#probably will start to take private lesson from a girl in order to improve my translation

[not-so-wholeheartedly]

Delet later

#coldness #failed for the second time my russian test #probably will start to take private lesson from a girl in order to improve my translation #but yeah i have to wait til january and meanwhile i crushing myself since i have to pass german plus i've been #neglecting it for quite some time as i was focusing better on russian #not to be dramatic but it think my reaching really a bad point on here #like i should have known this was a difficult choice since i've picked up two new languages #even with cases so yeah the whole complex of analysing logically structures of the language #but ultimately my temporaly crashing acadamy life and my personal one really created a mortal mix #yeah guess what i'm still talking about love and also even frienda #like the only girl i talk to we had some kind of towards each other for reasons and i don't feel like talking for long with her #i'm just standing here letting my negative thoughts take over and getting the best of me #feeling like trash both academically and as a human being #i hope with all my heart better times are coming i am truly at my lowest

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden: Booklet 9

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A certain man picked up a wild beast.

It was beautiful to an uncanny extent. Catastrophically foolish. Laughably ignorant and violent.

However, it was also an extremely rare kind of beast, which had attachment for people and obeyed them.

Its fur was golden. Its eyes were a limpid blue.

The beast did not know how to let out a cry, but if trained, it could probably sell for a high price.

Such was the beast that the man had picked.

The man and the beast’s encounter was a result of misfortune, as a great number of people had fallen victim to the beast’s fangs.

The beast followed the man’s back around all the time.

It was a terrifying beast, which devoured humans. He had to hurry and dispose of it somewhere.

Still, the man thought, it would probably be useful in a battlefield.

The man’s occupation was national defense. His status was of naval captain.

A ferocious beast was suitable as a guard dog, and no one would be troubled if the lonely beast lost its life somewhere.

For the man, the beast was not a desired companion, but whatever could be used should be used.

Had he not thrown it away when he was supposed to, the future would have changed drastically.

   Violet Evergarden If

   “Shirt – not that; the shirt.”

The soft light of dawn shone over Leiden, the capital of Leidenschaftlich. It was a fine season, in which petals of bougainvillea flowers danced about. A beautiful morning. The appearance of the city was divine as sunshine flowed down from the rifts between the clouds, like ladders for the angels. A daylight that caused people to embrace a little bit of hope toward the day called today and the long period called life – that caused such thoughts to appear – was illuminating the city.

On this wonderful day, inside the dormitory of a facility built in the vicinities of Leidenschaftlich’s Ministry of the Navy, a man had fallen into an overcast mood, in contrast with the scenery outside. Although he had woken up a mere few minutes ago, he was irritated. He was not looking at the sunlight coming from the window. Neither did he have any interest in the dancing of the gentle shadows created by the fluttering curtains.

The only thing he had his eyes on was his beast.

“It’s the shirt. You’re not doing that on purpose, are you?”

The man belonged to a privileged class. One could tell that his furnished, private room had been renovated so that its user could live in maximum comfort. Something of the sort was not permitted unless the person was from a social position fitting of it.

He hated the idea of having his own house. He also avoided returning to his home and to a smaller component of his nation, his family.

“‘Shirt’.”

“The shirt. Shirt.”

“‘Shirt’.”

“No, that’s a cufflink. Listen up; I’m gonna say it one more time.”

As he spoke, his voice was low, charming and sullen. His hair, like ink in the color of nightly darkness with a thread of blue mixed in, was long and resembled silk. His deeply carved and delicate facial features would surely be showered with attention from women if he went on a walk in the city. One could tell the fineness of his upbringing with a single glance from his noble beauty.

The man who bore such looks, Dietfried Bougainvillea, was fed up with the girl in front of him, who could not do as much as bring him a shirt. From her appearance, said girl, unshapely clad in the female officer uniform of Leidenschaftlich’s navy, was so young that she had not yet reached her mid-teens. He could be considered much too immature for making an angry face at such a child.

Dietfried grasped her tiny hand, of a size so different from his own, and made her hold onto a white shirt. “Shirt,” he said while glaring at her, as if to give her a lesson. His lips also moved slowly, so that she would understand the pronunciation.

The girl being glared at alternated between looking at the shirt she was made to grab and at her master, who was naked from the waist up. Her big eyes opened even wider as she was attempting to learn something.

Dietfried wanted to start yelling at her immediately, but somehow managed to remain in his current state, accepting her silence and that she took her time.

Eventually, the girl nodded. “‘Shirt’...”

Dietfried exhaled. He let out a breath mixed with both relief and disappointment.

“That’s right; it’s a shirt that I want.”

“This is a shirt.”

“What will you do with that shirt?”

“Captain, it is a shirt.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Just hand it over after you say that. You’re really one handful of a mongrel.”

“A shirt.”

“Enough.”

“Captain, a shirt.”

“Enough already!”

What he was doing was teaching. The girl, who could not even properly say that word, had never had any education. She was an orphan that Dietfried had taken in due to certain circumstances and did not know how to speak very well. Most likely, she was being used by someone else before Dietfried had picked her.

She was definitely a wild beast rather than a person. All she could do was murder people as per her master’s order. She was a bestial girl who was unable to do anything but that. Dietfried had the girl live in one of Leidenschaftlich’s warships, immediately putting her into action for combat should there be any battles at sea, using her as a soldier.

The reason why he was scoring exceptionally good military achievements was that he kept her by his side. As she had the appearance of an infant, she easily incited negligence. She had already displayed her power a number of times by approaching enemy warships on a boat, causing a disturbance by the moment that she was mistaken for a victim and allowed onboard, then taking advantage of it to start a naval attack. It was an inhumane work for a little girl to do.

Dietfried was aware of that. Yet he had made her do it. She had done it countless times.

He had thought she would soon die, but whenever he went to check on the bodies, she was usually the lone survivor. No matter how much he attempted to kill her, to have her killed, she did not die. Instead, she would crush the enemy ships.

“Leidenschaftlich’s Undine” was what the navy soldiers called her now.

If he could not kill her, he had no choice but make her useful. Dietfried despised this girl, who had slaughtered his underlings when they first met, but that time had now passed and was opening up anew. Making use of this girl’s life until she collapsed was also a way to mourn for those who were gone. That was how he thought it over. For that reason, in order to work her hard also as a servant, he was teaching her how to speak.

He had started doing it because of the fact that they had trouble communicating, but Dietfried did not have much talent as an educator. He had been able to climb up to the position of naval captain due to his personal achievements. He was skilled at leading and instructing people, but for lecturing a child like this one-on-one, he was terribly unfit.

“Next, the shoes. Put my shoes on for me.”

“Sho...”

“Here, look at the way my mouth moves.”

“I—am.”

“Shoes. C’mon, try saying it.”

“‘Sho-es’.”

“Say it five times. Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes.”

“‘Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes’.”

“All right. Now, put my shoes on me.”

“Captain, you mean ‘shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes’.”

Clearly unfit.

“Captain.”

“You trash.”

“‘Tra-sh’.”

“Hey, don’t say ‘trash’ to me.”

“What does ‘tra-sh’ mean?”

Dietfried felt like crawling onto the bed he was sitting on and lying down to sulk just like that. In fact, he did hang his head and roll onto it.

Anyone who knew him well would evaluate that, for someone like him, he was teaching her very patiently. As he was the kind of man who could do anything flawlessly by nature, his attitude towards those who could not was cold. Such a man was attempting to educate an orphan child who did not know how to talk. He was in a state where one could say that he was making an effort.

“Captain, it is morning.”

“I know... I ain’t sleeping. I’m lying face-down ‘cause I’m disappointed in you.”

“Do you have any orders for ‘You’?”

“Y’know, I do call you ‘You’, but that ain’t your name.”

“If not, ‘You’ will be on stand-by.”

Albeit good at catching on words such as “stand-by” or “order”, she was slow to absorb terms that were used in daily life. The discrepancy between the things she did and did not have interest in was evident in the results of her learning.

This wild beast of a girl actually did not need words.

Even so, Dietfried had decided to grant them to her. Going back on a decision was shameful to him. He believed that he should never do such a thing.

——I gotta at least make her evolve from wild animal to watchdog. Or else, both she and I will be in trouble.

Dietfried was striving. He was exerting himself extraordinarily.

“Enough; I’m gonna comb my hair now. Gimme the comb.”

It seemed she had properly memorized the word “comb”, as she immediately took it from the dresser that the room was already provided with and presented it to Dietfried. She observed him with her big, gemstone-like eyes as he sat up as if it were a pain and slowly began combing his lengthy hair. He smooth and deftly braided it with his long fingers, then tied it with a ribbon and it was over.

Dietfried hit the bed with a slap, directing the girl to sit next to him. “Do as I do. As long as you’re wearing that uniform, you’re my subordinate. You having a bad appearance is a problem for me.”

Accepting the comb, the girl began combing her hair as well. She was improving lately, but her hair was damaged for a while due to malnutrition, so the ends tended to entangle. When she tried to force the comb through, Dietfried apprehended her with a hand.

“This again... Stop; don’t treat your hair like that... Why do I gotta brush it every day? Today’s the day that you’re gonna get it cut,” Dietfried said while carefully unraveling the entangled hair tips in her stead.

The girl was stock-still. Dietfried did not realize that the facial expression on her profile was a little bit different from her usual deadpan.

“Captain.”

“What?”

“Should ‘you’ comb your hair as well?”

“Nah, ‘s fine. I get a bad feeling when you’re behind me.”

Whether she had understood or not, the girl closed her eyes as if holding back on something. “All right...”

   In order to both replenish and repair the warship, Dietfried went on land. The stay at the port was scheduled to last up to five days. During that period, the crew would be on vacation. Most of his subordinates were roaming the city of Leiden, but those who lived close to it took full advantage of their days off to go see their families in their hometowns.

Dietfried also finally had free time today. He had to take several days to submit all sorts of greetings and reports. He made a long memo in his head with a list of the things that he had to purchase. One way or another, he was able to make time at least to go shopping in peace.

“Hey, let’s go.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Dietfried generally took action while keeping her by his side. She would be all right standing in waiting somewhere, but thoughtlessly leaving a woman alone amongst men was a primary factor for incidents to occur.

It was not as if he were worried about the girl. The ones he worried about were the people who would find the tables turning against them for attempting to lay their hands on her. In times of war, Dietfried’s decision was to avoid losing human resources as much as possible. He had to supervise this girl in order to prevent her from reducing his number of underlings.

However, there was also a good side to it. The girl’s fighting power and crisis-sensing abilities were outstandingly excellent, which qualified her for escort missions. He used to always walk around with bodyguards and associates as his ranks went up, but now, just this girl was enough.

——It’s nice that I can let more people, even if just one more, rest up by sacrificing her.

Under the light of the sun, Dietfried thought this as he watched the girl eagerly move her legs to chase after his back with tapping footsteps.

“We’re done buying these kinds of luxury items... Now for the clothes... Hey, this way. Follow me.”

“Captain, you are well-acquainted with the city.”

“That’s right. I’m ‘well-acquainted with the city’,” Dietfried gave a reply on the same level to the girl, who sometimes used words in a strange manner.

Just as he told her, Leiden was his hometown. In normal circumstances, it would be all right for him to return home as well.

“Though I don’t know if I like this city or hate it.”

But as he did not do so, one could guess about his family situation.

“You know what the good of this city is, do you?”

“I do not—know the city—very well.”

“The beauty of the architecture and the spirit of the people change depending on the city. If you leave out your emotions, Leiden’s a stunning city.”

“I do not have emotions. That means it is a stunning city to me.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“This is difficult.”

“You can’t understand human reasoning ‘cause you’re not human.”

“I see.”

After saying something that would hurt a little girl, he checked on her facial expression, yet it was blank as ever.

“You.”

However, he did not miss that her voice had become slightly gloomier.

“Don’t you wanna run away from me?” he whispered oppressively, stopping in his tracks and looking down at her from above.

Framing her huge eyes, the girl’s golden lashes fluttered like butterflies. She seemed surprised.

“We aren’t at sea right now. Or inside the warship. If you run off somewhere, I won’t be able to catch up. For starters, I’d have no intention to go looking for you. So if you wanna do that, you can.”

If a third party happened to hear the question, it would sound almost as if he were testing the girl. In fact, he might have been. People did such things out of foolishness every once in a while.

Dietfried absolutely did not admit it, but as he took this beast into his personal care and raised her, he began to feel that he wanted something. In return for that, he did not give her a name. If it were someone else, they would surely put it into words and display their desire with ease, but Dietfried was different. This man was awfully complicated – deeply compassionate yet cruel.

“Captain Dietfried, what am I supposed to do—by running away—from you?”

Just like that girl, he was broken somewhere.

The question made no sense to her.

“I have no meaning. If you do not use me, that is.”

This girl had no feelings.

“There is no meaning to me unless I am being used. I am a tool. I exist to be used.”

She did not know love.

“I am a wild beast. Beasts nestle up to where their owners go.”

All she wanted was validation of her own existence. Money, honor, status or anything of the sort.

“I am sure that—I was made this way—ever since I was born.”

She needed none of it. They made no sense to her.

“And you—have been registered—as my master inside me.”

The girl before his eyes looked at him as if to say, “don’t forget that I’m a beast”.

“You bring me along and use me.”

It might be that their positions were inverted from the very beginning.

“Please do stand next to me, Captain.”

Perhaps Dietfried was the one being kept around as a proof of existence.

——It’d be great if I could kill her right now.

She was merely a lonely beast, who just yearned for a master. It did not have to be Dietfried. That was what he felt she had told him.

“I’m going back.”

Dietfried started walking. Towards a direction completely opposed to the set route. In large steps, his leather boots clicking, he strode as if to leave the girl behind.

“But you still—have not bought most of the items.”

“It’s fine; I’m going back.”

“All right.”

As expected, the girl was expressionless even as her master suddenly grew displeased and yelled at her. She was accustomed to being swayed around. Not just by the man in front of her, but by her own fate as well. She had flowed, letting herself go with the current, and was now here.

It was Dietfried alone who never became accustomed to the girl.

“Walk fast.”

There was no appropriate name for the relationship of the two.

“Yes, I shall not leave your side.”

——You scum.

Why did he have to be the only one manifesting his emotions? It would be great if he could make the girl’s face distort even if just a little. This feeling surfaced and disappeared within him. It was almost the way of thinking of a child whose mother would not give him any attention, but trapped as he was in his own emotions, Dietfried did not realize this.

“Captain.”

Disturbed by rage and confusion, Dietfried angrily yelled, “What?!” in response to the girl’s call.

“There is a suspicious person running toward us from behind us. Shall I suppress them?”

“Haah?”

As he turned around, just as the girl had said, there was indeed a strange individual running their way. He had a purse under his arm. They could hear the scream of a woman at the back. If one were to take a conclusion just from looking at the situation, he was most certainly a thief.

“Don’t kill; capture him.”

To the order whispered at her in a low tone, the girl replied with a clear voice, “Understood.”

Immediately, she dashed off.

“Outta the way!”

As the man harshly shouted such aggressive words while coming at the people around him, they would open way for him in fear. The only one who pushed through the opened path was the girl.

“Brat! Move! I’m gonna kill you!”

Seeing a girl clad in a military uniform heading towards him, the man took out a pocketknife as he ran. Running while swinging it around was dangerous to no bounds. No matter how much brute strength one had, they would still waver at such a head-on challenge.

“My name is not ‘Brat’.”

However, the girl did not falter. Right before the collision, the girl lowered her posture with a jerk and evaded the pocketknife’s assault first-thing. She then grabbed one of the man’s legs and hurled herself at him. As the strength that the man had applied to the direction of his move was forcefully stopped, he violently plunged face-first into the ground.

“It is ‘You’.”

The girl’s attack did not end there. She seized the back of the agonized man, and after lifting his body as if picking a cat by its collar, she punched his throat. On top of that, she twisted his arm, completely suppressing his movements.

“P-Ple—ase—let—”

“I cannot understand the contents of your speech.”

“L-Let—g-go—pl—ea—se—”

“I cannot understand the contents of your speech.”

There was a spine-freezing kind of fearsomeness to the girl, who heartlessly repeated the same response to the man that was most likely saying, “Let go”. There was as much beauty to her appearance as there was a spur of coldness in her.

“The lecture I gave you last time about human body vitals came in handy, huh.”

“Yes.”

Dietfried came walking in a relaxed manner, looking like his moody aspect from earlier had decreased by just a little bit.

“As you told me, Captain. Strikes to the throat are effective.”

“True. Remember the name of the spots that hurt when you hit it?”

“‘Vital parts’.”

“That’s right... In men’s case in particular, there’s Adam’s apple. Look at this.” Dietfried grabbed the hair of the pitiful robber and made him raise his face. He then pointed at the other’s Adam’s apple. “Listen up. This bulgy thing is Adam’s apple.”

“‘Adam’s maple’.”

“It’s ‘Adam’s apple’.”

The robber could do nothing but watch the exchange between the two oddballs in confusion. There was no way to describe them other than “bizarre”. It could also be said that they were crazy. After all, the duo was holding a lecture about vital parts using the body of a complete stranger.

“‘Adam’s apple’. Is it... Is it a vital?”

“Yeah. It gets difficult to talk when you strike here, so hit it when you want someone to keep quiet.”

“Understood, Captain. If I want someone to keep quiet, I shall hit them there.”

“Also, you were probably going for his feet ‘cause he has a knife, but when the guy’s used to fighting, you should drop the idea. You’d get kicked like that. You might be strong but you’re light.”

“Should I dodge to the side?”

