#funnily enough I watched 'All at Sea' not too long ago so this is quite fitting

[wysteriaisapenguin]

Here's Duck and Harold! Consider this a two-for-one "All at Sea" special for 8/8!

[pinkchanelbag]

— there’s no one else; chapter two. 

a jean kirstein x reader mafia au.

last | masterlist | next

series summary: a boy caught in a web with his survival depending on balancing niceties between his predators. a prim girl on thin ice that leads down the path of least resistance. no one too close and no one too far, no allegiance unquestioned, and no child whose value and future goes without evaluation like a playing card that determines their worth. to be destined for big things is more like being doomed to them, but that’s the way it goes. it’s just family matter.

chapter summary: the party begins.

wc: 1.9k.

cw: still nothing lol

note: putting this out short notice cause it’s JEANBOYS BIRTHDAYYY BABYYY anyway enjoy heeheee and my apologies for the slow plot thus far i swear it picks up trust me bro.

the venue is obnoxiously grand. the garden is more akin to a football field than anything else. there is no central lighting, but rather pure white string lights everywhere, everywhere. tucked behind and underneath tables and wrapped around trees and laying in the overhead greenery and in the bushes that act as walls. wherever you look, your eyes are strained, and you’re sure the dining hall can be seen from the moon. 

speaking of the dining hall, the organizers cleverly blocked off the front entrance to the building so that one is forced to walk the expanse of the entire garden—surely to ooh and aah at its elegant taste—in order to get inside through the back door entrance. in other words, having to greet every single member of the family before so much as putting your clutch down. 

you apply a friendly, attentive expression to your face each time pieck stops to greet someone new, having mastered the art of being engaged but not so engaged it’s troublesome, while in reality being completely disengaged in any way. as pieck converses with a bulky man drinking wine and you pick apart the key points (“we don’t got the ammo to make deals with top contractors—legal team in shambles—not good to have a weak spot”), really you are letting your eyes wander over the shrubbery which has been trimmed to perfection. yes, the lights are a pain and the band is too loud so early in the event, and there is not enough walking space between the bushes so people squeeze together to reach the large clearing of the garden. a perfectly obnoxious party, except you can’t help but appreciate the greenery. somehow, it is the only thing about this evening that doesn’t seem ridiculous. or maybe you’re just unusually irritated tonight. 

your eyebrows knit so slightly at this realization. why are you being so disagreeable? impatience and intolerance seem to grow in your chest for no particular reason. you make a note to identify the source of your mood, and quickly resolve it. there’s work to be done.

karina braun is a kind, opinionated sheep of a woman. she is liked by all, and not because she’s particularly easy to like, but rather because she’s hard to hate. stuck in her times and not having much intellectual value, she is possibly the most important woman in all the families. being the mother of reiner braun and the head of the braun-galliard family, gives her luxury without responsibility. you’ve only met her once before, and she possessed the kind of ignorance many privileged older women have. but still she’s kind, so you can’t justify how she makes you weary. 

her birthday, funnily enough, constitutes one of the very few gatherings that frowns upon trying to discuss family matter during the events, unlike a young girl’s birthday. it has to do with respect, you suppose. 

you spend your first half-hour at the party hovering around pieck as she makes small talk with associates, becoming increasingly nervous at your lack of breakthrough in communication with the family. you know the most important thing is your encounter with karina, and that will open up further talks with others, but you stall to approach her, imperceptibly steering pieck further away from the centre table where the older woman sits. not yet. 

“are you going to keep leading me through the same semi-circle, or are you just going to go talk to her?” pieck asks calmly. you curse her intelligence in your mind. 

“i’m just nervous,” you murmur, smiling politely at a group of men at a distance that eyes you like the business deal you are. 

“you should be, but that doesn’t change that you have to do it.” your eyes flick to look at the woman beside you for a moment. her expression is not encouraging or consoling, nor is it unsettling. it’s fitting. what you and pieck have is less than friendship but more than acquaintanceship. often you feel as thought she’s reading your emotions like an open book, which can be scary considering how many of them you really hide. but if and when she sees them, she doesn’t seem to care, whether they’re incriminating or worthy of sympathy. she sees you, and that is all. it’s not a comfort, nor a curse. 

“what are you waiting for?” she says, but it’s a genuine question rather than a push to complete the task at hand. you realize you’re waiting for porco. you want porco at your side. you want his strength and his jagged-edged ambition, and the forcefulness that makes you do the things your heart has no energy for.

“i just think it would be better if the boys were here,” you breathe. again, pieck sees your meaning, and your fright, and leaves it be. 

for the next eternity, you drink champagne and stretch back your memory to know if all parties are this boring once you become an adult, or if the braun family has a particular talent for making you crave the sight of paint drying. the closest thing to entertainment—and not the hired folk who attempt to call themselves singers—is gabi’s voice, which can be heard no matter where in the garden you stand. she tells stories, strikes up arguments, and gathers food and drink with her friends, all at top volume. for some reason, you don’t find amusement in this either, and really start to worry about this attitude problem you’ve got this night. to add on, porco’s meeting seems to stretch painfully long. it was a short-notice meeting, which either meant something very very good or very very bad—more so when he told you he was being picked up for it by reiner, colt, and annie. some of the most important family members gathering for an emergency meeting means trouble. your anxiety bubbles in your stomach, and you worry that your not approaching the woman of the hour is reaching a point where it might be seen as—rude. 

the guests are alerted that dinner is ready. it’s not long before each person has situated themselves along the tables that line the large garden. the seating plan is loosely maintained, but you have nowhere near the entitlement to mingle among other tables. you find yours and stay at it, and it’s only then that you get an idea of just how many people are at this event. each table is packed, holding roughly six people, and there are too many to count in the chaos, but they create a semi-rectangle in three respective rows. you make out countless bodies but few faces, just an endless sea of tuxedos and lovely dresses. at the front of the garden is the head table, where karina sits alone save gabi’s bouncing body going back and forth. your table is is only a few feet from hers, but you take a seat that puts your back to her front so you don’t make the unforgivable mistake of accidental eye contact. you’re to sit with porco, and his table—the galliard table—is the one closest in importance to the braun table. you are the only one at the table, further reminder of porco’s tardiness. the longer you fiddle with the white cloth on the surface, the more you worry about what exactly the meeting could mean. 

and then pieck comes and sits across from you without a word. as always, you know it’s only family matter—the concern that you look out of place—motivating her and not your obvious discomfort, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

as the servers stream into the garden like white-clad troops armed with dome platters, a champagne glass’s unmistakeable ding ding ding catches the attention of the guests. a table near karina’s opposite side, not quite flanking her but near enough to display some importance. a man stands with his glass raised, looking unfitting for the position with the way his arm hesitantly dips and re-straightens. bertholdt, yet another notable name in braun-galliard (and it’s your job to know all the names), seems to be the only person around able to give the welcome speech. it’s easy to listen only selectively to the announcements and shoutouts, disregarding all the thank yous and remember whens and listening in for honored guests (who are honored because they’ve proven themselves useful). luckily for you, bertholdt’s clumsy speech has a clear distinction between the two categories, his eyes downturned to cards in which he lists off important guests and whatever thing they did to end up on he list before him. 

“a special welcome to general theo magath of the mexican military, who has been so generous to the family’s trade routes…” bertholdt’s words are careful, partly because of the nature of the things he is sharing, but also because all his actions have been careful since his fall from grace. formerly one of the most reliable heavy men in the family, bertholdt’s reputation was shot to hell when an important—very important—family member was killed on his watch. despite having happened years and years ago now, it took extensive efforts to just convince the higher-ups that he wasn’t in bed with the killer. it’s common knowledge that bertholdt’s incident was the first and last time someone “had it easy” from braun-galliard due to his close friendship with reiner himself. 

“an especially relieving guest to see here tonight—“ 

and—finally—the stragglers stalk into the clearing. like most others, you hear of their arrival from the ripple of murmurs long before you see them, seeing as their whereabouts are blocked off by tables and bushes. a few people stand up, but are quickly beckoned to sit down again and redirect their attention to the speaker, who clears his throat nervously. 

“carry on, bertholdt,” reiner’s affecting voice breaks through the space, and it’s enough to settle the audience, or at least have them pretend to pay attention while the late-comers shuffle through the outskirts of the tables to find their seats. bertholdt proceeds slowly. 

“…a person i’m sure we will all come to rely on during this chaotic time…”

you catch the first glimpse of porco as he turns the final corner of the rectangle, reiner walking before him and colt and annie just behind. reiner is the first to arrive to his table, the invitees seeming to hold their chests a little taller for the family’s true head—in every way except on paper—as he slides into his seat and presses a kiss to his mother’s cheek. 

“…a great legacy behind him and a bright career ahead, and we’re surely glad he’s kicked it off in our company…” bertholdt goes on. you and porco’s eyes meet, and immediately you know something is the matter; you’re just not sure if it’s fury or ecstasy in his gleam. 

colt and annie find their seats in the table just after yours, and finally porco is near enough to see—and ignore—the look of alarmed curiosity on your face. he arrives to the table, giving pieck a look of “we’ll talk later,” and briefly stopping behind your chair. his calloused hands are on your arms for a moment, running up and down comfortingly. 

“—a happy welcome to—“

“hey, doll.”

“—jean kirstein.” 

and your eyes flick away from porco’s and into the crowd of faceless bodies, and the anxieties that kept your brain buzzing with life halt and collapse to the floor of your mind like dead flies.

jean? 

[falllingstyles]

Spreading you open is the only way of knowing you

Y/N isn’t quite ready to be with Harry the way he wants, resulting in many nights of unspoken words and sweaty bodies. 

2.5k words // TW: mentions of sex and minor mistreatment (can’t exactly call it abuse but it wasn’t love or an appropriate relationship)

The cacophony of noise from the city below was no match for what had echoed from the walls of Y/N’s flat for the past twenty minutes. She was sure she would be quite embarrassed to see her neighbors the next morning with the noises that were undoubtedly loud enough to be heard through the walls. She was even more embarrassed by the thought of them not even being phased anymore. But her discomfort was worthwhile as they all kept their mouths closed. 

The sight of Harry Styles frequenting her front door was something they saw quite often, and the shock of a massive celebrity leaving out the same door the next morning had worn off over the past few years. Meeting the year of his second to last tour with One Direction, the two had grown close behind closed green room doors and over long phone calls. But it wasn’t until he left the band that Y/N had noticed a change between them. It was quite crazy to think of how that change let them to their position now.

Y/N laid on her bed, basking in the shadow that Harry’s body created, watching his chest rise and fall as he slowly fell back onto the sheets. Taking one last moment to right himself, he ran his hands through his hair, despite it being far too obviously unkempt to pass as simply bedhead. After seeing his hair look so many different ways over the years, his hair after her hands ran through it was easily the best looking, but she’d never admit it.

He looked down at her, finding her stare within seconds as he always did. His eyes had become such a comfort, that it was hard to picture a night without them roaming over her body like they had done for years now.

His smile, ever-present, was different. His eyebrows slightly furrowed, Y/N could tell he was thinking hard. Struggling to find the words he was searching for, Y/N simply ran her hands along his bicep, hoping it would bring him some solace.

“I’ve, uh, got to go to Bath next week to work on something I wrote a little bit ago.”

Y/N perked up. “A song! You’ve written a song!”.

He giggled a bit, “Well it is my job.” The nerves washed over him again, the song he had written wasn't something he really wanted to have to explain to her. The inspiration coming after a difficult night they had spent together while on a break from his first tour. “But, me and some guys found a great studio there and I think it’d be nice to hash it out with them.”

Y/N propped he head up now, closer to Harry’s lips than he thought he could handle. “For a second album?” She whispered, trying to hide her excitement at the possibility.

Trying his best to conceal the truth - behind both the prospect of a second album or the fact that it was entirely thanks to her - but ultimately failing, Harry nodded. Y/N didn’t even bother to cover herself up, leaping from her position under the sheets to straddle Harry, whispering about her excitement.

He lifted her off his torso and more onto his chest, with the anterior motive of not being able to handle another round of her body atop his waist, and basked in her excitement.

“That’s wonderful Harry, I'm so happy for you. How fun! A new album, more pretty suits, more touring.”

“Maybe you’ll come along for more of it this time”. He asked apprehensive, not being able to muster the courage to look into her eyes.

Y/N moved further from his body, letting out a small laugh. “Me?”

“Me?”

It was obviously not the response he was expecting to hear, such was evident in his rapidly falling smile.

“Who else?” He asked slowly.

“A real date?”, she asked.

“Yeah,” He said, his confidence from only a few moments earlier almost completely gone, “At the place Ben was telling us about.”

“That restaurant is always jam-packed with people, I don’t think-”.

“We don’t have to go to that restaurant, there’s a nice trail-”.

“A trail? Harry, I’m not quite sure I could...”

Fumbling over every word made the thoughts race through her head even faster. Not a single cohesive idea was around long enough before the fear of being seen shot it down. The cameras, the fans, the press. She could see the headlines now, ones calling her a slag and a gold digger, the posts making assumptions about her and her relationship with Harry. Comparing her to his past girlfriends, the girls with ultra-slim waists and perfect pouts.

“It’s alright we don’t have to do anything big, I just wanted to-.” He muttered whilst reaching out to caress her thigh. A nervous habit she noticed he had over the past two months since she met him.

“No, we can’t do anything.” She said louder, cutting him off again. Her breathing became heavier, and the feeling of his eyes on her was unbearable.

The ‘anything’ that he was referring to was a broad range, one in which they both were scared to breach the subject of. Admit that they had both thought of some sort of future together, in which all their worries melted away with a simple touch. A future full of late nights and hectic mornings, picking children up from school, eating a big dinner, and asking how their days went. A future that started with a date, and led to many many more.

After a long pause, filled only with the sound of their heavy breaths, he whispered; “You don’t want to go out on a date with me?

“I can’t”, Y/N choked out.

“You don’t want to be with me?” She could see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“I do, I just can’t”.  Just the same as she couldn’t tell him how deeply in love with him, that every beat of her heart was for him. She loved him, but what came with his heart wasn’t something she could carry.

“Nobody has to know, no one but our friends. I know you don’t like the paparazzi but-“

“What kind of relationship would that be! We just fuck in private and pretend we don’t know each other in public?”

Funnily enough, it was exactly what they ended up doing. When you researched ‘Y/N L/N’ online all that came up was her name and photo from the ‘about us’ page of the production company she worked for, just as she liked it.

If you really looked hard enough in the foreground of a few photos of Harry taken at restaurants or beaches you could spot her, but her face among their sea of friends wasn’t one worth recognizing. Despite Harry saying otherwise. He didn’t often pay attention to the people who called themselves fans of his when they picked apart the photos transpiring from invasive cameras with too bright flashes. But when some would pick up on a glance between the two of them, a grappling of hands, or a stolen smile he couldn’t help but dwell on it. He understood what simply being seen with him brought upon her, but is he too optimistic for thinking she’d ever be willing to endure it for him?

