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forabeatofadrum · 3 years

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Mendacious (27/31)

Notes: I’m back for one chapter. I just realised that this is once again the last thing that I’ve written and that I also don’t have time in the upcoming days to write.

I’ve also extended my self-imposed word count from under 1K to 1,5K for the last chapters, mostly because I am afraid of running out of space to wrap up the story properly. I enjoyed writing something short for my doing, but the quality of the story is more important than the challenges I made for myself.

Home stretch, here we go! (Is that what people say? I don’t know sports.)

AO3

–

ASSUAGE

When Kurt rings the bell, he feels like he’s going to puke from nerves. It’s a big honour to be asked, and Kurt knows that this is what Blaine wants, but he’s still nervous. He’s considering to leave when the door opens.

Blaine’s grandma has a welcoming smile. Kurt recognises her from the chocolate photo.

“Hi,” Kurt says, “I’m a-” Well, he can hardly call himself a friend, “I am here for Blaine.”

“Oh, yes, Blaine said that he had friends coming over.”

Blaine apparently doesn’t feel the same struggle.

“Come in! You can call me Bubs. It’s short for Jennifer.”

Bubs laughs as if she’s told a hilarious joke. Then she calls out for Blaine before turning back to Kurt.

“My Blaine has told me why you’re here. He’s had a difficult summer with everything that has happened and I am very proud of him.”

“So am I,” Kurt says earnestly.

Blaine comes downstairs and he smiles nervously when he sees Kurt.

“You’re here. Mercedes is already upstairs.”

Bubs shoves some chocolate in Kurt’s hands and she has a fond smile on her face. “It’s… Eddie, right?”

Kurt feels like he’s been slapped in the face. Blaine also looks white as a sheet. Turns out that Bubs doesn’t know what happened, but this also means that back when the catfishing was happening, Blaine spoke about Eddie with his grandmother. Kurt feels guilty all over, but he forces a smile.

“Uhm, no, it’s Kurt.”

Maybe he’s imagining things, but he could swear that Bubs’s face fell for a millisecond. She puts on a big smile and she turns to Blaine. To Kurt’s surprise, Blaine quickly says something in a language that he doesn’t recognise. Bubs nods and turns back to Kurt.

“Ah,” she says, “Well Kurt, welcome. I’ll leave you kids to it. I’m in the kitchen if you need me.”

Kurt follows Blaine upstairs. Kurt could ask the obvious question, but instead he asks: “What language were you speaking?”

“Bisaya. My mom is from the Philippines. My gran learned it when my dad started dating my mom.”

“You’re Filipino?”

“Half,” Blaine shrugs, “I guess it’s another thing I tried to hide. Huh, you should’ve seen Mercedes’s reaction.”

“I heard my name!” Mercedes yells from Blaine’s room. Blaine leads Kurt towards her. Mercedes and Kurt quickly hug. It’s time to talk.

By the time the story is done, Mercedes is visibly upset. She throws her arms around Blaine.

“I wish I could assuage this situation. I am so sorry that happened to you.”

“So am I,” Blaine says.

“Thanks for telling me,” Mercedes says, “And Kurt, thanks for not telling me.”

“I would never,” Kurt says.

“I know, babe,” Mercedes says.

She extends one of her arms towards him. She wants him to join the hug. Kurt stares at the arm with hesitance. He doesn’t feel like he should be part of this. Why is he even here? In the end, Blaine managed to get through the entire story by himself.

But Mercedes has a welcoming look on her face and even Blaine seems to wait for him, so Kurt hugs both Mercedes and Blaine tightly.

“Oh, boys… I wish the world were a better place.”

They sit in silence and Kurt also has to hold back his tears. The sheer emotion of the situation is too much. Mercedes holds them close and he’s so happy that she’s in his life.

“We need chocolate,” Mercedes says after a while and everyone laughs. They break apart so that people can wipe their tears and compose themselves. Mercedes gets up. “I’ll ask Bubs some more.”

“I have-”

Mercedes shoots Kurt a meaningful look and he understands what is happening.

“I-”

Mercedes gives the same look to Blaine. Then she leaves to look for Bubs.

Kurt and Blaine are sat alone in Blaine’s room.

Blaine fiddles with rug on the floor, but he does say: “She… knows that I miss you. I think this is her way of helping.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, but his mind focuses on the first part. Blaine misses him?

“Mercedes’s been nudging towards this since the summer,” Blaine’s still not looking at him, “She told me where you work. She convinced me to join glee. She suggested I’d ask you to be here, since she knew that I was nervous. She’s a great friend who just wants me to be happy.”

“She is.” Really, Blaine is so lucky to have Mercedes. She really is the friends that he needs. Not Kurt. Kurt still can’t get over his own guilt and shame. “And, I miss you too.”

“Yeah?” Blaine looks up in shock.

“Of course,” Kurt says, since it’s true, “You believe me when I told you our friendship was genuine, apart from the, you know-” Kurt waves his hand, “-catfishing thing.”

Blaine snorts. Another time that Kurt’s made Blaine laugh. Another win. Kurt’s counting them. He’d do anything to make Blaine laugh like that.

Blaine sighs, sounding sad. The euphoric moment is over. “Am I crazy to miss you, after everything that you’ve done? What you did was so fucked up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Blaine groans, “And I know I have forgiven you, and a part of me is still angry, but another part of me doesn’t want to be. And then that first part gets mad at the other part. God, I am fighting with myself over you, Kurt Hummel!”

“I’m sorr-”

“Stop, please!” Blaine begs. Kurt immediately shuts up. “Just… let me work this out, okay? Wait for me.”

Bubs insists on giving Kurt even more chocolate. She leads him to the kitchen and she hands Kurt a bar with salted caramel chocolate.

“My favourite,” she says with a wink.

Then, she looks around to see if they’re alone. Mercedes and Blaine are still laughing whilst watching the movie. Bubs leans closer.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you to Blaine?”

“I- I-” Kurt stammers. He knows why Bubs is asking this. He saw the look on her face. His shoulders drop and he looks embarrassed when he says: “I don’t know.”

“My Blaine has mentioned a guy named Kurt several times before. He’s told me about how the attack on you made him realise that he’s, well, repressed might be the best word. But I also remember him having a different tone whilst talking about you.”

“I know.”

Bubs sigh. “I hope you can forgive him. It was his own misjudgement and unhappiness speaking. He’s working very hard on himself and I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Same.”

“Are you friends now?”

“I don’t know,” Kurt says again. There’s new hope after the earlier conversation with Blaine, but Kurt doesn’t wanna get his hopes up.

“Also, when Blaine said that he asked a friend to come over to help him talk to Mercedes, I thought he meant Eddie. You know Eddie?”

Kurt sucks in his breath.

“Vaguely,” he lies.

Bubs looks at him with suspicion written over her face. She’s a smart woman. She’s even learned an entire language for her daughter-in-law. Kurt slowly realises that Bubs asked him to get more chocolate so that she could interrogate him.

“Ah. I hope I get to see Eddie one day,” Bubs says, still staring at Kurt, “Blaine has talked so much about him. He’s a great friend, but I haven’t heard of Eddie in months. I guess I am a bit worried that they had a fight.”

Kurt nods. What else can he do?

“After all, Blaine is a very good person,” Bubs says pointedly, “He’s made his mistakes, but he’s done so much this past few weeks. He deserves to be loved by someone who knows him well.”

Bubs shoots him another look and Kurt tries not to sweat from nerves. What does Bubs know? What is she implying? Kurt doesn’t even know if he loves Blaine. Sure, there are feelings, but love? Can he ever get to there, when there’s all this guilt?

Instead of talking, Kurt nods again.

“I think I like you, Kurt, whoever you are,” Bubs says with a smile, as if the earlier tension never happened, “I’d like it to stay that way.”

The feeling is mutual. Kurt knows that Blaine doesn’t owe him anything, but just being here and talking to him makes Kurt feel hopeful again. Maybe they can start again. He really wants that. Hopefully, Blaine wants that too.

#tan hands and tan lines #spaceorphan's sophisticated challenge: assuage #klaine #glee #holy fuck I wrote #2021 #multichaptered

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aoifeanamadan · 3 years

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After School Special

Fandom: Minecraft YouTube rpf (mcyt)

Word count: 6488

Relationship: DreamNotFound (DreamxGeorgeNotFound)

Summary:

Montague versus Capulet, Taylor versus Katy, Dream versus George.

It was one of those fueds, the kind you barely even had to acknowledge. The sky is blue, we breathe air, Dream hated George.

Needless to say, neither of them were over the moon when they found out they had to spend two months working together in weekend detention.

Support this work on AO3 :)

Chapter Four: Hat Trick

Dream didn’t think texting George was meant to be this exciting. He didn’t think texting any of his friends was meant to be exciting point-blank . Not in the way texting George was. Every time his phone buzzed he was rushing to grab it, always on guard, always waiting. He had spent years calling his friends stupid for the way their faces lit up reading their phones. Now he was worse than all of them. But, it was different. This was George. And texting George was fun.

Dream was certain now that he was definitely funny. And he was smart, in the hard kind of way. He was unpredictable. Dream never knew what was coming. And he was nice to talk to. Every message sent, every message received, Dream felt them growing closer.

So, yeah, maybe his eyes were constantly scouring his phone screen. But he had a good reason. He was talking to George.

George, who said he didn’t normally talk to be people through the phone. He called it a handicapped form of communication, just as George-like as ever. Dream had forgotten to make fun of him for it, mind too busy with ‘ He doesn’t normally talk to people over the phone. He talks to you over the phone’. It meant he was special.

George (2:20 am)

i dont want to annoy you lol

Dream (2:20 am)

if you sending me memes at fuck o clock in the morning was annoying me i wouldn’t have kept sending them back

George didn’t read the message for a full minute. Staring at the tiny symbol, showing his message was unopened, Dream couldn’t bring himself to feel pathetic. In the back of his mind he thought he should, but the rest of him was buzzing. Every cell was humming with a new kind of want. He wanted to know what George thought, hear how he felt. It was overwhelming. There was no room left for shame.

George (2:23 am)

i dont want to keep you up

Dont you have that match tomorrow

Dream did. It was against ‘ Saint Joseph’s Preparatory Institute ’ a private school just half an hour away from Dream and George’s school. The kids there were spoiled in ways Dream found difficult to understand, summer homes in Italy and money thrown away on nights out in the city. The person Dream thought Geoge had been just two weeks ago was nothing compared to the Saint Joseph boys. It was as if all of them wanted to play God, a family of clashing entitled titans, a Grecian mess.

Dream was certain if anyone on his team brushed against one of their arms they’d be on the floor, crying for the referee. It was the first match of the season, only a challenge, but he had been preparing his boys for almost three weeks to make sure they didn’t give away any fouls. Even if it didn’t affect their standing in the league it would affect team morale. It was important. He wanted to win, just like he always did.

But, that night, Dream couldn’t have cared less. The match, less than 24 hours away, was pushed to the back of his brain. His entire frontal lobe was taken up with George’s words, glaring brightly up at him from his screen, awaiting Dream’s reply.

Dream (2:24 am)

ur coming right?

Dream hit send, he always did. He was a full-send person down to the bone. For him, it was easy. He did everything with complete confidence, full fucking send. He couldn't imagine it any other way, not when everyone was hanging off his every word. Shame was foreign to him.

But, the second he hit the arrow on that message, something foreign happened. His stomach knotted itself, his heart sped up. His eyes glued themselves to the screen, trapping him in the silence of his bedroom, waiting for any kind of reply. Dream didn’t understand why he cared so much about a stupid message.

No matter how hard he tried to tell himself to calm down, it didn’t work. His mind couldn’t be reasoned with. Logic was out the window, replaced with the thought of George standing on the sidelines while Dream scored a winning goal. His heart was in palpitations for an agonising 40 seconds. George’s message was the first morsel of food in a year to Dream’s hungry eyes.

George (2:24 am)

do you want me to

Dream was typing a response before he could think. He didn’t need to think.

Dream (2:24 am)

yes

It wasn’t until he sent it that he realised how it could be read. Desperate. It was overwhelming, this new way of thinking. Dream had never considered how other people might read his texts. His mind never had the time to consider how he was perceived, always racing away from him. This new thing, it was dwelling. Dream hadn’t dwelled before.

George (2:25 am)

okay

ill go then

everyone knows i love to spend my saturday evenings outside in the cold

Dream didn’t mean to grin the way that he did when he read the reply. He didn’t even notice the smile snaking its way onto his. He had never smiled at someone's texts before.

George (2:26 am)

what time

Dream didn’t mean to lie. But he did accidentally tell George to be there an hour early so they had more time, away from the pressure of his role as captain. By accident . He felt justified in his deceit, his new constant urge to make George his friend was enough to allow it. He wanted to be around him, talking and laughing, bickering and disagreeing and teasing. He wanted all of it, the before and after of the years of resentment. The new growing fondness that Dream was trying his best to ignore.

Above all, he wanted to be liked by George. He wanted the reassurance of his approval.

If George, who had hated him for years, who had been on the receiving end of his cold stares and scoffs, could like him then it would be sure. Dream could be certain that he was a good person.

They kept texting until George sent his death sentence, in the form of a digital message.

George (2:31 am)

go to sleep

And that was that. George’s status switched to inactive and Dream was left staring at the tiny dot where his green light used to be, the Daisy to his Gatsby.

Dream (2:31 am)

george

georgie

Dream forced himself to turn off his phone, it felt as if he was cutting off a hand. Giving up the hope of hearing anything more from George that night and accepting the isolation. But he could do it, almost happily, comforted by the knowledge he would see George the next day.

He recentered his weight and let his head sink into his pillow. It smelled old. Not bad, but old. Dream couldn’t stop himself from smiling, sad and gentle. He held his phone to his chest and squeezed. The metal didn’t move but his fingers ached with the force.

In the back of his mind, Dream realised it was dangerous. This smiling, this thing burrowing itself into his heart. But he couldn’t stop himself. He let himself imagine a world where he knew George fully, recognised every part of him as George. A jigsaw in the shape of a man where Dream knew the place of each part as if it were the back of his hand. It was a different kind of friendship than what Dream had known. He wanted to understand him, to uncover all the secrets he was holding so close to his chest. It felt as if knowing George was inevitable. And he wanted George to do the same to him, to see all of him and like it. To prove he could be known in full and still seen as himself, still Dream. Still human.

Dream didn’t feel himself falling asleep but he didn’t wake up until 3 in the afternoon, his phone still lying over his heart.

Sapnap collected him before George, so he had time to explain his misleading statement before George got in the truck clueless at half four in the afternoon, three hours before the match started.

George understood what had happened once they arrived at the empty pitch. Dream was thankful he had briefed Sapnap before their arrival, because without Sapnap there he was convinced he would have ended up in a morgue.

Once George had accepted and made peace with the situation, that is to say 95 minutes and multiple very stern telling offs later, Dream and Sapnap decided the only natural thing to do was warm up an hour early.

With a ball from Sapnap’s truck, they started to pass gently to each other. George only managed to claim he couldn’t play for 10 minutes before Dream and Sapnap convinced him to join in.

Dream had been sure George was exaggerating his incompatibility with the sport. Fundamentally, it was just kicking a ball. But Dream was very wrong. Dream tried to tip him the ball, a gentle touch, but somehow George still fumbled it. He managed to stand on the ball three times before kicking it past Sapnap.

They spend half an hour trying to explain the basics of soccer to an increasingly annoyed George, who thanked God when the real team started to trickle in. It meant he was released from the seventh circle of hell - soccer drills

Dream went through the motions of his pre-match routine; the warm-up and laughter and tieing of boots. The coach, their chemistry teacher, arrived ten minutes before the match started. Dream gave a particularly rousing speech and then suddenly they were in the tunnel, waiting for the referee to call them onto the field.

Normally, the time in the tunnel made any other time spent on the field feel tiny, irrelevant. It was a place that didn’t obey the laws of time. Four seconds in the tunnel made a month on the field feel like maybe ten minutes.

That day, Dream had spent three hours on the field before the match. Normally, the tunnel would have made that feel like a millisecond. A blip.

But, Dream could recall the hours spent easily. He barely had to think before George yelling at him and Sapnap rushed to mind. George trying to score a goal from the penalty line, with no goalie, and somehow hitting the crossbar . George’s sigh of relief when he saw one of the players approaching to relieve him of his place in the drill. It was all cased in amber in Dream’s brain. It was proof that he had prepared for this match. There was a time before it and there would be a time after.

Standing on the tunnel, waiting to be called out to play the first match of the year, Dream was calm.

Before he could think too deeply, Sapnap turned to Dream. His eyes were almost pleading. He grabbed ream by the shoulders and tried to look deep into his soul.

“Promise me that you won't start any fights this time.” Dream couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He never started fights, but he replied anyway to put Sapnap at ease.

“I promise I won’t start any fights.” Sapnap breathed a sigh of relief, ever the drama queen.

“Thank you.” Sapnap turned to head to the team huddle, everyone waiting for Dream’s final good luck. Before Sapnap could walk away Dream grinned, lopsided and hyper.

“I will finish them though.”

Dream was walking out before Sapnap could protest, the team behind him. Dream didn’t want to prolong their wait any longer. They knew what he was going to say, and he knew they didn't need to hear it. The atmosphere changed the second the crowd could see them

Oakland had walked out stiff and straight-backed. Proper as always. Beside them, Dream and his team’s causal jogs and crowd-pleasing waves were even more charming. Dream allowed himself a moment to revel in the cheers before locking his eyes on the ball.

Once he adjusted to the floodlights, Dream’s eyes raked over the crowds until they locked on George, leaning on the low fence. He shot him his lopsided grin and waved. He was charm personified. The crowd’s heads swivelled in search of the recipient, but no one looked at George smiling as he rolled his eyes.

Once the whistle was blown, the team came alive. The state champions ran circles around Oakwood. Dream was two-thirds of the way to his aspired hat trick by half time, with the total score at 4 - nil. Their team worked seamlessly together, everyone exactly where they needed to be. It was like watching a well-oiled machine, or embroidery at super speed.

Dream and Sapnap were shining through, their natural chemistry turned to telepathy on the soccer field. It was as if the ball was a piece of metal and they were the magnets. It stuck to them, gravitated to their feet.

By the second half, Oakwood were angry. It showed in their game. They started to slip up, losing easy balls. Their footwork got sloppy. But they also got more aggressive. Somehow, the referee was turning a blind eye to every misplaced kick and accidental shove in the back. But, Dream had trained everyone for this. They stayed calm, took their deep deep breaths and played fair.

Oakwood did not take the same approach. The more time they spent on the field, the rougher they played. Dream had cycled through six of the ten substitutes by the time the second half rolled around. He was convinced the referee had optional cataracts.

With twenty minutes left, Dream’s team were 3 goals up - the only three goals of the match. But, Dream was still a goal away from his hat trick, and he was getting tired.

The rest of the team was playing defence, just like Dream had told them to do during training. He had said it would be stupid to go for glory in this situation, three goals up and approaching the end of the match. It would be plain dumb.

Dream knew all this, thought about it even. He knew it was right, but he saw an Oakland striker, who he was not supposed to be marking, running up the field. He didn’t have the ball, it was on the opposite end of the pitch, but Dream could see it in his mind’s eye. Two easy, unlikely passes and it would be at the striker’s open feet.

There were other boys closer to him, it would’ve made more sense for them to run to mark him. It would have been easy. But Dream couldn’t stop thinking of the one goal he needed for a hat trick.

Aching feet and heaving lungs Dream ran towards him. The striker saw him coming from a mile off.

His leg connected with Dream’s, and suddenly Dream was on the floor clutching his shin.

At first, there was no feeling. Then, just as suddenly as the air had left Dream’s lungs when he hit the floor, there was intense pain.

Dream looked down at his leg, curled up on the floor. He couldn’t hear the referee’s whistle blowing. But he could see the blood.

Before he could make a scene, he was pushing himself up unto his feet. The Oakwood striker didn’t offer him a hand up.

Dream was sent off to the sidelines, limping with an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder. Someone’s mother was a nurse. She assured him it was just a surface wound. Dream saw his parents in the stand, he hadn’t noticed them before. He would’ve waved weakly, or shot them a thumbs up, but he couldn’t focus on them. His mind was racing through anger and pain and anger again.

From the bench, Dream nodded to Sapnap to take the penalty. It wasn’t a question.

He had to sit the final fifteen minutes out, screaming from the bench. The only benefit was George’s spot in the crowd behind him was right behind the bench. He was sitting with his friends, making sarcastic comments about Oakwood. It was nice to listen to, distracting.

With Oakwood playing a man down, the team won 4 - 0.

After the obligatory post-win speech, Dream enjoyed a long warm shower in the changing rooms. It was a scarce rarity for him, only his third long shower in the changing block in four years.

After, Dream was alone in the dressing room, all aching muscles and sore lungs. He was sitting on the bench, legs shaking with the exhaustion of it all. His hair was wet and his shoulders were slumped. There was a low humming echoing off the concrete walls. Dream barely noticed it. He had screwed his eyes tightly shut and had his head hanging between his shoulders. He was waiting there until it was firmly ten minutes since anyone had left, just like he always did. And he was humming, which he did not always do.

It was coming from the base of his throat. The tune of ‘Call Me Maybe’ was raspy, hidden under his breath. But it was there, soft and delicate. The rise and fall, the soft lilts. It made the cold of air of the changing room warmer, familiar. He didn’t think about it, didn’t imagine he would be heard. He just sat there, hair dripping and voice humming. It was tender and charged, too patient.

Hey, I just met you,

And this is crazy,

“Well done, you. You did great” George’s voice came from the doorway, distant and delicate. It shattered Dream’s bubble of gentle calm.

Dream’s brain froze. It caught him off guard, disarmed him. The softness of George’s tone. Too genuine. Before he could unfreeze his mind to think about it, George was talking again.

“Except when you fell. That was embarrassing.”

Dream lifted his head from the wall and cracked open his eyes. George was smiling softly at him. It made Dream feel as if he was bending back his ribs one by one to get a closer look at his panting heart. He couldn’t quite bring himself to stand.

“Brave words Mr Speed Chess.” This was easy, this was Dream and George. Sharp banter and too intense bickering. It was easier than the alternative, the thing Dream wanted once the sun went down. The symbiotic vulnerability.

Dream realised just how tired he really was, listening to his own fragile voice. He was sure George had to have noticed it too. He was sure his smile was too soft, his words too tender to be teasing.

He didn’t know what it was, this new wall he was building. This refusal to let George see him vulnerable. Dream tried to rationalise, call to mind the years of hatred and distrust. It didn’t work, he was met with the hours he and George had spent laughing, the simple rhythm they had so quickly fallen into. George’s quiet jokes, Dream’s beaming grin. There was no reason for this guard Dream was invoking. Yet still, he couldn’t stop it. The hand always hovering over his mouth, ready to slap it closed.

Sapnap was coming in behind George before Dream could leave himself exposed.

“I swear to God, whenever I see you two together it’s like I get to watch a chihuahua provoke a wolfhound." Sapnap was next to George in the doorway, grinning. Dream smiled back, heaving himself up off the bench. Dream wasn’t sure if he was meant to be the chihuahua or wolfhound.

“Fuck off, Sapnap.” He muttered it at the same time as George, shouldering his way past them towards Sapnap’s truck.

“You two are the closest thing I have to a real-life soap opera!” Sapnap was calling out as he followed behind. Despite his best efforts, Dream smiled.

Once the three of them were in the truck, they could really talk. Sapnap and Dream were trying to convince George to come to a party at one of the player’s houses in place of their normal bickering. It was only right to celebrate the win, but George was insisting he couldn’t go.

Dream and Sapnap had matching that’s bullshit looks on their faces,

Through a mix of begging and empty threats, they managed to get George to agree to come inside, just to congratulate the team.