“With your jumping abilities, you could’ve also fly-kicked him. He had his hands full with the pocketknife and the bag anyway. Most people wouldn’t think you’d fly-kick them, so it can work. Either that or start attacking after throwing the stuff you’re holding at him.”

The girl nodded as if to say, “I see”. “But Captain, I am not allowed to throw your belongings.”

“That’s right. If you’d done that, I would’ve given you a beating.”

Despite making a face that denoted she had not comprehended it, the girl nodded. Those who were used to obeying tended to gulp down the double standards of others.

“Anyhow, should we return the bag to the victim? Or should we report to the military police...”

Although Dietfried was dealing with the fuss in a brisk and business-like manner, his eyes took notice of someone squeezing through the crowd that had gathered around him.

“Please let me pass,” the voice of a man echoed straight throughout the area.

“Sorry; it’s dangerous here, so let us pass,” so did the sweet voice of another man.

“Excuse me; we heard that you have caught a fugitive criminal, and we have as well. Let’s bring them to the military police togeth...”

The men who had showed up lost their voices for a second. As did Dietfried.

“Gil...”

Hair the color of night and emerald eyes. There were parts of their physical appearance that were similar to one another, yet the air about them was overwhelmingly different. However, if the two stood next to each other, one could quickly tell what they were.

“Brother...”

The one standing there was Dietfried’s little brother, Gilbert Bougainvillea.

“Uwah, it’s the Captain.”

Together with a large red-haired man, he had a thief in his hold and they were dragging him away.

——Claudia Hodgins too... Sure ran into a noisy fellow.

The joy of meeting his younger sibling surfaced, yet once he pondered about how to explain the situation and how they would respond to it, his feelings soon leaned to the side of deeming it as a bother.

Gilbert displayed agitation for an instant at the sight of his older brother, but immediately switched his gaze over to understanding the state of the surroundings. When he saw that a girl was the one pinning down the assumed robber all by herself, the look in his eyes changed.

“Hodgins.”

“Aah, it’s okay. I can hold him on my own. You take care of that girl...”

Gilbert handed the man that they had under restraint over to the one named Hodgins, heading to the girl’s side and kneeling down with one knee. He then said, locking his gaze with hers, “Let’s switch; are you hurt?” Before earning her consent, Gilbert took the man’s restraining upon himself. “Any injuries?” he asked again as the girl did not answer.

The girl looked at Dietfried. “Captain is unharmed,” she reported her master’s condition, not thinking that she was being questioned about her own.

“No, I’m asking about you.”

The girl looked at Dietfried, then at Gilbert. She moved her neck left and right countless times, at loss. “Whether I am injured or not is not an issue. That question is inappropriate.”

As Dietfried heard this sentence, the area around his chest suddenly became heavy.

“What are you saying...? This is about your body. Your family would be sad if you were wounded, wouldn’t they?”

After all, he had not never asked her the question “Are you hurt?”.

“I do not have a ‘family’.”

Not even once until now.

Gilbert looked at Dietfried. Dietfried also looked at Gilbert. For a moment, the two brothers rejected what the other wanted to say with their eyes. An air that could be deemed as hazardous started drifting there.

Although Gilbert had been speaking to the girl in a soft tone until just a while ago, the warmth of his voice took a brusque nosedive, “Brother, we should contact the military police first of all.”

“Then, I will call them.”

“That’s fine; you stay here. Brother, you’re the most empty-handed of us. We can count on you, right?”

“I’m holding shopping bags.”

“Brother... I’ll get angry for real...”

Ultimately, Dietfried yielded, out of fear towards his little brother’s wrath. The two thieves were swiftly taken to the military police, and so the three men and one girl who had seized them left the scene as if fleeing from a turmoil.

   The course of events after that was, simply put, a spectacular sibling fight.

Gilbert was enraged at his older brother for making a little girl into a combatant and using her as a slave, while Dietfried desperately tried to refute him through the fact that she was not a “girl” to begin with. Stuck between them and unable to endure staying there any longer, Hodgins had attempted to take the girl away from the spot of their argument, yet she would not leave Dietfried’s side. In the end, they did not manage to keep the discussion together, parting ways with the decision to set up a proper place to talk on a later date.

While returning to the dormitory and even after arriving, Dietfried stayed quiet, not uttering a single word. It was already late into the night.

“Captain.”

Silence.

“What will you have for today’s dinner? I can take a seat in the cafeteria for you.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Understood.”

Dietfried’s irritation amplified even further with the fact that the girl, who was the point at issue, was conducting herself by operating in the same manner as usual.

“I don’t wanna look at your face. Go back to your room.”

“Understood.”

Once she left his bedroom, Dietfried had an abrupt realization. The girl would not go to the cafeteria unless he ordered. Since he had forgotten to tell her to do so, there was a possibility that she would not eat.

——I have to tell her.

However, a feeling surged within him, asking why he had to look after her to that extent. Whenever that girl was around, no matter what, he would end up restricting himself.

Rage welled up within Dietfried yet again as he recalled everything that Gilbert had told him.

“Brother, you’re a horrible person.”

——No, it’s not just me. She is, too.

“Don’t you feel sorry for that child?”

——You’re wrong; that’s not it. It’s not like that. You don’t get it.

“She’s still so little.”

——She’s a little murderer. An assassin who killed my comrades and kills my enemies.

Just which of them was the one in captivity?

——Who made a mess out of my life.

Wishing to become free, he had thrown everything away. Even if he were to receive criticism, he had run away from it all, not paying it any mind. That was Dietfried Bougainvillea.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his home.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his family.

——Even though I was free.

He had thrown away his brother.

——Even though I was free.

And then, he threw away even kindness, becoming a blade drawn out of its stealth and surviving in severity. He had been doing his best. Had been suffering.

Still, because of just one girl, everything was unstable now.

Dietfried moved his body with a sudden motion. He stood up from his bed and put on a coat. Opening the door of the room next to his, he made the girl dress up in as many layers as possible and took her outside.

Where were they going in the dead of night? The girl asked what their destination was, yet he did not answer. They walked, walked and walked, then hopped onto a carriage.

The carriage moved with clicks and clacks. The Moon could be seen chasing them all the while from the window.

Once they eventually reached a place much too far from the dormitory facilities, she could see a mansion that one would not call an ordinary home. One could assume that the surrounding plots of plentiful nature were also part of the estate, which was Dietfried’s former residence as well.

The mansion was property of the Bougainvillea family. This was a portion of it. The main house was located somewhere else.

The sky was already beginning to pale, about to welcome the break of dawn. Again, a beautiful morning was going to start in Leidenschaftlich.

They had been traveling for a whole night and his body was aching. His condition was at its worst due to lack of sleep. However, Dietfried let out a relieved breath as they reached the mansion at last. Currently enlisted in the army, Gilbert had told him that he was in Leiden for a temporary stop. If so, in order to avoid an earful from their mother, he should be staying in their villa.

Right now, Gilbert was in there. His little brother, who – unlike Dietfried – had the shape of everything that their parents deemed a person must have, was there.

“Listen up: go inside that house. And then call Gilbert.”

His respectable younger sibling, whose emotions were not overly warped, was there.

“Tell him I kicked you out. If you do that, he’ll treat you right. You gotta show him how tired you are. No matter what, be sure to ask him to make you into an army officer.”

That was a sparkle in Dietfried’s life of complete darkness.

“There’s no way that someone like you could manage living a normal life at this point. Serve the military, and then die.”

The fact that he existed and was a relative with whom Dietfried shared the same blood was, to the latter, hope.

“He’ll protect you for sure.”

He was hope. He was light.

“I...”

No matter how broken he was, Dietfried could believe that he had one normal something. This had always granted him courage.

“You...”

He was aware that he was doing wrong as a person.

“You and I can’t be together.”

He knew he was the kind of human being who could not change, regardless of being in the wrong. That was why he loved his virtuous younger brother as if it were a necessity. He loved him even now.

Gilbert would never betray Dietfried. After all, he also loved his older brother.

The girl’s usual expressionlessness slowly crumbled. She repeatedly opened and closed her mouth, attempting to say something. However, probably unable to find the right words, she looked at the Bougainvillea mansion and shook her head like a child throwing a tantrum in refusal.

“Go; just go.”

“I—do not—want to.”

“Don’t talk back. I don’t need you. Go be used by a different owner.”

“I—do not—want to... I do not want to...”

“I’m telling you I don’t need you! Hurry and go!”

The girl tried to grasp Dietfried’s arm. Yet Dietfried began walking away before she could do so. He just uncaringly headed to the carriage that was parked a little far from the residence’s front gate.

“Captain.”

The girl was coming after him. Her voice was loaded with feelings of desperation.

——What’s up with you?

“Captain, Captain—”

——Even though you usually have no emotions.

“Captain, I do not—want this! Captain! Please give me—an order!”

——Even though you only think of me as a tool to receive orders.

“Captain! Captain! I will—properly learn—how to read!”

——Could’ve been anyone, right? Even if it weren’t me, anyone should do for you.

“Plea—se! Captain—I do not—want this, Captain!”

——Even if it weren’t me, you would...

“Captain... Captain... I will—do anything, Captain... Captain...”

——Even if it weren’t me, you would’ve been okay with it. Isn’t that it?

Dietfried turned around to check if her voice had died down. The same old girl was not there. Her wild beast figure from their first encounter had disappeared as well.

“Please, do not leave me—on my own...”

The one standing there was the infant that Dietfried had taught how to speak.

Dietfried looked at the child in front of him as if he had grown senile. She was crying. That beast of a girl, who did not cry no matter how many wounds she earned, was weeping. And also appealing to him with the things that she could do.

“I can fight; I can also—carry your belongings; and—put your—shirt on—for you.”

She was desperately bringing up what she could do to prove her existence.

“My wounds—heal quickly as well; I can—kill your enemies too; I will do anything.”

How could she assert her being?

“Please let me... Captain...”

What could she do to stay by Dietfried Bougainvillea’s side? She was attempting to certify her existence. In reality, Dietfried had misjudged her.

The girl had properly ascertained who her lord was.

If it could have been anyone else, there were several people other than him. Yet he was the one she had chased after. The wild beast had instinctively sensed and pursued him.

She had followed him while embracing the wish that, if it was a human like him, an adult like him, then surely...

“I can—be used; I can become—an optimal tool.”

...he would not leave her.

Had he not bestowed her with words and used her as a mere tool, she would never have said such a thing. Dietfried had failed.

Combing her hair and patiently teaching her about daily lifestyle had done no good. Neither had the fact that he taught her what to do and how to fight whenever she encountered difficulties while by herself. None of it had done any good.

Even without Dietfried Bougainvillea himself realizing it...

“Please, let me be—by your side.”

...the wild beast was turning into a person.

The complete darkness of the night was gradually fading. From the direction of the Bougainvillea mansion, a servant and Gilbert – the master of the house – appeared, having come upon overhearing the angry yelling. They stared at the duo with surprise.

Dietfried slowly changed his course. He turned to the crying child. One step after another, he moved toward the girl.

“Do you need me?”

He then reached out his hands, holding her small body in his arms.

“Yes.”

With an awkwardness similar to holding an animal for the first time, he supported her from the back.

“Even if I say I don’t need you, do you need me?”

In doing that, the two looked like one.

“Yes; please, do not leave me alone.”

They looked like a single living being, formed through a combination of distorted shapes.

“I see.”

Dietfried felt that the dark things squirming inside his chest until now were clearing up. His feelings for her, which were close to hatred, dimmed away as well. Same for the anger towards himself and his inferiority complex regarding the rest of the world. Illuminated by the gentle sunlight, they all faded and disappeared, just like the deep dark colors of the night.

——I see; so I wanted something like this, Dietfried thought vacantly while embracing the child that clung to him.

He felt like he understood why he was always so irritated at this girl. Just as she wanted to prove herself, he also wanted others to accept him.

Socially, he was acknowledged. He also had subordinates who idolized him. However, Dietfried...

——I wanted this.

...wanted that wild beast to acknowledge. To acknowledge him.

The times when he truly thought that he wanted to kill her had passed. So had the times when he wanted to push her onto someone else. And the times in which he tried to use her solely as a tool until she collapsed, just like a slave, were passing as well. They were now morphing into wondering about what he could do to make her last, to have her live.

They were properly changing towards the direction of the light.

“Then, be by my side.”

That was why he wanted to acknowledge as well. No matter how distorted a shape they had.

The child and man then welcomed the first morning in which they acknowledged each other.

   Afterwards, a mansion was erected in the outskirts of Leidenschaftlich.

Built once the Continental War ended, after the cessation of hostilities was finally called on, said mansion was home to a somewhat eccentric family. A man and a girl. Far apart in age, the two of them did not seem to get along well, yet did not show any signs that they would separate from each other.

“Captain, it is morning.”

As threads of golden hair cascaded smoothly in front of him like canopy curtains, Dietfried rubbed his sticky eyelids and opened them. At first, what he could see were exquisite blue eyes and cherry-colored lips. This individual, already clad in a naval uniform, bore features that anyone would call beautiful.

Dietfried regretted unintentionally thinking that she was beautiful first-thing in the morning.

“Captain, it is morning,” her voice echoed softly in his ears.

“Shut up... I know.” He sat up, yawning.

The girl began forcefully undressing Dietfried, whose gestures looked a little childish no matter what he did, without the slightest sign of embarrassment. “You have a dinner meeting today after work. I will not take part in it, but I have arranged a carriage for your return, so please give your name when you go to the assembly hall of the dinner meeting.”

“Got it.”

Letting her do as she pleased, Dietfried was having his clothes changed from sleeping garments to his uniform.

“You stayed up late yesterday night, right? There are dark circles under your eyes.”

“You’re real noisy lately... Most of it is Gil’s influence, ain’t it... You can’t go today ‘cause you got some business with him?” Seeing her movements halt completely when she was buttoning him up, Dietfried snorted. “So easy to read. You into him?”

“No.”

The duo’s conversation was a daily life scene that had happened countless times already. It was by no means anything special.

“Even if you aren’t, I don’t know about him.”

“No, it is nothing of the...”

“You two gonna see each other alone?”

“Mr. Hodgins is also coming.”

“Even if you hook up with him, I ain’t letting go of you. Work for me on commute.”

“Of course.”

“Hn, now comb my hair.”

“Yes.”

“The ribbon will be... navy blue.”

“Yes.”

Dietfried looked at the girl. She had grown up considerably. Back when they had first met, her height was about enough to reach his waist or so.

——But nowadays, she seems to be kinda intimate with Gilbert.

Although she was working flawlessly as his secretary every day, the feeling that she was being conquered lately was undeniable. That was certainly fulfilling for her, but to Dietfried, it was a tad unamusing.

“You say ‘yes’ but you’re gonna throw me away one day, aren’t you?”

A line that did not feel like him accidentally came out, and once it did so, he could not take it back. As Dietfried stayed quiet, the girl tilted her head.

“It is you who are in the position of throwing me away.”

“As if I can do that at this point; you’re mine.”

Silence.

“Aah, I don’t wanna go to work anymore... I feel awful; everything is so annoying...”

“Lord Dietfried.”

“What? You’re so noisy.”

Disgruntled, Dietfried collapsed onto his bed. After staring at him for a moment, the girl eventually imitated it, collapsing onto the bed and coming close to him.

“You gonna sleep too?”

“I am your asset, after all. I live, die, lie down and sleep together with you.”

“So you’ve come to say that.”

She completely had him on the palm of her hand.

Although he had several complaints about it, he also felt comfort from the nature of this relationship already.

Even now, he had never clearly put into words and explicitly stated his feelings towards her.

“One day... you will...”

“I shall serve you forever.”

“You say that, but one day...”

“I shall serve you. For as long as you do abandon me.”

“I said I ain’t gonna throw you away, didn’t I?”

“You tried once.”

“Y’know, that was a one-time flight response from when I was having a hard time rearing a kid. Raising you was a hassle.”

“I am grateful for it. I shall serve you for life.”

Dietfried was no longer his past self. He had become just a man that could not let go of this girl, who was the proof of his existence.

That was why Dietfried reached out his hand. As if to rule over her; as if to make her not forget about him, her lord.

He called her name, which he himself had chosen, “■■■■”

Having her cheek caressed and her name called, the girl crinkled her eyes a little. “Yes, I am by your side.”

   That was a story in which the future would have changed drastically, had he not thrown her away when he was supposed to.

#violet evergarden #veedit #fyeahvioletevergarden #kyoto animation #kyoani #dietfried bougainvillea #gilbert bougainvillea #claudia hogdins #violet evergarden booklets #violet evergarden if #novel #akatsuki kana #takase akiko #my translation

[ladynestaarcheron]

Fears All the Way Down - Chapter Six

ao3 - masterpost

Hey, babes! Here are our canon fixes for the week:

1. When Nesta was six, she met with a man who declared more or less immediately that she would forever be hopeless at playing an instrument or singing, but that she had a good ear for music. Bull.

2. Nesta is apparently so desperate for a friend that she gives the House life, but never really hangs out with the priestesses. Um. Okay? Sounds fake, but okay.

3. Both Gwyn and Emerie have never left their homes in Sangravah and Illyria, respectively, except for when the IC brings them to the library. Not exactly a fix, but something we will start to explore.

Enjoy!

---

Since Nesta's accomplished virtually nothing in her life, she expects her ideas of "new things" to try to be easy to come up with. But after an hour of brainstorming in bed that Thursday evening, she only has two things scribbled in the notebook Thalia gave her: Wear yellow and Learn to play the trumpet.

"Don't suppose you have a trumpet in here?" Nesta says to the House.