It was easy for Y/N to ignore the fact that their relationship, or whatever it was called, had become exactly what she didn’t want it to be. The moments in which she would look at him and wonder what it is they were doing would end as his lips would be on hers in an instant.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have anything else to do, they spent a very long time as nothing more than friends and they undoubtedly had fun. Being able to wander the halls of arenas, gorging on expensive foods in restaurant back rooms, and jumping off yachts. Until things became - complicated - they never doubted their friendship. There were no secrets that they hadn’t whispered to each other under the cover of a starry night. Or so they thought.

Y/N couldn’t believe what they had done, not that she could bring herself to fully regret it, but having sex with her best friend for the past three months - even after she turned him down - was something she could never have imagined. She had sat at his kitchen island many times beforehand, but never after having just been underneath him. She watched as he meticulously placed the cheese for his quesadilla at the stove in front of her. He had insisted he make them a small meal after she had mentioned hardly eating much of a dinner.  

Harry had always taken very good care of her, but this was different. He always paid for meals no matter Y/Ns resistance, invited her to parties with his hot shot friends, and gave her gifts she never felt she fully deserved. But this wasn’t something she had ever really had before, this realization being so profound that she told him. He grinned, now focusing on chopping the onions. The sizzling in the pan filled the kitchen, filling the void of silence that Y/N was debating breaking.

“Ryan was never so … gentle with me”.

The sizzling continued, but Harry paused. After Ryan had broken up with Y/N she had spent the proceeding two weeks at his flat watching shitty TV and crying into his shirts.

“Ryan wouldn't have made you a meal…. after?” Harry asked, not daring to breach the subject of what they had just done.

“I mean, sometimes he would but I’m talking about … when we…” Y/N felt like a child, she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say a stupid word. Harry’s head whipped to her, an unrecognizable expression on his face. “He didn’t like … do anything” referring to one of her worst fears “but … sometimes I wasn’t able to tell him to loosen his grip or slow down when I needed him to.”

Harry had done everything she had told him to. When she asked him to change positions, he obliged without a second thought. Telling him where to put his hands, what she liked, and how fast to go. But not only could she feel his consideration with every stroke, but something else as well. Something that they shied away from at every second except for in bed.

He didn’t expect her to laugh at his question, after having spent so many nights hyping himself up to ask it. Trying to remind himself that Y/N was his friend and that he would take a question like that seriously (because she’s always taken his other serious questions with the reaction he’s hoped for in the past). He looked into her eyes, a pair that he thought of in the moments before he fell asleep. She quickly realized the seriousness in his face and moved a bit further across the bed.  Despite not being able to make it far considering the mass of pillows along the edge.

Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, but it was obvious at this point, six years into their friendship and three years into whatever it was they were doing now, that there was no point. Not unless she was underneath him could he evoke the reactions he wanted from her. The careless smiles of absolute bliss were like a secret he could only be privy to at night.

“I… I’m sorry Harry, you know that I ca-“

“You can't do what!? Y/N? You can’t…”

Y/N’s suddenly felt every inch of her body that was touching Harry’s, his torso underneath her, her feet at his thighs. Every inch burned. The affection that had just been pouring out of her, both emotionally and physically to both their delights, had suddenly run dry. There was nothing but unsaid words and rumpled sheets now, the passion long gone.

Y/N could never tell if what they had been doing for months was ruining their friendship, or that their friendship ended the second that he leaned in and kissed her that night in New York all those years ago.

Y/N could never understand how someone could ever say that the magic to being in New York City could ever be lost. She had lived in her apartment for a few months now, and it was easy to say that she loved it. A space to herself, if you ignored her three roommates of course. It was only temporary of course, being needed back in London in six months, but there was no way she was going to sit idly by and let those six months slip away.

Making her extra grateful to have Harry come visit. Y/N had fixed the creases on her comforter at least nine times before she received his text telling her he was on her way up. Sprinting past her roommate's doors and into their well-decorated foyer she stood excitedly waiting for him.

The second Harry stepped in before he even got a chance to look around - there was Y/N running toward him -  she had a hard blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that the roommates he had heard plenty about were watching, Harry bent down and kissed her. After several long moments, or it might have been half an hour (or possibly several sunlit days) they broke apart.

The grin that had been on both of their faces only moments before was still plastered on their faces but now covered with cherry red lipstick. Lipstick that Y/N rushed to wipe off Harry’s soft lips as she slowed her breathing to avoid the person attached to the footsteps that were steadily growing louder.

But with each kiss, they communicated just what they couldn’t say out of bed. The words that they could hardly even dare to think, let alone say out loud. So when it came to conversations in the space they usually used for sex, it became difficult. Leading them to one of their two usual answers. Have sex, and if they already did, have sex again, but ultimately to leave and pretend like it hardly ever happened.

So, when Harry watched Y/N slowly crawl off the side of the bed, he could hardly force words to come out. Only being able to push a final “Why can’t you? Y/N? please.”

The tension grew stronger with each article of clothing Y/N put back on. She took her time meticulously fixing the hem of her shorts to ponder his question. Why? Why couldn’t she? But, she was already two steps from the door. Leaving the room that fostered the only space Harry and Y/N would truly allow themselves to be open.

I’ve never written for Harry before so go easy on me please! I really do like this though, it was a lot of fun!

[rein-ette]

Hi!

I was inspired by your asks, so I wanted to hear from you! What do you think of Canada as a country? I had a bit of a Canadian phase long ago and I tried to consume as much literature and history as I could, but reading about a place and living in it are very different experiences, so is there anything you'd like to share about Canada, about the culture or the people? Do you like living there? What are some of your favorites things? How do you survive the winters?

And also, as a character, what do you think of Matt?

(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Aaaaaaaaah okay okay *ahem*

If you’re not here for a Ted talk the exit is to your left, have a great day!

I do love Canada very much! I was born and pretty much grew up here, and as I’ve grown older I’ve become more and more grateful for everything that my country has provided for me! I remember my history teacher in high school said once that by being born into the middle class and as a Canadian, you’ve already won the lottery of life. That was not to disparage other countries, but to remind us of how remarkably privileged we are and how much we take for granted.

One of the first things you hear when you ask people what does it mean to Canadian is the word “multicultural.” I find this word realllyyyyyy cringeyyyy and not really reflective of reality, but I suppose it’s a good starting point for more in depth discussion. People often say Canada is a “cultural melting pot”, but the indigenous poet Marilyn Dumont pointed out in her poems that in some ways it’s more of a mosaic — there are many cultures, but they don’t always meld together. To say it’s a melting pot is ignoring the fact that racism and discrimination certainly have and do still exist here.

But I would argue that in some areas it is a “melting pot”, even if I kinda hate that word. I prefer to think of where I live as cultural delta — a place where many mighty tributaries meet as they thunder into the sea. (It is also literally a delta, funnily enough) Here, I grew up absorbing Canadian ideas, studying British history, reading American literature, learning French — but I also grew up listening to Kpop, watching Ghibli, eating rice. When I meet up with friends, we don’t grab a coffee, we grab milk tea. If you ask people here where they would like to visit or live, they will most likely say New York, London, Hong Kong, or Seoul — which tells you a bit about both how powerful and diverse the cultural influences here are.

Perhaps the thing most indicative of Canada’s “multiculturalism” and what I am most grateful for, however, is that I grew up here without fear. I didn’t even know the words “chink” or other words existed until I could access the internet. Recently, the beatings of Asian immigrants in the UK and US brought this home for me — how lucky I am to have such a privileged childhood. And I know this kind of privilege is hard won; in my research of WW2 I found that one of the amusement parks that I used to frequent as a child was built on land that once housed a Japanese internment camp. How fragile our lives are!

But enough about the serious stuff. I can’t really answer your question about how to survive winters in Canada lol, except to say that where I am in Canada it is absolutely necessary everyone own at least 3-4 umbrellas. That’s because this side of the Rockies in BC, the temperatures are pretty mild year round — the coldest it gets is usually 0, and the hottest around 25. But, by god, it rains. I did go to Ottawa in the winter though, where it was -13 one day, but honestly? Everything below 0 feels pretty much the same. Once it gets that cold, you can’t even tell anymore. I wore a skirt and tights that day, with a good, thick winter coat. And I survived :D

Besides not being heckled on the street for being Asian, my favourite things about Canada are probably the amazing diversity of good food and how tremendously beautiful the wilderness here is. And I say this as someone who loses her mind when a mosquito flies past (ie. I am not a nature person). You can kinda tell from these photos here, but the trees and water and whatnot here, are like, real. Maybe I just find that amazing because I lived in Tianjin, but it just feels like this is a city built among the trees and the sky and water that was always here, and not a city where humans have brought in nature for our amusement.

Okay, gotta move on to your other questions or I’ll go on forever. As a state I think Canada does a fairly good job of providing for its own people, but I wish we had a greater global influence. A lot of youth especially express the view that Canada is kinda...boring if your career doesn’t have to do with, like, sports, nature, or medicine, and I would tend to agree. We have great universities, but as someone who studies international relations I often wish Canada would like? Do more? On the global scale. The only thing we really have under our name is the UN peacekeeping, which PM Pearson started after the Suez Canal Crisis. I mean, I’ve heard that many people abroad identify Canada with peace and like ofc I’m not complaining about that, but I just wish our history was a little spicier, ya know? We did kick Americas ass that one time in 1812 and that was amazing. No regrets.

So that brings me to Matt. A lot of Canada’s existence has just been dominated by trying to carve a way between the US and the British while not being swallowed by either. Britain gave us the protection and strength and diversification of identity to not be annexed by the US, but at the same time it hobbled Canada’s relation with our only neighbour. One of the very first treaties Canada negotiated alone, if I’m recalling correctly, was a trade contract with the US over fishing (?) in BC and Alaska, where London was like no you can’t and Canada was like uh we gotta make money too, bro. So yes, while I do believe Mattie is just a very loyal person in general, he was also loyal to the empire because he needed to survive. A lot of Canadian identity was solidified around our prompt assistance of England and the sacrifices made in the two world wars, especially the campaigns in the Low Countries and Italy. Essentially, Canada has historically differentiated itself from the US through its loyalty.

Uuuuh just realized that has nothing to do with my opinion of Matt. Um. I like him? He’s real best friend/big brother material, and I do hc him as far more cunning and capable than canon portrays him to be. However, sometimes he’s just...too nice. He doesn’t have that edge that England has that makes me wanna slap him tf up and sob and call him my baby at the same time. Also, as oumaheroes mentioned here, that kind of selflessness can get pretty toxic. After all, by consistently not voicing or examining your own needs, you make it incredibly and unnecessarily frustrating for the people who care about you to help you, and that creates a relationship just as one sided as one where the person is extremely selfish. Actually, now that I think about it, my biggest gripe with Mattie as a character and Canada as a country is in that word: selfless. Without self. Perhaps because Canada is still so young, but it feels a little lost, a little like it doesn’t know quite know yet why it exists.

TLDR: If you’re under 18 or over 60, Canada is the place to be. If, however, you’re like me and wish you could touch a building that’s over 150 years old and maybe visit a square somebody’s been guillotined in, perhaps try someplace else. Personally Portugal’s golden visa is lookin especially tempting lately

[dansnaturepictures]

18/03/2021-Peacock, parakeet and more on another pinch of spring at Lakeside and home: 10 different pictures in this photoset to those I tweeted tonight 

I took the first picture in this photoset of three Starlings out the back as I worked today, and second of flowers on the green out the front with some speedwell present I tweeted a picture of a zoom in on one of those beautiful flowers too. I then took the third and fourth picture in this photoset at Lakeside when I got there of more great blossom lately. 

I had a spring competition going on a little at Lakeside on the walks currently, which star of the last two springs for me here would I see first out of Peacock butterfly or Snake’s head fritillary flower. The Peacock had looked the most likely, and the moment happened funnily enough when I walked into the southern fenced off nature reserve area from the southern gate over to the area underneath trees where these flowers usually grow in a big clump just to see if they were there. They weren’t, but I saw a butterfly fly towards me. At first wondering about the Red Admiral a species I had already seen this year so far at Magdalen Hill one Sunday in February, but then I remembered being in the now quite widespread blossom laden country park the Peacock based on previous years was also very likely and I just about made it out from seeing it fly that it was a Peacock. I then saw it land and there was no doubt as I saw its shining turquoise and beige circles standing out, I did take a picture of this butterfly which I tweeted tonight on Dans_Pictures. It looked so brilliantly bright for spring it was in immaculate condition which is so lovely to see. 

So the Peacock won the little competition as I noticed one whilst seeing if the fritillary flowers were there. This was my second butterfly species of the year following the Red Admiral. On that very sunny walk I remarked at how I rarely see both Red Admiral and Peacock early on in a butterfly year. So after Red Admiral was in the early order for the first time since 2018 I thought a wait would be on for the Peacock this year, but not so as like 2016 when I saw them both on the same day for the first time that year at Magdalen Hill I had seen both early on. The picture today meant I’ve currently photographed 100% of the identified butterflies I’ve seen this year, both with my big lens rather than macro as its traditionally harder to get macro pictures until later on as you need butterflies to land for a while to get close to so its harder to get on the colder or relatively colder earlier days and earlier on the butterflies are naturally more flighty as today’s was. But with my big lens it meant I didn’t have to get very close to it but could zoom in from a distance. I have used this lens for more butterfly pictures where needed over the years so it could be really changing when my butterfly pictures start a little. 

I took the fifth and sixth pictures in this photoset of the ground in this area and a daffodil before moving on towards the lakes with the trees adorned by the green buds and blossom of the landscape. Going towards here I first of all thought I had heard a Ring-necked Parakeet calling its eccentric high-pitched call. But I knew a Moorhen or Coot could quite easily imitate the call in a way. Still quite atmospheric to hear it. I then inspected Concorde Lake getting a brilliant closeup view of a pair of Great Crested Grebes. 

And then something amazing happened. I heard the high pitched call again and then I looked north and saw the distinctive body of a Ring-necked Parakeet fly over. I then watched it fly south east into tall trees towards the steam railway station. This was a monumental moment! I was so thrilled to see this special bird fly and get a binocular view. They really are such a beautiful and special species. A species that for so long were a London park bird but that’s four times I have seen the birds that seem to be regular in the Southampton area now which is fascinating. That’s two years running I’ve ticked them locally now. This bird was not just a year tick, my 112th bird of the year, but also a patch tick as my previous sightings of them in this area last year were from my room or at Grantham Green. It was the first species I’ve had since I started my patch and from garden/home lists that was also a year tick so this added another element to it. I was certainly enthused in December when I set up my patch and from home lists by the amount of more notable birds I had seen whilst working from home at Lakeside but I didn’t really think I’d add to it necessarily so to have now had two patch ticks this year Ring-necked Parakeet and Shoveler and one from home a Cormorant shows what amazing birdwatching times I have had. 

I took the seventh picture in this photoset as I walked towards the steam railway station to try and see or get a photo of the parakeet but I didn’t see it again. I did however see a sea of yellow created by some very lush and large daffodils on a verge in the car park area which I tweeted two pictures of tonight on Dans_Pictures so this was some sight. I then went on to take eighth and ninth pictures in this photoset of daisies on the ground and a view over the westernmost lake. Today at lunch time I also enjoyed seeing Lesser Black-backed Gull, noticing most Black-headed Gulls now have the brown heads of summer plumage showing how we are really going into spring now and I saw a Moorhen fly across the lake I am not sure I have ever seen this bird fly before! A bird I am having a great year for seeing a lot I’ve found especially here. I managed the tenth and final picture in this photoset of a view on the way home on the tarmac path north of Lakeside. This was a breathtaking, memorable and really very rewarding walk during working today the supreme sightings made me smile. I hope you’ve all had a good day. 