He stuck to his word, entering, finding the team all together in the front room and saying a single ‘Great Game’. Then, he turned on his heel and made his way to the front door with his head down. Sapnap and Dream rushed after him.

By the time they caught up, his hand was on the doorknob. But, before he pulled it, he was turning his head to the space on his left. Dream and Sapnap were still standing in the doorway to his right.

“Bad?” Bad’s face lit up as he abandoned his conversation to turn towards George.

“George!” He ran to hug a laughing George.

“Since when were you the partying type?”

“Since when were you?”

Dream and Sapnap couldn’t believe they had forgotten to tell him Bad would be there.

Twenty minutes in, George was on his fifth shot. Dream and Sapnap looked like Christmas had come early. Bad looked like a concerned father spotting his child in the boxing ring with Muhammad Ali.

“George, oh my God! What are you doing?” George was drinking straight from the vodka bottle while Sapnap and George watched.

George kept drinking from the bottle until Bad took it off him.

“It’s been a boring week. I'm about to fix that.” Dream had never seen George like this.

George’s grin was devilish, the kind that would have made Dream’s heart flutter and stomach drop if he was a girl. But he was not a girl. And so he thought nothing of George’s gleaming teeth and impish eyes. Nothing.

One thing Dream realised, an hour into the party, was that George was just as clumsy with his mouth when he was drunk as his limbs when he was sober.

Dream was standing in one of the doorways to the kitchen, talking to a girl. She was nice. She liked swimming and pc gaming, not worlds away from Dream. He figured they could be friends. She left to dance with her friends and Dream left to get himself another drink. George was standing next to the spirits.

“She’s not good for you. She was a dick to my friends last year. Hell, even I would be better for you and you hate me”

He hated the way George made his breath stop with stupid comments like that. Dream gritted his teeth.

“Don’t hate you anymore, Georgie.” His shoulders were stiffer than he wanted them to be.

George grinned back at him and drawled.

“For now, Dreamer.”

That fucking grin, sprawling between his aristocratic cheekbones. And that fucking nickname. He hated the way it made his stomach flip, acrobatic routines in the pit of his stomach. Dreamer, Dreamer, Dreamer . A mantra.

“Are you drunk, George?”

George opened his mouth, ready to deny it, but the cogs of his brain snapped his mouth closed before he could get the words out.

“You know what? Nevermind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

Dream didn’t know what it was, the resignation in George’s voice, the gentle familiarity. It made him mad. He made it make him mad, because the alternative was wobbly knees and blushing cheeks. And George didn't have the power to do that to him.

George grabbed his arm, slender fingers gripping strong.

“Come on, let’s dance.” He started to pull him towards the front room, where the speakers were.

“Wait, George, wait,” Dream pulled George back to him gently. He was still clinging to his arm. Dream shrugged him off as softly as he could. His touch felt like hot coals, the way it made Dream’s skin burn. He couldn’t handle it.

“Why?” Dream didn’t like the disappointment painted all over George, stitched on his face and laced through his muscles. He couldn’t hide his emotions the way he normally did. Not here, not drunk and tired looking as if he wanted to beg Dream to dance. Dream had to explain.

“I can’t dance.” George’s face didn’t change.

“Yeah, why?” He was looking up at him expectantly, which had not been the plan.

“What do you- I’m bad at it. I can’t dance.” Dream gestured to his long legs and stretched arms. George’s face lit up, a lightbulb moment. Dream realised, George had thought he couldn’t dance because of his injured shin. He cursed himself internally for not being more dramatic.

“You don’t have to be good at something to do it, Dream. Dancing at parties is fun. It’s like exercise, but for your brain.” George pointed to his two temples with both hands, grinning. Not the plan.

“It’s very literally exercise for your body.” Dream didn’t realise there was a smile on his face.

“Fine, it’s exercise for your soul. Now, come on. Dance with me.”

Dream managed to down a shot while he was dragged out by George, it felt like fire down his raw throat. Before he could say no, George was pulling him to the speakers. Dream didn’t dance, he had never known how to. His limbs were too jerky, arms too awkward. And bad dancing didn’t fit the Dream image , not cool and nonchalant enough.

But George was looking up at him with a messy grin and the speakers were thumping and the bodies around him were thrumming. He tried to justify it to himself, the lights were low, no one would see him, but Dream couldn’t have said no in a million years. Not to George, not there, not then.

It was easy to tell the song was on its outro as Dream and George stumbled in. Dream laughed easily at his accidental win.

“Oh no! There goes that idea. Come on, let’s find Sapnap and Bad.” He went to tug George out, but George tugged him back. It caught Dream off balance, making him stumble after George to keep from falling.

George rolled his eyes, slinking his way to the boy with the aux cord and dragging Dream with him.

“Hey, Toby, what’s up?” George talked to the boy, who he was apparently friendly with. Dream knew he went to their school, but he didn’t know the boy. If George hadn’t just said his name, he would’ve had no idea. He stood awkwardly behind George, unsure whether or not he should introduce himself. He was too caught up in the unfamiliar awkwardness to listen to what they were saying. Before he knew it, George was smiling Toby a thanks and dragging him back into the crowd.

“What was that about?” Dream had to bend down to whis[er into George’s ear. George didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

The iconic opening of Carly Rae Jepsen's ‘Call Me Maybe’ started to play. Dream couldn’t stop the barking laugh he let out. George smiled so widely Dream was sure his cheeks would rip open.

Dream wasn’t sure if it was the shots, or the crowds or the boy standing open and soft before him, but he felt the hardened rock around his muscles and tendons melt away. He couldn’t dance, but he could sway next to George while Carly Rae Jepsen sang one of her masterpieces.

George was his only salvation from the heaving, living heat of the crowd. His flushed face and ruined hair were all Dream could see. He tried his casual swaying, but George’s energy called for more.

Dream couldn’t help but sing along.

I threw a wish in a well,

I looked at you as it fell.

George was not a great dancer, really he just flailed and hopped. He yelled to the beat and flung his arms about him. Dream had to apologise on his behalf to a girl he had accidentally whacked. She didn’t acknowledge it.

Dream realised, no one there cared. Everyone just wanted to dance. Dream looked to George, laughing and jumping to the mirage of singing violins. It was all so intense, Dream couldn’t resist it.

His thudding, thumping body didn’t quite match George’s plasmic flow. His muses thrashed with the musical pulses, throat raw from the singing. No matter how loud he was, everyone around him was louder.

It felt like indulgence, sweeping slowly over his skin and through his veins. He had to choose to let himself enjoy it.

His dancing was horrible, but George loved it. Dream felt like it was a newfound candour, this allowance. He was bad, he was having fun. There was no contradiction. He could do both.

Where you think you’re going, baby?

Dream’s thudding stomps didn’t match George’s rough edged-grace, but he was there. And he was dancing. It felt like a win. It felt human, more human than Dream had felt in days. In those three minutes, he wasn’t the Dream. He was just another person.

He felt like one cell in the body of a giant, doing the same as everyone around him, but for the first time he liked it. He was doing the same as George, who was jumping offbeat.

But here’s my number, so call me maybe?

Dream’s panting chest felt like it was holding corporal freedom inside it. He thought his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his cell wall chest and soar away.

Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad.

I missed you so, so bad.

Dream couldn’t believe he had ever thought George was restrained and standoffish.

The George Dream had thought he had known for years, detached and reserved, quiet and reclusive; Dream watched in his mind as he died and was replaced with this new man. This new George had an unrelenting mind and thrashing heart. It fit perfectly with Dream’s aching body and delicate soul. There, sweating next to George as he sang his throat raw, Dream was sure George had to be his missing part. His final puzzle piece. If there was an empty cave in Dream he would stretch and chip away at it until it was the perfect size for George to settle in.

As the song ended, Dream tried to sort out his jumbled thoughts. His brain felt like a smoothie. Before he could take an internal inventory, Sapnap was beside him. It was easy to guide a panting Dream and George away from the dance floor and down a quiet hall, muttering about ‘totally unlike you, both of you’.

Dream couldn’t process the moving. He shut his eyes to keep it out, only opening his eyes for sporadic flashes of the house. He knew they were going down a hall together, but it all blended into one.

Sapnap got more and more excited the closer they got to the end of the hall. When he finally opened the last door, he was practically hopping.

Dream’s muddied brain recognised it as some kind of game’s room, like the basement in Sapnap’s old house. There was an easily ignored pool table, and on the pool table was an open bottle.

George got to the bottle first. He offered it to Dream and Sapnap before drinking from it. He coughed and spluttered as it went down.

“Gin.” His grimace was enough to deter them all.

Sapnap found a VR headset, the kind none of them had at home. They had to arm wrestle for it. Sapnap won, through methods involving plain cheating if you asked Dream. He had kicked Dream’s blooded shin ‘accidentally ’ mid-wrestle and refused a rematch. George hadn’t wanted to get involved.

Sapnap got to play on the VR first.

George was a nice drunk to be around. He wasn’t loud or annoying or excitable. He was just George, but less guarded. He thought out loud about the universe and the human condition and why goldfish were called goldfish when they were orange. Dream sat cross-legged in front of him while he spoke, slow and heavy. His brain felt cloudy, but in a nice way. A buffer between Dream and George, and everything else.

George liked to do things wrong. The more he talked about random things, the clearer it became. He ate pasta at breakfast time. He sat on chairs backwards and sideways and even upside down, laying his back on the seat and letting the blood rush to his head. He used his conditioner before his shampoo.

Dream tried to tell him, tried to enlighten him that he was living wrong.

“Well, I’m doing perfectly fine.”

Dream didn’t know how George managed to slip this gentle tenderness into everything he did. He swapped from sitting cross-legged to lying down, sprawling like a starfish. Dream did the same. He could feel their fingers brushing against each other.

Sapnap was immersed in his own digital world, but Dream was sure they were feeling the same thing, total separation from reality It was as if he and George had escaped time. They just lay there on the dirty carpet together, fingertips barely brushing.

“Ow!” The serenity didn’t last long. Sapnap had walked into a wall.

George laughed aloud. “That's going to hurt in the morning.”

Sapnap held up his middle finger, in the wrong direction. The headset was still on.

“It hurts now, idiot.” Dream grinned between them. He wasn’t used to their friendship.

“Well, at least you did your best!” Dream tried to give his positive input from his position on the floor. Sapnap shuddered.

“God, I hope not.” He went into the game again.

Dream turned his body back to the ceiling, but it wasn’t the same. The bubble was popped and he couldn’t stitch it back together.

Instead, he sat up to face George again so they could talk.

Ten minutes later, Sapnap was still alive and thriving in the game, while Dream and George were falling back into the natural rhythm of their conversations.

“Why did you think I hated you?” George’s voice was a rock skimmed on the pond of quiet. Dream was laying back on the couch, eyes again locked on the ceiling. It made it easier, not having to look at George on the other end of the couch. Their feet were tangled together. George was being gentle with Dream’s recovering shin. Dream didn’t think about it before replying.

“Didn’t you?” He didn’t see the gentle shake of George’s head.

“No. If anything, you hated me.” His voice bounced from the ceiling to Dream’s ears. Dream sat up to face him, ceiling tainted.

“No I didn’t. No, I don’t.” It was Dream’s turn now to shake his head. He wanted to lean forward and tell George a hundred times. He didn’t, he doesn’t.

“Okay, Dream.” George hadn’t sat up, still staring at the white ceiling.

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Dream looked at George, George looked up. Dream couldn’t handle the quiet, the noncommitment in George’s voice. He needed to fix it. He spoke into the silence.

“You just, you stopped talking to me. Like, overnight. So, I just thought you hated me.” Dream couldn’t keep looking at him. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes. He wished he hadn’t had that vodka. It was shoving cotton in his mouth and down his throat. There was morphine in his lips, he couldn’t get his words out.

“Yeah. I was anxious. I wasn’t talking to anyone.” George’s gaze was deadset, not on Dream.

“Well, you ignored me. I thought you hated me.” Dream tried to justify himself to George, to rationalise his behaviour at nine years old. George just hummed.

“So all of that, the years of dirty looks and rolling eyes, it was because I hurt your feelings by being too quiet?” George finally looked at him. Dream couldn’t believe he had ever wanted him to. His eyes were cold stone.

“Don’t say it like that.” Dream wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. His voice sounded small. Sapnap still had the headset on, he couldn’t hear them. He wasn’t coming to save him.

“Well, how would you say it, Dream?” George was still staring at him. Dream wanted to sew his eyes shut.

“I-” He looked away, but found himself looking back in George’s eyes before speaking again. “You weren’t just quiet . You ignored me.” It was all too quiet.

“You were too busy for me Dream. I wanted to be your friend, for years. Don’t try and spin this as if I dropped you. You couldn’t deal with me being quiet, with me going through a hard time. You needed my attention, you wanted it, 24/7. You were selfish.”

Dream couldn’t speak. He felt like someone was sucking the air slowly from his lungs and then the last traces of oxygen from his blood. George stood up and it was the final kick.

Sapnap must have sensed the movement, because just then he took off the headset.

“I think I saw some of my friends in another room. I’m going to go and say hi.”

“Hey, we’re your friends.” Dream had no idea how Sapnap knew to make his voice so soft at that moment. He had always had a sixth sense for those things.

“Yeah.” Dream managed to choke the word out.

“Come on Dream. Sometimes I think if you saw me bleeding out on your kitchen floor, you’d act like you hadn’t seen me.” George smiled tightly to Sapnap and left.

Dream let him go. He hated the tightness in his chest, the bitter taste in his mouth. He made himself feel angry in a way he knew he didn’t deserve to be. For the first time in his life, he knew George was right about what had happened. A lot of it had been his fault.

#mcyt #mcyt fic #dnf #dreamnotfound #dreamsmp #dream/george #dreamxgeorge #psa i actually dont ship them i just like creative writing and heat waves made me obsessed with their characters #dream #georgenotfound

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eirabach · 4 years

Text

For @gumnut-logic 's FabFiveFeb Challenge

Prompt Two - Gordon

[Can't / No clothes]

Also inspired by Nutty's TAG ages meta, because it gave me *emotions*. I'm super sorry. Added Vance Joy because it’s Gordon.

---

Under the surface you don't know what you'll find,

Until it's your time.

---

The night that Jeff Tracy took humanity's first step on the surface of Mars, he had three little boys watching at home. Gordon, he liked to say, was born of the fall out. A child created in a whirlwind of press tours and ticker tape and eventually brought home to that quiet little homestead that would never be truly quiet or homely again.

By the time Gordon became a Tracy being a Tracy mattered. And sure money's great and influence is better, but Gordon's sixteen years old with sunlight in his hair and his eyes and his soul, and for him, for him the best part of being a Tracy is that no one ever tells you you can't.

Not that Gordon would listen if they did.

Because the other important thing to know about being a Tracy, is that Gordon isn't very good at it.

He's uninterested in physics or engineering or math. He has minimal desire to blow things up or shoot people or study space dust. He likes a party and he loves people, but he's miserable in a cummerbund and he kinda never understood capitalism.

When you're fourth, you gotta find your own way to be first. And all right Scott's a fighter pilot and John's a genius and Virgil's some sort of goddamn savant, but at least Alan can't even tie his shoelaces yet so Gordon's got one up on him. Gordon doesn't even wear shoes. Doesn't wear much of anything at all except teeny weeny trunks splattered red, white and blue.

Gordon won't be a hero, won't have a theory named after him, but what Gordon will have will be his.

Gordon's going for gold.

His muscles burn and his hair turns green and he sweats chlorine into his sheets every night, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the next millisecond, the turn, the cleanness of his touch. He can't care about anything but his coach's thumb hovering over the stopwatch and the crest of his fly because it's coming. Gold. It's coming, and it's everything.

Everything.

---

Dad calls on Wednesdays at three. Alan calls at midnight just to hear him swear. He gets weekly updates on daring-do from Scott and a monthly serving of sarcasm and space babble from John.

Virgil calls because they tend to forget.

"You gonna come home, you think? Before?"

Virgil looks different, his floppy black hair cropped short, band shirts exchanged for some weird quasi military uniform. He's still watching Gordon shovel food down his throat with an expression of disgusted awe, though, so some things never change.

"Dunno." Gordon shrugs, mouth full. "Gotta keep training. Four months to go, can't lose form now."

"You should come, there's -- there's a lot changed around here," says Virgil, like that's a reason. Then, when Gordon just chews at him in reply, "Dad built you a pool."

And maybe that's a reason, after all.

Cause sure, his dad's never told him he can't, but Gordon's been gone a long time, and he's not sure he remembers the last time his dad told him he could.

---

Home's not the farm anymore, or the ranch, or the townhouse in Manhattan. Home is some island a billion miles from anywhere, where huge portraits of his older brothers stare expressionlessly down at him and his shoes squeak on the super shiny floor, humidity making his tracksuit stick to his back.

Gordon has only really spent a few weeks here, his training all taking place under the eagle eye of Uncle Sam and sponsored entirely by Old Glory, but he doesn't remember it like this.

The decor is still retro spy movie meets crazy billionaire with paranoia problems, and his bedroom is pretty much as he left it, but nothing else seems familiar at all. He'd left Tracy Two in a great cavernous hanger that would have been overkill even for one of dad's crazy projects, Kyrano had rushed him past huge shadowy behemoths that suggested, pretty damn strongly, that Jeff Tracy is in the midst of another too easily financed midlife crisis.

"Please tell me he isn't planning world domination," Gordon had only half joked as they’d emerged into the brightness of the villa proper. "He'd look awful in lycra."

Kyrano had glared at him, swirled back into the bowels of the island, and left him with Scott.

Scott is wearing lycra.

He's sitting behind their dad's desk, two high points of colour in his cheeks and his eyes bright with something Gordon can't name as he pours over datasets. All he's missing to complete the look is a fluffy white cat and a maniacal laugh.

"Hey. Hey." Nothing. Scott mutters to himself as he sweeps his fingers through warning signs. "Scotty, hey!"

Scott looks up. Blinks. Blinks again.

"Gordon?"

"The one and only."

Scott stands, still grossly tall, and moves to ruffle Gordon's hair. It's not as easy as it used to be, there's an actual lift of his hand, and Gordon can't help but feel satisfaction creep into his bones.

"You grew."

"Hear it happens."

"Got a girlfriend?"

"Got a pillow."

"Tragic."

"That's me." Gordon throws his arm across his eyes and flops backwards onto the sofa. "Sacrificing everything in pursuit of a noble goal. Hold tight, beautiful people. Only three more months and I'm yours."

He peeks out from behalf of his elbow to see Scott standing over him, arms folded, lips twisted into something a bit like a fond smile. A bit.

Something unpleasant settles in Gordon's stomach.

"What are you doing desk work for? I thought you were out there --" He gestures to the cloudless sky beyond the glass wall. "Y'know. Saving the world."

Scott opens his mouth, but then there's a chime from the desk and Alan hollering from the staircase and Grandma crushing him to her chest, and Gordon is left to wonder.

---

Scott isn't the only thing that's strange.

There's a fish tank in the corner, empty but for a little model sub from that docudrama he and John used to love to watch with Mom, but when he lays his hand on the glass it hums beneath his fingers and makes his teeth ache.

John's not here, replaced as resident super nerd by some guy they call Brains who makes John look dumb. Dad isn't there, either, but that's okay. Nor is Gordon, really.

He's lived apart from his family for the best part of two years, he shouldn't be surprised that they've changed. That's he's changed. But somehow, it doesn't feel like he has.

Alan's finally learned to tie his laces but still never bothers, Virgil's taken out his piercing, Grandma is being followed by a robot dog, but Gordon is still the same kid with the same dreams and he isn't sure what anybody else's dreams are anymore. Virgil's in a uniform and Scott's out of his and John is gone and Alan's looking at him like he knows stuff.

This is impossible, of course. Alan is an infant. This is the abiding certainty of Gordon's life and he intends to prove it this evening with three rubber spiders and a trapeze but whatever.

It's just that Gordon isn't quite sure where he fits, just like he doesn't know where to sit when holograms of the great and the good appear in his living room. Doesn't quite know what to make of the way their eyes skip over him to rest on Scott, or Virgil, and where the hell is John, anyway?

"Top secret," Alan says, all pre-teen smugness, "can't tell you."

"Dad'll be home soon," Virgil adds, ever the peacekeeper, "I'm sure he'll tell you everything."

Gordon's not so sure and Scott says nothing at all except a vehement 'no!' when Gordon dares to suggest going for a swim.

So much for the pool, then.

---

Night is falling and Gordon's already ready for bed when the roar of engines fills the air and the whole family dart for the window, faces pressed against the glass. Gordon hovers behind them, unsure of his place, until Scott grabs him bodily by the elbow and drags him downstairs to where the deck leads down to the pool.

"Come on! You got to see this!"

It's a thing to see, all right. The pool withdraws beneath the villa itself, leaving a great gaping hole in the earth into which a great silver plane descends, jets first. And Gordon remembers the TV-21 and his father's fascination with speed and grace and more speed -- it's the one thing they have in common after all -- but this, this is something else.

She disappears into the ground, and the pool sweeps over her, only the sway of the water left as evidence. Scott turns to him with an almost hysterical glee.

"Did you see that!?"

Gordon would have pointed out that he'd have to have been dead blind and comatose not to have seen it, but Scott's practically bouncing on his toes, his expression full of what Gordon recognises as real, true love.

"Isn't she beautiful? Come on, come on, Dad's gotta debrief and then --"

"Scott!" They both snap to attention, immediately turning to where their father stands, towering over both of them from the top of the stairs. "Debrief can wait. Let me see your brother."

Scott darts off, probably to hump the shiny thing, and Dad approaches Gordon, his eyes shining, dirt on his cheek.

"What do you think of her, son?"

"I think you've safely guaranteed Scotty won't be bringing you home any surprise grandbabies."

Dad snorts, clapping Gordon on the shoulder and turning him back toward the pool. They head out across the deck together, Gordon barefoot in only his sleep shorts, Jeff in a uniform like Scott's only gently singed.

"I've missed you. How's training?"

Gordon half shrugs. "Wet. Good. Pretty tiring."

Jeff looks him up and down with a critical eye "So I imagine. It looks good on you."

Gordon stretches and grins. "No more noodle arms, right?"

Jeff blinks, and for a moment Gordon almost thinks he sees something like sadness in his eyes, but it's soon gone and his dad's turning him to face the pool again.

"Will it do? I know it's not Olympic standard but we needed some room for the house and --"

"Dad," he says, because his dad is rambling and his dad never rambles. "Dad what's going on?"

Jeff looks down into the pool. The stars flicker into being in his reflection.

"Forest fire. Family home was cut off."

"Your rescue thing. You saved them."

Jeff looks at him, Gordon watches in the water as he schools his features, tightens his jaw. "This time.

"Scott and Virgil?"

"Are involved, yes."

"And John?"

Jeff looks up then, up to the darkening sky, and points. "We built a satellite. It monitors distress calls from all over the world - and beyond."

"Makes sense. Space case."

"Play to your strengths, isn't that what they say?"

"What about Alan?"

"Alan's eleven, Gordon. Even my insanity has its limits."

"And you built me a pool?"

"And I built you a pool. Is it -- " a breath where Gordon wouldn't expect to hear one "is it all right?"

"All right?" Gordon turns to him and grins. "It's perfect."

Because okay, so it's only a short course, and it occasionally has a supersonic plane blasting through it, but it's a pool and it's for him, and that's better than Scotty's super special plane.

His dad's clapping him on the back again and smiling and that's better than any top secret technology.

It makes a strange island full of strange things feel a little bit more like home.

Jeff's off again already though, gesturing to the round building above the villa and going on about blast radius and Gordon's content to just watch for a moment, to bask in that feeling for as long as it lasts. Then the subject changes.