The House only pulls the curtains shut in answer.

"Bedtime," she agrees, shutting the notebook and placing it on her bedside table. "I think this one-per-day rule is a bit much, don't you? Especially considering these self-defense lessons. Do you think other girls will come?" Nesta doesn't always wait for an answer when talking to the House. It tends to interject as it pleases, generally by opening doors or magicking a cup of tea in front of her. "I think that Emerie girl would like to. From Illyria, I told you about her...oh, thank you," she adds, for the House has placed the novel Nesta started last night by her pillow. "Shall I read aloud, then?"

She does, until she falls asleep.

The next morning, she draws looks from the hood-less girls and slight double-takes from the veiled priestesses; no doubt courtesy of the bright yellow dress the House had pulled out of her wardrobe this morning. She ignores them, not stopping until she reaches Clotho's office. When she knocks, Thalia's voice calls for her to enter.

"Well!" Thalia says, smiling.

"I'm never wearing this color again. It washes me out." Ruins the detox and more regulated eating she's had this past month.

"I think you look lovely," she insists, and Clotho nods. "But that's certainly your prerogative. Is that the worst consequence?"

"Yes, yes," Nesta says impatiently, waving a hand. "It won't kill me to try new things. Lesson learned."

Thalia looks over at Clotho. Perhaps she can tell what the priestess looks like under her hood, or perhaps she talks to her mind-to-mind like Feyre and Rhysand do, but Nesta almost thinks they exchange a glance of some sort. Amused, perhaps?

"Can either of us help you with anything, Nesta?" Thalia asks pleasantly, and gestures for her to sit down.

"Maybe," Nesta says taking a seat. Her cheeks color slightly as she does; why is she bashful about this all of a sudden? Around Thalia and Clotho? "I...well, I've started some self-defense, you know."

"We know." They both did, had both asked her how it was going. "You're still enjoying it, aren't you?"

"I...I am-it's good for me." Enjoy is a strong word.

"You said it helps keep you focused," Thalia says. "Centered."

"Yes. It...makes me feel good." She doesn't normally struggle with her words so much, does she? Does she sound like an idiot to the two of them, or just to her own ears? No, Clotho and Thalia would never say that about her. Never even think it. It's only her who's like this, trapped in her own wretched mind, slave to something dark and horrible and become just as vile-

But no, that isn't true. It's not just her who feels that way. And that's why she's here.

"It makes me feel more in control," Nesta says finally. "Of my life and my body."

Thalia leans back, satisfied. Clotho doesn't move. Nesta wonders if they know, if they can guess at what just went on in her mind. Either way, they both wait for her to continue.

"And I thought," she says, pausing to draw breath, "that maybe some other girls might be interested. With...Cassian."

At this, Clotho does cock her head.

"We meet in the mornings. Not on Tuesdays and not over the weekend," she adds, just so they aren't sitting in silence.

After a few moments that feel ridiculously long, Thalia says, "I think that's a wonderful idea, Nesta."

For a brief, strange moment, something happens. Nesta breathes in as Thalia finishes her sentence-not in relief or any emotion in particular, just to breathe-and as she does so, something inside of her shifts. Un-constricts.

But it's gone just as soon as it arrives, and before Nesta has time to dwell upon it, one of Clotho's notes appears. For a select group of girls, perhaps.

"Yes, I think we have the same few in mind...Of course, Nesta, you're welcome to share this with all of the students, but just between Clotho and myself, I think we'll privately encourage four or five...yes, thank you for bringing this up to us, Nesta," Thalia says, finishing with another warm smile.

Don't go just yet, Nesta, please, Clotho writes as Thalia takes her leave. I wanted to ask you how you were doing.

"I'm well. Thank you."

I'm glad to hear these self-defense lessons have something to do with that...our own lectures and exercises too, I hope?

Nesta raises her head slightly as her cheeks tinge pink. "I-yes. I think so." Clotho waits, unmoving, until Nesta sighs and says, "I do like the lectures."

Wonderful. Which ones?

Nesta answers honestly, "All of them." It's...it's quite something, to learn things. Things she never knew, never imagined, from females who are so passionate about them. "And...I like the jewelery. I like working with my hands."

I'm so very happy to hear you're finding yourself here, Nesta, Clotho's pen writes out. Have you given any thought to a more permanent assignment?

"I...thought you were supposed to."

With your input, of course. We would never want you to do something you were uncomfortable with.

But Gwyn's not comfortable with Merrill, is she? "I don't know. There's not really anything wrong with any of the priestesses, I suppose." It's only when Clotho begins lightly shaking with amusement that Nesta realizes she probably shouldn't have said that. "That is...I like them." She does. Enough.

Well, I'm happy to hear that, too.

Nesta rises, rather abrupt. "I've got to sort books," she says, and doesn't wait for a proper goodbye before leaving.

---

The amount Nesta has improved after only a few short weeks of being in the library floors Cassian. Her weight gain, voluntarily asking him for self-defense lessons, her performance in said lessons, and she still manages to find time to ask if other girls can join. Not even touching upon the fact that she's said she doesn't feel so dependent on alcohol anymore.

It shows incredible strength of character, and it makes Cassian's heart swell so much that he almost doesn't care when he meets an unfamiliar, tipsy young male he realizes must be one of the rebels in Windhaven, glaring at him.

Almost.

"What are you doing outside of your camp, boy?" Boy, he says, because he is one. He's not yet participated in the Rite.

"Visiting family," the boy slurs. "Sir," he adds, mocking.

"Go home," he orders, trying to imitate Nesta when she's at her coldest.

Perhaps it works, because the boy blanches before sneering and turning away.

He has to tell Rhys they're getting more brazen. Normally Cassian wouldn't care at all what any of them say to him-or at least, say he doesn't care-but if these pricks are bringing Nesta into it, all bets are off. He's going to follow up on whoever that was and make sure he doesn't come back to this camp until this situation is under control. Until the threat on the throne, on Nesta's life, is vanquished.

Shaking himself, he pushes into Emerie's shop. "Good morning."

She looks up. "You're back. Hello," she adds.

He gives her a smile. "Who was that?"

Emerie does not return his expression. "My baby cousin, Bellius," she says, bitter. "But never mind him." Just like that, Emerie phases out of her ire and into a cool, detached expression. Just like Nesta, he thinks. Perhaps that was why they liked each other-if they liked each other. "What can I help you with?"

"Perhaps you can help me," he says. "Nesta-Lady Nesta-you met here a few weeks ago?"

"Yes," she says, careful. "I remember."

"Well," he says, unsure of how to introduce the subject. "She's...started taking some self-defense lessons. For exercise. With me."

Emerie looks unconvinced. "For exercise?"

"And she thought you might be interested in joining. And that you have some friends who might be interested, too."

Emerie's face doesn't betray anything. She studies him, and it's been about ten seconds before she says, "Did she?"

"Yes," he says, feeling only slightly like perhaps the two of them training together might not be good for him.

"Hm," she says. After another minute of her own quiet deliberation, she says, slowly, "I will attend one of these lessons...and then I will...consult with my friends."

"All right," Cassian says, thankful that it's over. "Someone will be along to pick you up Monday morning."

He doesn't dawdle too long in saying goodbye. He has a lot to cover before Monday-figure out the best way to introduce self-defense to very traumatized, potentially, females, and now he'll have Emerie, and Nesta. What kind of dynamic will that create?

But he's been a soldier his whole life. Surely he can handle a few young females.

Hopefully.

---

Nesta has taken to carrying around her notebook wherever she goes, just in case she gets an idea of some new thing she can try. A girl named Deridre approaches her and asks her what self-defense is like, and if it's at all like the meditative yoga they do with the priestess Agata, so she writes that down. She goes to one of Daphne's lectures for the first time and learns about resuscitation and scrawls the name of a method to stop choking that seems simple enough to learn. Gwyn sees her writing and says, "You know, your finger nails are shaped so nicely. How come you never paint them?" so she adds that to her list, too.

She finds, actually, that it's quite nice to carry the book around. It's nice to have an excuse to write with such a fine pen. It's been years since she has.

Her sisters visit her over the weekend at her invitation and they are thrilled by her new things.

"I could teach you to paint," Feyre suggests.

Nesta wants to reply that the idea is to attempt things that do not make her want to pitch herself off the veranda, but instead she says, "You already tried that."

"Right," she says, deflating.

"But," she says, oddly disturbed by this response, and grasping for something to say, "maybe we can...sculpt. Or something. One day."

Feyre brightens at this. "Whenever you have time," she says, happily.

"How's self-defense going, Nesta?" Elain asks, would-be casual.

Nesta rolls her eyes. "You've heard we're inviting other girls?"

"Oh, Nesta, I just think it's such a grand idea-"

"Everyone's really excited about it, honestly, they've been trying for something like this for so long-"

"And with the Illyrian girls, Cassian said-"

"We know it's not exactly a unit, but still so impressive-"

"And we hear you're doing really well!"

"Yes! Really well! Maybe I could join you one day, too," Feyre says, hopeful.

"I'd watch. Or, or maybe even try some!"

Nesta takes a sip of water. She forgets how much noise these two make, honestly. "I don't think it's as exciting as you've imagined," she says. "Sure, you can come one day. Maybe not while the other girls...I'm a bit nervous," she confesses, suddenly. "Clotho and Thalia wouldn't let if they thought it was a bad idea, but I don't know..." She looks out onto the rainy city. The House keeps the interior warm for her, but sometimes she thinks she can still feel the cold in her bones anyway. "I mean, I'm the only one who ever leaves the library, and it could go really wrong. Obviously, no one's going to force herself to do this, and they can just no, but-uh," she finishes on a stammer, as she turns back to look at her sisters.

For there are shining silver tears in Elain's eyes, and Feyre's face looks cracked.

What has she said? What horrible thing has she done?

"No, no," Feyre says hurriedly, reading her expression.

"Sorry, Nesta," Elain says, bringing her hands to wipe her eyes. "It's just...it's just so nice to see you like this...about something."

"Oh," Nesta says, eventually.

Her sisters leave in the evening, but the likeness of their faces in her mind do not. Their expressions, their...love.

Is she really so different now, she wonders all weekend. Is she so much better? She doesn't feel particularly much of anything.

If this is better, then what had she been before?

Monday morning rolls around quickly, and she is decked in the uniform the House has supplied her and finished with a light breakfast, waiting at the arena on the roof before the sun has even fully risen.

"Nervous too?" Cassian says from behind her as he neatly lands in.

"I suppose," she says, not turning around.

"How long have you been here?"

"Fifteen minutes."

He chuckles. "Maybe more nervous than I am. Well...shall we begin?"

"No one's here yet."

"So? We can start just the two of us." He shrugs out of his jacket. "Would put us at ease, at least, don't you think?"

Us, he says. Like they are the same. They get nervous by the same things and the same things calm them down and they do it all together.

"Yes," she says, clearly needing it.

The movements come easier than on Thursday. Each time she gets better, and it is, she will admit, a rare sort of feeling. To know that she is improving at something. To feel it in her blood and bones.

Cassian's instructions leave no room for worrying in her mind. When she slips out of his holds, breaks out of his grip, all she can think of are his body and hers, anticipation of his next move and victory when she gets it right, or disgruntlement when she is wrong. They move through the steps in sync, almost like the ballet she used to study, and she is so consumed with it that she does not notice until they are done that they have an audience.

Not a particularly big one. Gwyn, Deirdre, and Azriel has brought Emerie, but an audience nonetheless.

"All right," Cassian says. "So what Nesta and I just did is called the Grunge Hook." He launches through into an explanation of what it means and Nesta blinks as she realizes he must have known they all had arrived. Seen them, heard them.

Her cheeks go cold. She can never notice anything else when he's there. Certainly not as they were; touching, talking...

"So Emerie and Nesta, and, ah, Miss..."

"Gwyn," Gwyn says at the same time Deirdre says, "Deirdre."

"Right," Cassian says. "Well, you two pair up."

Emerie walks over to Nesta and they are ready faster than the other two. Nesta tenses. They have not yet been outside-perhaps this was a mistake-what will Gwyn think of her now? She won't sit next to her for lectures anymore, won't come help her put books away-

But it is only a moment, and then Gwyn turns to Cassian and says, "I guess we should have dressed differently."

"You can wear whatever you're comfortable with," he says. "And you don't have to do anything you don't want to, either."

So Deirdre keeps her hood secured on, but Gwyn shrugs her robe off entirely to reveal simple, like-colored dress. Perhaps she'd like leggings and a skirt like Nesta's, she thinks. If she decides to continue...if other girls decide to join...

Emerie's, surprisingly, not as good at the movements as Nesta is. Surprisingly because Nesta doesn't really think of herself as good at this, just better than before, and because, well, Emerie's Illyrian, and all the Illyrians Nesta knows...

"It's your wings," Azriel says, approaching. "They throw you off balance."

She droops. "So I can't. Because I'm clipped."

Nesta flinches-it's such an ugly word. But what to say?

Azriel answers before she can, his shadows clearing from his face. "Of course not," he says, patient. "Just hold yourself this way," and he shows her how to maneuver her wings.

Emerie seems as though her emotions sway easier than Nesta's, as she appears cheered up by this. "Let's try again," she says to Nesta.

And they do, but it is not like before, with Cassian. It is not as in sync, and she is not as focused. Over on the other side, under Cassian's watch, Gwyn and Deirdre are doing even worse.

When the hour is done, Deirdre hurries back down faster than she has moved throughout the whole lesson, and Gwyn shoots Nesta a small smile, and nods her head once at Azriel, before saying, "Good to see you again," and leaving. Emerie says, "Thanks for thinking of me," and perhaps sounds a bit more genuine, but she turns to ask Azriel to take her back right after, and then she is gone too.

"Brilliant," Nesta says aloud, miserable.

Cassian looks over at her, surprised. "What?"

"Are you kidding me? That was horrible."

Cassian laughs. "Are you kidding me? That was great!"

"Enough," she snaps, skin burning. "I don't need-"

"Woah," he says, raising his hands. "Woah. Seriously, Nesta, what's wrong?"

She clenches her hands into fists. "Stop mocking me."

"I'm not!" he protests, and his stupid eyes are wide and innocent and his stupid voice is confused and concerned when he says, "Come on, why are you upset?" so she has no choice but to answer.

"They hated it and they were bad."

Cassian laughs again. A real laugh this time, with his head tilting back, and the sound echoing in the mountains. Her heart lurches. She ignores it.

"They did not hate it," he says, eyes twinkling. "And they were not bad. They're novices. Not everyone's a born natural like you, with a perfectly paired partner in me," he teases, winking, almost as though good-natured.

"They couldn't get away fast enough." Deirdre didn't even take off her hood. So much for helping other females.

Cassian's grin falters. Shit. Had she said that out loud?

He moves closer to her. "Do you know how many clipped Illyrian females have agreed to come to anything remotely similar to this?"

"You know I don't," she snaps, but he doesn't rise to her bait.

"None," he says, calm. "Emerie is the first. Do you know how long Deirdre's been in here?"

"No," she says. Longer than Gwyn, but not more than that.

"Since before Amarantha took over."

Nesta winces. Over fifty years, at least, then.

"And she came...you convinced her to come."

"I didn't," she says. "Thalia-"

"She told me," he interrupts. "She told me you told her what it was like and she wanted to try it."

Nesta stills at this. "Well...what does it matter if she just tries it once?"

He laughs-again! Why does he laugh so often? "Aren't you doing that? Trying things once? Oh, no, I don't mean it in a bad way, Nes, don't look like that. I'm just saying...okay. So it's not for everyone. Maybe she tries it once and never does it again. But it's still worth a whole fucking lot that she tried. And that's because of you. And how do you know she's not going to try again, anyway? Because she left when the hour was up?"

Nesta reddens slightly.

"Fuck," he says, and this time it doesn't amuse her, his easy swearing. "I-shit. Nesta. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings."

She startles. "I-what?"

"I just mean..." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Look. You did a good thing. Whether or not they continue, you did a good thing. And I think they will, for the record. Emerie might not want to come every day, you know, she might not have time...but I think Gwyn liked it enough."

Nesta feels something inside of her flutter. "She did?"

Cassian nods. "Definitely." He looks at her for another moment, then shakes his head.

"What?" she asks, dreading the answer.

"Nothing," he says. "I just don't understand how you can't possibly be so proud of yourself. Especially today." He shrugs slightly, completely oblivious to what is happening inside of her. That feeling from Clotho's office. What is that?

But it is gone as soon as it arrives, just like last time. He says, "See you tomorrow, Nesta," and leaves. And then she does too.

---

Cassian, Nesta learns over the course of the next few weeks, is right.

Not about her, obviously. But about the females still being interested.

Gwyn's excited about it. "I didn't realize you were so good," she gushes.

Nesta huffs in amusement. "Hardly."

"Well, better than the rest of us!"

"Just a bit more practice," she says. And there is something about the lessons with Cassian...though they don't do as much together, though, anymore. Not with the others there now. She almost wishes that she had not invited everyone for each of the lessons...maybe one morning with him just to herself.

But that's-that's just absurd. He's hardly hers.

Deirdre finds her that Monday, too, and thanks her for convincing her to go. Nesta privately wonders what on earth it was she had said that worked, because the conversation barely stands out in her mind, but she tells Deirdre she's glad to hear she enjoyed it, anyway.

"I think Roslin and Ananke would like it too," she says. "Thalia told them it would be good for them, but they were too nervous. I'll try and convince them...I didn't realize how much fun it would be," she adds with a gentle laugh.

Fun?

"Oh," Nesta says. "Oh...well, good. I mean, good to hear. I hope they...join too."