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Peacock butterfly and Ring-necked Parakeet of the year, two of my favourite birds the Green Woodpecker and Great Crested Grebe, Goldfinch, House Sparrow, Dunnock, Starling, Black-headed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Mallard, Moorhen, Coot, Canada Goose, Greylag Goose, Collared Dove two now seeming to arrive on the roof visible opposite as sun casts an afternoon shadow which they did on the opening parts of the t started working from home a year ago next week, Woodpigeon, Magpie, Carrion Crow, 

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

I want to tell you... (Part 10.)

Description: Nathan Drake is not the exact definition of an unhappy man. His job is steady, his friends still see him from time to time, he plays football, but his marriage is his main problem. Many things will change when a special person comes to his life.

Part Summary: Everything was slowly going off rails again for both you and Nate. But at the same time, you decided there’s something lingering in the air, which you should ignore. 

A/N: We’ll be slowly falling down to the pit of bad news here. Anyway, if you’d feel as if you are trapped in a toxic relationship you’re not happy in, please, don’t let that to yourself. Try talking to your friends, family of professors/co-workers. Loneliness, cheating, fear and depression isn’t fun to deal with. And I’m speaking out of personal experience. You’re not alone. 

Word counter: 4.9 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme​, @peakymarvels​, @nemodoren​, @flavorishy​, @decadentwinnerjudgedream​

Series master list: H E R E

Nathan’s car sing-along playlist: H E R E

When you came home, the whole flat was still silent and dark. Mike was still at work, so you had a lot of time to just sit down on the couch and to think about the wild things Nathan had outlined. And when your boyfriend finally came home, after an hour of you sitting in front of a TV playing some rom-com. The man walked over to you and tried to lean down, kissing you on your forehead - and being the mad little bean you were, you moved away from him.

"Hey, come on." - The man put his bag next to the couch, sighing loudly when he realized that he's probably in trouble. Slowly, Mike sat beside you, leaning his elbow into the back of the couch, moving closer to you. - "I was working, I swear." - He leaned closer to you, kissing the crook your neck gently while smoothing your thigh up and down. - "And I had you on my mind all day, baby, trust me. I want you. I want you so fucking much now." - The man leaned closer and started to get more heated up than just a moment ago.

Maybe he was working? He was at the new workplace just for a month, he wouldn't have time to start some kind of a relationship, right? That would be too soon. Too bold of him when you still didn't quite trust him with keeping his dick inside his briefs. No. He surely wasn't cheating on you - and this thought sold you into leaning into the touch, kissing him back with equal passion. And with that, the last thought about Nathan and Sully being a part of a gang flew out of the window.

But not for long - the next few days, you've spent with buying you some textbooks and reference materials for your college, which you were about to start in October, you looked around for a few more decorations to put into your flat and overall, you tried to fight the loneliness on your own again. Why? Mike was constantly at work. Sure, you were aware that Mike is a workaholic, but it did rose your eyebrows that he is at every single day, working overtime so early after your new start.

Your boyfriend dismissed you with a small smile every single time. He told you that you have nothing to be worried about because he was just trying to impress his bosses so his payment would be raised quickly. And this time, you decided to believe him instead of jumping straight to conclusions - which proved to be right the last time nonetheless. But this time, you tried to keep your cool.

Which was proved quite difficult when Nate texted you about your schedule - he wanted to plan the hangout between his shifts so you would both have a lot of time to spend together. You were free anytime he would ask you to come to see him, so the date was set on next Monday, because Nate had a shift on Sunday, preparing meals for some rich people party in their restaurant. He texted you the address where his flat was at and on Monday evening, you were standing there nervously and waited before Nate will run the stairs down to open up the door for you.

He and his wife chose a nice location to have their flat at. It was one of those locations where families with children live their day-to-day life. The apartments there were spacious and modern, they had a nice feeling to them. It was close to the beach and the sea, so Nathan could go rollerskating every time he wished to. And you had just one question - why was Nate and his friends very financially secure beyond believable. There was something iffy about this whole company. Nathan was just about to tell you.

"Hey, hey, come in. I've been waiting for you." - The man told you as he opened up the apartment building front door, inviting you inside. Honestly, you'd love to end up in a flat like that if you would be about to start a family. Even the halls and stairs were spacious. The whole building was feeling very safe. No-one who was a villain secretly would be living in such a building.

The true moment of dripping a jaw came when Nate had unlocked the door to their apartment, inviting you in. It was beautiful - there were souvenirs from all around the world, hand-knitted colorful carpets - you loved a small corner with two bean bags which was somehow inviting. And next to these two, there was a whole wall covered in dream catchers. The rest of the flat certainly had that warm, family-like feeling. It wasn't tiny in the slightest, every small inch of the apartment was inviting and lightheartedly vibing to you. There were photos of Elena and Nate everywhere, which was the first time you had ever seen her. She was a pretty blonde woman, smaller than Nate with big brown eyes and big smiles in each of the photos. You had to note that she was athletic, to say the least - you could ever catch a glimpse of her jogging t-shirts in the laundry basket.

She was hugging his waist and they... They were looking very happy. But one thing that hit your eyes was the fact that these photos were fairly old. Nate caught you staring at one of them and he chuckled, pointing at his with a small smile. - "That was our vacation three years back. We were in Europe, in smaller countries like Czechia, Slovakia, and Austria. It was very nice." - You nodded with your eyebrows slightly arched as you looked at Elena wearing a summer dress.

"She's looking happy and, honestly, she's beautiful. You're a great match." - You stated quietly, which made Nate grin funnily. Neither of you commented on his grin - you put some sweets you bought on the countertop. When you commented on your cooking, you weren't trying to be funny. There was a high probability that your food would poison him, which made you realize that you should buy at least some donuts for Nate to snack on and buy yourself some coffee while you were at it. - "But now, you promised me to tell me about the... Things you and your friends anticipate in. And if you won't make me believe that you're not a white meat trafficker, a gangster or a drug dealer, we're done." - You looked Nate in the eyes.

The man was aware of his friendship with you being put on a tight line at the moment. But at the same time, he knew he had enough proof to show you that he, indeed, is an archeologist - well, maybe not exactly the archeologist you knew from real life, but he liked to consider himself one. IN the end, he was extremely passionate about history and he could go on about it for hours and hours. Yeah. Nate was most probably an archeologist.

"Okay, so, sit down here and wait for me. I'll bring you some stuff to show you. Books, journals, maps, artifacts, everything." - The part about artifacts made you furrow and straighten up as you sat down on the couch. Why was he talking about maps and artifacts? Was he smuggling stuff over the borders? What the fuck was Nathan working on in his free time? But he threw you out of your train of thoughts pretty fast when he dropped a box full of stuff next to you. You freaked out and sighed, closing your eyes dramatically while Nate bent over to take out one of the first books he had there, sitting beside you.

"This my mom's journals, the ones Florence was talking about back at the dinner." - Nate went through the pages until he found the passage he was most fond of before putting it into your palms carefully as if it was a commodity of a high price. First, you didn't have an idea about what you were looking at, and when Nate sensed your cluelessness, he smirked and pointed at the name. - "Henry Avery was a big pirate back in the day. There was this huge heist around the 16th century for which he got famous. To tell you in modern slang, this guy was huge. And according to some theories, this man had established the pirate utopia of Libertalia. But that's just a theory at the moment." - Nate sighed and watched as you read random passaged from his mom's journals with a slight furrow, mouthing each word to yourself. Just when you wanted to give him the journal back, a photo fell out of it - and when you looked at it carefully, you realized you're looking and much younger Nate.

The guy next to you was around his early thirties and this boy was... Around thirteen? God, was this picture even real to start with? Nate leaned over your shoulder to grin at the visual documentation of what he was looking like.

"This is my brother. Sam. He's a great guy and he got me through a lot of stuff." - Nate pointed at the other guy in the picture. The boys weren't looking alike at all, but something was telling you that these two boys were related. While you were stuck at the picture, Nate laughed victoriously as he pulled another photo out of the box. It was hidden in a small, leatherback journal that had a small hole from a bullet on the front side.

"Won't you look at that." - The man smiled at the memories connected to the photo. You could see someone somewhat similar to Sully. And the man was looking very similar to what he was looking for when you first met him, so the photo was pretty recent. - "This one is like... Two years old. We were in this rainforest, searching for the lost city of gold. You know what I'm talking about?" - Nate wiggled his eyebrows and gave you the photo.

He was there along with Elena and Sully, each of them was dirty and visibly very tired. Elena, with a big smile of gold, was sitting on big old crates, thus being the center of the picture. Nate, with a shotgun, leaned to his shoulder, was on her right side, leaned to the boxes as well with messy hair. Sully was looking the finest, standing on her left side with a smug grin and a lit-up cigar. Sure, each of them was tired, but they were happy as hell for sure. They looked like a family.

"Why do you have a shotgun here, Nate?" - You asked with a small grin. - "But no, do tell, please." - You leaned your back into the couch and let Nate talk. He just talked about the lost city of El Dorado, sir Francis Drake, and Panama.

He spoke about Rafe, Nate, and Sam getting locked up in a Panamian prison for the sake of research and about Sam getting his ass imprisoned for a few because hurting one of the guards. Nathan told you the story about how they met again, finding a brother in one another again.

Nate showed you small trinkets with a lot of historical value he collected throughout the years of treasure hunting, telling you about each of them. There were numerous photos of him and his partners in crime, of a woman named Chloe and a man named Charlie and many photos of him and Elena on various excavation spots.

Sure, Nate didn't keep his inability to keep at least one of the historical spots intact, but he was still a skilled and smart archeologist nonetheless. Sully managed to get him some good and well-paid gigs. It turned out that Victor knew Florence for some time now because some of these gigs were mostly her doing.

The Drake couple had many photos where they looked so happy it made you smile as well. But, the more photos of them you saw and the more Nate told you about the history behind each of them, the more the whole situation didn't make sense.

What happened to them? Why weren't they together at these spots anymore? Why weren't there any more photos? But when Nate was so passionate about everything, you couldn't just ask him, could you? That would bring him more pain than necessary. And you, in any case, didn't want to stir up the dust once it settled for at least a while.

That afternoon, you managed to drift off to sleep while Nate was telling you at least the seventh story about some pirate or who. But the man didn't wake you up. Nate put a blanket over your chest, tugging you in as he got to the preparation of dinner for you.

It was almost eight p.m. when your phone started to ring. It was just buzzing, but Mike's photo was lighting all over the dining room. Which made Nate sick from his stomach.

The memory of the conversation you and Mike had back in the day suddenly tickled Nathan's memory. Was the boy cheating on you? At the moment? Or not? Should he pick up the phone and ask about the topic like a man could ask a man?

He could and should do that. He would do that if he had the balls at the moment. So he just picked up the vibrating device and shook your shoulder gently. That woke you up instantly. When you realized what's happening and who's calling, you sat straight and tried to get the sleepiness out of your head.

"Hey, hey, baby." - You mumbled sleepily and got your feet, pacing around the room at a fast pace. Your head was still dizzy, but you tried your best to concentrate on Mike's voice.

"Oh. Oh. Again? That's strange. Yeah. I get that. Sure. Love you. Bye." - There was this deep sigh when you ended the call, looking at the phone in your hand. Nate was just cooking the cheese sauce for your pasta. His blue eyes flickered at you standing there with an empty look in your face. But he chose not to talk until you'd like to talk.

"Listen. It's late. I should go home now." - You mumbled sleepily, having those dizzy moments of just woken up person.

"Woah. Not a chance." - Nate answered immediately, turning down the volume of heat under his cheese sauce.

"I don't think you're a psychopath or human trafficker by now, but you can't hold me here, Nathan." - An angry huff left your lips as you went for your jacket.

"I won't hold you here, I'm not a monster. The thing is that the city is dangerous after dusk. And I'm cooking dinner. So you'll have dinner, a glass of wine and then I'll drive you home. And that's not a topic for a debate." - Your friend pointed a finger at you and dried his palms in a cooking towel. Immediately, you straightened and widened your eyes, putting the jacket on the back of the chair. Nate licked his lips, steering the almost finished masterpiece.

This man didn't look like the type who would be a general, but when he started to act like one, dear Lord. For a moment, there was a glimpse of something hiding under the surface.

"He stayed there overtime again?" - Nathan asked when the sudden hint of anger disappeared into the thin air again. First, you put your lips together and bit them nervously, sitting down to the table. When you came in, you didn't notice that Nate has fresh flowers on the table, but there were daisies he had picked up earlier that very day. But in the end, you nodded. - "He's there tomorrow as well?" - "No, tomorrow Mike's at home, we have some plans." - "Oh."

The rest of the evening was quiet in its entirety. It was strange to feel the fear dragging you deeper and deeper back into your head. Why was all of this so known? So reminiscing? And it all fell the lowest when you watched Nate driving off back home.

Again, you were walking back home all alone and on your own. The flat was pitch black and empty. Quiet even though the music coming from the street. Weird even though you were the leading designer of it, even though you knew every small corner of the flat... It didn't feel comfortable inside. When you sat on your couch, you let the TV turned off. Tears were streaming down from your eyes as you tried to keep it in. You drank the last bottle of wine you had in your room. Woah. Why should you be home alone when your boyfriend was caught up in your work again? You didn't see any reason for that.

Mike was honestly jealous of you hanging out with Nathan as much as you did. But why were you around the man so much? Huh? Because you moved across the fucking state when his sorry ass started to cheat on you and got caught with it. Every member of your family was back in your hometown where you met Mike and fell in love with him. And Nathan was just as lonely as you were. He and his friends accepted you as their friend and wanted to hang out with you too, at least that was what you thought this is about. Fuck Michael. Fuck him.

When you were drunk enough, you did the biggest bullshit you possibly could do. You got on your feet and left to search through Mike's stuff. People who loved and believed each other never went through each other's stuff. Huh. Funny. You didn't trust him since the first time he told you he has to stay overtime at work again. Last time he used that excuse in your hometown, you set on your journey to bring him dinner. And he was fucking one of his colleagues on his desk, moaning her name through the whole floor.

Your mom told you to break the things off with Mike immediately... But... He was sorry for a long time, he kept saying sorry, again and again. Slowly, he made you sure that all he needs is another chance. As soon as you told Mike you're willing to give him the chance, he asked for transmission to a different branch of the company where he was working. And they told him they have a good place in one city. And he accepted immediately just for the sake of your relationship.

Yet there you were fucking again. You were going through his stuff - sniffed his clothes, looked at the collars of his shirts, through his pockets and all the shit like that. And you found a small piece of paper at which you almost started to laugh. - "Amy. Amy, you motherfucker? Okay." - You mouthed and started to cry again. Her number was there too just as the heart drawn above her name.

Since that day, you hang out with Nate almost every day. He took you almost everywhere - on hikes, to have an ice-cream, roller skating, swimming, he taught you how to cook and even went shopping for your school supplies with you one day. Florence seemingly very liked you. She loved it when you joined them for dinner, you were a fun companion to have at her home.