"We'll be in Cape Town for the opening ceremony, of course, and I've made arrangements to ensure we can all make your races. I'm sure it won't shock you to hear Alan's made t shirts and John's bringing a banner. I hope it's safe for television."

His eyes snap to his dad's.

"John's coming?"

His dad's eyebrows twitch. "You think he'd miss it? Gordon, none of us will miss this. Not for the world. And as you now know, I mean that quite literally."

Gordon nods, mutely. There's a build up of something in his chest. Lactic acid squeezing his heart. His dad takes pity.

"What about September? Are you still planning on marine biology?"

Gordon scuffs at the tile with his bare heel. This is a conversation he's been avoiding for a long time, now. The after.

"Yeah. UCLA."

"California?"

Gordon shrugs.

"You don't seem keen? Sydney have an excellent program, do you --" Gordon feels more than hears the shudder in his dad's exhale. "No, no Jeff stop it. You tell me, Gordy. What do you want to do?"

Gordon's voice is never small, but it's as close as it's ever been. "Was thinking WASP."

Both of his dad's eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "The military? You?"

It's not an unexpected reaction. Gordon scoffs. "You wound me, Dad. Maybe I have hidden depths."

"I don't doubt that for a moment," his dad says, then he looks up, right up, to where the milky way swirls and John sits. “You’re not old enough.”

“Yeah, I know, I thought, college first - couple of years of credits and I can join as an officer.”

“You’re my son, you can join as whatever you damn well please.”

“Dad--”

"Sorry, sorry.” And his Dad’s looking into space and Gordon’s looking down at the water and it’s kinda always been like this, between them. Gordon suspects his dad hates it even more than he does.”You know I'll support you, if that's what you really want."

Gordon finally follows his gaze, imagines John in the vacuum of space, alone with his books and his stars. He wonders if Dad had had this conversation with him, before sending him up there. "That sounds kinda like a don't do it, Dad, I'm not gonna lie."

"Can I be honest?" Gordon nods, because saying no seems kinda harsh, but his heart is thundering faster than after a sprint. "Gordon, when I designed International Rescue, I designed it for you boys. A legacy, I suppose. I wanted --" he shakes his head. "I'm getting to be a selfish old man."

Gordon scowls. "You're the least selfish man I've ever met. Pretty sure those people whose lives you saved today would agree."

Jeff shakes his head.

"I want you to know," he says, "that there will always be a place for you, here, with us, if you want it. But only if you want it." A twitch of Jeff’s lips. “God knows, I could never make you anyway.”

"Thanks, Dad." Then, a wicked grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, "Race you?"

A splash, a shout, laughter rings out into the night and hell it's cheesy but it's true; for a moment Gordon kinda feels like he's already won.

---

The Olympics are due to start in June.

May, and his father dies.

Gordon flies home immediately, thirty thousand feet over Cape Town without even looking down.

He can't.

He has a place in a legacy.

---

#fabfivefeb #fabfivefeb2020 #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #jeff tracy #oh look its angsty #theres a wild shock #idek #there might be a part 2

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gingerly-writing · 5 years

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Hi Ginger could I please have some prompts about hero and villain parents reacting to people threatening their kids?

“If you touch my daughter,” murmured the heroine, “I will murder you outright.”The thief tutted. “Making threats now, are we? Not very heroic of you.”“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

-----

“And,” added the villain, a sharp smile lingering between too-white teeth, “I understand you have a lovely daughter. It would be such a shame if her school became my next collateral.”The hero had sat through threats to their house, their farm, their parents, their ex-spouse, their job, all without so much as twitching. But their daughter? No. They tore through their bindings, ropes and chains falling in shreds, and had the villain’s throat between their hands in milliseconds. “Say her name,” they challenged as the villain began to thrash, panic and airloss colouring their cheeks red. “Go on, say it. If you can, if you recognise her as a living person and an innocent little girl, maybe I won’t snap your neck.”

-----

The thief only laughed.The villain frowned. “I don’t think you understand your situation,” they ground out. “I have your child. If you do not do exactly what I say, I will make them disappear.”The thief wiped non-existent tears from their eyes. “Oh darling,” they managed between snickers, “I don’t think you understand your situation. That wasn’t my child, and it’s not them who’s going to be disappearing.”

-----

thank you for commissioning these! if anyone else would like to commission a prompt set my kofi is here

#ahhh thank you for the request I loved doing these!!#prompt #my prompt #mine #heroes and villains #parent #parent hero #parent thief #kid #threat #choking #autistichistorynerd #the asks and the answers

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villainever · 5 years

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God, We're All Tired: Female Conflict in Killing Eve's Season One Finale

So I'm sure 1x08 has been analysed to death, but seeing as we're winding up to the end of Killing Eve's second season (sad face), I thought I'd jump in with a completely unsolicited reflection on the ultimate culmination of Villanelle and Eve's mutual obsession and pursuit. I'll kick off by saying that from the start, we knew this moment would be interesting, for a whole slew of reasons: Firstly, from the get-go, we were shown that Killing Eve was here to subvert and reconstruct; it's deeply oriented within its genre, but it's irreverent, and even what I would describe as a reclamation of spy-fi. Specifically, it's a female-led narrative taking ownership of a set of texts and tropes that have consistently objectified and excluded women by turns. From its inception, the psychological thriller genre has delighted in a) withholding women's agency, and killing/torturing/assaulting them, both to shock viewers and to lend pathos to the motivations of male characters, and b) revelling in their "expiration" from sexual desirability, and casting the "ailing crone" as the villain orchestrating events. Killing Eve has absolutely no interest in ever reducing its women to their component parts. There are no pedestals, and there are no pitchforks. As a show, it hits all the golden points of suspense television, and completely reimagines the rest; it's a masterpiece balacing act of keeping the classic cat-and-mouse recogniseable, while allowing Eve and Villanelle to each be both the predator and the prey.

Secondly, our two protagonists are women. Highly unusual and exceptional women -- that's inarguable -- but nevertheless, they've been socialised in particular ways. What's so fascinating here is that both have been injected with a comfort in and enjoyment of theatrical violence that's usually reserved for male villains. However, even at their most ruthless, there's an innate intimacy to both of them -- unlike, say, for example, the Joker, Villanelle's flamboyance and love affair with destruction never manifest as mass-killings or the eradication of infrastructure (like blowing up a hospital). Villanelle exacts each murder with the creativity of the truly engaged and passionate, but it's always personal and unique, usually one-on-one. She doesn't have a vendetta against the world, either; she finds beauty in it -- in ice-cream and movies and nice architecture or fun clothes. Similarly, Eve is enthralled by Villanelle's flair for the deadly and the dramatic, but it's not born out of a spite for humanity, but a sense of artistry and a consuming need for some adrenaline in her otherwise numb and mundane life. These complexities muddle their emotions and motivations, and make it difficult for even the most television-literate to semi-accurately predict their storylines.

Thirdly, Eve and Villanelle are never positioned as diametrically opposed. This in itself is not exactly out of the left field -- a lot of media with a dark focal point or mature subjects introduce heroes and villains who share key traits (e.g. Sherlock and Irene, in CBS's Elementary), or even comparable goals (e.g. Black Panther's Killmonger and Nadia both want to open Wakanda's borders). In most cases, though, the antagonist will represent some kind of seduction to the 'other side', that the protagonist inevitably resists the allure of (e.g. Andy realising Miranda isn't who she wants to grow up to be -- successful but alienated -- and goes back to her excuse of a boyfriend in TDWP). But while Eve and Villanelle are very much established as one another's temptations, we also see that they'll grant the other access to a part of the world that is, for now, barred from them: Villanelle and Eve will stop each other from being bored. They "resist the allure" not because they fear moral wrongdoing, but because they cling to their respective images of themselves -- Eve, as someone "nice and normal", who happens to have a grey area for a hobby, and Villanelle, as someone independent, in control, with no lines she wouldn't cross. Way back in the pilot, we're shown that they don't actually WANT to destroy each other. Villanelle is too interesting to Eve, Eve is too attractive to Villanelle. Yes, they pose a significant threat to their respective lifestyles, but as we've had proven, they're becoming willing to risk that if it means gaining something more. They don't reflect a sinister alternative timeline of "look what you could've been" (which is inherently hero-centric, and Killing Eve pays as much attention to Villanelle as Eve), they offer each other a "look what you could still be", that is at once dark and hopeful -- something that they've really elaborated on in this second season. But 1x08, even though it is very much the symbolic collision that is the centrepiece of all chase stories, is not their first meeting. Villanelle goes to Eve's house in the (iconic) 1x05. So why not save that for the finale? Why not build and build and have that tension released right at the end? Because, crucially, 1x05 generated more tension. The show's writing is so substantial that it doesn't worry about losing its audience after the moment they've been waiting for happens. It's one of the reasons you could have the entire plot of Killing Eve spoiled, and then still enjoy every episode when you watch it yourself: it's the How that we love as much as the What. Killing Eve takes the time and space to revel in its style, characters, and setting -- but that's another essay. In 1x05, their meeting is high-octane, and crucially, it's brief. We get a snapshot of how their infatuation and fixation translates into chemistry. And they both become real to one another. Eve's last reservations begin to fade as she realises that she can survive an encounter with Villanelle, and her sense of self -- most importantly, the subconscious idea that she's somehow special -- is vindicated (Eve's slight narcissism, and how the show makes it compelling and intoxicating, is yet another thing I could go on about). For Villanelle, Eve is allowed to be more than just great hair and a worthy threat. She's someone challenging and entertaining. What's so incredible about that first meeting is that it's proof that this dynamic isn't running on mystery and fumes. It's sustainable. They continue to appeal to one another once they're in the same room together. They appeal even more. Their sexual tension skyrockets, and the whole dance becomes extremely personal. They can't write one another off as playthings, although they largely continue to attempt that, at least for a short while. With this in mind, let's move on to that finale. Not only is Eve trashing Villanelle's apartment hilarious, and a perfect articulation of the humour/danger cantilever that makes Killing Eve awesome, but it provides a critical catharsis for the audience before the actual confrontation. By this point, the price for Eve's obsession is starting to rack up -- her job is circling the drain, Niko's dodging her calls, her self-image is blurring. Eve has a whole lot of feelings, but she's allowed to express them on her own, symbolically taking them out on Villanelle by ruining her things, which become a vehicle for venting her frustrations without actually affecting their relationship. When Villanelle does arrive, Eve's ready. This scene would've worked if it was some sexy wall-leaning, banter, and Eve surprise-stabbing Villanelle in the middle of a conversation. I think that's probably how a lot of screenwriters today would've done it, scrawling it off by rote and relying on Villaneve's chemistry and Comer and Oh's excellent acting to nail the bit. Instead, we get this civil conversation, and then they lie down together, first relaxing, and then gravitating towards one another. I don't believe that Eve knew until the millisecond she decided to do it that she would actually try and stab Villanelle. I actually gave this mini-essay a title, and it's "female conflict". That's because I think that this entire sequence wouldn't have happened in a show created by men, or featuring male characters. In violent shows, we get violent conflict. Killing Eve is unquestionably a violent show, but it's distinct from its contemporaries in that the characters aren't there to prop up the violence; the violence is there to reveal and develop the characters. But after a whole season of elaborate murder and tyre-squealing pursuit, we get this stillness. Yet, it doesn't feel for even a beat like bathos. It's absolutely a climax, and it's both suspenseful and arresting. It really illustrates that the show is about fascination: they're hungry to know everything, like Eve says. There's no performative combat. We can't guess what's going to happen because neither can they. Their obsession isn't a "this town ain’t big enough for the both of us" situation. It's a "this town is only the both of us". Their worlds are reduced to each other and they don't want to squander it with fighting, because fundamentally, Eve and Villanelle are so much more similar than they are different. Again, I say this is so fitting for female characters because they see this co-existence as an option. It's so simple, but the idea of your protagonist and antagonist sighing, "Fuck, can't we just have a lie down after all this?" and making it satisfying is incredibly radical. Because it's so personal, and intimate, and human. At every interval, the writing asks, What would we actually do at this moment? Not, What precedent has popular culture set for this moment? Too often, I think we give characters responses that we've seen before in texts, because we watched/read it, accepted it, and just filed it into our own work, knowing it's what the audience expects. But this scene with Eve and Villanelle is so heart-wrenchingly in-character. It's two people charging at each other full speed, not to hit each other but to be close to one another. And like so many other tiny beats over the course of the season, Killing Eve luxuriates in this proximity. We get to breathe. It's gentle. It's a gentle pause between two people who could utterly eradicate one another, but choose not to. It's ladden as well with such a specific but familiar kind of exhaustion, and it's an act of defiance, too. Killing Eve rejects the hegemonic (and predominantly masculine) cultural assertion that conflict (or even sometimes, in the less typical texts, debate and negotiation) is the way to resolve difference, and indeed, that difference must be resolved. That one must overpower the other. That your enemy is an alien and cannot be connected with, related to. The fact is, a lot of even this first season isn't spent chasing, it's spent running. Eve and Villanelle take an interest in each other early on, and it quickly escalates from intellectual to sexual to emotional (insofar as either of them are capable of that). By 1x05, they've caught up to each other. The rest of the time, though, they're fleeing from how much they want each other, how alike they might be. And in Villanelle's Paris apartment, they concede: I love you more than I hate you. I need you more than I should. And it's with that concession that we as an audience can experience their relaxation, too. It's what we've -- consciously or not -- been waiting for. That acknowledgement. But Margot, you say, you've been talking about how this isn't about violence -- have your forgotten that Eve STABS Villanelle, literally three seconds after this? I have not, The Only Follower Who Read This Far. So why engineer all this, and then have Eve knife Villanelle straight in the gut? Because even though they have this liminal second together, their story isn't resolved. Killing Eve goes absolutely wild with power dynamics, and I could discuss that for hours, too -- Eve is older, but Villanelle is more experienced; Eve is more stable, but Villanelle is more adaptable, etc. But generally speaking -- partially because Eve is, at the beginning, something of an audience surrogate -- the scales are in Villanelle's favour. She's dangerous, clever, has no fear of legal consequences, and has more freedom and greater resources. Killing Eve is allergic to any pedestrian predictability, so it shakes up this arrangement. In stabbing Villanelle, Eve proves to both of them what she's capable of. Prior to this, they had an impression of their similarities, but this throws into sharp relief exactly how deep those run. Eve immediately regrets the stabbing, because it wasn't about getting rid of Villanelle. She doesn't want to hurt her so much as show her that Eve has power too, has recklessness too, can keep up. This interaction isn't the product of an inability to relate, but a desperation to connect. This joins them together, affirms their relationship. Eve isn't trying to dominate her, to win, not really. She's telling Villanelle what she's capable of, and equating them. We get this confirmed in how Villanelle perceives in the stab wound as a symbol of affection (2x02, 2x05), and how Eve says she continues to think about it constantly (2x05). I believe that while Villanelle always respected Eve, if Eve hadn't stabbed her, Villanelle would've remained confident that she, quietly, had the upper hand. That if ever need be, she could be more cunning and cruel and decisive than Eve. But Eve's put them in the same ring, and also removed one major wall between them -- Villanelle's murderous side is a key part of her character, and after this, she knows that Eve isn't intruiged by her despite this, but because of it, and because it’s at least partially common ground. Eve isn't Anna (another comparison I could go off on a tangent about, but I'll spare you). In sum, I think that the season one finale was beautifully rendered, and reflected Killing Eve's appreciation of itself. It let the characters interact genuinely, it refreshed their dynamic, and allowed them development separately (Eve's new understanding of her own capacity for harm; Villanelle's new experience with vulnerability, and not being able to predict others) and together (intertwining them irrevocably, further aligning them). It's one of those rare scenes where it's completely surprising at the time of viewing, but in hindsight, seems inevitable, and you can't imagine it any different. I can't make any predictions for the season two final episode other than I expect something equally unexpected, something just as loyal to the characters and their relationship, and their capacity to embrace and antagonise each other. This essay is probably borderline incoherent. It really got away from me. I set a timer for half an hour and told myself that whatever I got written in that time, I'd post. Thanks so much for your kind comments on my rant yesterday, and I hope this is at least vaguely what you were looking for, @ the people who said they'd read another. You're my favs. If you've got something else Killing Eve-related you'd like me to yell about, let me know! Or if you want to come chat, I promise I'm friendly! I’m using the tag “#villainever writes” for this rambly stuff atm, so if I ever write another of these I’ll have a digital drawer to put it in hahah

#villainever writes #villaneve #killing eve #killing eve essay #ke analysis #killing eve analysis #villanelle #eve polastri #eve x villanelle #eve x oksana #villanelle x eve #villainever #villanevest writes

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sablelab · 5 years

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Covert Operations - Chapter 38

DISCLAIMER: This is a modern AU crossover story with Outlander and La Femme Nikita. LFN and its characters do not belong to me nor do those from Outlander.

SYNOPSIS: Jamie surreptitiously uncovers classified Intel about the man mentioned to Madame Cheung that is to be Claire’s client. However, Madeline and Operations have other motives in mind that has him worried for Claire’s safety. Although Madeline has profiled her mission, Jamie will not see Claire in jeopardy with this terrorist and he immediately starts to work out a plan.

THANK YOU all for hanging in there with this story each week. I really value your support of my writing. It is very much appreciated. Previous chapters can be found ... https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

CHAPTER 38

Needing to find out just who this Le Comte St Germain was, Jamie typed the target’s name into Section’s Data Base to access Intel contained on his file, however, his computer showed that access was denied to his profile. This immediately raised his suspicions. Why was it highly classified and by whom? There could only be one reason and one person who had seen fit to place this Intel under a secret access code. Nevertheless, nothing was beyond the realms of possibility for James Fraser. Typing a special code into the confidential Vickers Log File, he waited for the necessary security clearance needed to access the secret files on Level 2. Inserting a small USB device into his computer Jamie downloaded the codes as they materialised before his eyes. Once transferred, he quickly removed it, shut down his computer, and left his office ... a man on a mission. James Fraser walked down several corridors in the labyrinth that was Section One until he was standing in front of a private elevator. Keying in a password, he surreptitiously looked around to make sure no one was watching him or more to the point following his movements. He entered the elevator and the doors closed after him with a whoosh. His fingers quickly punched the code … two-two-one-seven-one … into the keypad located on the wall and it quietly began to descend. The elevator continued down several levels, then stopped on seven. Using his apparatus pad Jamie plugged it into a port on the right of the elevator’s chamber. It immediately lit up and he keyed in the code once more. This time the elevator continued its descent before coming to a halt on Level 2.

The doors opened to reveal a deserted small antechamber.

Stepping out Jamie carefully looked around as the doors shut behind him. This undocumented area was not under surveillance, but there was always the possibility that someone with clearance could arrive unexpectedly without his knowledge but that was a chance he was willing to take. Vigilantly confirming that there was no one there, Jamie turned right and began walking down a small corridor partially lit with eerie green and pink lights. As he walked, he studied the various panels lining both sides with each segment indicating a contained past mission. All the current missions were lit up with a flashing red light, but Jamie ignored them and made his way to K316 … the highly classified terrorists profiles.

His eyes scanned the panels until he had located the one he was looking for. Feeling for the handle at the bottom of the panel he inserted his fingers in the groove and locating a button with his fingertips he pressed it. The shield immediately began to roll up to reveal a screen and port opening. Once the docking port for the panel was exposed Jamie plugged in his USB device then tapped in Le Comte St Germain’s name.

While the computer searched for Intel on the target he waited with resolve and ever vigilant for any disturbance in this top secret part of Section One.

In no time at all several windows appeared. Scanning the Intel that materialized, Jamie looked for the one he wanted to appear on screen. In a short time the terrorist’s name was emblazoned on the monitor followed by copious notes on his dealings. Internalising the major details and character traits of St Germain he quickly scanned the Intel as it flashed across the screen. However a noise reverberating in the distance interrupted his perusal. Although tempted to read the remaining Intel Jamie resisted wanting to avoid discovery by Madeline or Operations in a classified area he was not meant to be in. He quickly depressed the download command and parallel bars soon appeared on the computer screen indicating that the information on Le Comte St Germain was being transferred to his office computer.

What seemed like an inordinate amount of time for the transfer to occur only took milliseconds to succeed. Once completed, Jamie immediately folded it up, pulled his device out of the port, lowered the shield and returned to the elevator.

Once he had secured the Intel on the target St Germain he immediately gave Claire the go ahead to contact Section One. He spoke her special code word.

“Jos-e-phine.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Heading in the direction of his office, James Fraser passed through Systems where all operatives were engaged in their duties. However, before he had a chance to reach his office and look at the data he had secretly downloaded he was summoned to the Perch once again by the distinctive thunderous voice of Dougal Mackenzie. “Fraser! … My office! … Now!” Fergus and Murtagh stopped what they were doing and looked up towards the Perch as soon as they heard the command bellowed over the PA system wondering what had got Operations so riled up. They could see Madeline and Dougal Mackenzie deep in conversation in the interior of the eerie and both seemed to be putting across their point of view to the other as they witnessed hand gestures from each of their superiors. Their discussion came to an end when Operations turned to face the floor as if watching for Jamie to appear. It seemed that all eyes in Section were focused on the man in black who confidently strode towards the Perch as commanded.

Section One’s best cold operative never looked frazzled; he always gave the impression of self-assuredness and control. The two friends shared a look as they watched the retreating back of James Fraser climb the stairs to the Perch to have counsel with Section One’s leaders.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “You wanted to see me?” “Come in James.” Standing as he always did when summoned to the Perch, James Fraser was a man who exuded strength with a deadly and steely aura of power his leaders had come to recognise was ingrained in their top Level 5 operative. James Fraser was a man who showed no weakness in adversity and whose loyalty to the Section was unchallenged. However, where there was connectedness to another person emotionally, there was always a weakness to be found. As of yet Jamie had not displayed his emotions towards Claire Beauchamp openly although Madeline and Operations knew there was a worrisome closeness they could not deny. Her mission profile for Claire could change all that this time. Jamie watched his superiors suspecting that he had been summoned because Claire had finally informed them of Madame Cheung’s surprise visitor this weekend. Their next statement only confirmed that his suspicions were correct. “We got lucky. We have received some Intel from Claire that could play right into our hands.” With a nod acknowledging his second in command, Operations continued, “Madeline has already profiled a special mission for her as a result of this information.” “Claire’s deep cover will only assist in capturing these terrorists and one in particular who has evaded Section One for some time,” Madeline stated with resolve and a look that seemed to be sizing up any reaction from Jamie. “Who?” “Le Comte St Germain.” “We have to run this on an accelerated clock as we have a small window of opportunity.” Operations stated categorically. “I see.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ “Claire will do whatever it takes!” He announced adding, “She is Section and knew the consequences that may arise from this deep cover mission.” Standing there aloofly, Jamie digested all the Intel parameters of the mission from his superiors. He failed to respond or show any emotion to Operations’ statement, instead his thoughts centred on their previous briefing in the Perch earlier. It was all making sense now. The innuendo Madeline and Operations had paraphrased in the Perch had all been leading to this. It was exactly as he’d thought … Claire’s real mission at Madame Cheung’s had always meant to be a Valentine one ... probably to lure Sun Yee Lok initially, but due to the current circumstances it would now involve this Le Comte St Germain. Stalking up to Jamie, Operations’ voice spoke brusquely to him, indicating that he was not open to challenge on Madeline’s mission profile. “Do you hear me?” In a whispered voice Jamie eventually replied, “I heard ye.” “Good!” Continuing, Operations handed Jamie a PDA, remarking, “All relevant Intel is on your panel and there will be no deviation from the profile under any circumstances. Is that clear?” James Fraser gave his standard succinct answer in reply. “Of course.” "That will be all.” Jamie’s eyes revealed nothing and his blank persona gave nothing away to what he was thinking. He took the PDA, turned, and without a single glance towards either of his superiors made his way from the Perch. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Madeline and Operations watched from the Perch as their Level 5 operative walked in the direction of his office. They knew that what was contained on his PDA would not sit well with him. James Fraser was not going to like what Madeline had profiled for Claire that was for sure. “Jamie won’t like it. You know he won’t Madeline.” “We’ll deal with that if and when it arises. He's got to let it go.” “What if he can't?” “He'll get over it … or Claire may be in jeopardy.” “It’s a huge risk. It might end very badly.” “It won’t.”