And Cassian is right about Emerie as well. She does not come on Tuesday, but she does on Wednesday, and tells Nesta she thinks she can keep coming twice a week.

"And your friends?" she asks.

"They're interested," she tells her. "But I think I have to work a little harder at convincing them."

Nesta nods, not wanting to ask what they might have stopping them from coming. Whatever happened to Emerie's wings-whoever had clipped her-perhaps those females have someone like that in their lives.

It is on the second Wednesday that Emerie arrives that Nesta asks her if she'd like to stay a while longer. She'd already asked Azriel the day before if he could possibly take her back after lunch, and he'd agreed.

There was something odd about talking to Azriel, she noticed. Something about those shadows. Something about the way they-looked?-at her. Something...

But Emerie agrees, if a bit shyly, and she asks Gwyn if she'd like to take lunch with the two of them instead of in the priestesses' dining hall, and Nesta has her new thing for the day: hosting people for a meal.

They ogle everything openly, jaws dropping as the House pulls out chairs for them and food appears as Nesta requests it.

"Thank you," she says.

"You're...talking to the House?" Gwyn asks.

"Yes."

"Oh. Thank you," she adds.

"Thank you," Emerie says quickly.

The House likes them too. Nesta can tell. There's a bit more effort being made here today, she thinks, as she notes a fancy bouquet in the middle of the table and finer china than she normally uses. Nesta smiles to herself.

Nesta searches for something she can say, a safe topic that has nothing to do with self-defense, but Gwyn beats her to it. "So, how do you two know each other?" she asks.

"Nesta came to Illyria to scare some rebels who are trying to kill her," Emerie answers casually.

Gwyn jerks her head towards Nesta. "Really?"

"Not quite how I would have phrased it," Nesta says. "But true enough, I suppose."

"Why are they trying to kill you?" Gwyn says, eyes wide.

Wonderful. What a fantastic luncheon this is.

"They don't like me very much."

"They're scared of her," Emerie says. "And they want to overthrow the High Lord and High Lady." She turns to Nesta. "What do you think of that?"

Nesta raises an eyebrow as she cuts into her food. "Of killing my sister and Rhysand? Well, I've certainly thought of it myself, at times."

They both laugh. Nesta blinks. Then she smiles slightly.

"I have to assume I'm against them," she says. "But to be honest, I don't really understand any of the politics here. I'm...not very well-informed."

"Oh, neither am I," Gwyn says, shaking her head. "It's terrible. I mean, I've lived in this court all my life, and I'm so pitifully ignorant. It's ridiculous. I don't know the first thing about Illyria, like. Or even Velaris, really. And I have no excuse. I live in a library, for gods' sakes."

"I don't know of any books I'd recommend for you to learn about Illyria," Emerie says, thoughtful. "Not unless you read Illyrian, that is."

"See, I didn't even know there was an Illyrian until you just said that. Pathetic."

"Can you recommend other books?" Nesta says, latching on the chance to steer the conversation away from the history of the Night Court and into perhaps the only topic she might be able to contribute to.

"Oh, of course," Emerie says, pausing to swallow. "What do you like?"

"Romance," Nesta says, as Gwyn says, "Adventure."

"Ooh, The Knight Society. That's both. You can read that together."

Gwyn grins at Nesta. "Book club," she says. "What's it about?"

Emerie launches into a description of the book-the series, actually-and eventually, Nesta finds herself not looking for things to say, but rather just...talking. Not forced. Not desperate. Just a part of the conversation. Easy, flowing...fun, almost.

Funny, at least. Emerie is clutching her sides laughing as she describes the worst romance novel she ever read and Gwyn giggles, her hands covering her mouth, but Nesta says thoughtfully, "That's not such a horrible idea, though."

"You think-"

"No, no, the premise is atrocious, yes," she says. "But that exact scene...that has potential."

"Potential, right," Emerie says, laughing still.

"No, I mean it," she says, but she lets it go, lets the conversation drift naturally.

She is disappointed when Azriel comes to take Emerie back, but picked up by the fact that they all are. Emerie promises to make time to stay for lunch again, either Monday or Wednesday of next week.

"This was so lovely," Gwyn says to her, wistful, as they walk down to the library together. "So much nicer than in the dining hall.

"Really?" Nesta says before she can stop herself. "Well...I eat lunch every day. You can join...if you'd like."

Gwyn brightens. "I would!"

So after two weeks of lessons with other girls (Roslin and Ananke have joined, and Lorelei and Ilana, too, though the later doesn't participate so much as watch), and more random assignments from Clotho, and new things for Thalia, Nesta finally finds herself with a few hours of quiet after Friday evening's lecture has been canceled.

"Shall we read?" she says to the House.

Lights flicker in answer. Too many for the usual yes or no. This means Nesta has to follow.

"All right," she says, standing. "To the veranda?" she asks. But it's too cold out, so she hopes not.

Instead, the House leads her to a room she hasn't been in since her first stay, upon first exploration. She has had no need.

"Oh," she says at the door, softly.

The knob turns slightly, not fully opening. The House giving her the final decision.

But she doesn't want to hurt its feelings, so she opens the door.

The music room-a conservatory, it can be called-just by the sheer size of it-is grander than she remembers. She had opened the door and not even stepped inside, that first time. Just stood there, frozen, before snapping the door shut and hurrying away.

She takes a slow step in, but almost as though she is being walked by some other being, she takes another, and then another, and before she knows it, she is seated at the piano.

Ballroom grand. Enormous. Sleek and glossy and it would sound just perfect, she knows.

Lights flicker from behind. She turns and lets out a little laugh.

"Thanks," she says, shaking her head at the spotlight, "but I don't think I'm going to be learning the trumpet this evening."

The lights stop, as if the House is acquiescing.

The lights above her now flicker briefly. So will you play the piano, then?

Nesta inhales and exhales deeply. Slowly. Again. And again. The same way Cassian has her do after lessons.

There's really...there's really nothing stopping her. There's no reason not to. If she were to pick up her notebook and write down the reasons why she can't play right now, there wouldn't be any.

So why can't she do it?

She doesn't have an answer. So with another deep breath, Nesta closes her eyes and gently presses her thumb to middle C.

The sound is soft, and then that feeling, from with Thalia and Clotho, and Cassian, hits her again. But as she hits the second note, it does not fade away. It stays this time. So she plays.

#nessian #nessian fic #acosf fic #acotar fic #nesta archeron #whatever the hell am i supposed to tag this asssssss???????? #anyway. i'm thrilled to be sharing this!! #cannot WAIT for next chapter also #because nesta had to go on a journey to get to her journey #because she was in such a bad place!! #but here she's like...she's been getting better but not good #and now she can start getting good you know?? #so exciting #hope y'all enjoy<3 #oh and btw i don't about you but i'm turning 22 next friday when i post chapter seven #so in case you were looking for a sign to share what you think...this is it #😌 #lol #but kind of for real

[thejollyroger-writer]

Heart and Soul - Part 1 - A CS Concert Series Fic

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument -- though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry's mother, Emma Swan. 

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary 

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet -- though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi​) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it. 

Thanks to @csconcertseries​ and @clockadile​, who gave me a reason to finish this story! 

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

There aren’t many unusual things Killian truly hates.

Sure, he hates things like seeing horrific stories on the news, bigots, and people on the road who don’t utilize their turn signals. But those all seemed fairly normal within the realm of things that are passionately disliked.

The one standout thing he despises, however, is the recorder. 

His animosity toward the instrument — if one can even call it an instrument — feels like a betrayal to his career at times. He spends his weekdays teaching both children and adults to play music, helping them discover hidden talents and find as much comfort and happiness within the notes as he does. The piano and the guitar are his most popular contenders among students. But he’s also had a bit of experience teaching violin and harmonica, along with one memorable incident with the drum set in his basement that resulted in several complaints from the neighbors. 

Recorders? He intentionally keeps a fair distance from those.

If he’s being honest, it’s probably hindered his career a bit over the past few years. Since he moved to Storybrooke and word got out across the small town that he was a music teacher, he’s had countless parents approach him whose children had brought home recorders from school, asking him to give them lessons to improve their playing and put the rest of the family out of their misery. 

Killian has always declined. He’ll offer to help by teaching the child another instrument instead, but recorders are out of the question. It’s simply not worth his time, not when there are so many better options available. 

Needless to say, he’s less than pleased when he’s woken up before seven one morning by the sound of “Hot Cross Buns” being played on the dreaded instrument. 

Something’s not right. He has to be hearing things, isn’t he? The house to the left of his is vacant, and the one to the right is the home of his neighbor and her son, the latter of whom should be resting as much as he can before the beginning of his school year. 

What reason would he have to be playing the recorder this early in the— bloody hell, he thinks to himself. Yesterday was the first school day for the year. He should have remembered considering the extensive adjustments he's had to make to his schedule from lessons over the summer. 

Killian doesn't know all that much about Henry Swan and his mother. They'd moved into the house next door last fall and the lad had introduced himself not long after. He knows that Henry is about nine or ten years old, is a student at Storybrooke Elementary School, and is a Star Wars fan, judging by the number of printed t-shirts he's seen him wearing when they come across each other arriving to and leaving their respective houses.

He knows just as much, if not even less, about Emma Swan. Only that she works as a sheriff's deputy for her older brother, and favors beanies and leather jackets during the fall and winter months. Killian assumes that she’s single considering she and Henry are the only two occupants of the house, and he’s never seen any visitors there aside from her family.

Which is a relief, because he's also infatuated with her. 

Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch considering the few interactions they’ve shared. Killian is aware that he doesn’t exactly know her well enough for any type of infatuation to really exist. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s managed to make him feel like an awkward schoolboy who can’t maintain some sense of dignity around a girl. 

Their most recent interaction had taken place the Monday prior; he was getting ready for his morning run when Emma returned from what he assumed was the night shift at the sheriff’s station. She’d given him a brief smile and waved as she unlocked her front door. He was so surprised that he tripped and almost fell over his shoelace that he’d forgotten to tie thanks to the unexpected gesture.

(It was hard to tell whether she noticed. He’s hoping the answer is no.)

All of this to say, he likes the Swans. But he’s not sure just how long he’ll be able to tolerate what has to be Henry and his recorder, especially this early in the bloody morning.

Of all the songs in the world, what would bring him to choose “Hot Cross Buns” anyway?

 Killian gets his answer a few weeks later. Every afternoon since the end of the school year save one or two (plus a few choice mornings), he’s been treated to the sound of Henry attempting to play a number of different songs, each one a tad more annoying than the last. There’s been “Yankee Doodle,” “Skip to My Lou,” and, oddly enough, “Jingle Bells.”

Something has to be done before Henry tries to learn “Baby Shark.”

He knows he should act his age and learn to embrace his young neighbor’s new hobby. (Or buy a good pair of earplugs.) After all, Henry’s a child, and Killian is glad he’s chosen to dedicate part of his free time to learning music.

But he really needs to choose a different instrument.

It’s what leads him to knock on the Swan’s front door on a Saturday morning a month into the school year. Emma and Henry are both home judging by the yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway and the squeaky recorder notes coming from an open window on the second floor.

Emma answers the door. Her blonde hair is tied into a messy knot on the top of her head, and she’s sipping coffee from a bright red mug and wearing running shorts and a faded t-shirt that he’s willing to bet are her pajamas. 

He’s never felt more attracted to her. But that’s not the reason he came by.

“Oh, hi, Killian,” she greets him, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Her reaction makes him consider if he should have given some kind of notice before coming over. 

“Good morning, Swan. I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I heard the lad playing and assumed you were both up.”

“Yeah. He’s been at it for a while.” Emma bites her lower lip and glances back and forth from him to the staircase he can just make out behind her. “I’m really sorry if he’s been annoying you with the music recently. I’ve suggested he only play later in the afternoon, especially since I've been trying to have the windows open more often so we don't have to keep running the air conditioning, but he always makes some comment about liking to start his day off with music, and I hate to discourage him when he’s finally found a hobby he’s enjoying.” 

Hearing these words causes Killian to feel guilty for being irritated with Henry’s playing, but it also makes the reason he came by seem even more appropriate. “Think nothing of it. I’m quite happy to hear the lad has taken an interest in music. But if you don’t mind my input, lass, I think he could do well with a more versatile instrument that allows him to explore his capabilities even further.” It’s the nicest way he can think of to discourage her son from ever touching a recorder again.

Emma is quiet for a moment, brow furrowing as she contemplates his suggestion. “I don’t think I understand— oh!” A look of realization crosses her face. “That’s right. You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, and he’s great!” The face of Henry Swan pops up behind his mother; he’s already almost as tall as she is. “Hi, Mr. Jones,” he says. Killian smiles at him before he turns back to Emma. “Remember, Mom? He played with some other parents at the last school fundraiser. You were there.”

Killian remembers the night in question vividly. He and a handful of other parents who played music had been asked to perform a selection of songs at Storybrooke Elementary’s annual spring event. (Emma had worn a tight red dress and heels. He was playing the piano and had come close to butchering the opening of their first song when he’d noticed her.)

She remembers the event, too, if the blush on her cheeks is anything to go by. “Yeah, kid, I remember. I just...haven’t had enough caffeine yet this morning.” She takes a long sip from the mug she’s holding as if to prove a point. 

“Aye. Well.” Killian pauses, the shift in conversation having made him briefly forget the purpose for his visit. “I was just telling your mother, Henry, that I’m quite glad that you’re interested in playing music. I didn’t know how you felt about possibly trying other instruments as well? Guitar, piano, saxophone, triangle…” he trails off. 

He knows the bare minimum about saxophones and doesn’t think Henry would actually want to play the triangle. But he’ll offer to give him harmonica lessons so long as he never touches a recorder again.

Henry considers his suggestion. “I hadn’t really thought about it. Miss Greene just gave us the recorders to take home so we could practice.” (Killian knows of the Miss Greene he is referring to, and resists the urge to message Tink and suggest she not guide her fourth graders in that direction ever again.) “I guess it would be cool to play something else though.” He smiles up at Killian. “Do you think if I tried to play the piano that I could be as good as you someday?”

Killian’s heart swells with pride at the boy’s admiration. Truth be told, he’s been complimented for his talent on numerous occasions by all kinds of people from different walks of life. But something about hearing his abilities praised from a ten year old with excitement in his eyes means more to him than any recognition has in quite some time. 

“Perhaps,” he tells Henry. “If you utilize as much practice and dedication as you seem to be doing for that recorder, I’m sure you’ll be a seasoned pianist in no time.”

Killian is so thrilled by the smile that spreads across the lad’s face that he almost misses the wince that crosses his mother’s. 

Almost. 

“Henry…” she starts, her eyes turned down to the ground, and Killian’s eyes are drawn to her hands wringing in front of her. 

“What, mom? Mr. Jones wants to teach me how to play the piano, please let me learn how to play the piano!” 

The shadow of a smile crosses over her face, but it doesn’t stay. “It’s not—” she pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth, gently sucking on it for a moment before releasing it and finally raising her eyes to meet Killian’s. “We don’t have a piano, and, well… I don’t think we can afford to get one for him to practice on.” 

Henry’s expression, his shoulders, his excitement, physically fall. “But mom, don’t—” 

Killian doesn’t even let the boy pose his argument, because he already has the solution — hopefully a solution that works for all three of them. “That’s really not a problem, love,” he says, his smile growing when her bright green eyes start to sparkle with the hope he is giving her son. “As it happens, I just bought a new piano for the studio, so I have one that I’m hoping to get rid of. If you want it, it’s yours.” 

It’s not quite the truth: he has his baby grand in his living room, the one that he practices on himself; and he has the two uprights in his studio, one much newer than the other, and as much as he has wanted to replace the older one with an updated model, he hasn’t gotten around to it. Getting rid of one of them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and it would certainly clear up some space in the basement, though it would keep some of his students from practicing while he’s in another lesson.

But with the smile that grows across Henry’s face, and Emma’s to match it, the little white lie seems like the worst of his problems. Because, gods above, he has it bad for this woman. 

Moving the old upright piano from his basement to the Swan’s living room the following Saturday proves much more difficult than lying to them about it. It’s an adventure that requires his brother, Emma’s brother, and Emma — and not, he doesn't fall to notice, the man who he assumes to be Henry’s father, who shows up with the boy right as they’re struggling to get through the front door. 

Killian hates him before he even opens his mouth to speak, seemingly the only one to notice his run-down dark green pick-up truck parked by the curb while he stands in Emma’s entryway, trying to keep the piano from tipping over. The only one to notice him, sitting in the driver’s seat and making no motion to get out, even as Henry jumps down from the passenger seat and begins collecting his soccer gear from the back seat. 

“This thing really doesn’t look like it would be this hard to move,” Emma’s brother — David — grunts, trying his hardest to help ease the piano up over Emma’s front step. 

“Oh, come on, Nolan,” they all hear from behind them, everyone else finally noticing. “You having a little trouble with that?” 

“You know, Cassidy,” David calls out, and Killian notices a vein in his forehead popping out as they try to lift it from the bottom and up the single step. “You could always get your ass over here and be helpful.” 

Emma laughs from the other side of the piano. “Yeah, right.” 

The guy in the truck laughs louder, turning his head in a way that makes Killian sure that he’s staring at Emma. His words make him even more sure: “I prefer the view from where I am, actually.” 

“Asshole,” David says, either a bit louder than he meant or exactly as loud as he meant; Killian has a feeling it’s the second. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Henry asks, dropping his soccer stuff on the porch behind Emma. At least the lad has manners, Killian tells himself, finally guiding the piano into the entryway. He gets them from his mother. 