Sully, if he'd have to be honest, was at a weird phase around you. It was beautiful to see Nate relaxed and contained after all those years of him and Elena getting further and further away from each other mentally and emotionally, but he was very much afraid that Nate will fall in love with you. At that point, you were just Nate's crush. The man was fond of you, which could be felt with every interaction you had. But Nate couldn't forget about still being a legally married man. Sure, he and Elena had a weird idea of romantic, but this relationship still had a chance to be saved.

One time, you invited Nate over when Mike was on his way to Seattle. He was supposed to stay there for the following five days, it was one of his daily work trips. You hadn't told anyone about the Amy paper you found in the pocked of Mike's jeans. But you needed to talk with someone about that. Ever since no-one other than Nate was free at that time.

"I would like to tell you why we had moved in here. We're actually from somewhere way out of the way." - You told him as you sat in front of the opened window, listening to the blasting life under your window. Nate sniffed his wine and smiled at you, nodding so you'd know he's listening to you.

"I met Mike at one party where I sure as hell wasn't supposed to be. I was... Young and dumb at that time and why I sure am older, I am not any wiser. He was this popular, funny guy who the girls went after like crazy while I was this normal girl. Dear Lord did I fell in love with him that night. Neither of us drank, we just sat down into the grass in front of the house and talked like two normal people. Honestly, Mike charmed with his humor and remarks. After that, we started dating." - While bringing up these memories, you were smiling as Nate leaned in lower into the plush chair, listening to every sound coming out of you. Even these were hard to hear at times. The man was fully focused on you.

"Because he was so much older, it naturally caught a lot of attention. But time passed by, I was almost finished with my high school and Mike had this good position at some company. He was good at what he was doing, but I noticed he's there a lot more than he should be instead of being with me. I mean, I didn't expect him to be with me every single day, no, but... We used to go to the cinema, on dates, walks when we were both free and suddenly, this seemed to be somehow problematic for him. I couldn't understand what was going on." - This had Nate to listen even more than before as he watched you gulping down the whole glass of wine at once, immediately pouring yourself another one.

"As usual, one night, I got a call from Mike who was at work way longer than he should be. And I decided to bring him some food, which I shouldn't do." - You lowered your head, furrowing at the memory. No matter how much Nathan wanted to tell you that it's not your fault, he stayed silent and watched you trying to gather yourself. - "It's strange to see someone who... Proclaims are in love with you pulling in and out into someone you've never met, telling them how beautiful they are. I thought I lost him at the moment I saw all of that. Christ help me, I was devastated." - You nodded to yourself. - "And to have a fresh start, we moved here. A good job proposition and a promise of getting it back together was what made me sure of it. But... It seems to slowly get back into the old trails."

There was a prolonged moment of silence between you and Nathan, who was slowly drinking his wine. You were extremely vulnerable at the moment, and not only that. You were also noticeably unhappy, worried, and mentally tired from the situation you found yourself at. Nathan was the man to understand all of it. He knew what you were talking about just like he felt just like you. So he decided to tell you his story.

"I met Elena through this gig." - The man giggled into his glass of wine, putting it down to his lap to take a deep breath. - "It was just after my brother was put into the sentence in Panama. Sullivan and I didn't have much money to take off to the Panamanian coast and... We needed funding. And a hell of money. That was when I saw her show on TV. It was talking about architecture and stuff. I thought it was a great idea. We wrote a business e-mail, telling her about the Panama things, about Drake and inviting her on our treasure hunt if her company pays for everything. Holy crap, they paid for every small thing Sully and I could imagine." - Nathan smiled at the memory, making you smile back at him.

"At first, Elena was annoying the living shit out of me. I swear to God, there were times when I just wanted to leave her there, but to my luck, I never did. After this thing was over, we started dating. And it was working out for some time. Soon, I realized she's the one I want by my side no matter what. Naturally, I proposed to her and she accepted - we got married, moved to a flat, started our normal life together. And it was quite nice for the first few months. For the sake of our relationship, I decided not to take any more gigs - but one day, she came home with this light in her eyes, telling me 'Nate, you're not going to believe this'. She was offered a job proposition in Europe, which is a huge thing for a journalist. I didn't tell her not to go, it was just for three months and I knew that once this will be over, she'll come back home and it will be just us again." - Nate looked at you, gently scratching his earlobe. Your head was leaned into the back of the couch and you didn't leave Nate off your sigh even just for a second.

"But then, she came with the gig in Africa, then, there was Dubai and now... She's in Thailand. Hadn't seen her for the last four months and the calls aren't as frequent as I would like them to be... But that's how things are. Elena is living her best life and she's one of the best tourism journalists out there. Y/N, honestly, I'm very proud of her..." - "But you'd like her to be here with you now rather than having her gone off the radar all the time, huh?" - You whispered, slowly licking your lips. It was an indication that you understood what he was telling you. Both of your relationships were troubled in one way or another.

Your partners seemed to be far away from you - and the closer they got, the more the distance grew. Suddenly, Nate picked himself up from the couch and checked his watch, arching his eyebrows. - "It's late, I should get going now." - The man told you quietly, hoping you'd say that you want him to stay there with you. Even for a small moment longer. But awkwardly, you nodded and walked to the kitchen to pick his jacket up from the chair.

"You're right. We both better get some sleep. The cycling today got me good." - You joked, giving the jacket to Nathan. That was the moment when your fingers crossed on the piece of clothing, yet neither of you pulled your hand back. It was fairly obvious from the last couple of days that maybe, Nathan felt something more towards you than a friendly relationship. Ever since the start, you tried to play Drake off as a witty, funny friend of yours who was just sweet and caring more than the other guys.

Although, the more time you spent with the man, the man undismissible these heavy eye contacts, inviting smiles and body language started to get husky. Not to make the saint out of yourself, thinking about kissing the man flew through your head all of a sudden a few days back too when he took you out swimming on the beach. This man was a hunk. A real one, if you'd ever seen some. But you tried to ignore it for the sake of keeping it in the friendly boundaries.

How much more obvious and harder could Nathan make it for you? Probably a lot, because you felt the tips of his fingers gently bumping to your knuckles, smoothing your fingers with his. The man's breath hitched as he moved a small inch closer to you, straightening above you to look down on your face. For the first time, he saw something that wasn't there before. The insecurity. Whether it was about what was happening or about the vulnerable side of you, which you showed him just minutes prior, the sudden vulnerability and reluctant feeling were present in your face.

A kiss was sure an option at the moment. Nonetheless, Nathan stepped away and pulled his jacket out of your palm, deciding to keep his cool. - "The hiking tomorrow. You still up for it?" - The man asked to beat the uncomfortable silence which accumulated around you. With your cheeks on fire, you smiled at the man and nodded. - "And a glass of wine at your apartment. I will be looking forward to that." - You answered as he was leaving your flat.

But really, was there any point in looking forward to something that could both of you cost your relationships? Or was it just a dumb wish?

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #7 - Forgiven

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

this is actually a scene i’ve wanted to write for these two for some time now, so here we go 

For the first night in twenty years, the sun was setting over a free Ala Mhigo.

The sky over Loch Seld was as bright a blaze of glory as she remembered it, staring out over the darkening outline of the wind-carved hills from the secluded remains of the overgrown garden. If she shut her eyes, if she blocked out the happy shouts from within and without the city, she could almost pretend she was sixteen years old again, young and arrogant and invincible.

Almost–but not quite. She wasn’t that girl anymore, hadn’t been for a very long time now. Too much had changed, for better or worse.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and hugged them to her chest. It hurt that she couldn’t feel the joy they did. And there was every reason to celebrate.

She thought about the shimmer of happy tears in Lyse’s bright blue eyes when she sang. The sound of all of those voices, that rolling broad lilt she’d always associated with the simpler, better parts of her girlhood, lifted to the heavens singing a song with a tune she knew but lyrics she had never learned. And she had felt… utterly alone. It had been the final realization that this wasn’t her home anymore than any other part of the Empire had been. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault, hers or theirs.

She’d been a child when she was brought here but she had still been a colonizer. A symbol of their oppression.

While she’d been full glad to lend them her strength, this was not her victory. It was theirs, and she knew it. So she’d made her excuses to a confused and very concerned Lyse and gone out for a walk.

She had gone to the old palace district, unsure what to expect, and had found only empty buildings, dark and silent. There were precisely two people she would have wanted to see, and one of them was long gone, and the other- … she still didn’t know what had happened to L'haiya. Didn’t know if she had passed away in the last decade, or if she had been killed in the fighting, or if she had remained in Ala Mhigo at all.

Is it really asking too much, Aurelia thought, staring through the bars of the familiar wrought-iron gate, wanting to feel like I belong somewhere?

Like I have a home?

She had let herself in.

The gate had been unlocked and the house as empty as all the rest, either abandoned or looted. She didn’t even know if anyone had lived here since she’d left over a decade ago, and she didn’t stop to look. 

She meandered through the area that had once been the drawing room, leaving footprints in the dust that had gathered on the floor, and passed through the galley kitchen to the back door on her way. The koi were gone and the fountain was dry and filled only with weeds, but she had paid that no mind. Even lonely and abandoned, this place was familiar and more importantly, quiet. 

So when she heard the sound of something atop the street-facing side of the wall and the Echo did not raise the alarm, she didn’t react.

“You know, you are a surprisingly difficult woman to find when you do not wish to be found.”

Aurelia blinked. Straddling the stone wall, next to her old zelkova tree, was one Nero Scaeva, his eyes hidden by a pair of ridiculous-looking shades which he was already removing. He carried a bottle in one hand, and he raised it with a toothy, boyish grin flashed in her direction.

“There is quite the party going on in the city limits. Without as well, I daresay. The Reach is chaos.” Without waiting for her response he swung his long legs over the wall and let himself drop the last two fulms. There was a flat thud as his feet gracelessly hit the ground. “Were I you, I should be enjoying the fruits of my labors. Perhaps dancing a merry jig upon Zenos yae Galvus’ newly dug grave, may he forever rest upon stinging nettles.”

She winced at that, and did not reply. Nero seemed to take notice of her discomfort, for his smile faded somewhat.

“May I sit?” he asked.

“If you like.”

She heard his footsteps in the grass, then a soft grunt as he sat down at her side. He placed the bottle in his hand on the lip of the stone fountain so he’d have both hands free to work the laces of his plated jackboots loose. Aurelia watched, somewhat bemused, as he kicked them off, then removed the heavy leather vest and outer doublet. There was something familiar about the attire she couldn’t quite place; maybe he’d actually thought to disguise himself. She had to admit it probably wasn’t the worst idea he would have had, given the current mood of the city’s smallfolk.

“Much better.” Carelessly he tossed the glasses on top of the pile he’d made, rolled up the sleeves of his linen undershirt to the elbow, and reached for the bottle he’d set aside. “…You’re not a temperance sort, are you?”

“Hardly.”

“Excellent, because I am not about to let a Suhd Viandja go to waste.” That ridiculous grin was back. “And I’ve not yet sunk so low as to drink the entire bottle by myself.”

Aurelia took the bottle from him and stared at the label. She almost asked Nero how he’d gotten his hands on a wine this rare and expensive and decided it was probably best if she just didn’t ask at all. After a moment she passed it back. “The thought is appreciated but I don’t- I’m not interested right now. Maybe later.”

A shrug. “Then I suppose you have the privilege of watching as I guzzle a ten million gil rosé like a fifty-gil Ilsabardian posca.”

“Nero, I’m really not-”

“I don’t allow Garlond to engage in his ridiculous self-pitying nonsense and I’m certainly not going to give you a pass for same. Talk to me.”

Aurelia glared at him. He gazed steadily back, and she was the first to look away, busying herself with pulling up enough of the weeds around her that she had a comfortable place to sit and tossing the uprooted places into the fountain behind her. Knowing perfectly well she was stalling for time.

Once she realized that he was not leaving her alone, and was in fact more than willing to wait her out, she let out a sigh. Try as she might, Zenos’ dying words wouldn’t leave her. They fluttered about the dark chambers of her mind like restless ghosts that could not be bestilled.

“He said we were alike.”

“Hm?”

“Zenos. He said we were alike.” She clenched her fists at the memory and felt the sting of her nails digging into her palms. “He asked me to accept him-”

“What did he know about you?”

“What?”

“Did he know anything about you? Anything at all? Other than the bits everyone in the civilized world knows?”

“Scaeva-”

“Did he even know your name?”

“Implying that you ever care to use it.”

“Funnily enough, we do not happen to be discussing me at present. Thus your point, while valid, is not germane.”

“All right, well, if this line of questioning is quite finished-”

Those bright blue eyes rolled practically into the back of his head. “The man faced you on the battlefield… what, a brace of times? And had the astonishing arrogance to declare you a kindred spirit simply because you lasted longer than ten seconds? I would advise that you take his words with a grain of salt. Possibly an entire pillar.”

“But what if he was right?” Instead of the measured response she’d expected, he began to laugh. She swatted his forearm with a fierce scowl, but he didn’t stop; he just leaned back, bracing his weight against his hands, and his laughter echoed against the darkened windows and dirt-caked stones of the old house. “What- why are you laughing? I’m being serious!”

“I know you are, sweetling,” he gasped, “that’s why I’m laughing.”

“Great. Bloody terrific,” Aurelia huffed. She rolled away and let herself flop onto the grass, pouting at him. “I’m glad you find my existential crisis so godsdamned amusing.”

“Before you returned to Gyr Abania,” he managed between chuckles, the bastard, “you rang me over that long-distance receiver prototype we put together while very deep in your cups, and was it for some dire emergency or news that these Doman friends of yours had been captured? No, no it was not. You rang me to cry over a stray kitten you and your friends found in some Kugane alleyway.”

Her face colored. She (vaguely) remembered that.

“In my defense, I didn’t realize just how strong Hingan rice wine could actua-”

“Literal crying. Actual tears. I compromised a castrum’s signal tower so that the eikon-slayer could drunk-dial me from Othard in the middle of the night to sob across two thousand malms of ocean and continent about ‘toe beans,’ whatever the hells that is.”

“…Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m always funny.”

“That’s debatable,” she grumbled.

“At any rate, my point being, and yes, I did have a point– crossing blades with a madman doesn’t have to hold some greater underlying meaning about man’s conscious embrace of our inherently violent nature, or whatever tiresome and self-aggrandizing monologue he chose to inflict upon you.” Nero paused mid-speech to uncork the bottle, raise it to his lips, and tilt it back for a long draught before he continued. “Meanwhile, you are sitting here consumed by guilt because you’ve taken some absurd notion that he might have had a point. The very fact it worries you should tell you he was wrong.”

“I just… I don’t want that to… is that really how everyone looks at me?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain.”

(This is who we are! This is all we are!)

“I’m not a beast." Her voice cracked like cermet fired in an industrial kiln overlong, brittle and harsh.

"I know,” Nero said quietly.

“I’m not like him.”

“I know you’re not.”

“…I think I feel in the mood for a drink after all, if you’ve enough to share.”

He smiled. “I believe I can spare a glass or two.”