“I doubt if it's going to be that simple Madeline. There's nothing that he won’t do to protect Claire.”

“He knows the consequences if he disobeys orders Dougal.” “Cancellation?” “Exactly! No one is immune, and Jamie knows that.” Operations looked at Madeline with a concerned expression on his face for he knew they could never underestimate James Fraser despite his perceived loyalty to the Section. “It may backfire … We’ll need a contingency.” “I agree.” Turning to look at his second in Command, Dougal asked, “Any ideas?” Madeline's expression inferred that she had already given this some thought. “One or two,” she smiled secretively. “Good!” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Making his way past Systems, Jamie headed towards his office determined to find out if the Intel he had gained from the Level 2 secret files and what he knew would be contained on his PDA corresponded. He suspected that Madeline had profiled that Claire be the enticement for this Le Comte St Germain. He was also convinced that Madame Cheung would use Claire’s uncanny likeness to Annalise de Marillac as the lure that would hook her and the triad a very big fish. All in good time, Madeline would eventually use her to catch an even bigger fish … the leader of the Rising Dragons himself.

However, anything that she had profiled on this mission would be counteracted if it put Claire in jeopardy in any way. By manipulating the profile with little consequence to himself, Jamie would achieve the end game … but on his terms and his way. His footsteps were a little quicker, his breathing a little more ragged but his steely resolve was focused on one thing … Claire’s safety. He was already processing in his mind possible scenarios for the mission regardless of what Operations had said.

Being prepared by knowing who and what he was up against were the weapons of victory. Jamie was thorough and resolute in his mindset. Thankfully he was going alone to provide back up and that in itself played right into his hands. As he walked closer to his office, the fingers of his left hand unconsciously inserted themselves into the button holes of his jacket and he loosened the buttons one at a time. This small sign of his uneasiness showed his doggedness too, for it illustrated the yin and yang of his personality.

One thing the Master had taught him in martial arts training, and which Jamie had perfected on his own, was that the practise of this esoteric philosophy relied on internal power and strength … characteristics which he had in abundance. It was the discipline of these two areas that he’d used time and time again on missions, and it was what gave him fortitude in adversity. The training of his inner spirit and mind as well as physical strength enabled him to have advantage over his foes. His stoicism, bravery, courage and powerfulness when unleashed were the characteristics of his inner strength. This was why James Fraser was Section One’s penultimate cold operative. Showing no emotions he gave nothing away that his adversaries from outside or within Section could use against him.

First things first though. He needed to check St Germain’s data and the PDA for the mission profile from Operations.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jamie entered his sanctum, closed the door, shut his blinds and without delay sat down and opened up his computer. In the confines of his office, he immediately keyed in his secret password to read the data he had downloaded from Level 2. As the Intel flashed across his monitor, his eyes scanned it. He quickly read the details on Le Comte St Germain’s profile and internalised what was revealed. Leaning back in his chair for a brief moment, Jamie rubbed his chin unconsciously deep in thought. Then without delay, he cross-checked the details on his panel to see just what Intel Operations and Madeline had on the target and what they had profiled for this mission.

Le Comte St Germain is an industrialist and philanthropist, but he is a human trafficker. He has links to the Russian Mafia and it is suspected that he is fostering new links to the Rising Dragons triad through their leader Sun Yee Lok. Once he has become established in the triad, he will have extensive connections through the Mafia and them to terrorists in both hemispheres.

He moves kids around all over the world in an underage prostitution racket. St Germain makes them disappear when they have no parents with which to file a missing person or to check on their whereabouts. He's been instrumental in providing young girls for several “businesses” but is not particular with whom he deals with as long as the money is forthcoming. Until now he's been very difficult to find, we have had no lead on him or his actions … But we do have a lead now and this planned trip to Hong Kong is an obvious ruse to procure business with the Rising Dragons and more to the point Madame Cheung who we suspect may possibly deal in child exploitation as well.

What Jamie discovered next though, set his mind into a tail spin. It appeared that Le Comte St Germain was particularly fond of a certain type of entertainment, particularly with brunette, statuesque beauties. Jamie knew that Madame Cheung would be able to provide for his every want and need and that Claire would be his certain type of woman. If nothing else, she prided herself on her exclusivity in providing whatever her clientele required. Madame Cheung had been grooming Claire for just this very opportunity where she would be used to entice the target for the benefit of the Rising Dragons.

Section One needs some leverage over him. Claire will do “whatever” is necessary to tag Le Comte St Germain.

Reading between the lines it was obvious that Claire had to valentine herself to this St Germain. Jamie closed his eyes momentarily lost in thought. He loathed valentine missions, but Claire … she would be repulsed by what Madeline had asked of her. He would not place her in this situation if it could be avoided.

Jamie was well aware that Operations had forbidden him to change the profile in any way or suffer the consequences … usually the threat of cancellation for disobeying orders … but that had never stopped him before and it certainly wouldn’t stop him now. Whenever his Sassenach was in jeopardy he always had a plan, and one was forming in his mind as he read further.

He read further instructions outlined on his PDA. Jamie will bring him in to Section.

Closing the PDA, Jamie meditatively sat back in his chair a wry smile bowing his mouth as he stroked his chin. He knew exactly what he would do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fergus watched James Fraser pass by Systems after his briefing without as much as a sideways glance his way. Casting his eyes towards the Perch he’d seen Madeline and Operations follow Jamie’s departure as well. Once he had disappeared down the corridor that led to his office, Fergus noticed that his superiors were deep in conversation. Something was up judging by the way the two were speaking to each other, but this was nothing unusual for Section’s leaders, and he shrugged off the reservations that filled his head and continued on with his tasks.

However, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach would not go away and it was only exacerbated when he too was summoned to Madeline’s office a short while later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You wanted to see me?” Fergus Claudel asked wondering why he had been sent for. With eyes downcast he waited for Madeline to speak.

“Yes. When Jamie returns from this mission, I want you to sweep his panel,” she replied with a nonchalant glance.

“Why?”

“That’s no concern of yours.”

“Uh, what am I looking for?”

“Anything under the wire. Most likely, it will be encrypted.”

He knew immediately what Section’s head strategist was alluding to. “You’re looking for any changes to profile parameters?”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll get on it as soon as they get back,” Fergus replied assertively, knowing that if he valued his life he could not answer any other way or refuse Madeline’s order.

“Good. That will be all Mr Claudel. You may go.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued

#jamie and claire fanfic #james fraser #claire beauchamp #outlanderfanfic #jamie and claire #jamie x claire #covert operations #the lallybroch library #jamieandclairecrossover

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tipsyrosay · 6 years

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fire in the flood | myg

pairing: yoongi x female reader genre: angst !! {fake dating au} word count: 4,401 a/n: wow this is currently my longest work, i didn’t even realise until i was editing it. tell me how you feel about & if i should continue it as a series instead...

You didn’t know words could hurt a person, so deep they wished it wasn’t spoken, in the first place. Sure you knew it was a powerful weapon, cause anything that came out of the mouth in the form of words could hurt more than a physical wound, but you failed to realise the power of words that have been strung up to become sentences. When he said “I’m sorry, I don’t love you that way anymore,” you knew it would hurt but you didn’t expect the hurt to cling onto you like a symbiote to a host, like the roots of a plant to the soil, the root of the pain could never really disappear, not when it was so deeply rooted. So when you watched him pack his suitcase, bringing everything that made up the ‘we’ in the relationship away with him, out though the door, you should have told him to take your heart as well. Because what’s the use of keeping a broken heart, when the person who kept it together was no longer there to mend it into its original form.

The funny thing was that you could forgive him for breaking your heart but you couldn’t forgive yourself for moving on. In the midst of dazzling lights, smoke, hard liquor that you surrounded yourself with, no amount of these things could fill the void. Not even men. Chelsea reminded you once more, that it was not about when you moved on but how you did so. It was not about the countless men you sleep with to fill that void, but about finding that person that can teach you to love yourself again, that a broken heart is not a lost cause.

You wanted to feel normal again. Not the ‘normal’ that he made you feel, but the kind of ‘normal’ you were before meeting a hurricane like him. It took something like that for you to understand why hurricanes were named after people. Thus when a complete stranger pops out of nowhere, seated on the counter seat of the bar you worked at, tequila in hand, proposes a deal, a part of you challenged yourself to take it up, so you agreed and took him up on his offer.

Next thing you knew, you were being chauffeured in a limousine with a stranger whose face that you’ve yet to put a name on, and when the door sprung open, the view that you were greeted with, left you speechless. You forced yourself to close your gaping mouth, as your hands smoothened the hem of your dress that barely covered anything, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“What does this entail?” You found it in yourself to ask him, the stranger that hasn’t spoken a word since the both you stepped into his residences. But you were greeted with silence, as you noticed he no longer was in plain sight. Taking a few steps, you appreciated the beautiful interior, the simplicity of the furniture that lay around, the repetition of the colour white around his place. Your eyes caught onto several photo frames on the counter not that far away, and curiosity got the better of you, as your tiny feet brought you there, fingers prying the frames that have been laid down, as if not wishing to be seen.

“Get your hands off those frames.” There it was, the voice belonging to the stranger, that you were looking for. He glared at you, expecting you to remove your grip from the frame. But you walked forward and stopped a few steps away from him, eyes observing his every move. He stiffened under your gaze, eyes hardening as the minutes go by.

“Who is she?” You whispered. He looked back at you with some distain, a look you recognised. “Someone not worth mentioning, to the likes of you.” He hissed out in response, as he took the effort to create more distance between the both of you, before stomping off into the room to the right, you presumed was his bedroom. Leaving you to your own devices, you made yourself comfortable with the dress that you came in and washed up, before retiring into the room opposite of his, as you shivered, under the blanket.

An inconsistent banging on the door was your morning alarm, as you dragged yourself out of bed, bringing you face to face with him. “Wear this and meet me at the kitchen in five.” He ordered, his morning voice evident, raspy undertone that crept underneath it, sending tingles down your back. Scrambled eggs, fluffy pancakes and chipotle sausages were what you saw, prepared on the dining table.

“Don’t ask me how, but I have my sources.” He talked with his food in his mouth, barely getting his message across. You found yourself staring, it wasn’t that you weren’t making it discreet. In front of you, was an indeed an attractive man. With feline eyes that had the power to reduce any woman to a melting pool of goo, accompanied with a lean figure like his. It was everything you could have asked for. If someone told you of this deal you would have made with Lucifer, you might have scoffed, but not before laughing your head off. Someone like you knew what you liked and the man ahead wasn’t your type. Slowly, his eyes raised to meet yours. And after ions of not breaking the eye contact, he finally looked away, resuming his eating. It felt as if that moment didnt happened. “Care to tell me, what’s the plan? Or like what you’re planning on, because the last time I remembered, this deal involves the both of us, and it sucks to know that I’m not part of the planning process, you feel me?” Raising your eyebrows, you forced him to look at you. Someone ought to teach this man some manners because here he was, continuing to stuff his breakfast into his mouth, while you were left puzzled, as to why he was throwing your question under the carpet or he seriously had to get his ears checked for a case of selective hearing. “Excuse me, I believe I’m talking to you over here. I would appreciate if you show some manners and answer the goddamn question—“, you couldn’t believe you had to raise your voice. “Calm down, I heard you, the first time round.” If he was trying to appease you, it didn’t work. Your blood was beyond boiling, if he wasn’t going to be talking then you would have to do the searching by yourself.

“Yoongi,” he spluttered out, eyes following your figure, whose fingers are grasping around the door knob. “My name’s Yoongi.” You blinked. “See that wasn’t that difficult, am I right?” As you practically skipped back to your spot at the table, you noticed the photo frames again. But you brushed that curiosity aside, leaving it for another time. Your eyes found their way back to him, and this time you took a good look at him, as his figure remains unfazed. The doubt planting its roots in your mind, pressing you for an answer. At least from him. “Wh—“, “8pm. I will be expecting you at the front door.” Then, he left you alone with the pile of food left untouched on his plate.

Spreading your arms across the bed, back sprawled, it felt like heaven. Heaven that was on rent. Something pricked your back. You panicked, as something edgy continued to poke your lower back. You turned around. There laid a dress, spaghetti strapped. You thought that was it. Till you tried it on, spinning a few rounds, admiring its beauty in the mirror in front of you, that you notice the swarovski crystals that lay hidden in the slit of your dress. Next to the dress, a pair of simple stilettos laid. You resisted a smile as you realised what you were in for.

“Should have known girls can’t be trusted to be punctual.” A grumble escaped from his mouth, as he opened the door for you, “Ladies first”, helping you with the seatbelt, as his breath tickled your neck, causing you to gulp down your saliva. Your eyes remain glued to the window, as the sound of music, the serendipity that piano brought you, blessed your ears, before letting a muffled chuckle. His head turned towards yours, ears picked up on that chuckle that you let out. He took in the exquisite beauty that sat next to him. The sides of his mouth, as if being pulled by an invisible string, drew into a sad smile. He redirected his focus back onto the road, thinking about how maybe after all this, everything would be normal again.

The sound of cameras clicking, his simple yet enormous house, the cleanly crisped tuxedo he was dressed in and the exquisite beauty in the form of a dress that he gifted you with. Something registered in you. And you should have known that you were not dealing with an ordinary man, that you could find on the streets. This was Min Yoongi, you were talking about. The guy that never fails to make it to the headlines. Even when you were back in college, this guy was already making a name for himself. You heard many stories of him, that he was ‘old money’ or he left his family to start up his own business or that he’s an orphan. As the man ahead of you attempts to humour the paparazzi, a part of you already wishes to leave this place and break free from the terms that bounded you to the deal. Who were you to even be involved with such a figure? You questioned yourself, as the flashes blinded you. The cameras monitored your every move and it made you feel smaller than you already did, as your brain struggled to process the load of information. He turned around, a shy smile gracing his features, hand outstretched, palm upwards, waiting for you take his hand. You hesitated for a millisecond, before the facade came up and you placed your hand in his a little too gleefully, as he opened the door that introduced you to the world of aristocracy.

He needed you like how a coat hanger needed a coat, and you gladly played the part. After all, that’s all you were needed for, right? The night you spent at this place, a place you didn’t even know the name of, was on a time loop. Yoongi brought you around, an accessory he adorned, answered a few questions, before politely informing that he was needed somewhere else. As the clock struck midnight, the crowd started to disperse, mostly likely to their mansions of a home. There was no bitterness, just a tinge of envy, that these people had the money to do whatever they wanted to, in a snap of their fingers, whereas you had to juggle several part time jobs to make things work for your younger sibling and yourself. What seemed like a bitter laugh escaped from your mouth, and as if reacting to it, he squeezed your hand a little tighter, before loosening his grip on you. It almost felt like he was trying to comfort you. You watched as he entertained many of the guests, forcing out a laughter whenever they made a joke, and it made you wonder if he had ever enjoyed what he was doing. Tapping your fingers against his shoulder, he briefly turned around to meet you, question pooling in his eyes, as you gestured towards the restroom and he tilted his head towards the right, showing you the way.

The next moment you found yourself standing on the balcony, staring out at the stars. Grasping at every opportunity that made you feel like you were you, and that this new lifestyle wasn’t changing who you were. The fireworks in the background triggered tears, that you didn’t blink aside as you reminisced your childhood and how your family always watched the fireworks from home. Stripping of all the extravagant jewellery that he gifted you, removing the beautiful pair of earrings in the shape of moon and stars, you placed them gingerly on the floor as you proceeded to slide the stilettos off, and positioning them next to the jewellery.

“Was it all too much for you?” A voice interrupted your alone time. A figure standing behind the shadows of the curtains, as the moonlight shone casted upon his blonde hair, highlighting his pale skin. He emerged from the shadows, an expression of indifference written all over him, “Answer me.”

Tearing your eyes from him, you fidgeted with your dress. A habit that stuck by you, whenever you were nervous. “Take me home,” you whispered, voice threatening to crack, “please.” He released a sigh. The next thing you felt was a another pair of hands warming yours, his thumb rubbing against yours. He brought your hands closer to him, before kissing them slightly. This was a first. This side of him that surfaced tonight, you wished it would make another reappearance. Dropping your hands slowly, then interlocking his fingers with yours, he brought you back to the car, leaving the jewellery behind, and this night was never spoken of again.

He was yet to be seen, the following nights. Few nights became 2 weeks which turned into a month. The cologne of his plagued your sense of smell, floating around subtlety. You were stuck in his home, only leaving the house for shopping or to run a few errands. But other than that, you were caged here. The lack of a human touch was driving you crazy. The housekeeper only came by every once a month and the same went for the gardener. The next time you saw him, was when sounds of something fumbling disturbed the peacefulness of the night. It irked you. But you knew better than to head down and check it out, fearing stranger danger. But you knew better that you already breached that the moment you agreed to this. You shut your eyes with a passion you never knew you had in you, wishing that it was all in your head, that these strange noises were all the result of your boredom, from your deprivation from seeing another human. But your door creaked open and the dragging of feet accompanied it. The fear consumed you, causing you to retrieve the Swiss Army knife that lay hidden, under your pillow. You took a few breaths. With determination shining in your eyes, you pushed the covers off and found your footing, to only find Yoongi leaning against your doorframe, hands folded across his chest. “Why are you... oh dear luckily it’s you. I was so afraid it was going to be some stranger that broke in, and that I would be the only one around to fight him off—“

“Don’t push me away,” he slurred. Then you realised he was struggling to find his balance, holding onto the door for support. You took advantage of his state and you strode forward, finding yourself face to face with the man you have yet to see for the past month. He look tired. Hair that has seen better days, his black roots starting to grow out. Faint bags appearing under his eyes, and funnily he looked even skinnier. “What’s going on...Yoongi?” You figured using his first name, would force him to answer your questions, for once. He sniffed. “Y-you.” He slowly brought his hand to your eye level, staring at it, before poking your arm with his fingers.

“What do I have to do with anythin—“, “It has got everything to do with you. The girl that I allowed into my life, not knowing that she would be my downfall.” Finally looking at you, he let out a chuckle, and another one, before bending forward and letting out a hearty laughter, that you knew something was wrong. “You just never gave up. You kept asking questions. You found your way into my life and now I can’t get you of my system. I tried—tried so hard to, I woke up early, I left for work, attended those dinners by myself so I wouldn’t have to witness how beautiful you looked in the dresses that I bought for you. Then... I made sure I came back late every night, slept in the guest room, so I would be closer to you yet at the same time further away. I fucking made sure I wouldn’t see you.” He breathed out, and continued. “But tonight, I couldn’t control anymore. I had to see you. Even when you’re asleep, not knowing that I’m here. I just had to.“ You stared at him, looking like a fish out of water. Hands on your side twitched. “But turns out, you’re awake and staring at me as if you don’t know me.” Turning his face away from you, he choked, and was about to leave. “But why. If you claimed to be in so much pain, why couldn’t you talk it out with me? Why not come find me? Why leave me, feeling like a caged animal, with no owner in sight?”

“You can’t just suddenly show up...and expect me to embrace you in my arms, Yoongi.” You gazed at him, finding his eyes on the ground. “It takes two to clap. If you really liked me, you should have shown it, and not hide it, thinking it would subside. Cause I know damn well that feelings don’t just fade away like that.” You showed him your palm, and exactly like you wished, he showed you his, your finger drew a smiley face on his, before closing his fingers on it. “If you really want something, you have to earn it.”

<<>>

He reacted like nothing had happened the night before. But you noticed that you saw him more often, be it spending time in the garden, to watching him read the papers. One of the days, when you were about to head back to your room, after a tedious workout, he blocked you with his arm acting as barrier. “Dinner...tonight?” He bashfully asked , a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “No.” You squeaked out before running to your room and shutting the door, leaving him stood rooted outside of your door, a brief flash of hurt passing his eyes, as they survey the door that stands strong in separating him from you. You had to calm your rapidly beating heart. This was not wise, this was not like you. You couldn’t afford to be focusing on your feelings, at this point of time, not when you’re still recovering. He didn’t deserve that. Sleepless nights went by, as you occasionally accompanied him to those gala dinners of his, fake smile in place, pretty dresses adorned. The awkward tension between the both of you grew, you couldn’t recall what caused it— it must have been when you rejected his advances for dinner, just between the both of you, no crowd around. And you couldn’t imagine how that night could have gone by without regretting that decision of yours to say a simple ‘no’. You counted down, not that you said it out loud, you would like to think he took note as well. The 4 months passed by too quickly, and knowing that by the time sun rises by the balcony, it would be reduced to a day.

<<>>

“Hey, free to talk?” You considered knocking his door, but instead went ahead with a gentle ‘Yoongi’ and the clearing of your throat. The sight of him, sitting on his desk chair, tie hung loosely around his collarbone was the sight that you were greeted with. Faint sleeping marks along the side of his face did not escape your eyes as you held in your chuckle, with lips pursed. Finally noticing your appearance, he looked up, surprise etched written on his features. It took a while for him to gather his words as he stared at you, gummy smile in place. “Hey...Y/N.” Before he continued on, “what brings you here to the study room? I’ve always thought you weren’t very fond of this room. I m-mean judging from the way that you never seem to come find me whenever I was around, slaving my ass off, trying to meet the deadlines.” He forcefully laughed it out, trying to lessen the mood of the room.

“I was planning on talking about that, Yoongi.” You simply went straight to the point. Throughout life, you learnt that there was no point in beating around the bush, not when you already knew what you wanted to say. But he didn’t seem to get the memo, as he proceeds to close his books, remove his reading glasses, standing up slowly to meet your height. “What’s ‘that’ you’re talking about?” And even though you spilled it out without context, you think you know that he knows what you are talking about now, as the sight of your luggage registers in his mind. His legs find their position next to yours, as he carelessly grabbed onto your arms, till you could smell the desperation off him. “Come on, don’t be like this Y/N. It’s already the last day, I mean, um..., it wasn’t supposed to come out like this but let’s live the day. Like it is not bounded by the cash that you receive from me, or the multiple cameras that always seem to find their way to us. Let’s love for real.” And that was where he was wrong. You took note of the tight grip that he had on you, and knew that some things just couldn’t be the way you wanted it to be, no matter how hard you wish. And maybe this was one of them, as your fingers quick yet hesitantly, find his, and a small smile from him filled your vision, to only pry it off you. That slight flinch, did not go unnoticed as you deliberately created some distance between the both of you.

This time, he didn’t hold back. The immense hurt, curiosity and a something like guilt, pooled in his eyes. “I don’t love you.” He looked crushed. And you hated to be the cause of it. “I can’t be. Love couldn’t have stemmed from whatever we had and you know it Yoongi.” You ignore the stinging tears that threaten to release the gates but you continued on. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t do love. Not after what I had to go through.” Sensing his burning questions, you allow him to speak. “Hey... I’m not forcing you to love me now. It’s alright if you want to take it slow, it’s fine by me. As long as I have you. I don’t mind waiting, if it means you will love me too. I know you think this is all one heck of a hilarious joke, trust me I feel the same way, who would have thought that feeling would be involved in this stupid deal of ours, and for it to work against us in the end. But take my word for it Y/n, when I say that I have already called off this deal quite a while ago, at least on my part.” You wanted to hate him, wanted him to break your heart, so you had an excuse to call it off and run back to your hometown, without ever seeing him again. But he was making it so difficult for you to look him in the eyes and tell him so.