“Just stay out of the way, bud,” David tells him between gritted teeth, the three of them pushing the piano the rest of the way through the door. 

“Are you the lucky lad who gets to play this piano?” Liam asks once they’ve all made it into the entryway, Killian tossing one last glare towards Henry’s father pulling away from the curb as he closes the front door. When he turns to Henry, he’s beaming. 

“Yep! Killian offered to teach me so he could stop hearing me practice the recorder every morning!” 

The bluntness of Henry’s statement pulls a laugh from all of them.

 Henry takes to the piano like a fish to water, which doesn't surprise Killian in the least. The lad is bright, Killian has learned that just from talking with him during their time as neighbors, but when he is able to play most of his scales and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" by their second lesson, he knows he has stumbled upon true talent. 

And spending time with his mother certainly doesn't hurt, either. 

(The way her laughter carries through the open windows when Henry plays through a song brightens up his days in ways he didn't think was possible anymore, as well, but that's a secret he plans to keep to himself for a while.) 

But by the end of September, four o'clock on Tuesday comes by slowly, especially since his and Emma's schedules have apparently shifted so they're never coming or going at the same time, but when she answers his knock on her door, he immediately feels a calm wash over him. Sure, he feels his heart in his throat, and when she smiles at him and takes a step back to let him in the house, he can swear that he has never seen a more beautiful sight in his life. 

Shit, he's in deep. 

"Hello, love," he says, returning her smile as he steps through the doorway. 

"Hey, Killian," she says back, leaning back against the door to push it shut. "I, uh, thought I already said something to you, but Henry's not here right now." 

"Oh." He tries not to let his upset show on his face. This time that he spends with Henry Swan and his mother has become the highlight of his week, but since Henry isn't here, he assumes that means he should go home. 

But neither of them move. 

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, as it does every time he's found himself in this gorgeous woman's presence, and he counts the moments that pass through his heartbeats: one, two, three, four. 

"Where is the lad, if you don't mind me asking?" 

She shrugs, still physically blocking him from leaving. "He's with his dad." 

"On a Tuesday night?"

She looks down at the floor, holding out her hands out into her line of vision. "We’re going away next weekend with David and Mary Margaret, so it’s to make up for the time he’s missing. But believe me, he would much rather be here with you." 

“I’ve only ever heard him say good things about his father.” 

“Do you really think that he would tell a stranger about the bad things?” she snaps, and he reels back immediately, regretting ever bringing it up in the first place. Biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, he tries to push memories of doing the same thing from his mind, tries not to think of all the times he wanted to tell someone other than his brother of the way he was being treated — and he, of course, remembers the embarrassment that came whenever someone tried to bring it up. 

Killian thinks back to the only time he’s met Henry’s father, after helping move the piano into their living room, and he begs once again that this man is nothing like Brennan Jones. 

“Of course,” he says finally, his voice soft with regret and the memory of his own father’s drunken escapades, and he swallows the memories down like bile. 

A beat passes between them, long enough to make Killian sure that he should simply excuse himself and go home, but it’s the last thing he wants to do. 

“Do you want to come in for lunch?” she blurts, her eyes quickly flitting away from his when he tries to find them. 

“Pardon?” He’s not thrown off by the question, really, as much as he is the sentiment. 

“I just — I feel bad that I forgot to tell you that Henry’s with Neal, and now you don’t have anything to do for the next hour, and I was already reheating some of Marg's soup and making sandwiches, so I can — you know what, just… forget it, forget that I asked—” 

“I would love to.”

The look on her face when she finally brings her eyes to meet him makes him sure that his acceptance is the last thing she expects. 

Her kitchen is much more welcoming than his, bright and colorful with the fitting smell of chicken soup wafting from it. "Grilled cheese alright?" she asks, moving past him towards the fridge after gesturing for him to take a seat at the table. 

"Is it ever not?" 

The twinkling laugh she lets out actually seems to brighten the kitchen even further, which he would not have thought possible. 

"I knew I liked you for a reason." 

If the words affect her nearly as much as they do him, she hides it well, moving daintily through the kitchen to gather the rest of the supplies for the sandwiches. He is thankful for the moment of silence that passes between them, noticing for the first time the soft music coming from a small speaker on top of the fridge — he half-recognizes the song, he thinks from Harry Potter? — as he regains his composure, settles the pounding of his heart in his chest. 

"What made you start playing music?" 

And just like that, the pounding comes back. It's an innocent question, one that he gets asked a lot, and one he usually brushes over with a mention of his mother and her affinity for the piano. But, in the welcoming warmth of Emma Swan’s kitchen, he finds himself wanting to tell her everything, wanting to tell the whole story for the first time in a very long time, all the broken bottles and broken promises and broken wrists, the happy songs and the sad songs and one too many damn funeral marches, the drunken spat with the drunken man that almost made him lose his hand, and the life of sobriety that he swore himself into, exchanging his hatred for one parent with his love for another. 

And then he hears the words coming from his mouth, a poisonous story uninvited into this space, into this wonderful woman's life, but it becomes the edited and abridged version as quickly as he can save it: "My father wasn't the nicest man, though he treated my mum the worst of all of us, and in order to find some semblance of peace in the world, she taught herself how to play the piano. And she taught me, too. Tried to teach Liam, but he was never very good at it. So it became a stress relief for me, and I just kept finding new instruments and learning how to play those to keep myself from spiraling, and when it came time for me to figure out my place in the world, music was the obvious answer." 

She hums from her place at the stove, slowly stirring the small pot of soup with a wooden spoon. The movement of her nodding head is small, almost enough that Killian wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching her so intently. Somehow, he can tell that she wants to say something, maybe has a story like his own that she’s trying to piece together into a semblance of something normal, and he doesn’t push her. 

“I get that,” she says finally, still not turning her attention away from the stove. He doesn’t mind; he’s not sure that he’s ready for that level of intimacy, for looking at each other while sharing their backstories — quite the jump from the casual neighborly hello’s and short conversations they have shared by this point. “That’s why I run, even though sometimes it makes me want to die. It was the only time I had alone when I was in—younger, and it’s still the only time I can do something and not be drowning in my own thoughts the whole time.” 

He wonders about her slip of the tongue, the eloquent way she caught herself —  and the way she straightened her back slightly as she corrected herself. 

But the last thing he wants is for her to question anything that he said, so he’s certainly not going to say anything, only watch her as she reaches into a cabinet to pull out two bowls, pouring some soup in each of them. 

“That’s how I am with the piano. When I sit down in front of it, it’s like my whole brain shuts down and there’s nothing except the music. My mum told me she was the same way when I got a bit older, and it explained why I would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and hear her downstairs on the old upright the church donated to us. And Liam says the same thing about being behind the wheel of anything.” 

When she finally turns towards him, a bowl of soup in each hand and a smile on her face, he knows that he has finally found someone to understand. 

And he could not be more ecstatic that it is Emma Swan.

-- Part Two will post as soon as I finish it! --

tags: @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @wellhellotragic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @teamhook​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @thisonesatellite​ @superchocovian​ @carpedzem​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ -- if you want to be tagged in part two, let me know; if you no longer want to be tagged in my works, just send me a message! 

#captain swan #cs fics #ouat #cs ff #ouat ff #cs concert series #music teacher! au #teacher!killian

[traumatized-motherfuckers]

CPTSD relationship patterns on repeat

Listen wherever you stream, search “complex trauma” and subscribe. Or, find episodes, blog posts, and a private support community at t-mfrs.com

.............................................................................................................................

Things I’ve gotten good at throughout this Trauma journey:

Seeing connections between where I’m from and where I am

Thinking for the first time about where I’m going

Letting myself have emotions

Letting those emotions go

Redirecting my energy and attention away from ruminating

Being accountable for my own feelings

Being accountable for times of being a shithead

Listening and validating other humans

Listening and validating myself

Recognizing what circumstances do/don’t work for me

Realizing how my codependency plays with relationships

Letting go of self-hate inner critic talk

Reframing events with reasonable views

Accepting myself, even when I first want to thrash myself

Semi-consistently caring for myself

Setting realistic boundaries and goals

Sleeping

Things I’m still shitty at:

Letting my overwhelm skew reality

Anxious self-slave-driving

Being a snarky turd when my head is overloaded

Taking on other people’s energies and emotions

Trusting myself in all areas of life

Forming healthy relationships.

Okay, it’s that last one that has me most perpetually fighting feelings of panic and doom.

This seems like an apt way to kick off the new year. I think a lot of us have questions about relationships and would like to improve our operations in 2021. I can also tell you, this one is extremely appropriate looking back at the last year of my life.

One of the biggest lessons I've learned in the past few spins around the sun has been how romance does - and definitely doesn't - fit into my life. I think 2020 was particularly packed full of important lectures and pop quizzes, many of which I failed. It felt like knowing that the correct answer was C, but finding my hand filling in the circle for A every time, anyways.

This is a terrible ideaaaa... and I'm doing it. Pause for about 2 months. Now I'm upset that it was a terrible idea.

Yeah, it's been great. But I have no one to blame but myself. Because as much as I've worked on this trauma management life of mine, I haven't done a good job of working on the relationship aspect of it. I've let my usual patterns dominate. And that's what needs to be examined today.

I mean. Can someone tell me about healthy relationships in functional terms? What IS that even?

Look, I’m not hoping that someone will pop up and share some, “mutual respect, good communication, trust, support, care, similar goals, similar beliefs…” sort of shit. I fucking KNOW about the idealistic, flowery terms that all the light-hearted couples counselors recommend establishing for a happy relationship. I get it.

I’m not ignorant when it comes to the ways humans should interact. I’ve had enough experience with friendships and relationships, alike, to understand the basics of person-to-person interactions. I know I talk about myself like I’ve been a feral child locked in a cage for 20 years, but the truth is that if you met me on the streets I’d probably seem like a normal, well-adapted, personable human being. That Leo Ascendant component of my personality tricks people into actually thinking I’m an extrovert who wants attention. (Hilarious, explains a lot of comments I’ve gotten in my past)

Nah, I’m not asking for the trite descriptions of a healthy partnership that everyone who’s ever been friends on a basic girl’s Facebook has seen before in cursive writing on top of a washed-out pink-tinted field. Those are empty sounding words that I don’t believe most couples manage to put into action, no matter how many selfies they take together or labradoodles they adopt.

For me, Fuckers, the mystery isn’t, “in a fairytale world, how do two humans interact to have a lifelong bliss factory?” Respect, trust, appreciation, mutual understanding… blah blah blah. What the fuck ever.

The real question is how.

And, shit, let me just be honest with all of you - not just the Patrons who’ve already heard my personal bitching - it’s on my mind because I did a thing I definitely should not have… recently, I got into a new romantic relationship that I definitely was not looking for. I’ll spare you all the details today, but know that I’ve entered it kicking and screaming, and it’s caused me a lot of grief already.

Let the life shittery begin! Can’t wait to be destroyed.

Today, I want to bring this personal fire burning in my gut into the podcast. Motherfuck me, if it hasn’t become difficult to ignore… plus, I know that a lot of us Traumatized folks are in a similar boat when it comes to relationship confusion, unhealth, and destruction. So let’s just count the ways that I have no idea how to do this right and I’m destined to be let down by my poor choices.

This time around, I'm bringing you a list of all the ways I tend to fuck things up with other humans. In part, due to Complex Trauma. In other part, probably due to my own personal shortcomings. Listed in no particular order. On a later date, I'm going to be revisiting a lot of these patterns as I examine how early life set a lot of us up for a lot of abuse acceptance in greater detail. Stick around for those continuations on romantic disaster, if this sounds like you, too.

I'm talking about:

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists, and addicts

Emotional codependency

Mistrust

… That turns into willful blind belief of their words

Inadequacy

Parenting analogues

Authority figures & disappointment

Misdirected commitment

Learned helplessness

Partner choice: Musicians, narcissists and addicts

Who has bad taste in partners? Over and over and over again? It’s me! And probably a lot of you.

Maybe that’s not fair. Maybe they’ve been wonderful guys who just didn’t mesh well with my inner or outer world… but I can tell you, there have been some similarities, and they don’t bode well for a happy future together.

You know me by now. Difficulty connecting with “normal” humans, no interest in small talk, a huge fan of deep emotional honesty, a bit gritty and assholeish, tends to be repelled by anything too widely embraced by the general public, definitely comes with a difficult past, fears of the future, and ongoing challenges in the present.

So, who do you think I get along with? Ivy leaguers with stable, supportive families, an optimistic outlook, and a 20-year plan? Or equally messy and complex humans with a set of neuroses handed down from their unexamined early traumas that make them similarly bitter and disillusioned with life? Just… probably hidden from immediate sight.

Grown men who’ve responsibly built a life for themselves with ambition, personal insight, and balance? Or man-children who’re still figuring out that they can’t drink every night of the week if they want to be functional in life and financially sound? But... with their addictions hidden behind “an appreciation for fine whiskies” or a necessity to sample the craft beer they brew.

Independent, confident humans who have no problem running their own world like a boss and trust that I’m capable of doing the same, with integrity and respect? Or distrustful turds who need me to be in their sight, half-directing their lives at all times unless I’m aiming to be accused of cheating, lying, and being unable to care for myself? Only… they hide their controlling and aggressive tendencies behind go-with-the-flow facades in the beginning.

If you guessed “B” in all three examples, you are correct!

Plus... so, so many musicians. Like, the last 6 of them have either subscribed to guitar or drum camp. And that hasn't been a purposeful decision - those are just the men I get along with until we hate each other.

It's always a rapid connection, a mutual respect for our interests in the arts, and a shared shitty attitude that starts out directed at the world and ends directed at each other. So many emotions. So many ups and downs. So many proclamations of "I can't live without you!" until the day we run in opposite directions and never look back.

Is that a coincidence? Or are all musical folk a bit wild? I hate to generalize, but I can tell you with great amusement that if you start typing "Are all musicians..." into Google, it will autocomplete with "cheaters, narcissists, and crazy." It also suggests "rich," but I can tell you for a fact that isn't true. The narcissist thing... uh.... very well might be correct. But I'll leave that for someone else to study.

So, I don't know what to make of this trend. There do seem to be some commonalities between the musicians in my past life - and they do seem to be categorized by the instrument of choice. For instance, drummers are never concerned with my time, and guitarists are emotional catastrophes. But what do I know? Can't make sweeping conclusions... I, at least, need a larger sample size. With my track record, I'm sure I'll have the numbers soon enough.

Congratulations if you predicted nothing but unstable disasters in my past. It's true, I’m an idiot. Okay, that’s not fair. No inner critic talk. Get out of here, Pam and Karen.

The fact of the matter is, I am a terrible judge of character when I start sensing a connection. I tend to connect with people who have complicated lives and inner worlds, just like I do. And from what I can tell, that is always my downfall.

Challenging connections

Let’s go ahead and chalk this one up to never having close connections or support growing up.

You know what I always wanted, hoped for, and idealized as a kid? Someone loving me. Another human actually understanding my weirdness and signing on for more. The idea of a human who wanted to know what I thought and felt. The option of spending time with someone and feeling cared for. Also, somebody finding me attractive, instead of being repulsed by my ass-length ginger hair, flat chest, dorky hand-me-downs, bleach-stained horse sweaters, and buck teeth... also would have been a dream come true.

I’m pretty sure that growing up lonely didn’t help me in any regard when it came to my later-in-life relationship problems. Starving for connection apparently puts you in a state of deprivation, where you’re likely to think anything is better than the empty feeling inside. You know, just for the rest of your life or so.

To this day, if I meet someone and we’re able to converse without abundant clarifications or apologies for the prickly things that come out of my mouth as dry humor or unbendable opinions… we’re on a roll. If we can connect over shared perspectives on humans, life, and psychology… things are getting more serious. If we can honestly talk about the ways we’re horrible to ourselves and joke about our shared challenges in figuring out what the point of this shitty slip-and-slide of life is about… uh oh, this might be a real connection.

And so, it makes sense that I connect with all the most complicated people you’d ever meet. And we connect INTENSELY. I’m complicated, myself, and I look for folks who can accept it without their heads exploding. I’m never going to be happy holding conversations with Sports Bar Joe or Pretty Boy Blaine. They’re never going to understand the internal strife that dominates my world. I’m never going to understand how they can be all *happy,* *close with their families,* and *laid back about life.*

Gross. I can’t even say the words.

But give me the angstiest, most anxious, most misunderstood dude on the block, and we’re likely to get along swimmingly. We’ll talk over beers until the birds start to chirp. We’ll joke in our native tongues, playing with words, obscure references, and dry humor as if we’ve known each other for 25 years. We’ll share secrets about our tumultuous inner worlds and the ways that we can’t seem to get our heads on straight enough to keep our ships on course.

And the next thing you know, we’ll be incestuously connected with a somewhat false sense of intimacy that erupts out of the gates. “No one has ever understood me the way you do. I can really be myself around you. I’ve never had such easy conversations about this shit before.”

… That’s about the point when I lose all perspective. There’s a tunnel running from my face to this dude’s heart. I stop seeing things for what they are. I project a kinder, gentler, more well-intended personality on the subject of my feels. I quickly turn a blind eye to all the shit they’re doing that I wholeheartedly hate or otherwise cause my red flags to be unpacked.

I feel like I know them, inside and out. I feel like I can help them - like we can help each other - to sort through this dumb world we’ve been born into and all the circumstances holding us back. A real Sid and Nancy storyline emerges. No one gets him like I do. If only they could see the things I see. We’re just two broken souls who found each other, a little rough around the edges, but we see the diamonds underneath. And we’re in this battle together from now on.