Aurelia sat up, leaned against the fountain, and took the bottle. The warm weight of his arm had settled across her shoulders, but it was not unwelcome. 

Despite the fact it was a warm night and she was still sticky with sweat, she leaned into him as she tilted the bottle back, resting against his side. A warm body was certainly more comfortable than unyielding masonwork, and she could feel the fingers that had been draped over her shoulder idly toying with a stray bit of her hair.

For a long time she was content to just sit like this, the two of them watching the last light of the sun fade from the sky, admiring the fantastic colors it had left in its wake. A flock of white water-birds took flight at the sudden sound of thumping and the whistle of exploding fireworks overhead, fired from the Porta Praetoria cannons across the loch. They rose aloft as one on soft wings beyond the walls of the city, calling to each other as they fled the sounds of jubilant humanity.

“Aurelia?" Her name, so very rarely spoken by him, pulled her attention away from the fireworks. Nero was still staring at a fixed point in the sky, platinum blond hair haloed in scarlet-streaked blue and encroaching twilight, and she realized he was very pointedly not looking at her. "I assume you’ll be staying in Gyr Abania for some time?”

“Are we making small talk or are you actually asking me to stay?”

“…You know perfectly well what I think of small talk,” he said testily. “Perhaps instead of answering my question with a question, a simple 'yes’ or 'no’ might suffice.”

“Then say what you meant to say and stop dancing about it.”

There was a trembling pause between them. He sighed.

“By the seven hells, woman.” His voice was perfectly even, but she saw the tension in his body. He’d already steeled himself for the rejection he clearly expected was imminent. “I am operating upon the hope that at the very least, after all these months, I might have done something to finally earn your forgiveness for what passed between us in Mor Dhona.”

She gave him a long and unflinching stare. And then, right as his eyes began to shift nervously away from her face, she kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm and he tasted of ridiculously expensive wine. It was quite nice so she decided she really ought to kiss him again, just to seal the memory of it in her mind’s eye. When the second wasn’t enough she kissed him a third time.

The hand that had been stroking her hair paused in surprise, then cupped the back of her head as he responded in kind, small featherlight touches of his lips that ran together like water.

“Far be it from me to object, mind you,” he murmured against her mouth as she pressed her brow against his, “but what’s this all of a sudden?”

“I can stop if you like." 

She felt the soft huff of his breath against her mouth as he laughed mid-kiss. Her fingers teased at his thick curls, gave them a light tug, nails scraping very lightly along the back of his neck- and she heard that laugh catch in his throat, a soft, ragged and quite undignified sound that vibrated against her lips.

"Consider yourself forgiven.”

[peoniepoetals]

@reya-writes​ - prompt contest - prompt #1 

You know you’ve lived long enough once the people who have been with you for centuries start to disappear.

Faecelle was the first to go. She turned into an oak three months after her 263rd birthday. She had told them two weeks beforehand, laying on the grass behind Bryrice's cottage in the Lowlake Forest, her hands under her head as a pillow and her eyes closed.

"I'm going to turn into a tree soon," she had said with a smile.

The others had blinked and looked at each other.

"How soon?" Quedira asked.

"Very soon. Within weeks."

"Why?" Bryrice had ventured to ask.

Faecelle was quiet for a moment, and the others just watched as a soft breeze played with her bangs. "I think I'm ready," she then said.

A cloud passed overhead, blocking the sun, and in the changed light, Faecelle seemed a lot older.

"Alright," Rye said, "I suppose that's fair."

Over the weeks that followed, they stayed together. Their little family watched as, suddenly, wrinkles were etched into Faecelle's skin, her hair turned grey and then white, and her eyes seemed to become glassy. Her dark skin turned almost rough to the touch, until it was indistinguishable from bark. Then one morning, Faecelle rooted herself to the forest floor and became a tree with a smile on her face.

The others watched her go in silence. It seemed right.

Rye was the next one to go, but this time, it was not peaceful.

Not yet a hundred years later, a powerful beast raged over a town Rye was visiting, and afterwards Bryrice and Quedira heard that Rye had stepped into the fray and brought it to its knees. Before they were able to give it the killing blow, however, it had forced them into the bottom of a lake. The only comfort Bryrice and Quedira got was the knowledge that people had seen Rye pass out before they hit the water - instead of struggling and dying in pain, it had probably been like going to sleep. Rye had given one more gift to the world. The town remembered them as a hero.

So did Bryrice. So did Quedira.

Together, they had 500 more years. They were fine years, where they lived in the cottage in the forest and gave advice to wandering adventurers who came across them by accident. They had faded into the background of society long ago, and the stories that had been written about them had long since been classified as fiction. Most people who ended up in their home didn't know who they were talking to - what they had done, over the years. They just came for a warm meal, a drink, a basic bed. Bryrice and Quedira listened to their stories and their goals, and helped them on their way if they can. Bryrice gave one of her most prized possessions, the feather of a dire-owl, to one of the small druids that had a particularly beautiful story to tell.

After those 500 years, they suffered a loss neither of them had been expecting: Quedira's son, Gorhin, had died suddenly, and left his wife and five children bereft. It was a blow in many ways. Quedira mourned her son deeply, and decided to move back to her family to help raise her grandchildren, knowing that Gorhin's wife Keira was extremely distraught and would need at least twenty years to get back on her feet.

She promised to come back, but she never got the chance. An illness swept through the area where the small family lived and took the lives of all but one. Quedi, the youngest of the bunch, lived with Bryrice for another 50 years. She tried her best to soothe the young girl, and taught her the ways of the creatures in the forest, how to find them, how to hunt them, which ones to honour and which to kill. She became quite good in her own time, and before long she left on her own adventure, the legagy of Quedira, The Call of the Wild, a secret she would keep for a long time.

Bryrice was left alone. She stayed there, in her cottage, for a hundred more years. Two hundred more years. Three hundred...

Then the biggest loss hit.

A necromancer, who reminded her so much of Fallar, their first and most despised foe, took control of the Lowlakes and brought back their dead. She started seeing apparitions, some good, some bad, and then Rye was on her doorstep again - translucent, hardly lucid, a mere wisp of consciousness in a body that couldn't fully exist.

They had come to Bryrice's cottage on instinct, they said, although they didn't know much of who they were, and before two months were over, they had just control over their own being entirely and devolved into a mindless creature who sought to harm as many as they could.

Bryrice went into the forest and made an arrow of elk and moss. She took out her old, worn bow, and she shot her friend in the chest. Rye turned into sludge on the forest floor, a horrid, gross substance that smelled like rotting seaweed and gas.

For a moment, Bryrice didn't know what to do with it. Eventually, she collected some of Faecelle's leaves and covered Rye with it. Something about the way that her family had returned to the Earth started to be depressing instead of comforting. Like they were really gone, and insignificant, somehow. It didn't matter who they had been - now they were drab and an oak. That's all.

It was about that time that Bryrice started to consider what she wanted to be after she died. How she wanted to decay.

A long time ago they had decided that their bodies had to be destroyed. Apparitions aside, none of their small little family wanted to be brougth back in a more substantial form. What happened to Rye had been unfortunate. Bryrice couldn't let the same happen to herself. And the thought of her ashes being used in a necromantic ritual 400 years from now made her shiver. Nothing could be left after she was gone. she would not be used like that, not after death. It wasn't right.

Eventually, she decided to visit an old friend.

She left her cottage for the last time, knowing that the moment had come for her to leave this planet on her own terms. She trudged back into the wilderness, through the Lowlakes, down the Marshland Hills, all the way to the Emerald Sea. There, she took a small boat and thought of Rye while she headed towards the deep sea trench where her family had once slain a terrible sea serpent.

They hadn't planned on destroying it, really - they were unexperienced, back then, funnily enough, and when the creature attacked they didn't know what else to do. It was only after they returned that they learned that when a sea serpent died, their decomposing body released certain smells that attracted countless other, smaller sea serpents, who would then battle for the old one's place in the eco system. There always had to be a sea serpent, it seemed. Always in the same place. It's why people didn't usually kill them.

The sea serpent Bryrice found at the place she had killed its brethren so many centuries before was far more powerful than the former one had been - of course, it had been around for a long time now. Its consciousness seemed to be more human-like, more communicative. When Bryrice cast a spell to speak with it, the creature had no trouble whatsoever understanding her.

"I've come to feed you," she said.

"And what have exactly have you brought me, earthchild?"

"Myself."

"You would give yourself as a sacrifice?"

"No. I'm not trying to start a cult. Those usually end up harming more people than they help, in my experience. Even the good ones."

"Then what?"

"I am just here to be destroyed."

The sea serpent was quiet for a moment and regarded her.

Bryrice noticed she was shaking. She wasn't entirely sure why. "You will gnaw my bones?" she asked, "You will drain me and leave nothing at all?"

"If you wish, earthchild, then yes."

"It is what your brethren promised me years ago."

Back then, it had been a threat. Now, it seemed like a soothing promise.

For a momeny, Bryrice thought that the sea serpent would argue. That they would ask her if she was sure. Instead, it was on her in a flash, its jaws around her tiny boat, and then there was darkness.

-

When she woke up, she was laying on the grass behind her cottage. When she opened her eyes, someone beside her leaned over her immediately.

"Ah," Faecelle said, "She's up!"

"I don't understand," Bryrice whispered, "I thought you were ready."

Faecelle nodded. "I was."

"Well, I wasn't." Rye dropped down next to them with a grumble, "I was in the prime of my life!"

"You've been saying that since you were 83, Rye," Quedira chuckled. She was staring in some kind of crystal intently.

"What's that?"

"What? Oh! That's Quedi." Quedira held out the crystal for Bryrice to look in, and, sure enough, there was young Quedi, not so young anymore, trying her best to create her own legacy.

Quedira smiled. "I've been keeping an eye on her."

Bryrice dropped back onto the grass and looked at the sky. It was pink, here. Not blue.

"Is that what we do, on this side?" she asked, "We just... look?"

"Oh no," Faecelle said, and she clasped Bryrice's hand, "We were just waiting for you. We were actually thinking of going back."

"I just got here."

"Here is not really anywhere."

"But where would we go?"

"Back," Rye repeated, "To see the world again. I feel like it's different now. Things keep changing, you know."

"I thought you wanted to leave," Bryrice told Faecelle again.

Faecelle shook her head. "Sometimes a body needs to become a tree. But a soul needs to be with their family."

"Isn't that why you came here?" Rye asked.

Quedira was still smiling at the crystal.

"Is that why you want to go back?" Bryrice asked, "For her?"

"It would be funny, wouldn't it?" Quedira chuckled, "If I could come to her for advice next?"

"I don't understand life and death," Bryrice said.

"Don't get too caught up on them." Faecelle smiled down at her. "There are far more important things about."

[seasaltedglass]

I Wouldn’t Choose You - Kit/Ty Fanfiction

Hello! This is my very first fan fiction, so if its terrible please ignore it and carry on with your day :) This was written for the ‘Lord of Shadows Challenge’ hosted by @incorrectdarkartifices and @carstairsdaily. It is based on the characters Kit and Ty from the Dark Artifices series written by @cassandraclare. Theme -April Week 9: Vampires. Thank you both for the opportunity to write it! Here it is!

The Clave had become crueler, stricter over the years, regarding the Downworld. The Accords were still silently intact, but it had been long since Downworlders and Shadowhunters had taken up arms with one another.

An outbreak of rogue vampires had swept the Shadow World. Some of Valentines experiments, from many years ago, had survived and escaped their prison, the location of which was still a mystery. They were now infecting humans and already turned vampires, turning them into a species much like that of the Forsaken, except with fangs and annoyingly inconvenient immortality.

The Claves instructions? Kill immediately. An order, funnily enough, that didn’t differentiate infected vampires from non infected ones.

The streets were dark and vacant. It was after all, three in the morning. Nothing could be seen, save for the glowing white light that floated along in the murky blackness, illuminating the figure who held it, as well as his companion. They were clad in dark gear, and the colours of their hair starkly contrasted each other; one with a head of gold blonde and one with ink black. Anyone of the New York Shadow World may have recognised them as the great and formidable Jace Herondale and Alec Lightwood, famous Shadowhunter warriors, brothers and parabatai, who were known and feared among all beings, heavenly and hellish.

Be that as it may, this was not New York; it was in fact Los Angeles, and the boys with hair that could be mistaken for that of Jace and Alec’s, went by the names of Kit Herondale and Tiberius Blackthorn.

Ty held his witchlight ahead of him, illuminating the dark asphalt in his path. Kit walked close beside him, hand on the hilt of his seraph blade, ready to unsheathe it at any moment. He glanced around him uneasily; this was only his second or third time out in the field, after 3 or so years of training, and he hadn’t yet mastered the art of total and utter fearlessness that accompanied the job that was hunting demons. Ty had offered to mark him with a fearless rune, however, Kit was very strongly opposed to that idea, especially since Ty didn’t need one himself.

Ty noticed Kit’s wariness, and hid his grin.

“You know, it would be a lot more strategic if we were to use the night vision rune, so that we could see in the dark. This witchlight is either scaring everything off, or we have 100 vampiric eyes on us right now. We are kind of a walking target.”

Kit scoffed. “Runes are much too Shadowhuntery, and I still totally object to all of this. I mean, sure there’s that one useful healing rune -”

“The iratze,” Ty drawled, enjoying winding Kit up. Kit knew exactly what it was called, and Ty knew it. He had marked them into Kit’s skin with his own stele many times.

Kit narrowed his eyes. “Whatever, THAT one is useful. The rest are just, like cheating. Magical cheating.”

“Ah,” Ty nodded mock understandingly. “So a night vision rune is too unnatural, but an angelic stone, powered by heavenly magic that only glows at a Shadowhunter’s will, isn’t?”

Kit shoved Ty, and Ty laughed. Kit liked the sound of his laugh, something he didn't really hear often; smooth, velvety and light, kind of like music.

“So,” Ty started wryly once he’d stopped laughing. “How was your Herondale bonding session with Jace yesterday?”

If Kit wasn't completely oblivious to almost everything around him, he might have noticed the hint of jealousy in Ty’s voice, at the fact that Kit liked hanging out with someone other than him.

“They aren't bonding sessions, they're training sessions!” exclaimed Kit. 

It was true, Jace having taken great interest in Kit the moment he learnt of his true last name, had requested private training sessions with him. Kit, who at first, had thought upon the idea with great disgust, was swayed only when Ty had convinced him. Kit also had to admit that he was curious about Jace, and given that his entire family history had been a lie, had really no choice. Besides, although he’d never say so, Kit had come to like Jace a lot.  

“Sure,” Ty grinned. “What did you guys do?”

Kit huffed, and ran a hand through his golden hair. “We practiced a whole bunch of sword techniques and then he showed me some new jumping skills and mid-air manoeuvres. Then we went out to get hot chocolate and talked about stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah,” Kit replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Family stuff, Shadowhunter stuff. I think he’s trying to pass some kind of esteemed Herondale legacy onto me, incase he never has any children. Which honestly sucks, considering he's THE Jace Herondale and no one could really live up to that, especially someone like me.”

Kit kicked at a pebble on the ground and watched it bounce away from him.

