful, Sigurd.” Edlynne warned. “Our father isn’t a bad man, but... he’s controlled by his grief these days.”

That piqued the man’s interest. “Grief? Did something happen?”

Her tone sank with heartache. “...Yes. Our eldest brother, Gareth, was killed about a month ago. By a clan of Danes.”

Joseph added onto her explanation. “The Raven Clan, specifically.”

Sigurd froze upon hearing that, paralyzed on the spot.

...Did he just say the Raven Clan? Surely, that couldn’t have been right. He was well aware that the vikings had a reputation for being cruel to Saxons -- not all of it without reason -- but their clan was different. Eivor was different. He would not have condoned the killing a man who did not deserve it.

Though, of course, that presupposed the notion that Gareth was innocent. If someone in the Raven Clan deemed their brother worthy of a kill, Sigurd was certain that it must have been for a good reason.

There was clearly more to this story, but for the moment, he restrained himself from prying.

“Ah...” Sigurd simply replied, trying to conceal his sudden dread, “I see. You have my condolences.”

Edlynne didn’t seem to notice the shift in his mood. “Thank you. We pray for him everyday, but... there’s no way of knowing if he’s truly at peace. We can only hope.”

Joseph changed the subject, not wishing to dwell in these thoughts. “But enough about that. You have an ealdorman to greet, and we have much to prepare for, in the event that you don’t return.”

Sigurd nodded, following Algar’s tracks into the corridor. “I understand. Thank you both for your help. Even if your efforts end up being in vain, you will still have my appreciation.”

“Good luck, Sigurd.” Edlynne said, bidding him farewell. “May God guide you in the storm ahead. I have a feeling these next few days are going to be difficult for all of us, and I would not wish for more struggles to be thrust upon you.”

[ramialkarmi]

Tesla whistleblower says Elon Musk is waging war on him for leaking information to Business Insider

Former Tesla technician Martin Tripp says Elon Musk is waging war on him for leaking information to Business Insider about the firm's raw material waste and safety standards.

Tesla filed a lawsuit against Tripp for hacking and leaking "confidential and trade secret information" to third parties, while Musk has accused him of "sabotage."

Tripp has protested his innocence. He said he never hacked the information and leaked it because he was concerned about public safety.

Tripp said Telsa is "trying to do everything they can to silence me."

A former Tesla technician has said that Elon Musk is waging war on him for leaking information to Business Insider about the firm's raw material waste and safety standards.

The whistleblower, Martin Tripp, has done a round of interviews with The Guardian, The Washington Post, and CNN explaining his role in what has been an explosive week for electric car maker Tesla.

It all started with a report in Business Insider on June 4. Tripp has admitted leaking information to this publication about the raw material waste being produced by Tesla making parts for the Model 3, as well as safety concerns that punctured batteries were being put back into manufacture.

Tesla said the claims about the raw material costs were exaggerated, and that no punctured battery cells were released back into the manufacturing process, although internal logs shown to reporter Linette Lopez suggested otherwise.

The Business Insider story triggered a furious response from Tesla CEO Musk this week. In an email circulated internally at Tesla on Monday, Musk said an employee had committed "sabotage" after not receiving a promotion.

Although Musk didn't name Tripp in the email, Tesla went on to file a lawsuit against the technician on Wednesday, which did identify him. The lawsuit, available here, said Tripp "unlawfully hacked the company's confidential and trade secret information and transferred that information to third parties."

The lawsuit further claimed that Tripp installed hacking software on the computers of three colleagues, continuing to export company data after his departure and essentially framing his former co-workers. It also said he made "false claims to the media" about the company.

Tripp spoke to media after being named, and in series of interviews protested his innocence. Business Insider has contacted Tesla for comment.

Tesla whistleblower protests innocence

Tripp told The Guardian that he leaked the information, not because he was disgruntled, but because he felt his concerns were being dismissed by management.

"I kept bringing this up to management, supervisors, anyone who would listen," he said. "Everyone just said, 'Yeah, whatever.'"

He rejected the suggestion that he was a saboteur as "flat-out lies." He admitted providing information from Tesla's manufacturing operating system to Business Insider, but said he obtained it by searching not hacking the database.

"I’m not that smart," Tripp said. "I don’t know how to code. I tried to teach myself to code and I don’t have the patience."

Tripp said he was motivated by public safety, not selling trade secrets to rival companies. "I’ve never gone to any outside company, any oil industry people. I care about the public and safety," he explained.

An alleged threat of gun-violence

The story took another twist when Tripp was accused of making threats of violence.

A Tesla spokesperson told CNBC and others that the company received a call on Wednesday from "a friend of Mr Tripp" saying that he would be coming to the firm's Gigafactory battery plant in Nevada to "shoot the place up." Police said there was "no credible threat," but noted that the investigation is still ongoing.

Tripp told the Washington Post that he "never made a threat," and called Tesla's claims "insane." He told the Post that he was visited by police on Wednesday, and that he is now seeking official whistleblower protections.

Tripp told the Guardian that he viewed the threat allegation as an intimidation tactic. "They’re trying to do everything they can to silence me," he said, "and trying to set an example so that no one else will talk to the press."

An explosive email exchange

Also on Wednesday, the day of the lawsuit and the alleged gun threat, Tripp and Musk had an explosive email exchange about the affair. The emails were shared with The Guardian, the BBC, and The Washington Post.

Tripp initiated the email exchange on Wednesday, accusing Musk of telling lies to the public and investors. The tense conversation escalated quickly and Musk said Tripp was a "horrible human being." Here's the full exchange:

Tripp: "Don’t worry, you have what’s coming to you for the lies you have told to the public and investors."

Musk: "Threatening me only makes it worse for you"

Tripp: "I never made a threat. I simply told you that you have what’s coming. Thank you for this gift!!!!"

Musk: "You should ashamed of yourself for framing other people. You’re a horrible human being."

Tripp: "I NEVER 'framed' anyone else or even insinuated anyone else as being involved in my production of documents of your MILLIONS OF DOLLARS OF WASTE, Safety concerns, lying to investors/the WORLD. Putting cars on the road with safety issues is being a horrible human being!"

Musk: "There are literally injuries[sic] with Model 3. It is by far the safest car in the world for any midsize vehicle. And of course a company with billions of dollars in product is going to have millions of dollars in scrap. This is not news.

"However, betraying your word of honor, breaking the deal you had when Tesla gave you a job and framing your colleagues are wrong and some come with legal penalties. So it goes. Be well."

Musk told The Guardian that emails were "unwise" on his part. "He initiated the email exchange this morning at 8.57am. I certainly would not have initiated contact, nor would I even know his personal email address, and it was probably unwise for me to have responded," he said in an email.

SEE ALSO: Internal documents reveal Tesla is blowing through an insane amount of raw material and cash to make Model 3s, and production is still a nightmare

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