Yeah, right.

Sooooo… This is how I wind up with the unpredictable narcissists who seem like nice guys, the secret addicts who keep their substance abuse hidden from everyone, and the emotional abusers who are ready to leverage my mental health admissions against me the first time they get the chance. Dudes who have highly emotional worlds and no idea how to deal with them. Men who don’t want to explore their own shortcomings and instead choose avoidant courses in life.

And, again, the musicians. So, so many musicians. I really am coming to think that they’re the most fucked up people of all - and that's saying a lot coming from me. Generally speaking, I've seen that there’s no sense of personal responsibility, an obsession with themselves, and a hidden inferiority complex that turns them into bitchy little dogs when they feel threatened. What’s with that, anyways? Can you guys try to be more original in your plight to be the most original?

Okay, anyways. Sorry to keep dragging on musicians.

The point is, my attempts at relationships start out on the wrong foot. Choosing the wrong partner is a pretty surefire way to dash all hopes for those fluffy ideals I mentioned earlier. No one is going to respect me, listen to me, or support me when they’re too busy dealing with their own alcoholism, abandonment issues, and narcissistic flailings… or, not dealing with them, to be more specific.

We aren’t going to be able to work through things when they’re consumed with being the king of the world, hiding from all negative emotions, and trying to keep their head away from analysing their own actions. Hell, it’ll be difficult to even find the time for serious talks, since they’re so busy traveling to band practices, hustling away for barely-paying gigs, and staring at their social media while they count the ways they’re victims of the universe.

Choose imbalanced, mentally ill, self-serving partners… get unhealthy, controlling, unpredictable relationships. Pretty goddamn obvious. And yet, I still can never seem to see the full picture of the human who’s caught my attention through the fog that’s created by the connection of our shared dysfunctions.

I guess this is where that, “love yourself and get yourself healthy first,” sentiment comes into play, so the connections don’t continue to be as disasterious as your personal experience is. Hopefully I’m on the right path in my own journey, at least. Also, a lot less starved for connection. I got y’all Motherfuckers in the Discord community, for starters. And I’ve become determined to live a life where I support myself and rely on no one outside of Archie’s snuggles, for finishers.

Step one: Be careful about who you deem a good person, just because you can share self-deprecating jokes about being nutjobs and similar musical interests. Learn to choose someone who isn’t an even trashier trash human than you are. It’s a start.

Emotional codependency

Hand in hand with forming connections that include deep emotional outpourings and admissions of all the dark things we hide from the light at our office jobs… comes codependency.

I’ve said it before and let me say it again… I didn’t understand codependency until very recently.

In my mind, it was akin to those creepy couples who won’t leave the house without each other, have the same friends, interests, and opinions on everything... and possibly wear matching cat shirts. Those people who never spend time with other humans because they're too busy being shoved up their partner’s ass. The folks who call to check in on each other throughout the day when they’re at work. Gag. Particularly, I imagined those pathetic girls who cry when their boyfriend is out of sight and post 12 pictures a day of them together.

Rightfully, I scoffed and insisted that I didn't have problems with codependency. That’s not me. But it turns out, this view isn’t quite right, so much as I was being an uninformed asshole.

Codependency doesn’t mean you’re a needy, incapable human being who sucks the life power out of someone else, like I used to think. Codependency is a two-way relationship defined by poor boundaries and non-existent emotional regulation. Two humans who see their experiences as one, all the way down to how they feel and how they deal with how they feel. (i.e. turning to their significant other for comfort and emotional control in a time of need instead of working through it by themselves). Relationships where the emotions are transferred from party to party until it's unclear who’s bringing what dish to the gathering. Waking up not knowing how your day is going to be, because it depends on how someone else feels about theirs. Emotional enablement city.

Oh, yeah, when you put it like that, I definitely have issues with codependency.

For me, the codependency is largely going to be emotional. In the past, I didn’t know how to have a relationship of any sort without having a third influence in the mix. There was the person, myself, and our shared emotions... that often called more shots than either of us did.

Because I tend to be on the empath scale (although I do everything I can to fight it out of defense), I think I’m naturally tuned into other people’s emotional and energetic states, for better or for worse. When someone walks into the room with a bad vibe, I feel it to my core. I become so uncomfortable that I take it on myself to try to “fix” the problem for them, and in doing so, I avoid the negative sensation, myself. This is negative reinforcement, if anyone wanted to ABA with me.

That being said, clearly if my boo is having a hard time… it’s not okay. They’re in a shit place and therefore so am I. I must do whatever I can to make it better. To sit down and talk in circles with them, if that’s what relieves some of their tension. To commiserate about how unfair the circumstances are. To validate the negativity that they’re projecting and wallowing in.

Don’t worry though, this goes the other way, too. In the past, I have fully expected my romantic partners to alleviate any inner discomfort that I’ve felt. If I was having a low-down day, I wanted them to cheer me up. If I was full of anxiety, I wanted them to find a way to release it. If I was frustrated with a work situation or coworker, I wanted them to be as angry and indignant as I felt.

So… I guess that doesn’t even sound too off-base to me, at least not when I’m leaning on my teenage expectations of what relationships are supposed to be. In my head, it was always completely ideal that I would wind up with someone who could essentially read my thoughts and comfort me like my family never did. I just wanted someone who would be by my side, thinking about me all the time, and working double time to make sure I was keeping my depression and anxiety on the up-and-up. Is that too much to ask? Uh… yeah, it is.

Maybe in a fairytale love story like the ones I saw in teenage romance movies growing up, this is the perfect way for two broken misfits to interact. “We’re both so damaged and hurt that no one has ever really seen us - but now we have each other to lick our shared wounds.” Yeah, romantic. Also really fucked up and dangerous in the real world.

The problem is, after a few months of this, it gets pretty hard to determine what’s my experience and what’s yours. The emotions become so transitive that it can be invigorating, immersive, overwhelming, and exhausting to be in each other’s company, depending on the day and the event. Living together or essentially sharing a residence makes it much worse - there’s no physical barrier between us, so that emotional barrier is even less existent. We don't have to try to text about our woes, we can just unleash them the moment we step foot in the door. Ready or not, your night is about to be ruined by my day, and vice-versa.

How does this go wrong? Uh, let’s count the ways.

1. My emotional management was never up to par, in the first place. Having your feelings catapulted my way effectively pushes me off the balance beam that I was already wobbling on. If I was having a difficult day but holding it together on my own through coping techniques and reasonable thinking - fucking forget it, that’s over now. We’re both in a shitty state now. Great. In the context of trying to recover from mental health issues… yeah, it’s a fucking disaster. Being retriggered by your partner or sucked into a depressive undertow when you’re trying to make positive change is a losing battle.

2. I never learned how to cope with my own emotions. There was generally someone else for me to hurtle them at, and our subsequent hours of bitching would give me the comfort I was looking for. I didn’t need to learn to manage my feelings - I always had a glorified babysitter to keep me alive. I never had to be accountable for my inner world. I never had to look at things with logic or reason. I could let myself spiral and trust that my best friend or boyfriend would catch me before I slipped down the drain.

3. It becomes impossible to talk about issues - personal or shared. When you’re already sharing emotions there’s an explosive effect when conflict is brought up. Neither one of us knows how to handle our shit, we expect the other person to hold us up with kid gloves, annnd now that person is the source of my distress? We’re both completely beside ourselves, upset, hurt, and angry… and it’s towards each other? Now who the fuck do we call? There's a huge sense of confusion and betrayal. No one has the skills to de-escalate the argument or return to a normal emotional state.

4. How do you break up when half of your existence is in the body of another human? You can’t mentally or emotionally separate yourself from them. Physically separating yourself feels like ripping out a few of your organs and leaving them on the streets. And, who’s going to keep you afloat when you’re going through the pain of the break up? That’s the job of your partner, afterall… can’t have a vacant desk sitting here. It’s best to just suck it up and stick with it. No one would understand what you’ve both been through together, anyways.

In a word, that’s codependency.

Not what people think it is. Not what our culture describes it as. Not so easy to spot until you’re educated and honest with yourself… plus, probably viewing things through the lenses of hindsight.

Definitely a sneaky recipe for disaster when you let it take over a well-intended, emotionally transparent, highly connective relationship. And, Motherfuckers, I’ve always tended to.

 Head to t-mfrs.com for more!

#cptsd #healcptsd #just cptsd things #cptsdsurvivor #cptsdwarrior #cptsd problems #cptsd romance #trauma #ptsd #childhood ptsd #childhoodtraumarecovery #healingcomplextrauma #relationships

[thesunnyshow]

Name: Alison O’Brien

Writing Blog URL(s): @httpangelicjimin

What fandom(s) do you write for?: BTS, although I wouldn’t mind writing for other groups. Often, I have other idols that make cameos in my stories.

Age: 21

Nationality: Portuguese + French

Languages: Portuguese + French + English + Spanish

Star Sign: Leo

MBTI: ENFJ

Favorite color: pastel blue

Favorite food: pizza no doubt 

Favorite movie: I’m gonna have to be a sucker and say monster’s inc. bc who doesn’t love Pixar

Favorite ice cream flavor: I’d say coffee, tho I love a good ol’ chocolate ice cream

Favorite animal: wolf, it’s my spirit animal 

Coffee or tea? What are you ordering?: Coffee, for sure. Iced coffee or mocha

Dream job (whether you have a job or not): Ever since I was little I always wanted to be a singer but I guess I’m too shy for that ahah so I’d either say writing or advertising.

Go-to karaoke song: Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose?: The ability to change shape at will.

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose?: The Victorian Era sounds brilliant to me. I would be a sucker for the dresses. Although, I also would’ve loved to be able to live in the ’20s. Great Gatsby made me dream countless times of all the amazing parties, with jazz playing in the background. The fashion was impeccable, and of course, to be alive at the same time as F. Scott Fitzgerald. I could even run into him at one of those glamorous parties. 

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?: I don’t think I would. Life has taught me some valuable lessons along the way but I was happy. Even when surrounded by those who didn’t have the best intentions in mind. If I had known all that I know now, I wouldn’t have lived as freely and carelessly as I did. I cherish those memories, even if they weren’t the best for me.

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken?: Alright so… that’s a weird one. And what makes it weirder is that people have made that same question with me; it was either one horse-sized me, or 100 me-sized horses. Huh… I do have some background with chickens chasing after me, so I’d go with the 100 chicken-sized horses.

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been?: I would 100% be the sucker that falls for the bad boy… ah… how I miss the high school bad boys.

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures?: I don’t. Although I have no problem getting lost in those amazing universes where such creatures exist. 

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know?: I absolutely love mango-flavored things but I cannot eat mango. Just the texture of the fruit…. Yuck. 

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why?: I write everything. So far, in the 2 years, I’ve been writing, I have experienced a little bit of everything. I think writing all those genres are important to complement the story. 

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc?: I never wrote anything that was mxm but I am ok with that. Besides, I have two stories out with an OC and the others are mostly with female readers, mostly because I write thinking about me with a member or one of my friends.

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr?: I was already using Tumblr to read other people’s work. When the thought of starting my own writing blog came to mind, it seemed the most logical option to use. I have only recently learned about AO3 so… yeah, Tumblr seemed the most “at reach” app.

When did you post your first piece?: The first thing I wrote was called Wonder and was posted on a private blog. I started writing it a couple of days after Euphoria by Jungkook BTS came out.

What inspires you to write?: Everyday situations are always a good base for me. I like to write moments that I have gone through. Besides that, I find inspiration on movies and tv shows and some Pinterest albums. Sometimes it’s just a random thought that comes to mind ehe

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most?: I’d say college/high school aus. I did a collab with another writer from a college au and it was a lot of fun. Additionally, I have some wips I am meaning to work on and will soon be presented on my blog! 

What do you hope your readers take away from your work?: I think that I wanted them to feel okay. Life can get pretty hard and reading, for me, has always been like a getaway. So, whenever I write, I hope that I can distract my readers from whatever is happening in the real world. 

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively?: Whenever I’m struggling in life, it’s almost as if I lose my ability to write. I get really stressed, especially when I set deadlines. I try my hardest to push through. I believe that writing, even if it’s not to our liking, is better than doing nothing. I try to read more, to sleep better, and to seek inspiration. 

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful?: I don’t think I have a “most successful” work. I am pretty recent to Tumblr and am still growing bit by bit. As for my favorite, I’d probably say Dr. Love. It started out as a fun Valentine’s Day fanfic and I have some good stuff outlined.

Who is your favorite person to write about?: As I said, I love to find inspiration in my friends. Getting the feedback and how much they enjoyed reading what I wrote really is a heartwarming feeling. 

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose?: I don’t think they are so different. Because when writing fanfiction, you’re not obliged to go 100% with the idol’s personality you’re writing. You have the freedom to marvel around in the worlds you create and make them do whatever you feel like would work best. So sometimes, it can be just like creating a whole new character from scratch. 

What do you think makes a good story?: There’s a lot of things that are needed to make a good story. I mostly value the storyline. I don’t like it when things are rushed and prefer to read something others may find unnecessary but get more context. I love the small little details about characters that make me relate and emphasize with them. Also, a plot twist. I love to read stories that completely blow my mind and catch me off guard. Creativity is everything.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story?: Why not? I don’t have a problem with giving different names to my characters as long as the story stays the same.

What is your writing process like?: I prefer to write at night. But, as I said before, sometimes there’s just an urge to write and I have to grab my laptop, or even the pull out the notes on my phone and type out some words for the story I’m currently working on. I try to create a coherent storyline as well. Plus, I have an amazing beta reader that always helps me with the plot and hears my ideas and complements them. 

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand?: I love the typical “good girl falls for bad guy” trope. I don’t care if it’s cliché, I just love it. Although, I hate those where the girl is portraited as weak and as if she would ever be completely happy and fulfilled if the guy is by her side; as if she’s helpless without him. Girl power you know? Aha

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you?: It means A LOT. I think there’s no better feeling than receiving a piece of feedback, despite how small it might be. There’s always room for improvement and just the simple fact to know that someone took the time to read my work and found it interesting enough to send me their thoughts, I really cherish it.

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)?: I believe that my growth for the past months I’ve been on Tumblr could be due to how active I am. I always try to engage with the people I follow and even when I’m not posting my works, I try to be around. I have big dreams for my blog and hope to one day have a large audience to read my stories, but for now, I am happy with the ones by my side already.

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged?: Yes. A lot of people think that fanfic writers are mostly horny/crazy teens that are obsessed with some famous wannabe that couldn’t even care less for their existence. I think that’s one of the biggest issues with how society sees us. But I consider those to be amongst older people (perhaps 40+yo). 

Do you think art can be a medium for change?: Of course. Art is one of the most personal ways of showing emotions, I believe. Being brave enough to show with the world your creations takes courage and I admire those who do it proudly. Art can be interpreted in so many ways; it overcomes all the barriers that there might be. 

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself?: The feeling can get to me sometimes but I immediately shut that down. There was a time when I was forcing myself to write things I didn’t appreciate or that didn’t follow my storyline just to make others happy and I had to give up on those projects quickly because it was driving me insane. I strongly believe that if we don’t write what we are passionate about, it will either come out sloppy or we will hate it. Writing what we like, even if some might consider it bad, is what we should do.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times?: I don’t think so. Although, I don’t receive as much feedback as I’d like to, so I’m not certain. 

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr?: Only my boyfriend does and he’s totally cool with it ehe

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers?: A big big thank you! I am so happy to have you here and I hope you can take some time to read over my works ehe I am always open to talk if anyone needs~ 

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there?: Just do it!!! I know there are so many great writers out there and you might feel like you would bring nothing to the game but that’s not true. You don’t need to be scared ok? It will be alright. Just give it a chance. There was a time where I was scared too and now I have made so many great friends and meet so many great people through my writing. You can make it too! 

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr?: No. 

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey?: Yess!! I have made so many friends thanks to Tumblr! I mostly have to thank the amazing people of @bangtan-headquarters for accepting me into their network and making me part of their discord server. I’m not going to be @/ing everyone but I know I have made friends whom I will forever keep in my heart uwu 

Pick a quote to end your interview with: “Life has no limitations, except the ones you make.” - Les Brown 

#httpangelicjimin #episode 27 #thesunnyshow #featured author #bts #bangtan

[trainingfordogs]

Brain Training 4 Dogs Online Training Course Review

Link Ebook Free: Giveaways

Link product:Brain Training 4 Dogs

Is Brain Training 4 Dogs the best Online dog Training course?

Brain Training for dogs by certified trainer, Adrienne Farricelli is a unique science-based dog online dog training course. The training methods, content quality and support offer fantastic value for money.

GET YOUR COPY OF BRAIN TRAINING 4 DOGS HERE

User Experience

GET YOUR COPY OF BRAIN TRAINING 4 DOGS

As soon as you get a dog, your thoughts turn to training them. Of course, it’s only natural to want an obedient dog whom obeys your commands and doesn’t pee all over the place.

Unfortunately, training a dog can be hard work. Especially, if you don’t have much experience with it. People usually turn to the internet for dog training advice and resources like Smiling Staffy. Obviously, I love the amount of information that’s available online (we have an entire site dedicated to helping staffy owners solve problems and look after their dogs).

However, searching online is generally better for times where you have a specific issue or question concerning your dog. When it comes to general training, it’s difficult to find a solid set of organised steps that you can take to turn your dog into a well-mannered intelligent member of the family.