“Of course you could,” Ty said firmly, taking Kit by surprise. “Also, I’m sure he’s not trying to do that on purpose. He probably just really likes hanging out and talking to you, you’re about the closest he will ever get to having a younger brother by blood.”

Kit remained quiet. He had never really thought about it like that. Ty had a funny way of doing that to him, making him see above and beyond, with new perspectives.

“I guess you could be right,” Kit said thoughtfully. He grinned. “I mean, who wouldn't want to hang out with me? I’m perfect.”

“Oh please,” Ty scoffed, although, when he glanced at Kit’s clear blue eyes, golden hair and facial features of the graceful, Herondale-esque nature, he couldn’t help but agree. “I think you’ve been hanging out with Jace a little too much. Or is that arrogance an unfortunate trait all Herondales inherit? Along with that god awful blonde hair?” 

“You love my hair,” Kit said defiantly. 

“No,” Ty retorted. ‘Yes,’ he thought. 

Kit smiled, a blinding, beautiful smile. Ty had spent quite a while internally training himself to not be entirely distracted by it, which had indeed been a difficult feat.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Blackthorn. Anyway, we talked about Parabatai. He explained that whole strange situation to me, anything I hadn’t already read from the Codex. He talked about himself and Alec, and aside from the weird intimacy of it all, I think it’s actually kind of cool.”

Ty looked at him in shock, hand over his heart. “You finally found an element of Shadowhunting cool and I wasn’t there to witness it? Unbelievable.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “The whole ‘fighting together makes you stronger’ thing is pretty neat.” He regarded Ty curiously. “Have you ever considered having a parabatai?”

Ty shrugged. “If I did, it would have always been Livvy. She has asked me a few times, but I said no. If you have a parabatai then you're forbidden to study at the Scho -”

“The Scholomance, yeah I know,” Kit interrupted bitterly. Any time Ty had talked animatedly of his desire to join the Scholomance, to leave the Institute, Kit could only think of Ty leaving him, and could not even pretend to be happy for him.

“Anyway,” Ty continued warily. “Would you ever have a Parabatai?”

“Well, yeah I think so. Like I said, it sounds cool. Although, I don’t know who it would be,” Kit mused. “It’s not like I’m that fond of very many Shadowhunters.”

Kit glanced at Ty, the boy who had been his one and only friend, who had healed him and taught him all he knew and convinced him to embrace the part of himself he had been so adamant on pushing away. “To be completely honest, I’d probably choose you.”

“I wouldn’t choose you,” Ty said frankly, still looking straight ahead.

Kit sighed. He was never angry at Ty’s bluntness, even when they first met, he knew it was a part of him that made him different. It only sometimes made him a little bit frustrating.

“I know Ty, you told me just then your Parabatai would be Livvy. I was just -”

“That's not why I wouldn’t choose you.”

Kit frowned. “Well then why-?” He noticed Ty had stopped walking, and turned to see him standing there, staring at him with an incredibly unreadable expression.

Suddenly, Kit remembered one specific passage from the Shadowhunter’s Codex. One he had read over many times, although he didn’t know why.

A passage that condemned the explicitly forbidden act of falling in love with your Parabatai.

Ty stepped towards him slowly. He was half a head taller than Kit, something he liked to tease him about to no end.

Kit noticed that Ty’s pale skin was slightly flushed, even though they had only been walking. He was suddenly aware of the closeness between them, and could count the light freckles that dusted Ty’s nose. He could see the way that the moonlight illuminated his angular cheekbones, sharpened his straight and defined jawline and glinted off of his black hair.

Kit was overcome with the urge to run his hands through that hair, and clenched his fists so hard that he could feel his nails pierce into his skin.

And god, his eyes. Their usual beautiful grey was now a glowing silver, framed by long, dark lashes. Kit remembered the first time he had seen those eyes, as silver as the knife that Ty had held to his throat when they first met.

He remembered 14 year old Tiberius Blackthorn, who had lonesomely ventured into the dangerous world, so desperate to protect the people he loved that he would risk his own life without hesitation.

“How beautiful,” he had thought.

Ty gripped the side of Kit’s waist with one hand and brought the other to his face. He brushed a purely golden lock of his hair out of his eyes.

Those cerulean, sea blue eyes that had barged in on Ty’s life, knocked down the walls he had built around himself and taken up permanent residency within him, no matter how hard he had tried to shake them.

Time seemed to slow down, as he cupped one side of Kits face, fingers lightly gripping the soft curls behind his ear and thumb running across his cheekbone, downward and over his lips, which were partially open, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He felt the sharp curve of Kits jawline under his hand, and the muscles that moved as Kit swallowed.

They were so close that that Kit could feel Ty’s light breath on his mouth; the sweet smell of mint and a hint of chocolate. Kit vaguely recalled Ty chewing on a plain milk chocolate bar before they left for their mission. He had bought it for him from a convenience store, because he knew they were Ty’s favourite. Kit wondered if the taste of chocolate was still left on his lips, and found himself wanting dearly to find out.

Kit’s glanced upward from Ty’s lips, only to discover that Ty was looking at his own. Only micrometers apart, all either of them would have to do was move forward -

Kit’s eyes widened. He grabbed Ty and shoved him behind himself, holding him there. In one smooth, singular motion, he unsheathed his blade, cried out its angelic name and plunged it into the heart of the vampire that had sped towards them, towards where Ty had been seconds before.

He briefly glimpsed its deranged eyes, dark veined face and fangs coated in black blood before it exploded into nothing.

The world was silent again, save for his and Ty’s heavy breathing. He was faintly aware that he was still standing protectively in front of Ty, gripping his arm and holding it behind his back.

“Jace teach you that, did he?” Ty said, still trying to catch his breath.

Wordlessly, Kit nodded. He turned to face Ty, not letting go of him, searching him for any injury he may have sustained, when suddenly they heard a cry. They turned just as Livvy bounded into them, knocking them both over.

“Are you alright? I’m so sorry, I should have been here! Are either of you hurt? How did you kill it? Oh my goodness, please tell me you’re alright! I tried calling you to tell you that there was an Infected in your area but neither of you would pick up! Oh, I was so worried-”

“Chill Livvy, we’re fine,” Kit said muffled, his mouth full of her hair. They all sat up and Ty fended Livvy’s fussing off as best he could.

“Livvy quit it. Kit killed the vampire, we are safe, I promise. See?” Ty held up his hands, “Not even a scratch.”

Livvy  wrapped her arms around him tightly. Ty responded, wrapping his own protectively around her small frame, stroking her hair, whispering reassurance and words of comfort into her ear, as they had been doing since they were tiny children.

He looked at Kit, who couldn’t look at him. “Kit,” Ty started, but Kit was already on his feet.

“You were right about the night vision rune. I’ll use it from now on,” Kit said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The shakiness of it had nothing to do with the vampire that had just attacked them.

“You’re hurt,” Ty stated with slight anguish. He let go of Livvy and lightly held Kits forearm up so that he could investigate it. There was a deep gash that was now welling with blood; the vampire had managed to claw at him before it disappeared.

He hadn't even noticed, he was too preoccupied with making sure Ty was okay.

“Kit,” Ty said gently, “Let me -”

“No it’s fine, I’ll do it,” Kit said abruptly.

He pulled out his stele and drew an iratze on his arm. Within seconds, the pain that had momentarily been there had vanished, and the cut begin to heal itself. With a start, Kit noticed that the skin on his palms that he had broken with his fingernails had begun to heal as well.

Ty noticed this too.

He tried to speak, but Kit cut him off once again.

“We should get going. I’ll see you both back at the Institute.” With that, he walked away briskly.

“Kit!” Ty called, but he didn't turn around. He was too busy forcing himself not to miss the feeling of Ty’s hands on his skin, of his fingers in his hair, of his soft looking lips so goddamn close.

He tried not to think about the fact that Ty had said his name three times within the last minute, forced himself to stop feeling that certain way all three of those times, no, every time, every single time Tiberius Blackthorn said his name.

He tried not to think of the reason that they would never, ever want to be parabatai.

That was just it though. However hard he tried, however much he forced himself, he just couldn’t stop.

[c9sneaksen-blog]

on a heartstring [2]

Word Count: 2534

Alright. Guess who went over the limitations by 500 words just one week after they established the limitations… 

… Me! And I guess I can’t help it. Hopefully we can all look past that and enjoy the chapter anyway. 

Need to recap before proceeding? Click here to read part one!

—

Normally, usually, under typical circumstances, the sound of a bell would be quite unpleasant, quite off-putting, and quite, well, quite fucking terrible to Zach. However, this time, it was not just the bell– but the bell that transitioned seventh period– to eighth period.

And eighth period, mind you, was Drama. And Zach had been waiting for this all day– as dorky, geeky, and nerdy as it sounded. So, just once– for a nice change of pace– Zach, as he was awoken from his half-daydream-half-dream-dream (as in, he had nodded off at some point during class), had never been more glad to hear the school bell ring in his 17 revolutions around the sun. (Well, excluding that time in freshman year when he really needed to pee, and it was an hour long assembly.)

It was a fairly calm walk down to the auditorium– located on the east side of the building; the side that was also known for the dirtied, paint-chipped walls, yellowed with age, mysteriously bad smells lurking about the deeper in you went. Once a week, it smelled of teacher-bought windex and used disinfectant wipes– but usually only on Mondays.

Zach pushed open those tall, oak doors, the outer coating of shine and polish long worn away, and was met with the old, and delightful, scent of a years-old auditorium.

Yes, for sure, years-old– the school, as most American schools are, are funnily and peculiarly neglectful of their arts programs… and their basic necessities. Interestingly enough, the school football field had, however, recently gotten newer renovations.

But, the auditorium was no place to be thinking about things like that. Especially not when this was Zachary Scuderi’s favorite class of the day, and he was not going to let the basic necessities– or lack thereof– or football field renovations– ruin any of it.

The auditorium was quite large, best described to be the (non-alcoholic) love cocktail of vellichor and anemoia; the combined forces of a favorite bookstore coupled with the amusement park you often passed during road trips, always eyeing the large rollercoasters up and, somehow, never having crossed paths with it. To the naked eye, it looked fairly normal– with the faded, red, scratchy seats and a big, semicircle stage, wood worn and floorboards creaky in all of the places that heroes and villains and love interests have walked upon. There were stage lights missing– there were always and were always going to be stage lights missing– speakers not yet obscured from audience view via large, crimson curtains– the steps leading down the aisles alight with neon yellow glow sticks.

However, to the eye of the theatre kid, or to the techie, the auditorium was two parts fitzcarraldo, one part grandiose. Within those creaky floorboards, dusty chests of props unused, just mild must in the air, there was something special, something magical– a magic that was not open to all; because, truth was, where the floorboards are pulling apart on stage, and the upholstery peeling away on the seats, the theatre kids and the tech crew see stories– they see dreams– they see the marks of those who sat in the seats before them, the footsteps, the same traffic patterns over, and over, circulating all over stage; of musicals produced long ago, of dances, of many kisses– some with secrets scrawled in between the hearts and the initials on the walls of the dressing rooms in the back– people saw. But the theatre kids– the tech crew– see.

It was a magic that was reserved for the kids who had scenes and lines racing in between the bare spaces of their mind, not yet occupied by something of the outside, darting in and out of aisles of paint-chipped walls and creaky doors, rough curtains and scratchy seats– a magic that was seldom shared– only ever on production nights could other students see– feel– hear.

As Zach seated himself in one of those worn, red seats scattered aisles upon aisles, the noisy class– lots of faces, mostly familiar, a couple unsure and new, seated amongst themselves– were greeted by the drama teacher.

“Ayy,” said teacher chortled, walking onto stage from behind the long curtains, seating himself down on stage, legs dangling off, “welcome to Drama, everybody– but before I start talking– can you guys hear me?” Gesturing to lots of kids– mostly new– seated towards the back of the auditorium, he then effused, “If you can’t, move up! Please! Seriously. My doctor said at the rate I’m going, I’m going to lose my voice in ten years. And he was like, ‘why are you yelling so much?’ And then I told him why– I’m a Drama teacher at a high school– and he just sighed.”

This seemingly bubbly, light-hearted, and especially loquacious man– was Mr. C, as he liked to be called (“my real name is weird, you see,” he had said, and always said, on the first day of class, “so just call me Mr. C.”)– and, as he had just told the class, he was, in fact, the Drama teacher at the high school. He was well-liked and quite beloved by all of the students, though, even more adored by the theatre kids and tech crew alike. He was, in reality, quite a peculiar teacher– having once been a mathematics professor at one of the local universities– and he was quite young, too, at the age of 29. Mr. C was best known for his talkative nature– and to be caught laughing at most of his own jokes (lots of which were horrible puns)– but, of course, he was kind, and empathetic, and, in his own right, pretty hilarious, and this, of course, won him some favor from his students.

Students responded to this plea by moving up, albeit tentatively, some aisles towards the front. “Yes, just like that!” Mr. C was now gesticulating wildly, in his own, funny little way of encouraging this action, “Really– you all look as though you were prepared to run out through the back doors in case this all went south. I don’t bite– so don’t worry! The only thing you’ve got to worry about here are the mice. But they aren’t particularly wild, so I doubt they’re going to bite.” Half of the students laughed at this, while the other half recounted the actual, very real, incidents that involved mice in the room.

“So– hello! I’m Mr.–” Cut off by the horrid ringing of the schoolbell, Mr. C sighed and stopped, “okay, as I was saying– I’m Mr. C– just Mr. C. You can ask all of the other students why I am just so–”

“His real name’s weird!” An unruly boy stood up, proclaimed this, and then sat down.

“Yes,” Mr. C bellowed back, “thank you, Jack. Anyway– as I was saying– to some of you, welcome back to Drama!” The garrulous and chipper drama teacher scanned his eyes across the room, landing upon a particular group of people, and, mysteriously, his eyes then bounced over to a corner of the room, “And to some of you– welcome– for the first time! And, on that note, we’ve got some introductions to do…”

As he was met by sunken, nervous eyes, leg jiggles and raveling and unraveling hands, Mr. C scooted closer to the back of the stage, tucking his legs into a criss-cross sitting position, “Now, now, I know. Introductions are weird, and bad, and awkward. Which leads me to ask you– group of people whom I’ve not ever seen before– and any others with unfamiliar faces– how many of you are here for tech?” Practically the entire group raised their hands– at which, Mr. C chuckled.

“Alright, you guys– I guess you’re fine.” Zach inwardly laughed at himself and the rest of the tech crew– it was true that they were the antisocial backbone of the theatre. “But, surprise! I was actually not going to ask most of you to introduce yourselves– just one person!” With a quick (and somehow graceful– albeit mildly wild) motion, and a couple of strong snaps of the finger, he gestured to the corner that he had previously glanced towards, “You! Right. You’re the one I’m picking on this year.”

Mr. C did this every year; he would always pick out one person amongst the crowd of people that he did not recognize, and asked them to introduce themselves. Of course, if you said no, you said no (Mr. C was not a heartless, cruel monster of a teacher)– but, funnily enough, he had a great eye to pick out the actors and actresses of these new, unfamiliar crowds of people, and, as they were to be the actors and actresses in the sea of the theater, they typically did not mind introductions.

Zach instinctively looked over to watch this figure– a quite lanky one at that– hesitantly make their way over by the stairs to the stage, as did all of the other theatre kids, and techies, and to-be-techies.