“She was my everything, you know? The one that you could imagine waking up to for the rest of your life, the one that you thought understood you, and could still find it in them to love you, even at your darkest points. I thought I hit the jackpot, getting the girl of my dreams. But it all fell out way too quickly. It w—was messy. Tugging of clothes, too many tears, it was an ugly sight. But I had to do what I had to do. Even if it meant kicking her out of my house, when she cheated on me. Could have given her an Oscars’ on her way out, for her skills, she had me fooled.” The air around you stilled, and the sound of wildly beating hearts remained. He took a small step towards you and this time, you didn’t move back. “I’m not expecting anything, heck I didn’t even plan this. But you don’t have to feel small with me, Y/n. I can’t say I can prevent that, but I believe that with me, if we go through it together, maybe it will be better.” Here in front of you, was a man who dared to take a chance at love again, when he had his heart broken and stomped on, but there was you, the cowardly one. The one who feared to love again, feared to give her everything to another again. But that’s the thing about love. It comes in different forms and shapes, it’s hard to pin it down with a definition. Therefore, it’s justifiable to say that your decision to leave him was your form of loving him. Love doesn’t necessarily mean that the two have to end up together, not like those typical stories that fairytales describe it to be, it could also mean loving from afar. Call it selfish, but you couldn’t commit to anything of that sort anymore, so instead you settled with this option. And you left him standing alone in his home, for the second time, with a meek excuse that consisted of a sorry and a see you later maybe, which you know will never happen again, after all the gods were generous once, when they gifted you with the opportunity to meet someone like Yoongi. And it was your greatest folly to not have taken up on that challenge, to leave him behind, like you find yourself doing, running away.

And this time, you looked back to catch his crestfallen expression, there was a mixture of emotions fighting their way to show themselves to you, hoping that at least one would appeal to you and as you walked past the living room, for the last time, you noticed the photo frames. They were faced up.

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Kjaerhus For Mac

Nomad Factory Blueverb DRV2080 • Kjaerhus Audio MPL1 Pro • Voxengo Marquis • Chandler EMI TG12413

Kjaerhus For Macbook Air

Kjaerhus For Mac Os

Kjaerhus Mac

Kjaerhus For Macbook

Kjaerhus For Macbook Pro

Nomad Factory Blueverb DRV2080

Add a touch of vintage flair to your tracks with a plug-in that's part time machine. IZotope's Vinyl uses advanced filtering, modeling and resampling to create an authentic 'vinyl' simulation, as if the audio was a record being played on a. Classic Reverb is a nice and smooth reverb that does a good job on almost any instrument: - Smooth stereo reverb effect - Ajustable roomsize and damping - Low cut filter - Host Synchronization - Presets. Download the Best Free Audio Plugins. Synths, Reverbs, Compressors.and much more. Just click and download.

Formats: PC VST & RTAS, Mac VST, RTAS & AU

Mac users often leave their computers running 24/7, putting them to sleep after use rather than fully shutting them down. Pc games of 2012.

The world got very excited about convolution reverbs for a couple of years, but it seems that more traditional algorithmic designs are making a comeback. After all, convolution processors are still pretty CPU-hungry, so in situations where you want three or four reverbs in a mix, they can be impractical. Moreover, they don't tend to offer as much flexibility as their older brethren, and although they provide unsurpassed realism, it turns out that real doesn't always mean better, at least in your average pop mix.

The Industry's Best Workflow. Created by musicians, for musicians, Mixcraft is unrivaled in the industry for its ease-of-use and raw power. Record and mix your tracks to perfection, in record time, with Mixcraft's incredibly intuitive interface, lightning-fast sound engine, reality-defying pitch-shifting and time-stretching technology, and nearly-universal support for third-party plug-ins.

Kjaerhus For Macbook Air

The latest entry in the retro reverb stakes comes from Nomad Factory, whose Blueverb DRV2080 is allegedly 'intended to recreate the warm qualities of vintage-style digital reverbs from the '80s'. And this is pretty much exactly what it does. It's not the sort of plug-in that offers endless potential for tinkering; instead, it provides just a few basic controls, enabling you to get a sound fast, without crippling your PC in the process. Control over the reverb itself is limited to seven familiar parameters, all of which do pretty much what you'd expect, and the output can be shaped by a simple two-band EQ.

It's the sound that counts, and to my ears, DRV2080 does a decent job. Although there appears to be only one reverb algorithm, it's flexible enough to deliver smooth long halls and some fairly recognisable plates, as well as more subtle ambiences. None of them is exactly convincing as an emulation of a real acoustic space, but they can work very well on vocals and other sources within a mix. I particularly liked the plate presets, though I found that their usefulness on vocals was limited by a strong tendency to exaggerate sibilants, which the basic two-band EQ didn't really help with. Overall, however, this is a surprisingly versatile plug-in with a likeable, rich sound that's a lot more dense than that of many algorithmic reverbs. CPU load is minimal, and if you're looking for something that will provide an affordable step up from the reverbs bundled with DAWs like Cubase or Pro Tools, this is well worth considering. Sam Inglis

£99 including VAT.

Time & Space Distribution +44 (0)1837 55200.

+44 (0)1837 840080.

Kjaerhus Audio MPL1 Pro

Formats: PC VST

There are quite a lot of high-quality mastering limiters around these days, and it seems that if you want to stand out from the crowd, you have to offer something a bit out of the ordinary. Thus, Sony's Oxford Limiter has its unique Enhance function, while Waves have developed the clever multi-band technology used in their L3.

At first glance, Kjaerhus Audio's MPL1 seems to lack a comparable USP, but closer inspection reveals some very interesting and innovative design features. It's a wide-band, stereo plug-in, and offers all the luxuries you'd expect from a high-end limiter. It uses a look-ahead algorithm and oversamples the incoming audio, enabling it to detect and limit inter-sample peaks. There's excellent level metering, which displays both peak and RMS output levels, and the Pro version includes some helpful additions, such as an input gain control (I know we should all be paying more attention to gain structure in our DAW mixes, but sometimes it's just easier to attenuate the gain on the master channel than to bring every track in your mix down by 3dB!). In terms of the features on offer, the only thing that might be a negative point for some is the relative lack of output dithering options. It's TPDF noise shaping or nothing; I confess I'm unlikely to lose any sleep over that, but the golden-eared might.

So what makes MPL1 special? Two things, as far as I can see. The first is its unusually flexible and musically sympathetic way of setting the limiter release times. There's a manual Release control, but you can also introduce a programme dependent release algorithm. If you do so, the Release control then sets a maximum release time for the programme dependent algorithm, so you can combine the benefits of programme dependent release with the control of a manual system. This isn't so unusual in its own right, but the Pro version goes further. An additional PDR Amount control allows you to introduce a variable amount of programme dependence into the release, while a PDR Time parameter modifies 'the time factor used to identify peaks in the music', and you can also adjust Compression Smoothing, which controls the shape of the transition between hard limiting and the release phase.

The second out of the ordinary feature is, as far as I know, unique to the Pro edition of MPL1, and Kjaerhus say they've applied for a patent to protect it. We're used to being told that stereo linking is essential when using any dynamics process across a stereo mix, in order to prevent the image from wandering, but MPL1 's design challenges this dogma. The idea seems to be that when limiting is triggered by transient peaks in one channel, the audible side-effects of reducing gain in both channels can be noticeable, but that within a short enough time-frame, the disturbance to the stereo image is not. So, what MPL1 Pro allows you to do is, in effect, to set an attack time for stereo linking. This can be varied from 0 to 100 milliseconds. At the former extreme, MPL1 Pro behaves like any other limiter. At the latter, the level in the left channel would need to exceed the threshold for a tenth of a second before limiting in the right channel is triggered.

You’ll be able to race everything from front wheel drive subcompacts to roaring ’60s era muscle cars by the time you’re done, with a few supercar exotics thrown in for good measure.As you impress the locals, you’ll build your own racing gang or team; each additional character actually races along side you and can help you out in a pinch. Wins also net you cash, which you can turn over into seemingly endless varieties of car customization or new vehicles that you’ll be able to unlock as your influence and your list of winning races increases. And of course, there’s straight-up slaloms through busy city streets with a pack of opponents on your tail (or in front of you, depending on how good you are).Each race you win will earn prestige, not only for you but for your little racing club and its control of territory. https://blogvan883.tumblr.com/post/652771639720886272/download-need-for-speed-carbon-for-mac.

As you'd expect, higher attack times for stereo linking can tend to make the stereo image unstable, but used with moderation, I think the results bear out the designers' reasoning: momentary limiting in one channel only didn't disrupt overall imaging, even on headphones. That said, on my test material the benefits were pretty subtle — rather more so, for instance, than those of the Enhance function in Sony's Oxford Limiter. Likewise, the effect of the Smooth control is often hard to notice, though in most respects, the flexible release settings provide clear benefits. In general, MPL1 performs flawlessly, and it's one of the most flexible wide-band mastering limiters I've used. At barely $100 for the basic version and under $150 for the Pro version, it's also excellent value for money. Sam Inglis

Standard edition $102.08; Pro edition $136.88. Prices include VAT.

Voxengo Marquis

Format: PC VST

The basic EQs, compressors and effects included in your average DAW program can do a yeoman job, but they often lack flavour while they are doing it. So if you yearn for more upscale effects, but the cash (or credit) is lacking, you could do worse than checking out Voxengo's range. Their Marquis compressor is a step up from the native compressors I've dealt with, even the higher-end versions such as Sonar 's Sonitus Compressor. Voxengo call it a universal compressor since it can be used on individual tracks during mixing, on a buss or, in a pinch, pressed into service as a mastering plug-in. Preset management follows the VST standard, while the right-hand side of the compressor looks and acts like most others, with knobs for Threshold, Ratio, Knee, Attack and Release.

Things get interesting, or at least complex, with the more unusual controls. These include Force, which mixes in a compressed signal with zero release time, and Dry, which allows you to mix the uncompressed signal with the compressed signal to achieve 'parallel' compression. There are also a number of ways to modify the detection and compression algorithms. For instance, the former can be switched between Classic and Round modes, while the plug-in can emulate both a conventional 'feed-forward' design and an optical compressor circuit. You can choose from three different attack and release behaviours, while optional Soft and Sharp modes introduce different varieties of harmonic coloration. You can also engage a phase-linear mode for mastering and other sensitive applications. Switching any single button won't always have a dramatic effect on the sound, but in combination, they are sure to.

Another nice feature is side-chain filtering, with a spectrum analyser to view the results and the ability to listen to the filtered side-chain signal. You can click and drag four breakpoints on a graphical EQ curve, with the Shift, Ctrl and Alt keys providing variable control over the dragging.

Finally, not only does Marquis offer a programme dependent release option, but it allows you to edit the programme dependent 'release contour' in detail. In programme dependent mode, the release time you set manually is treated as a minimum, and the 'release contour' provides three knobs for altering the amount by which the programme-dependence can extend that release time. Raising the values produces a steeper slope, meaning less variation in the release time, while lowering the number straightens the green line to the horizontal, permitting more variation (and hence, on average, a longer release time).

The detailed editing available means that tweakheads can burn up lots of time trying to emulate the sound of their favourite hardware compressors, but for those who want to adjust and move on, there are enough presets and big-picture sculpting tools to get on to the next project quickly. Although Marquis can sound transparent, it can do 'vintage', too, without breaking into a sweat. The drum buss collection provides good starting points, and any preset with 'movement' in the name does just that. They can turn your mild-mannered loop into a seething, pumping thing. Of course, you don't have to mangle sound, and it is easy to add a little glue, sparkle or bass to individual tracks or entire mixes. It is easier to hear it working (in a good way!) than most native DAW compressors, since it doesn't sound like it is straining to affect the sound. Despite its complexity, Marquis manages to stay CPU-friendly, too. This is a plug-in that covers a lot of sonic ground, yet is fairly inexpensive for the quality it provides. Alan Tubbs

Kjaerhus For Mac Os

$89.95.

Kjaerhus Mac

Chandler EMI TG12413

Formats: Mac & PC TDM & RTAS

The best-known studios of the '60s and '70s all had their own, identifiable sound, and none more so than Abbey Road. Lots of factors contributed to the unique sonic fingerprint of EMI's in-house studio, from its engineering practices to the shape of the recording rooms and their lush reverb chambers. Among those factors were the numerous pieces of equipment that were custom-built or extensively modified by EMI staff, and of those, the TG-series desks introduced in the late '60s hold pride of place.

Chandler already make hardware compressors, limiters, preamps and channel strips based on the TG-series design, but TG12413 is their first plug-in. Available for Pro Tools LE and TDM on Mac and PC, it emulates the compressor/limiter built into every channel on the TG-series mixers. It's authorised to an iLok key, and installed by the slightly clunky but effective method of copying two DPM-format files into your Pro Tools plug-ins folder.

One glance at the interface tells you that controllability isn't the prime reason for this plug-in's existence. There are only four controls, all of which are stepped and can be moved either by clicking and dragging, or simply by clicking the appropriate number on the scale. The most basic control is a switch that sets whether the plug-in should act as a compressor or a limiter. These modes have fixed attack times of 44 and eight milliseconds respectively, while release time is adjustable using a six-position Recovery switch. In limiter mode, the fastest release available is 50ms and the slowest two seconds, and switching to compressor mode scales these up by about five times.

As is the case in many vintage dynamics processors, there's no Threshold setting. To get more compression, you simply up the input gain to drive the unit harder. On the original unit, the input gain control was rather unconventional and not especially intuitive, and sensibly, Chandler have provided two versions of the plug-in. One is faithful to the original, while the other has a conventional gain control. And, apart from an output gain control, that's it. A retro-style VU meter displays gain reduction: it's not the most helpful visual feedback, but this isn't the sort of processor you'd use in situations where you need absolute precision. Its raison d'être is to add character to your tracks, and boy, does it do that.

I can't ever recall testing a plug-in compressor that can match TG12413 for sheer punchiness. In compressor mode, it can pump like a nodding donkey in an oil field, but I found I used it more in limiter mode, where the snappier time constants seemed to work for almost everything. The attack is just slow enough to let transients through, so it can add substance to a drum track without losing the initial 'crack' of the snare. Alternatively, it can nail a vocal to the front of the mix without sucking the life from it. Buying TG12413 alone won't turn your mixes into Dark Side Of The Moon, but you may well experience moments when it really does seem to bring a little slice of Abbey Road into your life. Sam Inglis

One method uses PowerShell (or the Command Prompt), the other a free, third-party tool. Format fat32 windows 10. We’re going to show you two ways to format larger USB drives with FAT32.

TDM version £417; RTAS version £293. Prices include VAT.

Unity Audio +44 (0)1440 785843.

Kjaerhus For Macbook

+44 (0)1440 785845.

Mac for the blind. OTHER BLIND PRODUCTS Explore the world of MacTo explore our other blind options, like Zebrano, Aptimus, Broadway, Roman, Vertical & Panel, please do not hesitate to contact our corporate office in Delhi or visit our interior blinds section on our website. For the complete list of our channel partners, please visit the contact us section on our website. We promise to offer a blind option for every window type with a selection of more than 2100 fabrics. Our representatives would be happy to visit you and showcase our blinds. We have our wide channel partner network across India.

Kjaerhus For Macbook Pro

Published January 2007

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umbrellium · 4 years

Text

Learning Nothing

How can we train a machine to recognise the difference between ‘something’ and ‘nothing’? Over the past few months, I have been working with Despina Papadopoulos on an R&D wearable project – Embodied Companionship, funded by Human Data Interaction.

“Embodied Companionship seeks to create a discursive relationship between machine learning and humans, centered around nuance, curiosity and second order feedback loops. Using machine learning to not only train and “learn” the wearers behaviour but create a symbiotic relationship with a technological artifact that rests on a mutual progression of understanding, the project aims to embody and make legible the process and shed some light on the black box.” – Text by Despina Papadopoulos

The project builds on the work we did last year in collaboration with Bless, where we created a prototype of a new form of wearable companion – Stylefree, a scarf that becomes ‘alive’ the more the wearer interacts with it. In Embodied Companionship, we wanted to further explore the theoretical, physical and cybernetic relationship between technology, the wearable (medium), and its wearer.

vimeo

*Stylefree – a collaboration between Despina Papadopoulos, Umbrellium and Bless.

In this blog post, I wanted to share some of the interesting challenges I faced through experimentations using machine learning algorithms and wearable microcontrollers to recognise our body movements and gestures. There will be more questions raised than answers in this post as this is a work in progress, but I am hoping to share more insights at the end of the project.

My research focuses on the use of the latest open-source machine learning library; Tensorflow Lite developed for Arduino Nano Ble Sense 33. Having designed, fabricated and programmed many wearable projects over the years (e.g Pollution Explorers – explore air quality with communities using wearables and machine learning algorithms), large scale performances (e.g SUPERGESTURES – each audience wore a gesture-sensing wearable to listen to geolocated audio stories and perform gestures created by young people) and platforms (e.g WearON – a platform for designers to quickly prototype connected IoT wearables), the board is a step up from any previous wearable-friendly controllers I have used. It contains many useful body-related sensors such as 9 axis inertial sensors, microphone, and a few other environmental sensors such as light and humidity sensors. With the type of sensors embedded, it becomes much easier to create smaller size wearables that can better sense the user’s position, movement and body gestures depending on where the board is placed on the body. And with its TinyML which allows the running of Edge Computing applications (AI), we can start to (finally!) play with more advanced gesture recognition. For the purpose of our project, the board is positioned on the arm of the wearer.

*Image of the prototype wearable of Embodied Companionship

Training a Machine

With the constraints, I started exploring a couple of fundamental questions – How does a machine understand a body gesture or a movement? How does it tell (or how can we tell it to tell…) one gesture apart from another? With any machine learning project, we require training data, it is used to provide examples of data patterns that correspond to user-defined categories of those patterns so that in future the machine can compare streams of data that are being captured to the examples and try to match them. However the algorithm doesn't simply match them, it returns a confidence level that the captured stream of data matches any particular pattern. Tensorflow offers a very good basic tutorial on gesture recognition using the arduino board, however, it is based on recognising simple and big gestures (e.g arm flexing and punching) which are easily recognisable. In order for the machine to learn a wearer’s gestural behaviour, it will involve learning many different types of movement patterns that a person might perform with their arm. So our first task is to check whether we can use this arduino and Tensorflow lite to recognise more than 2 types of gestures.

I started with adjusting various parameters of the machine learning code, for e.g, training more than 2 sets of distinct gestures, training with more subtle gestures, increasing the training data set for each gesture, increasing the epochs. The results were not satisfactory, the board could not recognise any of the gestures with high confidence mainly because each gestural data was not distinct enough for the machine to distinguish and hence it spreads its confidence level to the few gestures that it was taught with. It also highlighted a key question for me, i.e. how would a machine ‘know’ when a gesture is happening and when it is not happening? Without having an explicit button press to signify the start and end of a gesture (which is synonymous to the Alexa or Siri wake-up call), I realised that it would also need to recognise when a gesture was not happening.

*How a gesture/movement is read on the serial plotter through its 3-axis accelerometer data

The original code from the tutorial was based on detecting a gesture the moment a significant motion is detected which could be a problem if we are trying to recognise more subtle gestures such as a slow hand waving or lifting the arm up slowly. I started experimenting with a couple of other ways for the arduino board to recognise a gesture at the ‘right’ time. First, I programmed a button where the wearer presses it to instruct the board to start recognising the gesture while it's being performed – this is not ideal as the wearer will have to consciously instruct the wearable whenever he/she is performing a gesture, but it allows me to understand what constitute a ‘right’ starting time to recognise a gesture. Lastly I tried programming the board to capture buckets of data at multiple short milliseconds time instances and run multiple analysis at once to compare each bucket and determine which bucket’s gesture at any instance returns the highest confidence level. However that does not return any significantly better result, it’s memory intensive for the board and reinforces the challenge, i.e. the machine needs to know when a person is not performing any gesture.

*Capturing buckets of data at multiple short milliseconds time

While the arduino board might be good at distinguishing between 2 gestures, if you perform a 3rd gesture that is untrained for the board, it will return either one of the learnt gestures with very low confidence level. This is because it was not taught with examples of other gestures. However, if we want it to learn a wearer’s behaviour over time, not only do we need to teach the machine with a set of gestures just like any language that comes with a strict set of components e.g alphabets, but it is equally important to teach it to recognise when the wearer is not doing anything significant. And with that it poses a major challenge, i.e. how much training do we need to teach a machine when the wearer is doing nothing?

Making Sense of the Nuances

When it comes to making sense of body gestures, our recognition of any gesture is guided by our background, culture, history, experience and interaction with each other. It is something that in this day and age, an advanced machine is still incapable of doing, e.g recognising different skin colours. Therefore, as much as we can train a machine to learn a body gesture through its x,y, z coordinates, or its speed of movement, we cannot train it with the cultural knowledge, experience or teach it to detect the subtle nuances of the meaning of a gesture (e.g the difference between crossing your arm when you are tired vs when you are feeling defensive).

Photo of one of the SUPERGESTURES workshops where young people design body gestures that can be detected by the wearable on their arm, and represent their story and vision of Manchester

It is worthwhile to remember that while this R&D project explores the extent to which machine learning can help create a discursive interaction between the wearer and the machine, there are limitations to the capability of a machine and it is important for us as designers and developers to help define a set of parameters that ensure that the machine can understand the nuances in order to create interaction that is meaningful for people of all backgrounds and colours.

While machine learning in other familiar fields such as camera vision do have some form of recognising “nothing” (e.g background subtraction), the concept of recognising “nothing” gestures (e.g should walking and standing up be considered ‘nothing’?) for wearable or body-based work is fairly new and has not been widely explored. A purely technological approach might say that ‘nothing’ simply requires adequate error-detection or filtering. But I would argue that the complexity of deciding what constitutes ‘nothing’ and the widely varying concept of what kinds of movement should be ‘ignored’ during training are absolutely vital to consider if we want to develop a wearable device that is trained for and useful for unique and different people. As this is work in progress, I will be experimenting more with this to gather more insights.

A blogpost by Ling Tan

#wearable technology #embodiedcompanionship #machinelearning #gesturerecognition #arduino #humanmachine #humandata #embodiedexperience #blog

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runthejoint-blog · 5 years

Photo

Investigation and diagnosis  

The road to Paris 

When I awoke at about 2am on the morning of May 4th, it wasn’t in excitement and anticipation that I was just a few hours later going to embark on the feat of endurance that is cycling from London to Paris within 24 hours as part of Challenge Sophie’s annual event. No, I awoke in agony with crippling pain in my right hand. I couldn’t form a fist without shooting pain and instantly felt a wave of anxiety flood over me. Not only did I wonder what was wrong with me, but I felt an immense sense of panic. How the hell was I going to cycle 200 miles with limited use of one hand? I was not just worried about the pain, more how would I handle the bike, grip the handlebars, and most importantly brake! I jumped out of bed and ran down to the kitchen to consume pain killers and anti-inflammatories and find a Rapid Ice to stick my hand into.  

A few hours later Tom and I were on the train bound for the start line at Blackheath. The train was packed; standing room only, with our bikes precariously packed into the overcrowded carriage and my face crumbling in pain every time I was forced to grab the hand rail to hold on. I decided the best strategy was to keep moving my hand to avoid it seizing up further and gradually over the course of the day the pain abated.  Once the ride got underway the concern about the pain began to lift (in part because it did), mainly as we were confronted with unbelievable weather for the first May bank holiday weekend - torrential rain, followed by vicious hail and our fair share of strong winds - it was going to be challenging I appreciated, particularly as this was a last minute decision for me to join the ride, and had done no training, but this turned into a harrowing four hours on the first day. What on paper should have been a straightforward, and by our standards easy ride, was proving far from it.   