This is where dedicated online training courses come in and my current favourite is Brain Training 4 Dogs by Adrienne Farricelli. This course is designed to take your dog from the very beginning and basics of training all the way to super-advanced techniques like playing the piano (yes! This is really part of the course).

Whether you’re just hearing of Adrienne’s course for the first time or you came here to find out more about it, this article is for you. It will give you an in-depth look at the course from somebody who actually paid for it and owns it. You’ll then be able to decide if it is the right kind of course for you before parting with your hard-earned.

What is Brain Training for Dogs?

Brain training for dogs by Adrienne Farricelli is a unique online dog training course aimed at improving your dog’s intelligence in order to transform them into an obedient and clever dog by engaging their mind.

The main philosophy for the program is the use of force-free training methods, which is something I love and I’m sure you will too. These methods mainly come in the form of games that you play with your dog to reinforce certain training principles and goals.

An example of one of these games is Adrienne’s “Airplane Game”, which is used to control your dog’s attention. Check out the video below to see how this game works:

The brain training for dogs course is filled with games like this and is ordered in terms of difficulty and progression. This makes it easy to follow and gives you a simple path to track your dog’s progress.

About the Instructor

Adrienne Farricelli is a professionally certified dog trainer and behaviour specialist who has been working with dogs since 2006.

From working in an animal hospital to the local shelter, today, Adrienne holds dual qualifications in dog training.

She became certified by the Italian association for Dog Trainers and Canine Consultants after completing an apprenticeship under a master trainer.

I think it’s fair to say that Adrienne knows how to train dogs and her methods of zero-force and positive reinforcement are certainly preferred to out-dated techniques of dominance and punishment.

Following this she gained CPDT-KA certification in the United States. This stands for “certified pet dog trainer – knowledge assessed”, which is a highly-valued qualification that requires some strict terms to be met to achieve it. To maintain her CPDT-KA status, Adrienne also needs to continue her learning by attending various other courses so you can be sure her knowledge is up to date and it shows during her brain training for dogs course.

Her efforts and endeavours have also been voiced in many international newspapers and events like “USA Today”, “Daily Puppy,” and “Nest Pets.”

Also, Adrienne is an amazing writer. Her writings have been published in “Every Dog Magazine” and “The APDT Chronicle of the Dog.”

What's Included in the Brain Training 4 Dogs Program?

Once you’ve purchased the course, you’ll gain instant access to the Brain Training 4 dogs member’s area, which acts like a dashboard where you can access all of the materials included in your purchase.

When I first opened the member’s area, I was very pleasantly surprised to see the amount of content that was on offer. There are a number of bonuses included on top of the standard brain training course.

Here’s exactly what you get as a course member:

Brain Training 4 Dogs

This one will be no surprise to you; it is the main course and is probably where you’ll start your journey.

Behaviour Training for Dogs Online

As part of your course membership, you also receive exclusive access to a second, bonus course. This was a nice little surprise for me since I didn’t know this was part of the deal.

The behaviour training for dogs course is a 3-module course that focuses on solving 5 very specific and common dog behaviour problems:

Whining

Digging

Barking

Chewing

Jumping

Although the main course will reinforce good behaviours to help these issues, this little course is great for targeting these specific problems directly if your dog displays any of them.

Resources Section

This area includes all of the necessary items you’ll need to complete the courses. Any downloadable resources and product recommendations that are needed for both courses can be found here. It is helpful to have this stuff in one place.

Adrienne’s Archive

Here, you’ll find over 100 dog training articles that have been written by Adrienne. These can serve as extra learning materials for you as you learn how to become a better owner and trainer to your dog.

There’s also another surprise bonus here (although, it won’t be after I ruin it for you, sorry!). You get access to a video archive that includes a couple of extra behaviour videos as well as some cool trick training videos.

Over-the-Shoulder Case Studies

I thought this was a really nice addition to the course and something I haven’t seen online dog trainers do before. Here, Adrienne has included some over-the-shoulder videos of dogs that she has personally trained. You get to see each step as she trains these dogs on their individual behaviour problems.

Private Member’s Forum

The forum is the place to go to ask any questions or queries you might have relating to your dog’s behaviour. Generally, you’ll get answers to your question from the community and even Adrienne herself will contribute. In fact, Adrienne is very active on the forum and does respond to many questions.

I will say some of the videos could do with being updated and re-edited since some are looking a bit old now. However, the information is top-notch, and they all get the job done.

Inside the exclusive Brain Training for dogs private forum

As you can see, you really do get quite a lot included within this course. There is more than enough material to help you transform your dog into an obedient angel as long as you’re consistent with it.

Brain Training 4 Dogs Course Structure

The course recently had a revamp and now features a much easier to follow layout as well as video modules. In the past, some of the lessons were mainly written so the addition of video is extremely welcome.

The course is very straightforward to navigate since it is laid out in a step-by-step order, which means you can pickup where you left off at any time with ease.

In total, there are 5 course modules to follow:

Module 1: Getting Started

Module 2: Obedience Training 101

Module 3: Polishing Up Training

Module 4: Brain Training (the main course)

Module 5: Closing Words

A Closer Look Inside Brain Training 4 Dogs

As I mentioned above, the main part of the course is the brain training in module 4. This is where you’ll discover the majority of the dog training lessons and content.

To make it easy to see your progress, the main course is divided into a school style layout that indicates the difficulty level of each section. At the end of each section, there is a graded challenge where you’ll be able to assess how well your dog performs in the tasks you have been learning together.

Grading Table

There is a grading structure so you can see very clearly when your pup is ready to move on to the next level or if they may need a bit more nurturing and practice.

The best way to take this course is to follow the step by step pattern and complete all of the modules and sections in order. This makes it so simple to follow. After all, the course was designed by a pro so it would be wise to follow along in the designed order.

Inside the Brain training 4 Dogs Course Dashboard

Level I - PreSchool

As the name suggest, this section is all about the basics. You and you dog will learn about brain power and how to quickly respond to your command. We all know the frustration of a pup ignoring us so this level is a valuable one.

The pre-school level target’s your dog’s attention, which is crucial if you are to progress on to the later, more advanced lessons. Here are a few of the lessons and games that are taught at this stage.

“Target Train” the lazy monster to get his eyes on you. Start by teaching your pooch to focus on your hand, stick or a ball. Afterwards, you can extend the target by making him open the door or ringing bells.

The necessary “Eye Contact” with your dog to make the communication strong and improve interaction. This will help him to behave properly all the time and become a good boy/girl.

The simple and interesting “Airplane Game” to make your pooch pay attention to you and look into your eyes

Level II - Elementary

Here's a peak inside the module pages. This is where you'll find your lesson videos.

​After cracking the first level, now, it’s important for your dog to learn to fulfil your demands and enhance his/her skills.

The elementary level introduces few games that your dog will love and find very interesting to play all the time. Of course, they’ll be learning as to listen to demands as they play these mini-games.

Teaching a rewarding game like “Treasure Hunt” will rejuvenate your lazy dog and will make his/her routines interesting.

The simple and inexpensive “Muffin Game” will challenge his brain and will also help encourage him to win.

The mood-lifter “Ball Pit Game” that will make him put energy into a task by triggering his mental power.

Level III - High School

​Congratulations, at this level, your dog will be all set to learn about endurance and self-control. This will control his excitement and encourage him to be calm in some of the more stimulating day to day situations.

Here are a few examples of some calming behaviour games included in the level of the course.

Control the behaviour of your dog with the “Jazz Up & Settle Down” game that will teach him/her manners and build a relationship. So, no more jumping like crazy when you come through the door.

The interactive “Bottle Game” will let your dog exercise a bit and will keep him busy and entertained for a long period of time.

“Bobbing for treats” will help your dog to behave well as he/she will get the reward for following the commands.

Level IV - College

​By this point, your pup will be getting rather advanced and is ready to move on to some more demanding lessons where his/her motor skills will be developed so they can react intelligently to commands.

The college module includes games that will boost the mental capacity of your dog and will let him/her remain calm in exciting situations.

The “Shell Game” will enhance their mind by playing on the dog’s superior sense of smell. This fun little game is excellent for engaging your pups’ mind and keeping them from getting bored.

The “Open Sesame Game” will let your dog remain cool and calm when somebody comes through a door in your home.

The “Magic Carpet Game” will again help in better understanding and tranquillity during times of potential excitement.

Level V - University

Now, your dog enters the senior level of the training programme. He/she will already be super calm and obedient by this point so now it is time to move on to teaching them all about emotional and impulse control.

This level will help in making your dog a better-behaved dog by using the following games to teach him or her how to be more confident and resist temptation:

The “Hide & Seek” game is a fun game for both yourself and you dog. It helps to create a stronger bond between you and is great for helping dogs with issues when being left alone.

“The Look” game is designed to eliminate unwanted barking at others, especially when your dog is looking out of the window.

The fun and trouble-free “Hot & Cold Game” will boost up your dog’s spirit and will help to boost their learning ability as well.

Level VI - Graduation

​A you’ve probably gathered by now, this is one of the most advance section of this training programme. The graduation level is all about developing advanced level motor skills and the intelligence to effortlessly obey your commands.

Here’s an example of the kind of learning games included at this level:

“Leg Weaving Skills”. An excellent skill to teach your dog to obey more complex commands and to impress your pals at the same time!

The game, “Serpentines and Spiral” will train your pup to stay by your side at all times, even as you make erratic and unpredictable movements.

“Name Recognition” is an extremely cool technique that teaches your dog to recognise items by name. He/she will learn how to pick out toys by name and bring them to you.

Level VII - Einstein

​Finally, your pooch is a genius now, and, by reaching this level he/she can easily impress any human they want with their skills and talent.

Teach your dog to keep his area clean even after hours of playing with the “Tidy up Game”. An invaluable lesson to learn.

The “Ring Stacker” game will again test your dog’s patience and encourage them to develop extra self-control.

“Play the Piano”. This one sounds a bit unbelievable but apparently, it’s doable. I have not reached this level with my dog yet but there are many who have, and they tell me it is certainly possible.

There really is so much content inside the brain training for dogs course. And that is without all the other bonuses I mentioned above.

My recommendation is to simply run through the brain training course as it is laid out then use the bonus behaviour training course to cover any more specific problems that your dog might run into.

Verdict - Is Brain Training 4 Dogs Worth it?

Pros

A Huge Amount of Content for the price your pay

Affordable, one-off payment

Highly qualified and experienced instructor

Safe, non-forceful approach

Simple to follow with videos and clear descriptions of the lessons/games

It's a fun way to train and bond with your dog!

Cons

Some of the videos seem to be old and do look a little dated

I felt a few of the games were a little unnecessary as they didn't seem to have a clear teaching purpose

Some of the lessons required equipment I didn't have around the house. A kids' pool, for example.

Final Verdict:

All in all, I really like this approach to training a dog; it is based around playing and rewards, which is great fun. The games are unique and some are pretty clever, which is perfect for keeping both you and your dog interested in the program.

I've already mentioned it a few times now but the course includes a large amount of helpful content and it is all simple to follow. As long as you're willing to put the time and consistent effort into it, it will help you to train your dog.

So, with all that being said, I would certainly recommend giving it a try. It is very affordable, a one-off payment of under £50 and comes with a 60-day unconditional money-back guarantee so you really can't lose.

link product: Training 4 Dogs

#mydogismy #todayfanphoto #pet #dog #cute dog

[shih-coulda-had-it]

pacers (2/?)

Summary: Nana inherits One for All. Sorahiko learns what he can.

1 - 2 - ?

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.

.

Sorahiko gets a call in the middle of patrol, and even though it’s protocol not to, he sees the caller ID and immediately picks up. Nana times her calls so she can wish him luck before patrol, or so she can pester him for a pick-me-up breakfast after. She’s never had cause to call him during. And it’s his private cell.

“Nana?” he murmurs.

“Sorahiko,” she sobs, and he almost falls from the ledge. “Rokudo-san, he just—oh, god—” He hears her retch.

“Where are you?” he demands, already jetting back to his district precinct to call off his patrol. Someone else can cover the area. Kingfisher. He can tell the officers to call in the snobby son of a bitch; asshole needs the hours anyways. “Nana, are you at my place? Yours?”

“Your apartment,” she gasps, voice hoarse. “Sorry, I couldn’t—I couldn’t go back to mine, I let myself in with the key under your dumb plant, sorry, I’m sorry—”

“No, listen, Nana, you’re okay,” he hurries to reassure her. “I’ll be back there soon, alright?” He stops at the precipice of the second to last building. She’s having a panic attack in his ear. His heart’s in his fucking throat. “Nana, breathe for me.”

She does. She does again.

“Tell me something about my apartment.”

“It’s shit,” she sniffles. He rolls his eyes. “Your kitchen—it’s too small.”

“Tell me something nice.”

A pause. “You’re… you’re my best friend,” she says haltingly, and Sorahiko’s abruptly so done with his job.

“You too,” he says gently. “Give me a little bit to shake off the officers. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay.”

“Take a shower.”

She manages a scoff. It’s still shaky, but it sounds like she’s pulling it together. “Yeah, yeah.”

He makes it back to his apartment in record time, and when he slips in, cautiously calling out while tugging off his boots, “I’m home,” he hears Nana softly respond, “Welcome back,” from his bedroom.

She’s already under the covers, wet hair soaking his pillows. He can see she’s wearing his clothes. Quietly, he picks up a clean pair of underwear and old t-shirt. When he passes by to head for the bathroom, he briefly presses a hand to her shoulder, waits for her to clutch it back before releasing him.

Her gear is neatly folded on the sink’s counter. The tiles are a little cold. He takes the swiftest shower in his life, dries his hair, pulls on his clothes and piles his own gear into a bundle, and then exits the bathroom.

He climbs in next to her. Nana throws an arm around his waist and scoots in close. It reminds him of that one sleepover a long time ago, and the multiple sleepovers when they were in high school. Since they both started renting their own apartments and trying to survive the slog of hours that is hero-work, sleepovers had fallen to the wayside.

“Hey,” he greets, quietly.

“Hey,” she responds. “Sorry for invading your place.”

“I’m not stopping you.” He closes his eyes. “What happened?”

She shudders, and doesn’t say anything for more than a couple beats of silence. He’s ready to let it go, to discuss it in the morning, but then she rallies together. She’s always rallying it together. “Rokudo-san had two Quirks,” she begins, unsteadily. “Black Whip… and something called One for All.”

Nana tells him what she can. That One for All has been passed through from user to user, that she’s the seventh to inherit it. That meeting Rokudo—Shadow Net, an underground hero—those weeks ago had been a coincidence, but the meetings since had not. That the conspiracy theories he’d told her about had a grain of truth. That right before he passed from grievous injuries, he’d forced a bloody hand to Nana’s face and ordered her to ingest his blood, quickly, before all was lost.

Sorahiko trembles with an impotent kind of rage. How dare Rokudo force that legacy onto Nana, barely two years into her hero career?

“Why did he choose you?”

She forces a laugh. “Oh, you know. I’ve got a drive for justice.”

//

Nana has always been the better fighter between them. So his pride isn’t hurting too much when with One for All churning in her veins, she’s literally kicking Sorahiko’s ass as they try to navigate her newly-obtained Quirk. If she’s using accidental excessive force in a spar, then she’ll accidentally use it during a villain apprehension, and then she’ll get into trouble for killing a perp. He's here to be the guinea pig as she learns to regulate her power. He’s never hated Rokudo more in his whole life, for just forcing his burden on Nana at the brink of his death, dying before he can tell her anything substantial.

“Ow,” he groans, struggling to extricate himself from the wall she’s roundhouse-kicked him into. He’s never been so grateful for drywall and plaster in his whole life. U.A. thinks ahead for everything.

She frets by the opening, hands hovering, ready to catch him. “Is anything broken?” she checks, anxious.

“My fucking reflexes?” Sorahiko falls against her, face-first into her shoulder, and she just barely manages to catch him before he slips to the floor. Her hands skate by the bruises he’s sure he’ll find in the morning. “Okay, we need—you need—a new strategy.”

“How do you mean?”

For the past couple of days, they’ve been sparring every morning. She’s trying to operate it intuitively, because that’s how she’s trained—that’s how they’ve all trained—their Quirks since they were four years old. They need to approach this at a new angle.

Nana carefully loops one arm around his waist, hooks his closest arm over her shoulders, and does her best not to jostle him on their limping way out of the gym. They’ve walked into Chiyo’s office like this too many times for Sorahiko to be embarrassed. 

“How are you using it?” There’s always a manual function with Quirks, even the ones that seem subconsciously used. Otherwise, a good deal of the global population would be dead. Visualize a switch, Sorahiko’s Quirk counselor had advised, when Sorahiko used to cry and lose control, legs shooting out from under him as oxygen diverted from his lungs to the propulsion jets at his calves.

“Like I use Fade Out,” she answers him, a little frustrated. “I just—access it, I don’t know.” They pass by a gawking group of first-years, and Sorahiko snarls to frighten them away. “It’s like… It’s like I’m standing next to a bonfire.”

“Okay, and?” he encourages, stifling a moan of pain as she squeezes him closer, because the staircases are a bit narrow, and they still have to maneuver around departing students.

“And when I say I access it,” she says, “I mean that I’m swiping my hands through the flames, and venting that heat when I move. You’ve seen the smoke.” She hip-checks their way into the nurse’s office. “Chiyo-chan!” she calls out.

“Again?” demands Recovery Girl, scooting into view on her rolling chair. Sorahiko flinches away from the outrage, tucks his chin into his cape like he can avoid her wrath that way. “What the hell happened now?”

Nana helps him onto a cot, and collapses into a chair next to him. “Training?”