And his first thought was, wow, he looks really fucking cool.

And this was thought because, well, he did, in fact, look extremely cool. This figure– quite lanky, yet short– shorter than Zach, probably, he supposed, looked quite cool with the stage lights atop him– illuminating his ghostly white paleness, his dirty blond hair, and his eyes, even– quite blue, Zach could see, even being a couple of aisles away from the stage. They were quite striking– in such a way that it both made you curious of him, want to get to know him– and also made you highly intimidated of him. That might have just been Zach, though.

This incredibly skinny, ghostly, cool-looking figure wore equally cool-looking clothing. He donned a white shirt– which, beneath the lighting, Zach could observe, was not at all baggy, but almost had the illusion of being so (particularly because this figure was so skinny)– a black jacket with silver-colored zippering, which ended just below his shirt (and was well-fitted in the way that it may have made his shoulders look broader, though, his lankiness was unmistakable), and black jeans. Zach supposed he probably wasn’t the sort to like flashy colors, but– the way he was dressed now– was quite cool in its own right.

“Wow, you look quite ghostly,” Mr. C uttered– possibly what everyone, including Zach, was thinking– “you are an actor, right? You look quite pale to be up on stage. Unless, of course, you are just that pale,” he stopped himself from further speaking (before his garrulous nature made him get out of hand), “are you?”

For a split second, the figure looked out into the sea of theatre kids– looking much darker and hidden in comparison to his figure beneath yellow stage lights– and had a bit of an out-of-breath laugh. “Yes,” was all he had said.

“Well, I won’t stop you, I guess, from however way you would like to introduce yourself,” Mr. C lightly encouraged him, “although, if you’d like to sing a little ditty about yourself– or tell us in Shakespearean language– who you may be, and where you are from, and what you’d like for us to call you– because who you are and who you’d like to be called are, in actuality, two very different things– then, I won’t stop you from that either.”

Zach felt a tad bit bad for this student, who was currently staring into the audience– some sort of an abyss– some sort of an abyss that still withheld people in its strange sort of way. And then, he opened his mouth.

“‘Sup,” he uttered, voice wavering just a tad bit, as he removed his right hand from his jacket pocket briefly to flash a little peace sign– to no one in particular– “uh… I’m Nicolaj.” For comfort, or for knowledge, he glanced at Mr. C’s sitting form, who looked up at him in a sort of “go on, then” way. “I’m from Denmark.” Then, as if to fulfill some sort of verbal quota, he quickly added, “Nicolaj Jensen. That’s– my full name. If Nicolaj’s too hard for you, you can just call me Jensen.”

Then, he smiled– and not into the seemingly empty, yet existent crowd of people– but, seemingly, at Zach.

Never having been randomly smiled at by strangers much before (unless you counted all of those “aunts” at large-scale family reunions), Zach was unsure of how to respond. With great uncertainty, he offered a tiny, albeit timid, smile back. This figure– Nicolaj Jensen– feeling relieved to have gotten some sort of response back, for consolement, broke out into a bit of a grin, and averted his bright, blue eyes away.

And Zach’s second thought was, oh, wow, he’s very attractive.

But he couldn’t really be sure that he hadn’t already thought that at the start– it was, in fact, entirely possible that he had merely only acknowledged said thought up to this point.

He felt something weird and warm crawling around in the palms of his hand, riding his trains of veins all throughout his arms, feeling them tingle and spark– for seemingly– no good reason.

“Wow,” Mr. C had chirped, “from Denmark? I knew you were special from all the rest! I mean, not to say that all of the kids here aren’t special. But– well– you get what I mean.” Momentarily, he stared up into the stage lights, as though he saw something of interest– then, completely disregarded this, turning back to the new student. “And why, might I ask, are you here?”

Tugging upwards on his collar, almost as though to bite it, then deciding against it, Jensen replied, “I mean…,” his tongue-heavy accent slipping through the cracks of his voice, “for the same reason that everyone else is here?”

Zach couldn’t help but inhale a bit of a laugh through his nose at that one.

“Very tricky answer,” Mr. C remarked, wiggling a singular eyebrow at this response, almost as though to both commend Jensen for his answer and to poke good-natured fun at it, “anyways.” he clapped his hands together, standing up from his spot on stage in a swift motion, “what an interesting introduction we’ve had this year! You can step down now.” Jensen– a bit enthusiastically, with a bit of a phew escaping his lips– hopped down from the stage, foregoing the stairs. “Just don’t sit in that little corner again! Be one with all of these theatre kids– and tech kids.”

As though his feet moved on their own, Jensen found himself at the ends of an aisle– where a certain bronze-haired, similarly blue-eyed (although they were framed with glasses), boy sat. So he sat there– on that end– Zach seated two seats down from him towards the middle.

Zach gave him a quarter of a wave, raising his fingers off of the armrest of his seat, coupled with a more confident smile this time. He mouthed, “Hey.”

“Yo,” Jensen mouthed back, flashing another peace sign.

And for the rest of class, Jensen sat, quietly, listening to the ramblings of his strange new teacher, Mr. C. And Zach tried to ignore the steadily-spreading warmth that had begun to creep up the back of his neck.

[albinohare]

Alex Thomson profile: Understanding the man behind the suit

Alex Thomson is embarking on his fifth Vendée Globe campaign, Helen Fretter finds out what drives him

“I don’t really want to be associated with someone who can’t be bothered to tuck their shirt in.”

Everyone knows Alex Thomson. He’s not only one of the most immediately recognisable IMOCA 60 skippers, but one of the few sailors who have managed to transcend the sport and – very nearly – become a household name. He’s done mid-ocean live link-ups with BBC Breakfast news, millions have watched his Keelwalk, Mastwalk and Skywalk videos on social media, he’s hung out with Lewis Hamilton and appeared in glossy magazines like GQ.

He’s the one with the monochromatic boats, the slick suits, the crazy stunts. He was the wunderkind who became the youngest ever skipper to win the Clipper Round the World Race in 1999 aged just 25. He has big budget campaigns with a huge marketing profile, he talks a good game, and is not shy of sharing his confidence in his own abilities.

He’s had one of the most spectacular and public runs of misfortune; sinking, capsized, hit by a fishing boat, coming down with appendicitis 24 hours before the start of a race. But he’s also twice smashed the 24-hour world sailing speed record.

So all that must make Thomson a big talent, a big ego, who pushes his boats too hard and takes too many risks, right? Well, that – partly – is his public persona. But personas can only ever be a cartoon sketch of a person. And Alex, with his Milk Tray man suits and James Bond-styled boat, is easily drawn.

As a marketing strategy, it’s brilliant. It has made Alex Thomson and his succession of Hugo Boss IMOCA 60s (six at last count) one of the most recognisable, consistent and high profile brands in sports sponsorship. Up to a certain point, it suits him. He is charismatic, super-confident, fiercely competitive, and a little bit flash.

But he’s also been dealt some of the harshest lessons in vulnerability and failure a sportsman can face. He has continued a commercial partnership throughout situations that seem, on paper, impossible – the Hugo Boss sponsorship deal has, he points out, survived three different CEOs and CMOs (chief marketing officers) at the German luxury goods brand.

Article continues below…

Wendy Tuck profile: The pioneering yachtswoman making her own luck

Wendy Tuck did not set out with ambitions of breaking new ground for female sailing when she signed up for…

The Tracy Edwards profile – why sailing’s trailblazer is back with Maiden

Sportspeople – and sailors are no exception here – can be a little… one-dimensional. That single focus which makes competitive…

More critically, it has also survived having one boat abandoned and two severely damaged pre-race, and 14 years of campaigning without that elusive big win. “They’ve been terribly loyal, more so than they needed to be,” he notes.

When Thomson finished 3rd in the 2012 Vendée Globe, it was the first solo round the world race he’d ever completed, having pulled out of his two previous Vendées and abandoned ship in the Velux 5 Oceans. To sustain a career for so long (2020 will be his fifth Vendée Globe attempt) proves that Thomson is more than a one-dimensional image.

Talking to him about how he has developed over two decades of trying to succeed at one of sport’s toughest challenges reveals complexities, almost contradictions. Last year he was named the 2018 YJA Yachtsman of the Year. It’s an award voted for by sailing journalists. Given Thomson’s high profile, and inherent media friendliness, it surprised me to realise this as the first time he’d received it. It doesn’t surprise Thomson.

“I haven’t really won anything!” he says, giving me a very direct look. “I won the Clipper in 1998 and I was nominated Offshore Yachtsman of the Year, but I haven’t won anything else, have I?”

Photo: Anthony Jones / Lloyd Images

It’s true that while Thomson has achieved plenty in the intervening 20 years – podium finishes in two Vendée Globes and a Barcelona World Race, transatlantic and 24-hour record times – he hasn’t actually won much.

Unlike many of the French skippers, for whom events like the Transat Jacques Vabre and Route du Rhum are of huge significance, for Thomson, with his English team and German backers, the shorter races are something of a necessary evil. He doesn’t particularly enjoy them and doesn’t have a great track record in them.

“I find the sprints really hard actually,” he says, “The Route du Rhum will be really hard for me [Ed note: this article appeared in the May 2018 issue of Yachting World, before Alex ran aground during the 2018 Route du Rhum when about to win his first IMOCA transatlantic race] and I really struggle with the New York to Vendée. You don’t really have time to get into the rhythm, by the time you get into it it’s finished.”

It was Thomson’s 2017 Vendée Globe 2nd place finish, coming on the back of a 3rd in 2012/13, that really proved he could deliver consistently top level results – and silenced the critics. “I don’t sail any differently now to then,” Thomson observes.

Photo: Lloyd Images

“In some ways, I was quite lucky to end up with that kind of reputation. Not so much reckless, maybe maverick, which is what people would say; that I pushed it too hard. It’s better than being thought of as too slow, isn’t it? So at the beginning, I enjoyed it. Then there came a period when obviously I was breaking the boat a lot, where it became a bit painful for while. And now I don’t really care. I am who I am.

“I’m not the only one stuff has happened to – go and look at Bernard Stamm’s record, it’s a hard game to be in. But I don’t think I ever pushed the boat too hard. I can’t think of any occasion when the boat’s broken because I’ve been ragging it!”

Mike Golding raced against Thomson for over a decade. “I don’t think he is reckless,” comments Golding, “I think he pushes extremely hard and he’s spent a long time trying to adjust the dials to get a boat to survive his treatment. But he seems to have got that right now. And the net result is he’s extremely competitive.

“He definitely works at the outside edge of the boat, but there’s nothing wrong with that. That can be a winning formula. And he does that, not just on the water, but also in his choices. He’s not constrained by convention.”

What Thomson did change was how he runs his campaigns. “It was really hard to go through the first five or six years in my IMOCA career with all the stuff that happened. You have to learn how to pick yourself up.

“But the reality is in sport you make your own luck, and the lucky teams are, funnily enough, the ones that get the details right and tick more boxes than anybody else.

“So the game-changing moment for me was the realisation that we couldn’t run the team in the way we were. And that was when I started looking for someone to come in and run the business side of it.”

Team CEO Stuart Hosford joined from a successful career at RBS in 2010. “He brought not only a business point of view but he helped bring in the process and the systems that run our team. So sometimes there’s quite a lot of bureaucracy within our team, but we feel that’s how we have to do it in order to capture all the detail.”

Photo: Lloyd Images

The focus on eliminating mistakes was hugely informed by the lead up to the 2008 Vendée Globe, when Hugo Boss was holed and dismasted by a French fishing vessel en route to the start in Les Sables d’Olonne – a situation that ‘absolutely should have been avoided’, says Thomson.

Ten years on, he still gets animated when thinking back to that incident. You do not get many chances in ocean racing, and to throw one away like that hurts.

“That was a boat that was so ready to do that race. It had done the miles. To be honest, that was my best chance to win the Vendée… before this time. It was a hard pill to swallow.”

Having come so close in 2017, there was no real question that he wouldn’t go around the world again in 2020. “I promised my wife that this was the last one… gone,” he recalls drily. “It’s so onerous, it takes up so much. Kay and I had agreed that would be the last one, and then I phoned her the night before the finish [in 2017].

Alex with his family at the end of the 2016-17 Vendée Globe Race. Photo: Lloyd Images

“I said, ‘Look, at the press conference the first question will be, am I going to do it again?’ And she said, ‘Well, you came 3rd and 2nd, it would feel a bit wrong if you didn’t want to go again and go for the win, so if you want to do it I’ll support you.’ So I’m definitely doing one more Vendée.. shall we just…” he pauses, “Let’s just say that!”

“I feel physically and mentally fit to be able to go and win the next one. But the day I don’t feel like I can win, then I’ll stop.”

Thomson says he never feels daunted about the danger of sailing around the world. But this is where the contradictions come in – the mental gymnastics required to balance a life lived on the edge.

“The daunting bit is choosing to spend that time alone, that’s the hard bit to get over. If you are used to sailing on the ocean, it’s just… nice.”

Flying the flag en route to 2nd place in the last Vendée Globe, equalling Ellen MacArthur’s result in 2001 as the best non- French finisher. Photo: Marine Nationale / Nefertiti / Vendée Globe

His father was a search and rescue helicopter pilot (his mother died when he was a teenager). I wondered if watching his dad pluck people from the sea gave him a different perception of those dangers?

“No,” says Alex, “You see, you made the assumption that what I do is risky, now I don’t think it is. I never feel at risk. The boats are safe, they really are, they’re amazing bits of kit, fully unsinkable now.”

Has he never felt that perhaps he had just run out of luck? “Maybe, momentarily. Maybe upside down in this boat two years ago, there was like a 20 second period of ‘bollocks to this!’”

That’s not to say he doesn’t feel fear. During his first mid-ocean rescue, when Mike Golding recovered him from a sinking Hugo Boss during the Velux 5 Oceans in 2006, Thomson admits he was frightened.

“Mostly, the overriding emotion for me was sadness about losing the boat. That was a good boat and it was my first. There was a point in the liferaft when my hand got broken and I went into shock and became quite negative. Thought I was going to die. But apart from that…!”

Being rescued by helicopter after his newest Hugo Boss was dismasted and capsized mid- Atlantic in 2015

To Thomson, fear is not remarkable. “There are instances where you wake up, the wind’s picked up and the boat’s out of control. I know when I’m scared because I just start sweating profusely through every part of my skin. And I have to stop it.”

He works with sports psychologist, Ken Way (who also saw Leicester City FC on their way to win the Premier League in 2016), on mental techniques to deal with pressured situations. They took that lurching fear, and turned it into a tool.

“One of my problems is that I’m an extrovert and I’m emotional, really emotional. My heart’s on my sleeve and I suffer from lows and highs. It can happen instantaneously – I can go from super low to super high in three seconds.

“The result is when I’m low, I have to work harder. I give up sleep, food whatever. My mood is only governed by my performance, there’s nothing else. But actually my bigger problem is highs, because being high means I can be complacent and there’s no place for complacency on these things on your own.

“So we recreated that aura of invincibility: imagine driving down the road, you feel great, you’re not really paying attention. We took that feeling and related it to a car coming out in front of you and BAM!” he does a full-body mime of an emergency stop. “We recreated all that so whenever I felt that feeling of invincibility then I’d get this other feeling of ‘what’s going to happen next?’