Arriving at Newhaven heralded an enormous sense of relief, the chance to consume copious amounts of carbs (a favourite hobby of mine, and probably the one I excel at the most) and most importantly change into clean and dry kit and begin the next challenge of drying out shoes and staying warm, not to mention trying to sleep on the five hour ferry crossing.

  The morning of May 5th began in earnest with us joking that the predicted bad weather was nowhere to be seen. Gathering before dawn to start pedalling again, there was an atmosphere of sleep-deprived, good-natured hysteria. Little did we know that within seven miles the first freezing cold rain would begin, quickly followed up with a chaser of yet more ice-cold and truly vicious hail. Thank goodness we were part of a peloton of 120 riders who had made a pact to cycle the first 30 or so miles to breakfast as a group. Yes, it meant the pace was slower than maybe we would have liked given the conditions, but I genuinely don’t know if either of us would have kept going if we’d done this as an independent duo - we’re tough, but this reduced even the hardiest of riders to teeth-chattering wrecks (personally I blame the previous year’s participants, including Tom, for bitching about how they endured the start of the 2018 heat wave). At the breakfast stop (after what seemed like an eternity of riding) Tom and I stuffed as much food and coffee into ourselves as possible and tried to get warm (an impossible task, it turned out). I genuinely wondered if we should continue, I was particularly worried about Tom with his lack of corporeal padding, but on we went and eventually we made it to the Eiffel Tower with time to spare - 37 minutes to be precise. It had been hard, the weather and fatigue had been a challenge, but all pain had evaporated, or at least been replaced with the general ache of long days in the saddle and the effects of having been unbearably cold.

The road to diagnosis 

I forgot about this weird hand pain and continued on my merry way, enjoying an immersive new job and putting my ever-growing tiredness down to spending nine hours a day at a desk staring at a computer screen, and my lifestyle transforming overnight from relatively active to largely sedentary. And then it happened again. About two weeks after the first attack, I was once again seized in the middle of the night by the same pain - overtaking my hand and wrist. It remained for the next 48 hours or so before my left hand began to hurt, although along the edges of my palm and wrist rather than the fingers and knuckles of my right hand. It struck me, it must be carpal tunnel. I knew it was something that tends to get progressively worse before you often need to resort to a surgical fix. A request for diagnosis from a couple of doctor friends over a drink in the pub one night, confirmed my Google self-diagnosis.  Sitting 36 hours later in a consultation room with a locum GP he told me it definitely wasn’t carpal tunnel and instead it sounded more like arthritis. He proceeded to unsuccessfully try and print off a request for blood tests and a prescription for anti-inflammatories to keep me going until the results came back. His inability to work the printer and the fact he didn’t agree with my Google-formed opinion (or that of my friends) instantly made me decide that I couldn’t trust this opinion (another doctor friend has since told me he is one of the best doctors around!). I am 29 years old, eight weeks away from my 30th birthday. I cannot have arthritis. So I duly trotted off to St Richard’s for a blood test the following Tuesday, and cracked on with the day to day.

  Within 48 hours I received a phone call from the surgery; my usual GP would like to see me to discuss my test results. It didn’t need to be an urgent appointment, I was told, and so I assumed that the results had returned nothing and further investigation was needed. Nearly two weeks later I endured a 40 minute wait to see the Dr and safely ensconced in her office, she broke the news I had least expected to hear, and wanted to hear even less. At the age of 29 and now six weeks before my 30th birthday, the blood results showed I had arthritis. The tears came quickly, yet silently and trickled down my cheeks as it dawned on me what this could mean. My lovely, warm-hearted, good-humoured GP who has counselled me through so much over the past six months and has seen me transformed from an anxiety-ridden shell unable to speak back to a smily, bouncy, positive person told me not to get ahead of myself. Yes, it was highly unlikely I would be able to run the ultra-marathon I had only a couple of weeks before set my sights on. Yes, it was now a case that I would be medicated for life and have to practice damage-limitation to avoid any further degeneration of my joints. But, I could cycle, I could swim, do yoga, pilates and consider diet adaptions to keep the inflammation under control. The two of us quickly established that it was best for her to refer me to the rheumatology department at our local NHS hospital, but also to see a consultant who practised at the local private hospital so that I would know where I stand sooner rather than later.  

You see, yes I can cycle. Cycling is in fact seen as one of the best activities for those living with arthritis. But is the cycling I choose to do going to be encouraged. Is powering up a 15% hill as hard as I can ok? Is putting everything into a sprint to beat my big brother to the coffee shop ok? How about a 2 week long endurance ride akin to the LEJOG challenge I completed last summer going to ruin me, or make me thrive? How about a week climbing in the Alps, Dolomites or Pyrenees? Or a 24 hour endurance challenge such as the one I completed when this whole sorry saga began?

For those who know me even a little, they know that physical challenges are how I survive life. How I feel truly alive. Challenging myself physically, not knowing if I’ll complete it until the last millisecond, that is how I not only get my kicks, but keep my anxiety and greatest fears at bay and build confidence and belief in myself; something that only a few months ago had been eroded to non-existence. We often see such challenges and achievements as something to be celebrated; a sign of mental toughness as well as physical toughness. The other day someone who has endured hundreds if not thousands of miles pedalling next to (or more accurately in front of me) sent me a message saying: “you tend to push yourself very hard physically. I’ve observed many people in this regard, and your intensity is among the very best (worst?) I’ve seen.” Suddenly, someone whose opinion I had valued so much and who had always made me think that this commitment was a good thing, made me re-evaluate myself. Had I pushed too hard? Had I broken myself? Was I to blame for this?

Today, almost six weeks to the day since my symptoms began and five weeks before my 30th birthday, I met by consultant, Sanj. After he quizzed me on my symptoms, he came up with the analogy of me recounting my experience so far as akin to a Beatles song coming on the radio (familiar and instantly recognisable to him): there was no doubt in his mind that I had inflammatory (or rheumatoid) arthritis. Again those silent tears sprung a leak. I guess I had this hope that he would disagree with the GP, say it was a one-off virus and nothing to worry about. No such luck, the exhaustion I feel is genuine, the pain in my elbow is not all in my head, it’s in fact totally swollen, the excruciating pain I have in my shoulder today is really there, and yes, it is why I feel physically sick - I’m a classic case; not worrying unnecessarily, I will feel like crap right now and it’s right I feel anxious and fearful for the future. He had a clever knack of giving me as much information as he felt was necessary but knew not to overload me or what could wait until we met again. I won’t know for another couple of weeks what the long term treatment will be, or what my most recent test results will suggest in terms of prognosis, but I do know that it will be a case of adaptation, ‘disease limitation’ and living life by evaluating truly how I feel each day. It might mean that sometimes the best laid plans will fall to pieces at the last minute, or I may even complete an unplanned challenge on the spur of the moment because I feel good. And that is going to be my biggest mental barrier to overcome. It’s ok to not put yourself under pressure every weekend to get out and put yourself through gruelling challenge, after gruelling challenge - I just need to remember that during my lowest moments.

How often do we say, “Oh I want to do that one day”? Make that day today, you never know what is round the corner. I thought I had years to enter Paris-Roubaix, the Tour of Flanders, cycle the Highland 500, run a marathon, run that ultra-marathon, cycle from the Channel to the Med - suddenly I am a lot less sure.  

Keep this in mind: One day I will not be able to do this, today is not that day, but tomorrow could be. Don’t waste a day. 

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sideofvoid · 7 years

Text

The Senators Son

So, as our dear Laurens died yesterday, and I have a backlog of unedited fics sitting in my Docs, I figured giving him a little love (or rather, emotional trauma) would be a good idea. Enjoy protective mama bear Hercules!

Alexander was pissed off. While that in itself was fairly normal, what wasn’t normal was every other queer kid in the school getting pissed off too. Still, Herc guessed it was only natural considering what one particularly… conservative senator had said on national TV last night. Enthusiastic support for that bathroom bill was one thing, nobody really expected anything else, but almost directly attacking a student at their school? Those kind of words stuck with a person, and not in a good way. Herc knew that Laf had to be feeling it the worst of all, seeing as the Senator’s words had been directed at them. Senator Henry Laurens had always been a rather reviled figure in the Washington house, but last night had tipped things over the edge.

Laf, who Herc hadn’t expected to see in school that day, continued to surprise him by not only being there, but also appearing to to not be affected in the slightest. Alexander, on the other hand, seemed to be angry enough for the both of them. Another person who Herc hadn’t expected to see, though not for the same reason as everyone else, was the Senator’s son. For the past week, Herc had noticed his fellow sophomore get even quieter, spending the last class of the day, Biology, which Herc shared with him and was a class he generally looked like he was enjoying, in a state of dazed dread. The previous day had been the worse yet, as he looked like he was on the verge of crying for the last half an hour.

And now this. Alexander was pissed off, Lafayette was pretending to be fine, and John Laurens was wisely keeping his head down, avoiding the dirty looks being thrown at him. Herc found himself wishing that he could help, but keeping Laf close to him while listening to Alexander rant was all he could do. He promised himself that he keep as close an eye on John as he could. Maybe in Biology he could ask if he was okay, but until then he would have to put the matter out of his mind.

No-one wanted to antagonise John outright, fearing his father’s influence. Politicians children knew the game they were born to play all their lives, and knew it well. Always be polite to others parents, lest their own parents be attacked for the slight; never attack other politicians children, for the same reason; and keep all real, true opinions to themselves unless those opinions were the norm. Alexander Hamilton was not a politician's child, and therefore had nothing to lose. It happened too quickly for Hercules to put a stop to. One moment, Alexander was by his side, and the next…

“I bet you’re happy.”

For a second, Herc thought Alexander was talking to him, but then he saw John Laurens on the other side of the hall, most likely thinking the exact same thing as Herc in that moment.

Oh shit.

Herc saw the mask go up, saw John’s spine straighten, his expression turn blank. He saw the rabbit-in-the-headlights fear get covered up in seconds.

“You think I don’t see the looks you give Laf?” Alexander snarled, anger rolling off him in waves. So he had noticed John looking in their direction, but not the expression on his face as he did so. Herc was now sure that he was the only one who saw the longing, the regret. The longing for what? Herc didn’t know.

John didn’t respond in the millisecond Alexander paused for, which only incensed him further.

“I bet you told your father all about them, didn’t you? Couldn’t stand to be in the same school as them, could you?”

John’s mask was slipping as he leaned away from Alexander. A quick glance at Laf showed that they were torn. Perhaps they remembered that John had never actually said anything against anyone. Herc had to do something, but stopping Alexander would likely make the freshman turn on him, and he needed Alexander’s trust to keep the kid out of trouble. There was only one way he could spin this, and it pained him to do it, but it had to be done.

“Alexander!” He strode across the hall, gently catching his friend’s arm and pulling him away. “Let it go, he’s not worth it.”

Herc was sure that he was the only one who saw John’s aborted flinch.

“I’m not done with him, Hercules!” Alexander protested, despite the fact that he was being physically dragged away.

“Yes you are.”

“It’s his fault his father said all that shit about Laf!” Alexander struggled to pull away, but Herc held him tight. Only when they were outside, on the front steps of the school, did he let go.

“You don’t know that.” Herc reminded his angry friend, attempting to be the voice of reason. The door banged open, and Laf practically flew down the steps, engulfing Alexander in a hug. Herc sighed internally, Laf was bound to end up encouraging Alexander to yell at more people, no matter what they said.

“Alexander, please don’t fight people, S'il vous plaît!” They begged. “You could get hurt one of these days, and what would I do without you here, hmm?”

“I’ll fight anyone for you, Laf.” Alexander replied, holding Laf close.

And that was that. Alexander would not be budged from his opinion, and he glared at Herc for the rest of the day. John Laurens was nowhere to be seen. That is, until several hours later, when Herc had thought he was the only one left in the building who wasn’t a teacher.. He had a habit of staying behind after school to work on his projects, taking over either the art room or one of the Home Ec rooms. There was usually a teacher or two staying late who liked him, and more importantly, trusted him not to break anything.

Herc had gotten the feeling that Laf and Alexander needed some alone time; maybe Laf could convince their foster brother (and guard dog) to lay off of John, and Lord knew Herc needed some alone time. Speaking of John… Herc would recognise the fluffy ponytail that came into view as he rounded a corner anywhere, after spending the past week looking for it at every opportunity.

John was slumped on the floor, leaning heavily against a locker, his eyes closed. Herc almost didn’t want to disturb him (the poor guy looked exhausted), but this was his chance to talk to him with no chance of Alexander coming across them.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked.

John’s head shot up, his mask slamming into place.

“Fine. Why do you wanna know?”

Herc shrugged, approaching carefully. “Just noticed you weren’t looking so good. Alexander is… He can be pretty mean when someone he likes is threatened.”

“I’d noticed.” John muttered. His head fell back and hit the locker with a clang.

“Mind if I sit?” Herc asked, fully prepared to leave and try again another day if John wanted him gone. Pushing the kid’s boundaries too much would just make him pull away, but John’s expression made him hopeful. It was wary, yes, and more than a little bit confused, but not scared.

“Sure, I guess.” John apathetically shrugged one shoulder. “If you want.”

Herc made sure to look as nonthreatening as possible as he sat on the floor, about half a locker away from John, who was staring at the ceiling now.

“I’m sorry about Alexander. He’s really protective of Lafayette.”

“Good.” John said quietly. “They need someone to be protective of them.”

Herc noted the correct pronouns, tucking the information away in some corner of his mind. He was pretty sure John didn’t think he had noticed the distinction he had drawn, or maybe he hadn’t even realised that he’d drawn it. That it was good for Laf to have Alexander, not that Herc’s apology was the good thing. Normally, Herc got more than this to work with. Laf wasn’t the type to keep secrets. As for Alexander, Herc was generally able to gain something from his streams of bullshit. John, conversely, didn’t say anything past what he absolutely had to, which wasn’t anything like what Herc was used to. Silence reigned for a full minute while Herc’s ass got colder and colder, until John, still staring at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen, spoke.

“I don’t control what my father says.”

Herc nodded.

“I never thought you did.”

“Alexander does.” John’s voice was strained.

Herc laughed quietly, nodding ruefully.

“He does, but only because logical thinking isn’t his strong point when it comes to people he cares about. Laf means a lot to him, he doesn’t want them to get hurt.”

John finally tore his eyes away from the ceiling, drawing his legs up to his chest. He picked at a scab on the back of his hand, then glanced over at Herc, who looked steadily back.

“He hates me.” John said, resigned.

“He doesn’t.”

“He does.” John shook his head. “Most people do. Maybe I deserve it.”

“Well,” Herc mused. “Do you believe what your dad believes?”

There was a long silence, and Herc’s stomach sank even as he promised himself to still care about John, because the kid was miserable, and there was no way he was as bad as his father.

“I have to.” John mumbled eventually.

Reluctant belief, Herc could work with.

“How come?”

John sent him a look that could have killed. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Fair enough.” Herc shifted, the cold tile floor hurting his ass. “For the record, I don’t hate you.”

John snorted bitterly. “You’re the only one.”

“I bet I’m not. And even if I was,” Herc continued, cutting John off even as he opened his mouth. “It’s only ‘cause they don’t know you.”

“And you do?” John shot back, all venom and insurmountable defenses.

“I’d like to.” Herc shrugged.

“For real? Or do you just wanna give Alexander something else to use against me?”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because you’re his friend?”

“Yeah, and I also know that he’s a little shit. You know what else I know?”

“What?” The word was a challenge, a dare, a frightened animal preparing to lash out as John tensed up.

“I know that you knew what your dad was gonna say. And I know that you didn’t want him to say it.” Herc dug his phone out of his pocket, opening up his contacts and bringing up his number, then handed it to John. “Here’s my number. Call me if you want, or I’m here most evenings if you don’t wanna do that.”

It took John a second to take the phone, while Herc tried to look as nonthreatening as he knew how. He watched as the other sophomore hesitantly reached out, deliberated for a second, and took the phone. John’s fingers were shaking slightly as he put Herc’s number in his phone, and as he handed Herc’s phone back to him, he froze, dropping it into Herc’s palm and standing abruptly.

“I gotta go.” He muttered, spinning around and almost running down the hall and around the corner, out of sight, leaving Hercules to stare after him and hope that he would call.

#Hamilton #hamilton fanfiction #Observing Alexander 'verse

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blustersquall · 7 years

Text

Only Make Believe // Chapter 3: The Sisters

First // ArchiveOfOurOwn // FanFiction.net // Master Post // Previous // Next

December 16th

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Haven was so visibly signed on the roads leading up to it that Cullen turned off the sat-nav and followed the posted directions. Every second that ticked by, Nevena felt herself grow more and more tense. Her stomach had fallen through the foot-well of the car some time ago, and now the muscles in her arms, legs, and face were going stiff, as though frozen.

Cullen turned the car around one bend and then followed the winding road along. Nevena recognised this part– though there were more trees and a thin layer of snow covering the ground, she recognised the road itself and the manor house in the distance. It was set amongst deep green fir trees, and along the road were lamps - currently unlit - which at night gave the whole road a rather haunting glow. At least that was what Nevena remembered. It had been years since she had visited Haven, and Ineria could have done more than just expand between Nevena's visits.

The manor house was an old, stately building and imposing on first glance. Three floors, with a sprawling basement kitchen and storage rooms in the attic, it loomed over the driveway and the car park outside. Ineria had kept many of the original features of the house: carved faces and gargoyles in the eaves, the pillars carved by the front door and the ornate sash windows. The door itself was updated from Nevena’s memories. She remembered a dark brown door with black iron fittings, better suited for a castle than a guesthouse. Now it was a double door carved from oak with stained glass panes. On it hung a festive wreath decorated with baubles of red and gold, and sprigs of holly.

Where there had been one road leading to and from the house, now there were another two stretching off the main drive and winding back through the land around the house. Nevena assumed they were the roads to get to the other lodges, which were clearly set well away from the house. The closest building she could see was little more than a blip in the distance. Ineria mentioned having work done in her letter to Nevena, and true to form, hadn’t done anything by half.

The radio went dead when Cullen cut the engine after parking. He sighed and leaned forward in his seat to look at the house through the windscreen.

"I don't know what I was expecting after looking at the website," he said after a moment. "Your sister does well for herself?"

"I guess." Nevena stared dead ahead at a plant in a terracotta pot looking in need of some upkeep. She dug her fingers into her chair. Her skin felt cold under her clothes and she was sure Cullen could tell she was trembling. She tried to breathe slowly through her nose, but it was like her brain had shut down and all she could focus on was the blind panic filling her senses. She wanted to climb into the driver's seat and turn the car around. Why was she putting herself through this again? Blood thudded in her ears, dulling her hearing until the thumping was all she could hear.

She doubted many other people ever had this reaction when going to see their family. Then again, she doubted those people were irrationally terrified of their family and of their opinions. Those people also probably didn't go to extreme lengths to avoid being the center of family jibes and jokes. Glancing down at her bag in the foot-well, she debating grabbing her phone and calling Roselyn. She would come and get her if Nevana asked.

Cullen touched her hand, making her jump. She had not realized he’d been moving and talking the whole time she was engulfed in her panic. Now he was on the passenger side of the car with the door open, squatting to be on her level. He took her hand in his, thumb rubbing across her knuckles in a calming gesture. He wore an expression of genuine concern, mouth pulled into a straight line. Nevena half noticed doing so made the scar on his lip stretch a little.

"Nevena," Cullen's voice was barely audible over the thundering in her ears. Nevena blinked hard. She swallowed, realizing her throat and mouth were both dry, and managed to unhook her fingers from the seat. "Take some slow breaths." Cullen inched forward and placed his free hand on Nevena's back as she lurched over to try and dangle her head between her legs. The seatbelt was still fastened and made it more of a challenge than it needed to be. He rubbed between her shoulder blades and down, repeating the pattern in such a way that Nevena could copy it with her breathing.

The thudding quieted and Nevena's muscles loosened somewhat. She unclipped her seatbelt as she leaned back exhaling shakily.

"Sorry. Minor freak-out." She tried to smile to reassure him, though it felt more like a grimace. Realizing he still had a hold of her hand she quickly slipped her hand out of his and into her lap. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Cullen still looked concerned and uneasy. The way his brows furrowed made a crease appear between them. Nevena caught herself when she felt the urge to smooth the wrinkle away and instead smoothed out her jeans. "Do you get panic attacks?"

"No," she shook her head. "And yes, I'm sure. Thank you... Ineria is probably watching from one of the windows. We should..." she glanced at the house, "go."

"Okay." Cullen stood up straight and backed away, giving Nevena room to get out of the car. She stretched her legs out in front of her for a moment before she climbed out.

"You don't need to hold my hand or anything if no one is around," she said and closed the car door.

Cullen arched a brow. "I'll keep that in mind."

They approached the house in silence, walking side by side. Nevena stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets. Her skin was warm where Cullen had held it and she hated herself for feeling a small giddy flutter in her stomach when she realized he was holding her hand. It was for show. She would need to remind herself until it was drilled into her thick skull.

Cullen went to press the bell but the door swung open within milliseconds.

"Nevena!" Ineria threw her arms around Nevena's shoulders, smothering her in an uncomfortably tight hug. Nevena patted her sister's back, blowing Ineria's loose hair out of her face. The foyer of the house was lighter than Nevena remembered, but the two massive stair cases that led up to the second floor were much the same, just repainted and currently wreathed in tinsel and Christmas lights. There was a smell of something roasting and warm spices in the air. Ineria stepped back from Nevena but still held her shoulders. "You should have called me when you got close! I've been texting you for hours!" Her grip tightened a little and Nevena smiled through her wince.

"Phone died. I guess it didn't charge completely," she lied. Ineria lifted a fine brow. Even in the three or so years since Nevena had last seen her sister, little had changed. She still looked young, though there were a few more lines around her eyes than Nevena remembered and her hair was shorter and a different color. But her eyes were still sharp and intelligent, her nose long and narrow, her face angular, and the way she arched her brow and pursed her lips still made Nevena feel like a badly behaved schoolgirl being brought before the principle.

"And this is Cullen?" Ineria held her hand out to Cullen. Nevena felt a definite sense of relief as Ineria released her vice-like grip. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Nevena only told me she was bring a plus one three days ago." Nevena shot a small smile in return to the quick glare Ineria gave her.

"My fault entirely," Cullen smiled. He dropped Ineria's hand and his other arm wrapped around Nevena's waist, tucking her against his side. Nevena's cheeks flared hotly. "I wasn't sure if I'd be able to get the time off work. But I did, and now I'm here."

"So you are." Ineria looked him up and down with a shrewd expression. "Well, once you've done our little ritual, you can come in."

Nevena blanched. "Oh, come on Ineria. It's been a long trip an--"

"Ritual?" asked Cullen, looking between Nevena and Ineria.

Ineria pointed up at the doorframe. Nevena did not need to look up to know what she was pointing out: a sprig of mistletoe dangling over the door. A humiliating family tradition Ineria put in place when she and Josef first bought the manor house. Nevena had hated being forced to kiss her then-boyfriend in front of her sister back then, and now it would be so much worse.

"Mistletoe," remarked Cullen with a small shrug. "So, we don't get to come in unless we kiss?" he asked Ineria.

"Them’s the rules!" Ineria was positively beaming and leaned against the doorframe as if barring their entry into the house.

"Ineria, this is completely archaic." Nevena turned her attention to Cullen. "We really don't have to do this. She's just being awkward."