“That’s probably the most extreme example, but it really works, and I can’t separate it from my personal life.” Living with extreme fear is all part of the normalisation of the extraordinary which characterises the best ocean racers.

“One of the feelings when I finish the race and all those 50,000 people turn out, is that you don’t feel worthy. And that’s because, although you know it’s extraordinary, having spent 80 days doing it, it’s become normal.”

The 2016-17 Vendée Globe departs from Les Sables-d’Olonne

Right now Thomson is in the midst of planning his new boat – something he says was as hard as ever to get signed off financially. “We’re about two-thirds of our budget secure, but that’s enough for us to design and build and get on with it.”

They have not announced who will be drawing the next Hugo Boss, although Thomson does say, “We do have the ambition to build in the UK, which is important to us.”

This time around he is building a boat with one single ambition: a Vendée Globe win. “In the days where, performance-wise, we had been terrible, it was hard because you’re having to make choices to make sure that you finish. We couldn’t take any more non-finishes. There’s no compromise now.”

Thomson is fascinated by the technical element of the IMOCA class, as well as enjoying the luxury of being able to commission his own design. And there it is again – that dichotomy between the huge ego needed to feel comfortable with having a multi-million pound yacht custom built with your name on it, and the awareness that the ocean can take it away and humble you in a heartbeat.

Thomson skippered a winning Clipper Race entry when aged just 25

“There’s obviously the challenge and all that kind of stuff, but I love the humility of the whole thing. When you go offshore and you can’t see land you know how insignificant we are.

“Plus I get the reward of being able to build a boat just for me, about me, my height, my weight, everything. I can pretty much have whatever I want. It’s so ostentatious!”

Alex on image

“If you look at Armel Le Cléac’h or François Gabart, they’re slick. They turn up with suits to the right events. They do a great job. Some of the grittier side of [the IMOCA world], personally I’d like to see change a bit.

“Because we all stand there and take pictures together, and I don’t really want to be associated with someone who can’t be bothered to tuck their shirt in. To me, that’s not what we do. We’re representing our sponsors and we should look like a professional sportsman.”

Alex on his big break

“I joined Clipper Ventures in 1997 as a bosun. My job was to help refit eight boats, and then Robin [Knox-Johnston] asked if I’d be the first mate on an expedition to Greenland.

“I said: ‘Well Robin, I’m honoured you want me to go with you, but I want to be a skipper in your race. Am I too young?’ He just looked at me and…” Alex deadpans in a pretty good impression of Sir Robin’s famous tones, “He said: ‘I don’t know. Come to Greenland and we’ll find out.’

“Now, knowing what I do and all the responsibilities and stuff that can go wrong, I look at Robin and say ‘Wow, mate, that was a serious risk to take me on.’ But I loved it and it’s made me.”

The post Alex Thomson profile: Understanding the man behind the suit appeared first on Yachting World.

Source Birkin bag for sale Authentic Luxury Hermès Bag at www.crocodilesbag.com

from WordPress http://www.amansions.com/alex-thomson-profile-understanding-the-man-behind-the-suit/

[technicalbob]

Welcome to day two of our cruise. My apologies that the first day ran on so long but the scene needed setting. Day two is a sea day. We originally only had two days at sea but it was changed due to several islands sadly being devastated by a massive hurricane a few months prior.

I woke up, still on British time, around half 3 and couldn’t get back to sleep. Usual for me when travelling back in time for a holiday. Opposed to putting your watch forward when travelling east. I went outside keen to see the stars, I imagined a huge blanket of them in the cloudless sky away from land and light pollution. None of it. The ship gives off an abundance of light from its 16 odd decks and the lights that pour out at water level. There were no more or no less stars than I was used to. Also, the ship makes a weird screeching sound at night as if some sort of Mermaid/Siren were guiding us through the dark night time seas. So much for the impressively quiet engines.

The Sister arrived early to ask if she could sit on our balcony having been sick for most of the night. The sea was particularly choppy and all the times people had said to me ‘you won’t feel the boat moving’ came flooding back. Turns out, lots of people were ill due to particularly high winds creating unseasonably high swells. Having sampled the fresh air we keep on the balcony we made our way to the buffet for breakfast. A source of more confusion as the ‘Horizon’ daily information sheet told us to expect a continental breakfast between 6.30am and 7am with full English after. It seemed to be a full continental when we arrived at 8 but got stuck in with all the sausages and bacon I felt necessary, that is after being apprehended by the Purell Police. One does not simply enter the feeding trough without copious amounts of hand gel being applied first. The dosage is just unreasonable and takes a good few minutes of furious hand rubbing to soak in. I guess viruses spread pretty quickly without it though.

Full of food and coffee we ventured around the ship to see what delights it held for us. All this amazing entertainment that would keep us busy for the next two weeks.

We did at least find the spa and straight away booked in for a couples massage as per our tradition on holiday, signing up for a raffle to win vouchers whilst we were there. We also found the outdoor cinema screen, which is so ludicrously damaged and pixelated that it would be unwatchable for me.

We found the shops and finally bumped into the first members of our extended family we had seen so far. The Bride and Groom none the less, along with my other cousins and their little boy. He has grown since the last time we saw him and become a proper little person now. He’s actually way too adorable and funny to be a member of our family though.

Back to the spa for the raffle and there were not many people there, the rules clearly state that you have to attend the raffle in order to win so we start feeling lucky. I won the £100 voucher, The Wife won a £50 voucher and The Sister won nowt. Things are starting to look up.

Having been around a large chunk of the ship by now, we all felt we knew where we were going. We did not know where we were going and it led to an arguement about whether the carpets were green or blue in the area by the lift. It was settled as green by the map we were given on Day 1 that stated each set of stairs had a different coloured carpet so you knew if you were at the front, middle or aft of the ship. Clever. Also bumped into the rest of the clan. The general mood was miserable so roughly normal for our lot really.

We went to reception for the first time as The Sister wanted to make an enquiry. Convinced she had read in the brochure that free water, tea and coffee were available 24hrs a day, she wanted to know where this was as she expected there to be lots of stations around the ship providing it. The woman on the desk got the wrong idea and asked for written proof as she thought we had some sort of special deal. Despite a great deal of talking to other people she could not help us. It turns out there are machines in the buffet area and that’s it but it took a long time to get to that statement.

Back to the spa. The sea, was once again getting choppy and the adult only swimming pool was quite violently throwing its water out all over the deck and straight into the spa waiting area. See photo below. It even had it’s own waves and tide. Our hot stone massage was very good and so we booked in for two more. It was recommended to us as we both have knots in our backs and we saw no reason to argue.

We returned to the buffet and then went back to the room where the wife slept and I did some more puzzles, my answer to boredom relief whenever the internet is unavailable. Soon realised we needed to get ready for dinner. It turns out that Sunday night is the Captains gala. It’s the first black tie night of the cruise and your first opportunity to meet the captain and have another ‘purchase at the end’ photo taken. We had no idea about this three weeks ago when we booked into the Sindhu Indian restaurant. Needless to say, the place was pretty empty except for Frank Butcher and fat Pete Waterman lookalikes and a small group containing a woman who was so sun exposed that she looked like brown leather. The food was exceptional and very gourmet due to the two Michelin stars owned by the guy who created the menu. I had a beef and flatbread starter, a fillet steak with Bombay potato for main and a fruit parfait for desert. The desert came with a chilli glas. It was spicy to say the least and literally brought tears to my eyes.

Photo by Technicalbob

Photo by Technicalbob

Photo by Technicalbob

We did not see the captain, funnily enough. We did however run into the poor woman that appeared to have been dragged through a hedge. She was now in her evening wear and still had a barnet that looked like a fixer upper for a young bird getting on the nesting ladder. That was apparently her actual hairstyle, on purpose. This warranted a closer look and it was clear she had two companions, both of a similar age and somewhat younger than the hair lady. It was not clear if they were a couple and Hair Lady was mother to one of them, or even if both of them were her children. Regardless, they were now known collectively as The Hair People.

The Sister, still a bit queasy, went straight to bed so me and the wife went for a drink in one of the bars, we thought it was Manhattan but it really wasn’t. Most of our clan were in there and all the youths had gone to bed with varying degrees of sea sickness. The sea was still choppy and we retired to our room to enjoy the swaying of the ship. That’s not a euphemism.

I’m not sure if it was the food, the cider or the massage but I genuinely do not recall getting into bed.

I assure that the following posts have more pictures and even videos.

Day 2 - Always view the Horizon. Our first day at sea, finding our sea legs. #travelblog #amwriting #amblogging Welcome to day two of our cruise. My apologies that the first day ran on so long but the scene needed setting.

[travelteatv]

That’s right. Canadian Road Trip TWENTY SIXTEEN.

Sorry to have ever so slightly dropped off the edge of the earth. Sadly I don’t have any kind of wilderness survival story that stopped me from writing; I haven’t trekked through the Himalayas or canoed down the Amazon. Instead, I got a new job. A job where I get paid to write for a living. Not this kind of writing, but still, writing and it turns out that when you write all day, coming home and writing more isn’t all that appealing (hence why I haven’t written since the end of October).

Nonetheless, I realise this isn’t an excuse and so I am BACK. Hilariously, I’m back with the last post of the Canadian Road Trip, which took place nearly a year ago now. I could have just left it, but seeing as it was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken and this was one of my favourite days out of that, it didn’t seem right not to tie up the loose ends I’m sure you’ve all been desperately waiting to hear about.

By the way, don’t panic, I didn’t get completely boring. I did go on a bunch more trips after Canada and I do vaguely remember what I got up to.

  Up to this point

Seeing as it’s been about six months since I last posted about this trip, here’s a quick run down of what we managed up Vancouver. I, along with three of my friends, started in Washington DC, then picked up a car, stopping along the way at Shenandoah, Great Smoky Mountains, Nashville, Chicago, Niagara and then Toronto. At which point my friends jumped on a plane home and my mum stepped off of one, so that we could continue the trip on to Ottawa, Niagara, Quebec City, Montreal, Banff, Lake Louise, Kamloops, and finally Vancouver.

If you’re desperate/want to make my day, you can always have a cheeky read right here and then comment nice things on all the posts: https://travelteatv.com/2016/10/29/a-day-in-seattle-running-around-in-dressing-gowns-canadian-road-trip-2016/ 

  Victoria

I liked Vancouver Island very much. It’s very rare for me to start a sentence with a straight up positive comment, so you know I really mean it. We got there by sea plane, as you do. Because sea plane is a method of transport that I often take and it wasn’t exciting at all. Almost an everyday occurrence for me.

I jest. We were obviously very excited. Funnily enough I hadn’t ever been on a sea plane before, but when we got on, we sat next to a couple that frequently did, who took great pleasure in pointing out all the islands and sights to us. They were quite fancy and even pointed out a small group of islands they lived on. They took a boat there with all their food shopping – Tesco don’t deliver there (yet).

#gallery-0-14 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-14 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 50%; } #gallery-0-14 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-14 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

Whale Watching

Saw a mama humpback whale and her baby today! #IloveCanada

A video posted by Abi (@abipageaustin) on May 5, 2016 at 9:35pm PDT

  When we arrived, we had a wander round, then got some lunch, before jumping aboard a boat and speeding out to sea in the hope of finding some whales/other wildlife to look at. You know what, we managed it. Well, I mostly sat still and looked around, but the guys driving the boat found them. It was rather nice.

Well, it was and it wasn’t. It was lovely weather; the skies and sea were incredibly blue. The whales we saw were gorgeous. The landscape was epic. But, I do have a few negative points to make. Firstly, the boat was super busy and it didn’t make for a particularly soothing ride. I mean it’s hard to be fancy with a stranger practically sat on your laptop. Also, as soon as you see any wildlife, you’re fighting to keep your eyes on it as other people stand directly in front of you to see the same thing; great doors, terrible windows, people.

Secondly, I will admit I felt bad for the whales. I’d never considered what happens when you go whale watching. I suppose I just thought you drove around in the hope you might get lucky. I didn’t realise that all the whale watchers chat to each other and say when they see whales, meaning that as soon as you see a whale, a million other boats turn up and crowd them. Legally the boats have to stay a certain distance away from them, so I’m sure it isn’t dangerous or anything, but still it would probably be nicer for the whales if boats just steered clear of them. Yes, I know I literally went out on a boat to do that exact thing. I’ll say nothing more.

Oak Bay

The day was getting on once the boat trip finished, so we got in a cab and went to out hotel – the Oak Bay Beach Hotel, which is just outside Victoria. I think it’s my favourite hotel. In this trip alone I stayed in at least 10, but there was something special about this one.

It was fancy, but still welcoming. The beds were comfortable. The bathroom was beautiful. The views were fantastic. I’ve just realised I never went in the swimming pool, but there is one there. We only stayed there for one night, but I’ll be back. (I don’t mean that as a threat.) In a super helpful fashion, I have no pictures to prove this, but please take my word for it.

Our family friends joined us for the night and the next morning we had a wander round Oak Bay. Spoiler alert: it’s nice. The shops are cute. There are nice art galleries. It isn’t too busy. Plus it’s full of British people. It was confusing at first, but not necessarily a bad thing. My mum met someone that grew up down the road from her.

I don’t have anything more specific to say about this place, so you’ll have to make do with a single verb: go.

  Good morning Oak Bay 🌞🇨🇦🙌🏻

A photo posted by Abi (@abipageaustin) on May 6, 2016 at 11:14am PDT

  At this point I’m realising the issue with leaving it so long without writing about what happened: I’ve forgotten where we went after this. It was on Vancouver Island and we drove there before we got on a ferry. I liked it because there were a lot of thrift shops. Umm so yeh, sorry enjoy that mystery.

I do remember that on the ferry on the way back we saw another whale, just having a ball, swimming along. Which was pleasant.

  Steveston

Steveston. A literal fairytale town. (Once Upon a Time is filmed here)

A photo posted by Abi (@abipageaustin) on May 7, 2016 at 6:33pm PDT

  When we got back from Vancouver Island, we had one more night at our family friend Kathleen’s house before returning the following afternoon, so we spent the morning in her local neighbourhood; Steveston. It’s south of the main city of Vancouver and somewhere you just might recognise, if you’ve ever seen ‘Once Upon A Time’. It’s very nice. When I was there I hadn’t actually seen the show, so didn’t really understand, but now I have seen it I can understand how cool a town it is; they let the show leave signs up over shop fronts, meaning some shops aren’t actually what they seem.

My mum and I wandered along the sea front, watched people fly kites on the beach, meandered around shops and got fish and chips with Kathleen. Whether or not you’re a fan of the show, it’s worth a visit.

  So, yeh. That was Canada. I will be going back. Hopefully it will be soon. You should stay home so that it is still nice and empty when I go hiking. Unless you really want to go, in which case I won’t stop you. 

I’ll post videos soon.

  Abi

X

@travelteatv

VANCOUVER ISLAND | PLANES AND WHALES | CANADIAN ROAD TRIP 2016 That's right. Canadian Road Trip TWENTY SIXTEEN. Sorry to have ever so slightly dropped off the edge of the earth.