"It's fine." Cullen gave Nevena no time to react, quickly dipping his head and pressing a peck to her lips. It lasted less than a second and caught Nevena so off guard that the touch of his lips to hers barely registered. But she felt the giddy flutter again and for a moment it was like she forgot how to breathe. "Totally painless." Cullen smirked at her and added a kiss to her forehead for good measure. "You'd think you didn't like kissing me," he chuckled and the smile that replaced the smirk was one she was certain could melt ice.

Nevena gave a strained little laugh which sounded more like pathetic mewl. He was so natural, did everything so easily and without batting an eye. Even as he moved his arm from around her waist away and linked their fingers together as Ineria stepped out of the way to allow them entry, it was done without a hiccup or a pause. Of course, this was probably normal for him. He probably faked kissing and holding hands with most of his clients. And that was all Nevena was: a client. She needed to keep that in mind. It was all fake. Nothing was real, and the flutter she felt was nothing but a base instinctual reaction.

Ineria chatted mindlessly while leading the way through the house. The retriever, Beau, trotted in from one of the other rooms, carrying with him a stuffed toy. Nevena glanced at the decor. The rooms were huge with high ceilings, and to keep them looking welcoming, Ineria had them decorated with warm, inviting colors. Each long window was lined with heavy drapes to combat the cold outside. Ineria led them into a room where two people were already seated and talking quietly. Even though Clotilde was draped in thick clothing, it was difficult to miss the way her clothes hugged her belly. Owen had a toddler napping on his shoulder.

"Nene!" Clotilde wrestled herself up off the deep couch. She slid around the coffee table and hugged Nevena more gently than Ineria had. "It's so good to see you!" She tucked Nevena’s hair around her ear. "You look amazing!"

"Thanks," Nevena smiled awkwardly. "You do too. I didn't know you were pregnant again." Clotilde grinned and placed her hands over her belly, almost glowing with pride. Her cheeks were fuller than Nevena remembered and her hair was longer with an almost deep purple sheen in the light, but like Ineria, Clotilde was barely any different than Nevena recalled.

"Twenty eight weeks!" Clotilde said. "Liam is really looking forward to meeting his new brother or sister."

"You don't know what it is?" asked Nevena.

"We don't care," Owen interjected. "As long as they're healthy."

"Hi, Owen," Nevena gave a half-hearted wave and he nodded his head in return. In the years since she’d last seen him, Owen had grown a thin patchy beard as if to make up for his very bald head. He wore round glasses on the end of his nose and looked very thin. "This is Cullen," Nevena gestured to him waiting patiently at her side. "He's... uhm... He's my..." She puffed her cheeks out. "My--"

"--boyfriend." Cullen said it for her tossing her a glance. He reached out to shake first Clotilde's hand and then Owen's. "Though given how reluctant she's been to kiss me or say so, I'm not sure if that's the case?"

"Just nerves," Clotilde laughed. "Nene knows we're going to put you through your paces. Make sure you're good enough for our baby sister."

"Oh, sweet Maker..." Nevena groaned into the palms of her hands. Clotilde laughed again. Nevena turned to Ineria. "Where's Arienne and Monty? And Josef? And the kids?"

"The kids are at school. It's the last day of the semester so they'll be home soon. Josef is just finishing up a few bits at the office in town." Ineria counted off her fingers one-by-one. "Arienne and Monty are is running late. They had an appointment with their OBGYN last minute and the traffic is apparently the worst!"

"OBGYN?" repeated Nevena. "Arienne is pregnant too?"

Clotilde sat down. "About fifteen weeks, she told me." She tapped Nevena's belly with her finger. "Just you now, Nene."

"Ha," Nevena batted her sister's hand away. "Mum and dad?"

"Arriving tomorrow," Ineria said. "Dad's getting someone to drive them up."

"Fair enough." Nevena shrugged her shoulders and tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Ineria swayed from side-to-side waiting for conversation to begin again, while Clotilde was lovingly watching her son dozing on Owen's shoulder. Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the growing tension.

"Where are we staying?" he asked Ineria. "Is everyone in the big house…? Or, Nevena mentioned you expanded to lodges?"

"Oh yes!" Ineria snapped her fingers. "Follow me." She led Cullen and Nevena back through the lounge and reception rooms to the main foyer. A desk was tucked at one end– so out of the way it was hardly useful. Ineria opened a drawer and fished out a pair of keys. "I've put you two in the Skyhold lodge. They're all signed, so just follow the road around until you find it. It's a two minute drive tops." She put both keys in Cullen's hand. "Settle in, unpack, have a shower, and be back here for dinner at about eight?"

Cullen curled his fingers around the keys. "Sounds good. Thank you." He paused. "Shall I call you--"

"Oh, call me Ineria." She patted his arm. "We're practically family."

"Ineria." Cullen nodded. "Thank you." He went towards the door.

"See you tonight." Nevena waved as she followed and closed the door behind them.

Each cabin was set quite a distance apart from the others, making them feel secluded and private. ‘Skyhold’ was the third down one of the new roads; It was a rustic looking building, one floor with steps built into the earth leading up to the door. The exterior walls were stone and wood, giving it a homey and old-fashioned look. Inside was more modern. The door opened into an open-plan living area, furnished with a three-seater couch, a coffee table covered in booklets, and a television suspended on the wall. To one side was a small kitchenette and dining area, which backed onto a sliding door and a deck surrounded with wood railings. There were three other doors leading off the main room which led to what Nevena assumed were two bedrooms and a bathroom. Two bedrooms was good - at least it meant sleeping arrangements wouldn't be awkward.

Cullen closed the door behind him after letting Nevena in first. Nevena noticed a thermostat on the wall and unwound her scarf. She put her suitcase to one side and placed her satchel with it.

"This place looks bigger than my apartment," remarked Cullen

"Fancy," agreed Nevena. She slipped her jacket off her arms and moved a little further into the main room. "I assume all the cabins are like this one."

"Maybe." A pause. "Your sisters seem nice," Cullen said. He dusted some snow from his shoulders before beginning to unbutton his coat. "And that could have gone worse."

Nevena turned to him. "Yeah." She forced a smile. "A lot worse." She grabbed her satchel from the floor and went to one of the closed doors. All she had to do was survive for almost a month. She could manage that.

The manor house was a hive of activity as Cullen and Nevena arrived later that evening. Opening the front door, there was more noise than when Cullen and Nevena first arrived, and Ineria was quick to greet them and usher them through the lounge and into a large dining room towards the back of the house.

"Guests eat in the 'official' dining room on the other side of the house. This dining room is ours," explained Ineria. She was wearing an apron over a navy dress and high heels. Cullen felt underdressed in his jeans and jacket, and could tell Nevena was uncomfortably aware of their casual attire by the way she pulled at her sleeves. "Obviously Josef, myself, and the kids make the manor our home as well as guests. So we have the east wing of the house for us, our own bathrooms, bedrooms, lounge and so on. And the west wing, plus most of the upper floors are for guests."

Cullen offered his hand silently as they followed Ineria through the house. Nevena glanced at him before taking it and she fell into step with him. He was relieved. Their first few exchanges and attempts to make their charade plausible had not gone brilliantly. Nevena was underprepared for what being a fake couple really entailed. They would ease into it, and in a few days, things like hand-holding would be second nature. He wasn't sure about anything beyond that though–she had practically frozen up when he kissed her at the door.

The dining room was spacious, like most other rooms in the manor house. It had a high ceiling with an ornate chandelier hanging in the middle. Cullen thought it rather gaudy when he looked at it, but perhaps it was an original feature of the house. At one end of the room was a gas fireplace, with fake flames already emitting a pleasant warmth. On the opposing side were a pair of Welsh dressers made of beech. The shelves were all stacked with ornamental plates, glasses, picture frames, and trinkets. In the middle was a large table covered with a frilly white tablecloth and places already set took up the centre of the room.

The room was buzzing with conversation, which stopped only briefly when Ineria ushered Cullen and Nevena inside. The dog, Beau, trotted over and butted his head under Cullen's hand. He was quickly shooed away by a man Cullen recognized from the photo he saw in Nevena's apartment earlier.

"You must be Cullen!" he said, putting his hand out. "Josef Raimes. Good to meet you." He had a firm handshake and rough hands. "Sorry I wasn't here to greet you and Nevena when you arrived– work."

"Not to worry." Cullen dropped Josef's hand. "Ineria made us--"

"Nevvie!" A female voice trilled over the others. Cullen turned in time to see Nevena almost bowled over by a woman he could only assume to be Arienne from her appearance. "It's been so long!" she gushed, squeezing Nevena around the shoulders. "I missed you!"

"Hi Arienne..." Nevena shrank under her sister's embrace, and Cullen watched her gently try to push her sister off. Arienne stuck fast, her eyes watering.

"I thought you didn't like us anymore!"

"Ari." A man Cullen recognised as Arienne's husband Monty gently took her by the elbow. "Let Nevena go. You're over-exciting yourself."

"Sorry." Arienne released Nevena and sniffled. "Hormones." She dabbed her eyes for a moment before they shot to Cullen. "And you must be the mysterious boyfriend we've heard nothing about!"

He smirked in Nevena's direction. "That would be me." He offered his hand. "Cullen Rutherford."

"Oh, no handshakes!" Arienne batted his hand away and Cullen went still as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's so nice to meet you! This is so exciting!"

"Uh, you too." Glancing at Nevena askance, he was surprised to see an amused expression on her face. Possibly the first genuine sign of amusement he��d witnessed from her that day. Arienne released him after an uncomfortably long hug, and only with prompting from Ineria. "You must be... Montague?" He turned to Arienne's husband.

"Monty, please." They shook hands. Unlike Josef, Monty's handshake was weak and his palm felt sweaty. Cullen wiped his hand on his jeans discreetly. "Ineria's brood has gone up to bed, but you'll probably meet them tomorrow."

"Brood?"

"Her kids." Monty led Cullen to one of the Welsh dressers. Cullen checked on Nevena as he followed and saw her being talked at by Arienne, who was gesturing wildly about something. After scanning the photographs lined up on the different shelves, Monty picked one up and handed it to Cullen.

In it were three children, a girl and two boys. The girl was clearly the oldest, her face a little less angular than Ineria's, but the hair and nose were the same. The two boys shared looks more in common with Josef. Their skin a bronze color, the both of them with dark eyes and heads of thick, untidy black hair. "Matilda, Dante, and Rowan." Monty pointed to them all. "Good kids."

Cullen vaguely heard Monty continue to talk, but his attention was fixed on another photograph. He put the one of the children back in its place and picked up the one that had caught his eye. It was the same photograph he’d seen in Nevena's house that morning. The same setting, same couch, same expression, same people… only now there was a difference. Where in Nevena’s copy the last person was cut out, here he was not.

It was a man, as Cullen first assumed. A man with wide shoulders, fair skin, and short brown hair. His eyes were a piercing blue and what took Cullen's attention was that, unlike everyone else in the photograph who was smiling at the camera, this man was not only grimacing, but his attention was fixed on Nevena. His hand on her leg was not at all affectionate or even friendly. There was a sense of possession in his posture and how he was turned towards her, as if ready to sweep her away the moment the photo was taken.

"Ah, Nevena's ex." Monty pointed at the man in the photograph.

"Her... ex?" Cullen arched a brow and tried to sound nonchalant. "She... hasn't really talked to me about him."

"Rick. They broke up ... well, three years ago, I think. Or thereabouts." Monty rubbed his chin where there was a five o'clock shadow. "They were engaged."

"Oh." He stared at Rick in the photograph again, studying his body language. "I guess she'll tell me more when she’s ready." He managed a small smile. "Would you mind grabbing me a drink?" He asked Monty, wanting a moment alone to gather himself. He and Nevena had not discussed her past relationships and it was something they probably should have. He was caught off guard now, and had no idea what he should say if someone asked him about it.

"Sure." Monty nodded. "Ineria has a massive wine cellar, but if that's not you--"

"Just water, thanks. I'll have wine with dinner."

"One water, coming up." Monty slipped away and Cullen watched him be drawn into conversation with Josef and Owen.

The photograph bothered him. It wasn't just the way it was so posed and static, it was the uncomfortable feeling he got just from looking at this man in the frame. He didn't even know him beyond his appearance and name, yet Cullen knew he would not want to meet him in a dark alley. He thought back to the morning and how uncomfortable Nevena was when he asked her about it. If they were engaged and the break up was messy, it’s no wonder she did not want to talk about it.

"Hey," Nevena came up to his side, her cheeks flushed with color. "Sorry about that, Arienne could make small talk an Olympic sport."

"That's okay."

She puffed her cheeks out and sighed. "I spoke to Ineria about the cabin. Her first question was why we would need two bedrooms in the first place."

"Ah," Cullen ruffled a hand through his hair. "That's a good point." While their cabin was nice, they discovered that the three doors leading from the main room led to one large bedroom, a large bathroom, and a cloakroom. The bedroom contained one King sized bed, which left them in something of an awkward situation. Cullen was happy to take the couch, but Nevena insisted she would talk to Ineria about it.

"I managed to convince her we needed the extra space for clothes but, no dice. She says most of the other cabins are still having some work done before the official opening in the spring. And the others we could stay in are taken by my sisters because they have baby facilities and stuff." She turned to face him, leaning her hip on the dresser. "So we're stuck."

"We'll figure it ou--"

"Why does she still have this picture?!" Nevena snatched the frame in Cullen's hand into her own and stared at the photograph hard. Cullen watched as her brows dropped low over her eyes and the color in her face drained a little. "I hate this photograph."

"Monty said that the guy beside you is your ex?"

"Yes."

Cullen considered for a moment, pursing his lips. "You were engaged?"

Her eyes shot up to meet his, blazing. A glimmer of anger crossed her face, replaced swiftly with uncertainty and discomfort. "A long time ago." She put the picture on the dresser face down. "It's ancient history."

"Nevena, we should--"

"We're meant to sit down. Dinner's ready." Without another look at either him or the photograph she left him standing at the dresser and went to the table where everyone was taking their seats. Cullen sighed. He gave the frame a last glance before going to join the others at the table.

Dinner passed without much incident. Cullen observed Nevena and her siblings all together for the first time, and realized something very quickly: Nevena was excellent at diverting attention. She did it expertly. Every time the topic turned to her, she was able to turn it into something about one of her sisters or their husbands, and the conversation was focused on them once more. She answered when she was spoken to, and the few times she spoke without being addressed first, she was quickly silenced and seemed to almost cower in on herself when bombarded by voices. Once or twice he was tempted to reach for her hand under the table to remind her he was there, that she wasn't alone, but he thought better of it. They really didn't know each other well enough for something so casual, and to hold her hand without it being for show was not something he was sure she would appreciate.

So he kept his hands to himself, ate quietly, and tried to join in the conversation when he felt he could contribute. his family was loud and talked over each other, but Nevena's sisters went a mile a minute with conversation topics and gossip. Josef spoke very little, Owen added his own comments once in a while, but the biggest talker was Monty, and that was mostly to remind Arienne to not over-excite herself.

Cullen was relieved when he and Nevena left for the night, full of food but worn out. The silence of the winter night was wonderful after the hours of chatter and noise, and it was a relief to reach their cabin and to find it was just as quiet as outside.

Nevena hung her jacket up on the coat hooks by the cabin door. "You should take the bedroom." She stated, planting her hands on her hips as if doing so would convince him. "I'll take the couch." Cullen looked across at the extra blankets and pillows she pulled out of the cloakroom earlier all piled up at one end of the couch.

"I don't mind taking the couch. It's your family's place we're staying at, here."

"You're doing me a good turn by putting up with them. Take the bedroom."

"You're paying me," Cullen retorted. His crossed his arms in a challenge. "I'll take the couch."

"I'm smaller. I can fit on the couch easily. Plus I get up really early, so--"

"The couch is massive, I can fit fine. And I'm an early riser too."

"Stop being stubborn," Nevena's cheeks flushed. "You're taking the bedroom."

"You stop being stubborn." Cullen reached into one of his pockets. "And we'll settle this the old fashioned way." He withdrew a coin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. "Coin toss."

Nevena snorted and shifted her weight from one hip to the other. "Fine. Heads: you get the bedroom. Tails: I get it."

"Fair enough." Cullen flipped the coin, watched it rise into the air and caught it on its way down. He pressed it onto the back of his hand. Before moving his hand ,he split his forefinger and middle finger enough that he could just make out the face of the coin. Heads. He tucked his thumb under his fingers and gently flipped the coin as he moved his hand away. "Tails." He showed Nevena. "Bedroom is yours."

He watched her expression go from shock, to annoyance, and then seamlessly into frustration. "Fine!" The way she puffed her cheeks out with indignation and huffed her hair out of her face was something Cullen refused to admit was kind of adorable. "If the coin says I take the bedroom, I guess I'll take the bedroom!" She turned on her heel and stomped through the main area towards it.

"Goodnight, Nevena." Cullen called. He received no reply but the door being firmly closed.

Thank you to my beta readers, @razerathane, @just-another-dalish-elf, @thetimba and @sakurasakes.

Hey everyone! I hope you enjoyed chapter three. I know these chapters are a shorter than those in 'What Lies Behind the Throne' but I thought shorter chapters might be easier to digest and swallow. I hope that's okay. Also, I know so far things are a bit slow. But these early chapters are lying the ground work. The meatier stuff will be coming soon. I promise! :p Thanks for your patience with uploads. As I said, I want to keep the schedule a bit loose, as I don't know what'll be happening in the future and it'll be a nice surprise. Rather than an expectation.

Thank you again for all the lovely comments and feedback on chapter 2! I am always so overwhelmed by the responses and comments. Also, if you haven't seen already, @sangosweetz drew a scene from the fic, I've added it to chapter two so you should definitely go have a look!

Anyway, as always, I love reading your comments so please do, leave your thoughts and comments either here, on on ff.net or AO3 I'll see you in the next chapter. <3

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mojput-mypath · 4 years

Text

I don’t want to hashtag the thing that is changing the world.

Some would say there is more time during the COVID-19 lockdown. Not sure, really. Life suddenly became something closer to a prolonged summer holiday, for a bit there. You know how, at the very beginning of your holidays, it takes time for your mind, your body to adjust. Both buzzing from: 1. stress you are trying to leave behind and 2. excitement you are feeling about going for a holiday? The first few hours/days, you need to adjust to the slower daily rhythm, to the long hours of lying on the beach and the slowness that is naturally induced by the almighty scorching sunshine. And then you get used to it.

Everything starts moving as if in slow motion. Only, a prolonged summer holiday becomes a sort of torture after some time, because I think not one person in this world can be so lazy not to do anything at all – for long. Then the transformation starts coming in. Cooking, baking, sowing, knitting, biking, calling friends… In this situation, with no possibility of any kind of prediction for even tomorrow – we are just stuck with the now. Amazing. The whole world forced to be in the present moment.

Everyone fully living their family and life situation. With little possibility of running away from where they found themselves.

I will not philosophise about the lockdown. I think you had more than enough time and have seen too many chain messages about how the lockdown is good, and how it is bad. It was intense for a bit there, then it just became another current reality and everything inside went to normal, more or less.

What has been going on with me? A lot, I guess. In short: FAMILY; FOOD; LIFE. In that order. My little family. My partner, his kid and me. Us. We. Little family. Family. Who would say there is so much satisfaction in a little family? So much beauty and so much love. And so many weird things.

My life, since October, has just flipped over into another dimension. I think of my life from less than a year ago, and do not know who that person was. My desires, priorities, goals, life path – everything has changed. Then this ‘nothing short of a WW3’ happened. Everything changed again.

Nature squeezed me out twice. Firstly, the changes arrived with my body’s red alert system turning on. Secondly, COVID-19. 911 situation, again.

Before October, I thought I had a choice. That I had been making choices. To be honest, it was tougher to think I had a choice. It is easier to accept that you do not. It’s much more appeasing.

A couple of months ago, just before the lockdown, I met people I have not met for 10-11 years. Another world, another life. I literally went down memory lane for 2 hours or so. I liked having the gap. I liked how the level of closeness that was long ago established, was exactly the same. Like time had not passed. Yet, faces, styles, life-stories differed. I felt proud of everyone. How they grew. I felt a little proud of myself as well. Older=smarter? Maybe a tiny bit more mature – or? Not? Haha.

Did I tell you how I met my young friend, my partner’s daughter on the bus? A funny story, really. One of the many little miracles that life serves us with daily. It was some months ago. I really wanted to meet her. But somehow there was never a right moment for either of us. I remember that day; how could I forget? I felt as though guided by an invisible force. I did things I would normally have done differently. I saw myself doing them and at the back of my mind I was a little surprised, but that was not enough to stop me from proceeding with the strange decisions.

I got a call that day, that I would normally not have answered. At least not then. Someone was calling, and my mind was telling me: no need to answer, take the call later. My actions differred and after the phone having rung for a long while, I picked up. I thought: why did I pick up? The person asked me to meet her and kind of guided me into accepting a meeting at a time I would have rather not arranged it. Soon after I had to take a bus to go to the city.

There were two buses at the bus stop. The first one was insanely packed. Normally, I would have got on the second bus. Normally. If I actually followed my usual pattern. But I didn’t. I somehow squeezed into that packed bus, for no apparent reason. I actually felt nauseous on the bus. After a few stops, the bus emptied out, and I felt like walking down the bus. I was listening to music, loud music. I didn’t really notice people in particular. Then I raised my head off the floor a little. I saw a familiar face. I realised I knew the familiar face very well. I have seen it, observed it closely – in photos.

My first thought was: “She doesn’t know who I am” and then she lifted her gaze and looked me straight in the eyes. I could see she had recognised me. I thought for a millisecond there: she doesn’t know who I am. But she knew me. And I knew her. So, I said: Hello. And she said: Hello. I said: I recognised you from the pictures. She said: I recognised you from the pictures. Hello! Hello.

That is how nature wished us to meet. I am so grateful for it. There could not have been a more fun, more natural way for us to meet the first time, out of all the possible scenarios me and Mr. Partner planned for.

Mr. Partner. Wow. It’s been a while since I was in a serious relationship. Can I even really count the ones that happened app. 15 years ago? Have I ever?

What can I say? Everything I wanted and more. Everything I didn’t want and more. Man, do I understand now what Guru was talking about when he said that love and pain go hand in hand. I know I can come across as insane. But! I am just very sensitive and emotional. And I can also get angry, and upset. Now I can see all of my insanity neatly packed in a big mirror in front of me, in the form of my partner.

I think he’s amazing. Very gentle. Smart. Resourceful. Super handsome. There are not enough words to compliment his amazingness. At times, I feel like he just fell from the sky into my lap, truly like a gift from God. I feel this life is very different from my previous one. Would I want to exchange this one for that one? No way. Do I miss some aspects of that life? Sure, I do. Yet. It is what it is. Am I happy? OH MY GOD! Yes, I am. I like this life. I like to be able to implement everything I have learned so far. I like that things are a little bit less stressful. We have challenges. Of course, we do. BUT. Man, are things better now in my crazy mind. Oh yes, they are.

Whatever is up, it gets so intense at times. And at other times, everything seems just like a faraway dream.

These days are the intense ones. Work is intense, family is intense, friends are going through intense times. Someone said I was intense? Boy, I’m nothing compared to the world out there. I am a mild tabasco sauce. Not even.

The sun is nice though. The sea and the mountains look lovely at sunset. Better to get less hugs than you expect, rather than no hugs at all. The pain is sweet.

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darinb · 6 years

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Spiritual Success 5- Giving

Giving is the fourth key to spiritual success. We've learned that the first was reading the Bible daily, the second was prayer and the third was being part of an on fire Church like Ignite. The fourth I believe will challenge us all.

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What we are talking about here is spiritual maturity, but remember age is compulsory while maturity is optional.

YOU CAN’T STAY A BABY!

I’m sure you’ll agree, babies are cute. Kids are cute too, but no one wants them to stay as kids forever. Hebrews 5:12-14 (ESV Strong's) For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child. But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil. Just because you’ve been in and around Church for years, doesn’t mean you are mature! Many have been in the church for years but still act like children, immature and needy! Our granddaughter Kaileigh is a delight to us. She is little, cute, Austro-Malaysian and demanding. She orders Fiona and I around like personal slaves. At 2, it’s kind of cute. At 22 it won’t be cute at all! Let me point out what babies and little kids are like, and you might see some parallels with Christian maturity…

1. CHILDREN ARE FICKLE

Children can flip from laughing to crying in a heartbeat. Kaileigh can be happy and excited because she is watching the Lion King, then in 1 second be a screaming, blubbering mess because she has to go home. Young Christians can be like this… emotional, experiencing highs and lows, changing opinions and views in a millisecond, often based on someone else’s opinion in a sermon, a book or on Facebook. They do not have the depth of knowledge of the Bible, so they are often not sure of God’s direction or standards. Ephesians 4:14 (ESV Strong's) so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Immature Christians change opinions, even change churches, based on emotions or limited understanding. They are tossed around by every wind of doctrine, every cunning argument and can be at the mercy of abusive or ungodly leaders. We all start there, but we don’t want to end there!

2. CHILDREN LACK WILLPOWER

When a child wants something, they want it all and they want it now! We are rediscovering that a 2 year old doesn’t do “wait” too well. Delayed gratification comes with maturity. And young believers are the same. They want to grow and become powerful in the Lord, they want positive answers to all their prayers, and they don’t like to wait. Discipline… that’s a dirty word to many! But as we have seen, anything worthwhile in the Lord, and indeed in life, takes time to grow and develop. Throw seed in the ground, and you have to wait for ages before you even see a tiny shoot, let alone fruits and flowers. James 5:7 (ESV Strong's) Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. The early rains gives your crop the start it needs, but the latter rains is what causes the bountiful harvest. Mature Christians are impatient, but with maturity you learn to trust God for His results, His latter rains and consequently you see a more abundant harvest.

3. CHILDREN DESIRE NEW AND EXCITING THINGS

You know the drill… they see it in an ad, and all they can do is nag and talk about this new toy. Once they have it, they want some other new toy, right? It’s never ending for parents. Paw Patrol gets replaced by Lion King, then Transformers or Barbies or Dinosaurs! Many Christians are like this too. They find novelty very appealing. They follow the latest Christian speaker, they chase flashy miracles. We’ve had these folk pass through often, but here at Ignite they get solid teaching, not the big, flashy performance, so they move on. I know dozens of these Christians, and they never grow beyond the next experience. Miracles are great, moves of the Spirit are awesome, but the Word of God is what sees long, sustained growth! In the gospels Jesus called those who were seeking signs wicked and adulterous. When Paul went to Athens, the Athenians were described like this… Acts 17:21 (ESV Strong's) Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new. I’m all for God doing something new, exciting and miraculous. We’ve seen it many times here, but seeing miraculous signs does not make you spiritually mature or successful. If you seek signs and wonders more than you seek God, it makes you infantile, fickle and childish in your faith.

4. CHILDREN ARE SELFISH

As cute as they are, kids are totally selfish. It’s all about them, and no one else. A baby might be cute, but their world view is the only thing in existence. And when they want milk, or food, or nothing else, they demand immediate satisfaction. Philippians 2:3-4 (ESV Strong's) Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Mature people think about others, and do not just demand their own way constantly. I remember a quote from the movie “Beaches”, where Bette Miller, after meeting her long lost friend again says this… “Anyway, enough about me, let’s talk about you… what do you think about me?” If you are, or if you have to live with a person who constantly demands their own way in everything, then this is not spiritual maturity, this is childishness! So if we want to be mature, if we want to grow strong and not be a selfish, childish Christian, what is this next step towards spiritual success in your life? It is one simple word… giving.

LIVING FOR GIVING

Now I know some of you are thinking, “Oh no! Pastor Darin needs money!” Nope, I’m don’t need money, and while we will touch on money, I’m not going to start talking about it. You have more to give than that. Winston Churchill said, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.” Giving is not just about money, it’s about giving of yourself. It’s about serving, and this next step towards spiritual maturity can grow you rapidly and strongly in Christ. To become mature, we have to grow past the consumerism of modern Christians. So many go from church to church to get something, but few go to church thinking, “What can I give!” They might be seeking signs and wonders, they might be seeking a great performance, great worship, great preaching. But what they are not seeking is to become a selfless and generous giver of themselves! Jesus Himself was a giver, giving of Himself constantly right up to giving His life for you. But we, frankly, are takers… we want the Lord to do what we pray and command Him to do. Oh, if we could only recognise that if we put Him first, if we seek Him first, all these other things we pray and strive and fight for come our way anyway. Matthew 6:31-33 (ESV Strong's) Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. In Philippians 2 we read that Jesus did not grasp at greatness but made Himself a servant. Mark 10:45 (ESV Strong's) For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Serving is simply giving of yourself, and when you give of yourself freely there is a special blessing. People often ask me why, as a successful behaviour Optometrist, why have I given up time and quite a lot of money to become a pastor. The answer is simple… God asked me, and I want with all me heart to serve Him, and consequently to serve you.

STEPS TOWARDS GIVING OF YOURSELF

Many times we say, “Lord, I want to give you all of my life,” but we don’t… we hold back on some areas, especially areas we think might cost too much. So how do you start giving to the Lord?

1. IT STARTS WITH A CHOICE

Joshua 24:15 (ESV Strong's) And if it is evil in your eyes to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your fathers served in the region beyond the River, or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you dwell. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” Joshua made a clear choice… I will serve the Lord. Giving of your time, skills and talents start with a decision… I will use these to serve the Lord. As a young guy I knew I had a musical talent. I could play several instruments, and sing OK. I was in a band at school, and was going to run away and go in the road with them. Until my mum found out! Most of my life I’ve had people compliment me on my musical skills, and ask me to join bands, etc. but early on I made the conscious decision to only use my talent to serve Jesus. This has seen me travel around the world and minister to hundreds of thousands of people. Not because I’m good, but because I made the decision to serve and give my talent to the Lord for His use.

2. DISCOVER YOUR GIFTS

1 Peter 4:10 (ESV Strong's) As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: Every one of you has gifts, even if you feel very ordinary. Spiritual gifts are freely given by God, and we can use the spiritual gifts He has given us to serve others in the church. Some of you will not be sure of what your spiritual gifts are. If that’s you, please put aside an hour today after our family lunch to do 201, where you can discover what your gifts are.

3. LEARN HOW TO GIVE

It is one thing to know what spiritual gifts you have, but it is entirely another to move into a place where you can actually use them. 1 Corinthians 12:7 (ESV Strong's) To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. Spiritual gifts are not given to you for your benefit, but they are given to benefit the church and those around you. One of my concerns about folks who are drawn to large churches is that they have spiritual gifts but they mostly finish up as consumers. They go to church, they sit, they enjoy a great service, but they often don’t have a chance usually to serve and give and become part of the church body. If you do 201, you not only discover your gifts, but you learn where you can use them to serve and bless others.

YOU CAN FIND A PLACE TO SERVE AT IGNITE

Ignite church has been designed to allow you to serve by doing what you love. That’s why people are so happy… we are all doing what we love, and operating in our gifting. Right from the start I made conscious decision to not put square pegs in round holes. You can fit square pegs in round hole, if you bash hard enough, but everyone gets hurt and damaged in the process! Ephesians 4:16 (ESV Strong's) the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love. Giving of your time, energy and skills here at Ignite build the church up, but also builds you up!

GIVING OF YOUR MONEY

Any discussion on giving has to include this one… money! A man came to a pastor one time and told him he had made a commitment to tithe. He was a student and only earned $10,000 a year, so he gave $1,000. The next year he got a great job and earned $100,000, so he gave $10,000 to the Church. His income skyrocketed and He then earned $1,000,000 in the year, so he had to tithe $100,000, so he came back to the pastor and begging him to ask God if he could be Let our of the covenant. The pastor knelt and prayed silently for a long time, and the man eventually asked, “Are you praying that God will let me out of my covenant?” “No” replied the minister, “I’m praying for God to reduce your income to the point where you are happy to tithe!” Amy Carmichael said, “You can give without loving, but you cannot love without giving.” A sign of a truly mature believer is a generous spirit. It has been well said that the last part of our body to be sanctified is the back pocket. Human beings are selfish, not generous by nature (as we see in babies and children). I love the way that this church is a generous Church. I try and be as generous as I can as often as I can, and I personally have seen the Lord perform amazing miracles of provision in my life.

WHOSE MONEY?

I remember going to McDonalds with one my kids and buying them a McHappy meal. It worked well… it made them McHappy! While they were eating, I reached across and pinched one of their chips, and they got really upset about it, and held the chips to their chest, telling me “These are mine!” We can be just like that with God. Listen to what David said about giving… 1 Chronicles 29:14 (NIV-WS) “But who am I, and who are my people, that we should be able to give as generously as this? Everything comes from you, and we have given you only what comes from your hand. Everything you and I have, everything we own, everything in our bank account comes not from our work, our job, our pension, it really comes from God. It’s all His! He bought the French fries, and then we get mad when He asks us to give a small portion of them. A preacher asked a farmer in his congregation, “If you had two hundred dollars, would you give one hundred of them to the Lord?” “I would,” the farmer said. “If you had two cows, would you give one of them to the Lord?” “I would,” the farmer said again. The preacher then asked, “If you had two pigs, would you give one of them to the Lord?” “Now that isn’t fair,” said the farmer. “You know I have two pigs!” We rarely speak about giving and money at this church, but buckle up because we need to do it now!

HOW TO GIVE GENEROUSLY

So given that it is all His, how can we give generously, and how much do we need to give. Notice how I phrased that? Human beings are always looking for a bargain. What’s the least we can give to get what we want? Money is such an important topic that more than half the parables in the bible and over 2,000 verses concern money. But Jesus made it clear, it’s not the money God is interested in, it’s the hold it has on you. Remember the rich young ruler? They problem was not that he had money, the problem was that money had him! Honestly, Jesus does not need your money. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. You are not helping Him out by giving what isn’t even yours really. As missionary Jim Elliott said, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep, to gain what he cannot lose.” The Lord is not even worried about how much you give. I mean, the widow was commended even though she gave a small amount. What He is interested in is the heart of your giving! Luke 12:34 (ESV Strong's) For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Your attitude to giving is a great measure of your spiritual maturity. 2 Corinthians 9:6-7 (ESV Strong's) The point is this: whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. The Greek word for cheerful is hilaros, with literally means hilarious. Ever watched a funny movie and laughed so much more our sides ache? Can you imagine giving with so much hilarity that your sides ache?

1. GIVING SHOULD BE A PRIORITY

Proverbs 3:9-10 (ESV Strong's) Honor the Lord with your wealth and with the firstfruits of all your produce; then your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine. This is a promise with a condition. We need to give to the Lord first, not last, and He promises he will bless us beyond measure. Some people say I don’t have enough money spare so cannot afford to give, but frankly I cannot afford not to give. So I recommend that, if you want to be spiritually successful and blessed in every way, including financially, don’t give out of what you have left in the week, give the first fruits. Set money aside first, then spend the rest.trust me it works!

2. GIVING SHOULD BE SACRIFICIAL

God doesn’t need or want your tips. Thanks God, you did a great job, here’s a tip! Again, He is not interested in your money. He is looking at your heart, the spirit behind your giving. King David wanted to sacrifice to the Lord, and another guys offered to give him all he needed. 2 Samuel 24:24 (ESV Strong's) But the king said to Araunah, “No, but I will buy it from you for a price. I will not offer burnt offerings to the Lord my God that cost me nothing.” So David bought the threshing floor and the oxen for fifty shekels of silver. David wanted to give sacrificially, because He knew God was looking at his heart. In the same way, Jesus commended the widow in Luke 21 even though she gave only a small amount, because Luke 21:4 (ESV Strong's) they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.” Sacrificial giving makes God sit up and take notice! He loves it, because it shows a devoted heart!

3. GIVING SHOULD BE INVESTING

You can give to the Salvos, you can give to Lily House. You can give to a thousand causes, so why give to the church? I believe that Ignite is good soil, a great place to invest your giving… Luke 8:15 (ESV Strong's) As for that in the good soil, they are those who, hearing the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patience. When I give I view it as an act of worship, but also as an investment. I expect a return. Honestly, I’m not worried about more money coming to me, I expect a return in souls, in lives turned around, homes restored, believers set on fire for Jesus! I could give anywhere, but here, I believe, is a good return on what I give. As a pastor, I am paid far less than any other pastor I know. Everyone who works here is paid far less than they are worth, but we are happy to do this because we do it as unto the Lord. We don’t blow money on big flashy buildings. Yes, we may have to expand, but we are not going to spend lavishly but frugally. We are going to invest in reaching the community, kids church and anything we can that blesses the Lord.

4. GIVING SHOULD BE TRUSTING

When you give, of your time, gifts or money, are you Tipping, tithing or trusting? Do you tip God a few dollars in when God has been good to you that week? Are you stuck in a legalistic thing where you fearfully give 10% worried that God’s blessing will leave you if you don’t? Or are you trusting, gifting generously wherever you can, whenever you can as the Lord directs? Personally,I don’t give 10%. That’s the basic, minimal requirement. I choose to give more than the basic tithe, and I give generously at every point I can. And the Lord keeps bringing more and more money to us, because He sees my heart. I don’t give to get… that’s not the right heart! Fiona and I made a decision years ago to just give and give and give, and let the Lord sort out what comes our way. I believe and generous spirit is the heart God wants to see. He sees your heart too… but what does He see. Does He see a generous giver, does He see someone who gives sacrificially of their money, time and talents? Or does he see a selfish person, giving the bare minimum to try and bargain with God for the maximum blessing? Proverbs 11:24-25 (ESV Strong's) One gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want. Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered.

ARE YOU READY TO TRUST GOD?

Are you ready to trust God as you give Him your Life, your time, your gifts and talents and your money? Let me leave you with a wonderful Biblical promise and threat… This speaks to all of us. It was originally given to the people of Israel who were giving not their best to God, but the sick, the lame , the dying, the worst of their flocks to God as an offering. Malachi 3:8-11 (ESV Strong's) Will man rob God? Yet you are robbing me. But you say, ‘How have we robbed you?’ In your tithes and contributions. You are cursed with a curse, for you are robbing me, the whole nation of you. Bring the full tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. And thereby put me to the test, says the Lord of hosts, if I will not open the windows of heaven for you and pour down for you a blessing until there is no more need. I will rebuke the devourer for you, so that it will not destroy the fruits of your soil, and your vine in the field shall not fail to bear, says the Lord of hosts. A generous spirit is a sign of spiritual success. If think Ignite is good soil, you can trust God as you give here, so please do. If you want to give of your time and spiritual gifts, come and do 201 today. You may not think you have much to give, but give the loaves and fishes of your life to Jesus and watch Him multiply them! Ps David Yonggi Cho’s Church was on the point of bankruptcy and they called a prayer meeting . Let me read from his account… Seeing that only a miraculous intervention of God would deliver us from a catastrophe, I joined the intercessors at Prayer Mountain. One evening while we were meeting to pray on the ground floor of our unfinished church, several hundred joined me in prayer. An old woman walked slowly in my direction. As she approached the platform, I noticed that tears were filling her eyes. She bowed and said, “Pastor, I want to give these items to you so that you may sell them for a few pennies to help with our building fund.” I looked down, and in her hands were an old rice bowl and a pair of chopsticks. I said to her, “Sister, I can’t take these necessities from you!” “But, Pastor, I am an old woman. I have nothing of value to give to my Lord; yet, Jesus has graciously saved me. These items are the only things in the world I possess!” she exclaimed, tears now flowing freely down her wrinkled cheeks. “You must let me give these to Jesus. I can place my rice on old newspapers, and I can use my hands to feed myself. I know that I will die soon, so I don’t want to meet Jesus without giving Him something on this earth.” As she finished speaking, everyone there began to weep openly. The Holy Spirit’s presence filled the place, and we all began to pray in the Spirit. A businessman in the back of the group was deeply moved and said, “Pastor Cho, I want to buy that rice bowl and chopsticks for one thousand dollars!” With that, everyone started to pledge their possessions. My wife and I sold our small home and gave the money to the church. This spirit of giving saved us from financial ruin. Some of you here feel like you have little to offer the Lord. Some have served before and been hurt.

https://ignitechurch.org.au/?p=2439

#givingalms #givingeverythingtogod #givinginthebible #givingisbetterthanreceiving #givingitallaway #givingitallwegot #givingofyourself #givingout #givingrespect #givingthanks #givingthankstogod #givingwell #givingwhatwecan #success

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euro3plast-fr · 7 years

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Improve your customer experience by leveraging the power of emotions

How acknowledging your customers’ emotions helps Improve your customer experience and business performance

Every business would like to uncover the secret of the best customer experience. Customers have always run the business--no customers, no business--but this saying has never been more true than in the digital era. Brands that appeal to customers are those with added value, great features and an easy, frictionless experience--and we’re not talking about reduced prices here.

Here’s how most companies try to improve their customer experience: through surveys or market research, they find out what customers want or need and try to fulfill that need.

Sure, it’s important to understand what customers want and know how they want to be served, and to use this information to guide your strategy. That’s a basic business principle. The problem is that many companies have forgotten the basics--they forgot that emotions actually drive customer choices.

Customer experience is pivotal

There has been a lot of discussion in the media recently on the role of a positive customer experience. Here’s the famous delivery gap principle, as described by Bain & Company in 2005:

“80% of companies say they deliver superior customer service. Yet, only 8% of people think these companies deliver superior customer service.”

We could also argue that exceeding customer expectations is not the way to go and that companies should rather focus on making it easy for customers.

Companies have to understand the importance of the customer experience and of maximising satisfaction to succeed in capturing customer loyalty. Therefore, it is crucial to accurately identify your customers’ expectations.

Experts and business owners agree that customer experience is among the most important elements for a successful business. But do we really understand how to evaluate and improve the customer experience?

The power of emotions

You’ll never have a complete picture of your customer, if you can’t understand his or her emotions. You might infer patterns through quantitative data, but you’ll never really get to the “why” of their behaviour. Understanding the cause of behaviour, which is deeply rooted in emotions, can make all the difference between a decision that leads to positive results and one that brings no change, or worse.

Emotions and behaviour

According to Paul Ekman, there are six distinct universal emotions: disgust, sadness, happiness, fear, anger and surprise. These universal emotions are based on facial expressions that are recognised throughout time and human cultures. Those emotions are essential when it comes to making quick decisions in day-to-day activities. Our emotional reactions to internal and external stimuli actually cause a lot more of our behaviour than conscious, rational choices.

However, how can this knowledge be helpful when it comes to online marketing? For example, an opinion about the visual appeal of a website is formed within 50 milliseconds, and it colours every other impression about the website later on (Attention web designers: You have 50 milliseconds to make a good first impression!).

This means the first emotional impression greatly affects your visitors’ subsequent actions. Is the visitor disgusted? He or she will bounce back right away. Surprise may keep them there longer, and so will happiness. A first impression is difficult to fight, and if you lose visitors because of a bad emotional response, it’s likely you’ll never see them again. As a result, the company that takes emotions as a roadmap will understand its customers from a deeper, more human standpoint.

Understanding your visitors’ emotions will help you see how your brand is perceived, what your customers are unhappy about, what they like and what you can leverage to further improve their experience.

Emotions control decisions

Damasio’s research has proven that people are mostly driven by emotions when making decisions; he shows that it is difficult to make decisions based only on logic.

In short, the emotional response, identified with unconscious memory, is produced faster than the cognitive one. People automatically choose what they like most over the variation that sometimes can be more reasonable, but not emotionally appealing. Think of the last time you went shopping for something as simple as soap. Sure, you could always buy just the cheapest soap. After all, soap is a simple item that doesn’t differ much from brand to brand. But maybe you remember the fun you had as a kid with a floating Ivory soap--so you buy Ivory. Or maybe you link the smell of Dove with your children when they were born, so you buy Dove. Most of this happens unconsciously; if we had to analyse our emotions for every decision, we wouldn’t do much at all.

The activist and artist Maya Angelou, stressing the importance of feelings, said:

“People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”

Good marketers know that emotions are involved in all levels of decision-making, from the most mundane to the most life-changing. But one thing that’s always been challenging for them is discovering and evaluating those emotions.

The role of analytics tools

No marketer could survive today without analytics tools. In fact, when they’re asked to justify a decision or to report on results, analytics data is the proof they use.

It’s true that with analytics tools, you can gather important data regarding your website’s performance, like the number of visitors, the keywords that bring the most visitors to your pages, and information about your competition. Furthermore, some of these tools let you follow your customers step by step, tracking the pages they have visited and the browsers they have used. Country of origin, language, gender and even age group can all be deduced, or at least guesstimated, by most analytics tools.

Nevertheless, there’s one crucial part constantly missed by the most common analytics tools: the power of emotions. Business owners, marketers and web designers should be able to easily find out the answer to the question: “do people like my company, my website or any experience I provide to them? Are they emotionally involved with my brand?” Unfortunately, common analytics tools don’t ask that kind of question--they’re just there in the background passively gathering quantitative data.

No amount of Google Analytics can tell you if someone bounced off a page because they were irritated, bored or confused; it can’t tell you whether people stay for long sessions because they’re excited or interested. Analytics are important tools in marketing today, but they lack the emotional intelligence you need to make the best decisions to improve your customer service.

How to evaluate emotions

The traditional way to evaluate emotions is to survey your customers. By asking questions such as “How do you feel about this web page, website, logo or ad?”, you can delve into your customers’ true motives for their behaviours. In more complex surveys, especially face-to-face surveys and focus groups, you can ask follow-up questions, evaluate the body language of your respondents, and access the part of their decision-making process that they can’t easily verbalise.

But surveys can be complicated, costly and require a lot of time and resources (before delivering actionable results to the business).

Another problem: not everyone likes to do them. The response rates on traditional surveys are low, which makes it difficult for any brand to get a complete picture of its audience. Even web services like SurveyMonkey require the respondent to move off to a different page and go back and forth between website and survey. Not everyone wants to take 10, 15 minutes to fill them out because it distracts them from their goal for visiting your website.

However, the web offers an incredible opportunity to make emotions-based surveys that are intuitive, simple and that provide lots of data with a comparably high response rate. Page-based widgets that are unobtrusive can be used to provide instant, in-context feedback without breaking the flow of the navigation--which is even more valuable than the kind of data you would get from a service that requires outside navigation. If you could get that kind of information easily and affordably, it would make an enormous difference in your ability to make decisions that are in the best interest of your brand and your customers.

This is what GetSmily, a Belgian start-up, provides to brands and website owners.

Numbers aren’t enough

Understanding customers is not only about numbers - you have to identify with them and be empathic to the way they feel.

Emotions are the core of human actions; if you aim to take your company to the top, you should focus on leveraging their power. Businesses have to look beyond the usual data to be sure that they provide what has been promised, and guarantees the best customer experience. Relying on stereotypes or theoretical assumptions can be dangerous, especially when people expect personalised service and instant satisfaction. By understanding the emotions that your customers share with you, you can give them what they really want. Remember that you can’t change your customers’ feelings on a dime. You can’t force them to like you, but what you can do is to find out why they feel in a certain way and improve what and how you offer it.

A satisfied customer is a loyal one; don’t be deaf to their emotions, but learn from them instead.

Thanks to David Frenay for sharing their advice and opinions in this post. David Frenay is CTO and co-founder of GetSmily You can follow him on Twitter or connect on LinkedIn.

from Blog – Smart Insights http://www.smartinsights.com/customer-engagement/customer-engagement-strategy/improve-your-customer-experience-by-leveraging-the-power-of-emotions/

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