“Training,” he gruffly confirms, and he really does groan aloud when Chiyo rolls him over, plucks his cape off, and starts prodding at his muscles and spine through the jumpsuit. He shifts his head so it’s not face flat on the mattress; instead, now he can give Chiyo the beady eye and make sure Nana’s not looking too guilty. “Can you—ghh—pretend like you’ve—agh, ow—got some kind of bedside manner?”

“No,” says Chiyo perfunctorily. “This is the fourth time in as many days that you’ve landed yourself here, Falco-san. So either tell me what the hell you two are doing, or find yourself a new clinic. Or a relationship counselor.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Nana protests, simultaneously as Sorahiko says the same thing. She adds, “That’s also really mean of you to imply, Chiyo-chan. You think I’d be so rough?”

Chiyo sniffs. But, Sorahiko notes incredulously, the woman’s also flushing pink.

“Who knows,” the nurse mutters under her breath, just loud enough that Sorahiko can hear it. His mouth parts, but nothing comes out, because he has no idea how to refute Nana’s apparent reputation as a, a—

“We’re just training,” he tells her instead. “Nana’s cut down her recovery period, and extended her flicker duration. I’m not used to it yet.”

“Tch.” Chiyo leans back. “Nothing broken,” she tells Nana. “Obviously, he has surface-level bruising and scrapes from whatever wall he’s blasted himself into now.” Nana guiltily exchanges a look with him. Chiyo must catch it, because her voice hardens. “Some bruised ribs too, so far as I can tell. He’s lucky to not have internal bleeding.”

Nana’s relieved exhale probably shouldn’t do so much to alleviate Sorahiko’s own worries. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs, slouching further back in her chair.

“The question now is,” the nurse says, steel determination in her voice and tension returns to Nana’s spine, to Sorahiko’s hands which curl into useless fists, “do I heal him now or let him heal naturally?”

“Now,” he growls.

She glowers at him. “Don’t think you scare me, Falco-san. I’m perfectly fine letting you learn from this lesson on your own. Unless,” and she swings her intense stare at Nana, who is looking helplessly between the two, “you tell me what you’re doing.”

Nana has never liked to see him in pain.

“I have a new Quirk,” she blurts out, and Sorahiko closes his eyes as the bits and pieces of the whole sorry story come spilling out. “Other people—other people can’t know that I have it, but I need Sorahiko to help me adjust…”

In the end, Chiyo does heal the bruised ribs, but she bandages everything else because Sorahiko’s on the verge of passing out. Fourth time this week he’s been here. The first morning had been the worst—when Sorahiko had raised his arms in a cross, his usual defense from Nana’s kicks, Nana’s leg had snapped the bones. Nana had panicked, and practically flown him to Chiyo.

Since then, it’s been a gradual improvement. An absolute toll on his stamina, and he’s certainly wasting any goodwill he ever had with Chiyo, but Nana has a rough handle on the power output now.

“I don’t like it,” she tells them frankly. “This apparent inheritance of a Quirk and that you’re training it after you’ve been certified. But I can read between the lines that this has to happen.”

“Thanks, Chiyo-chan,” sighs Nana. Just as Sorahiko passes out, he sees Nana shift in her seat, and hears the flirty tone of her voice as she starts, “So...”

.

.

./cont?

#bnha #gran torino #shimura nana #shih.txt #pacers!fic #you ever think about how sorahiko helped train three users of ofa #and probably was so traumatized by nana's time of it #that he just went absolutely apeshit during toshi's #and finally learned to tone down by deku's? #anyway so i dream of platonic intimacy #torino sorahiko

[acuppellarp]

We’re excited to announce that Dee has decided to level up Darcy Allen from a mumu minor character to a main character! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: dee  + she/her/trash monster Age: ageless Timezone: est Ships: darce/chem Anti-Ships: darce/forced

IC INFO

Full Name: Darcy Margaret Allen Face Claim: Brie Larson Age/Birthday: 27/ November 2nd Occupation: Physical Therapist Personality: honest, loyal, laid back, private, active, good-humoured and dedicated. Hometown: Canmore, Alberta, Canada Bio:

Growing up, money was tight for the Allens. Three mouths to feed and the inflated rent that came with living in the rocky mountains meant the family often went without anything but the bare necessities. For Darcy, it also meant hitting the church donation bin a lot and wearing her older brother’s hand me downs, but Darce never seemed to mind as much as the other kids did. Old band shirts and baggy pants were cool and as much as she would have liked a GameBoy, nothing beat spending hours in the park working on her softball pitch or the endless supply of books a library card provided.

Yeah, she’d probably always be a little bitter her dad left her mom with so much slack to pick up but the lessons about hard work, the value of money, and how women really could do anything would stick with her for the rest of her life. Honestly, her mom was (and still is) a total badass.

It wasn’t until school started that Darcy started to feel different. Not because of the clothes or the knock off fruit snacks, but because when the other girls in her class were fawning over boys she was busy fawning over them. She’d always known she was gay, she figured, she just didn’t have a word for it. And she wouldn’t for a while, but later in life, it would explain the withering glares and threats of violence she gave every boy who hurt one of her girl friends.

When she wasn’t busy perusing the featured titles in the kid’s section of her local library, stealing cd’s from her older brother’s vintage rock collection or re-reading the Harry Potter series, Darcy could be found outside playing a pickup version of whatever sport was in season. Signing up for an organized sport may not have been in the budget, but that never stopped Darcy from practicing it, and it was that dedication that would earn her a spot on her high school softball and soccer teams.

Being part of a team felt awesome and while she’d never particularly enjoyed the more competitive side of sports (going professional was never the goal but a scholarship would be nice) she couldn’t deny that winning felt pretty good. It was during one of those winning streaks her junior year of high school that Darcy injured her shoulder and found herself in physical therapy. It sucked at first, the exercises were hard and painful and the whole thing felt hopeless, but as she continued to go she saw improvements. Not just in herself, but the other patients she’d gotten to know as well and she thought maybe it was something she’d be good at.

Darcy got her first taste of big city living when she attended the University of Alberta where she completed both a bachelor of science and her masters of science in physical therapy. University also marked Darcy’s first experience with love, and oh was it a good one. She dated a lot during her undergrad, a series of relationships, none of which had much depth or lasted very long, and it wasn’t until she met Hannah at a pride event the summer before she started her master’s degree that she got a real taste of that kind of love that everyone brags about in rom coms.

They dated for three years and it was the best ever until a job offer in NYC threatened to tear them apart. They both agreed Hannah should take it, but couldn’t agree on the status of their relationship. Darce was adamant they could make long distance work and Hannah felt like they should end things before the distance ended it for them. In the end, they settled on a compromise that didn’t really work for either of them — Darce would move to NYC with her. She took her license exam and followed her out east.

The couple stayed together for six months but ultimately ended things when they couldn’t agree on their future (Darce wanted to take the next step and Hannah wanted to see what else was out there before she settled). Darce was devastated and kept to herself for a bit but the two are still on friendly terms.

Single and heartbroken in a city that no longer felt like home, Darcy found herself at a crossroads – she could go back to Canmore and her family with her tail between her legs and start over or she could pick herself up and stay in New York at the job she loved and make the city feel like home. Never one to step down from a challenge, Darcy decided to try to make it work, and thanks to Acup she doesn’t have to try too hard.

Pets: A cat named Dude.

Relationships:

APRIL’S SHOWERS: Defender. Darcy was in a real low point in her life when she first started hanging around Acup. So, when she’d found the glittery advert pinned to the bulletin board announcing a tryout for a soccer team? She sort of took it as a sign. She’s made a lot of friends at Acup over the last few years, but her fellow Showers are family.

FIONA HUDSON: Her best bro. The moment these two met Darce knew they were going to be friends for life and everything that’s happened since has only served to prove her initial instinct right. Whether she needs someone to talk to, work out with, plan camping trips, or help build her very own Sandlot, Darcy knows she can always count on Fiona.

REGGIE CLIFFTON & ARIA ABRAMS:  Friends/Patients. Admittedly, Darcy hadn’t known either girl super well before she started working with them professionally, but she thinks it’s pretty cool to see them around Acup and she always does her best to keep business and pleasure separate when they bump into each other at events (even if she really wants to cheer Ari on when she sees her out on her crutches or nudge Reggie a bit when she thinks she’s holding back). It’s a fine balance, but she thinks she handles it okay.

NICOLA DE ROCHA: Friend and only other member of Acup’s Finer Things club. Others have tried to join but they lack the sophisticated taste in literature and 90’s r&b music to be considered. It’s not about being exclusive, it’s about respecting the art.

EXTRA INFO

[ This is for the masterlist, but also a fun little way to get to know your character! ]

Twitter name/twitter URL/description: Darce A  / itsdarceh / If you think my gym bod’s impressive you should see my bookshelf.  ⚽️📚🌈🍁🤘

Five latest tweets:

@itsdarceh You know you’re predictable when @acupmarley has your donut ready before you even get to the counter to order. #cheatday @itsdarceh  Is maple syrup on bacon a Canadian thing or a human’s with functioning tastebuds thing? Asking for a friend. @itsdarceh I will happily return all of the 90′s sitcom revivals if we can have another go at Lilith Fair. Give the Lesbians the music festival they deserve, cowards! @itsdarceh Unplugging for the weekend. ✌️ NYC @itsdarceh When someone offers you smarties and you get excited about a sweet chocolatey pick me up and then they hand you rockets and you’re sad. #canadianproblems

#accepted #acup: level up

[allenmendezsr]

Car Flipping University - Buy And Sell Cars For Profit

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[mikeys-mind]

My drive

Part 2

So all the boys who wanted to date Addison began taking shots and digs at me trying to embarrass me in front of her, James being one of the ring leaders in this. This eventually cause us to go through a period where we didn’t talk for awhile. Eventually, we made up and Addison moved away but it was the first time that our rivalry became mutual. I was beginning to make friends other than him and it obviously somewhat made him jealous in a way that I was no longer all about him anymore. Additionally, I was not be of the only boys not to play football in 8th grade which made me a huge outsider to everyone besides the weird kids and stoners who I ended up befriending many of as a result. But I was far out from the popular crowd. It goes without saying my self esteem was at an all time low around this time. As we entered high school I really started making friends other than him and began to gain a foothold with people at school. Then a life changing event happened to me than changed me for the rest of my life, James convinced me to play rec soccer with him. I was awful at everything, I couldn’t dribble, I couldn’t shoot, I was so unathletic... but I could catch so they made me the goalie. I was horrible and we lost every game but one. That one game was the last game of the season and I ended up making a lot of very important saves and we tied the best team in our league. The parents and older boys who we very much looked up to praised me and I loved it and wanted more of it. High school season rolled around and it got much more serious, my coach pushed us physically and mentally. Obviously, I was very mentally weak and gave up on things easy at this point. I still wasn’t very good and didn’t get a lot of encouragement but I began falling in love with this game and wanted to get better. By sophomore year rec season I was still not very good but had potential. My mom decided I should take private lessons with a college coach to help me develop. He probably thought I was a lost cause but I did everything he asked me to do cause I wanted to be the starter and I busted my ass for the coach. By high school season, my HS coach noticed how much I had improved and began giving me much more game time much to the frustration of the starter (a senior). I ended up having some very big moments, both good and bad. The pressure was immense it felt like cause I did not want to let the older boys down. I hated losing, I couldn’t stand it. Especially if it was because of me. I started working harder and seeing the private coach more and more and by the end of the season I was clearly better than the starter. Meanwhile in school, James and a few of his friends began to somewhat bully me and would make fun of me constantly and embarrass me in order to impress the upperclassmen. This really frustrated me and I threw it into soccer. I got better at an insane rate, quicker than anyone else around me. Girls began to notice me and I made many more friends. Then junior year happened. I began dating one of the prettiest girls in school and had an outstanding year in soccer. I had many friends and many people began to acknowledge me. I loved it, I felt like a star. I was the captain and best player on the team. I was thriving and I loved it but I wanted more and more. I threw everything into soccer and relied on it to get me into college. I was always kinda smart but never applied myself at all. This girl I dated encouraged me to work hard and supported me in all this and helped me to make more friends and get my grades up (I’ll save her for another post). She gave me the encouragement to go out and get the things I wanted and I got them all. Senior year, I felt like an alpha male and admittedly had a superiority complex from hell. I felt like I was meant for more than the others at my high school. I felt like I had the drive and ambition to go farther. This was false hopes considering I finished 49th in a class of 180 and for all my hard work with soccer I was awarded a small scholarship at a small NAIA school.

[sailorsaigas]

“Substitute Guardian” (a Morgan Lives AU) Chapter 2

Author's Note: Chapter is after the Read More, so as not to clutter folks' dashboards.

A year ago, I wrote the first chapter of an AU fic about Morgan surviving the events of Turn Coat. Well, I know it's been a long time in coming, but here is Chapter Two of that AU, the title of which has been settled on. I only hope you will find this entertaining, and that it might help some of you stave off the boredom of having to continue to wait for Jim to finish Peace Talks. Enjoy. ^_^

Being in Chicago again was...odd.

I wasn't entirely certain how I should feel about my return to the states, having spent the better portion of the last year under house arrest in Edinburgh. The early months saw me hospitalized, recovering in an infirmary bed after pushing my already wounded body too hard apprehending the man who'd framed me for murder. A grueling process of rehabilitation eventually began when my mandatory bed rest order was lifted, though after regaining my previous strength, I continued with physical training as a means of self-improvement and killing time. One might be surprised how utterly boring being confined to a centuries-old castle can be. So I trained - trained and studied like a newly minted apprentice one-hundred and fifty years younger. I had no intention of being bested again by my enemies.

Over the course of my time under lock and key, I had a few brief but important conversations with Harry Dresden, who made it a point not to interact with the Council more than absolutely necessary. I understood that mentality far more easily, now, after having my eyes opened during the events of that last year. We discussed where we stood as associates, swallowed what we could of our pride, and made something of a halfhearted but honest attempt at reconciliation. There was a lot of bad blood there, and neither of us could really get over some twenty years of animosity overnight, but it helped that I'd been made aware of the unfortunate truth. The Black Council, a hidden force seeking to tear apart the wizarding community from within, was real...and it was high time somebody did something about it. And so, despite some reluctance from Ebenezar McCoy, I was brought into the fold of the Gray Council, a nearly treasonous body of our own that sought to prevent the enemy from gaining the upper hand in our shadow war.

Stuck as I had been in Edinburgh, I didn't have much to offer of my previous talent as a Council enforcer, but my copious free time gave me opportunity to put my experience to good use in other ways. I was permitted supervised free range of the hallowed halls, and since the only individuals experienced enough to be trusted to watch me were Wardens I'd had a hand in training, they'd rarely challenge me regarding what I did or where I went. Thus I made my primary purpose one of study and documentation, becoming something of a writer for Dresden’s project, the Paranet. The idea of networking the minor talents of the world so that they'd be educated enough to protect one another had been risky in many ways, but had so far been more than worth the risk. However, their information had been limited primarily to what Dresden and a few of his friends were capable of offering, so I made it my goal to expand upon that.

Such was how it became my job to transcribe my personal knowledge, alongside those of Edinburgh's ancient libraries, to create tools for use by the Paranet. To speak plainly, they were mainly pamphlets with a few illustrations, but Dresden and Anastasia said so earnestly that they could prove invaluable to the lesser talents of the world that I started taking pride in the work. It helped that there was little else to do, of course.

Now I stood back on the streets of Chicago, a free man of a sort, though the Doom still hung above my head. These were my old stomping grounds long before they had been Dresden's, and they'd been my area of responsibility as a Warden up until the war with the Red Court of Vampires. I'd hounded Dresden through these streets as I observed his own probation beneath the Doom, and now the shoe was on the other foot. Dresden, if he yet lived, was a Warden of the Council, while I was the one with a single mistake keeping me from summary decapitation. I'm certain there was a lesson in that, and it was one reason I strived to put aside the more petty and miserable aspects of myself.

Shaking off my reminiscences, I examined the building where I'd be staying for the duration of my time as a mentor to Dresden's young apprentice, Molly Carpenter. I knew the building, of course. Only a few blocks away from the ruins of Dresden's own home, the address on my note had directed me to what had once been a boarding house that had been converted into apartments. During our time trying to prove my innocence, a mortal private investigator had set up an observation post in this very building to stake out Dresden. I don't know when the Council had found the time or money to empty the building and remodel it, but they'd done so. It looked pristine, at least from outside, and I knew nobody lived here anymore from a notation on Ana's scrap of paper. The Council didn't want to risk more collateral damage after whatever destroyed Dresden's place nearly killed several mortal bystanders.

I headed into the building and opened the door to the ground floor apartment, though I had keys to all of them. I wondered if they expected me to house Miss Carpenter here while I trained her? That would be practical, but Ana had mentioned the girl would be at her parent's house, and I imagined she'd be more comfortable there. Undoubtedly so, considering what had apparently transpired over the past 48 hours or so.

The apartment was sparsely furnished, though it had necessary amenities like an ice box and a wood-burning stove. There was one bedroom with a bare twin mattress against a wall, connected to a small bathroom with a standing glass-door shower. A single recliner occupied one corner of the living room near the fireplace, and a small dining table that had no accompanying chairs filled space in the kitchen. On it rested a plain white envelope labeled 'Donald.' Inside the envelope was a crisp stack of bills, the first installment of my new monthly stipend. I noted with a small smirk that it was the same monthly amount I'd be making if I were still serving as a Warden. Though I wasn't a Warden anymore, and likely never would be again, I supposed that my time in-service had earned me something. I'd have preferred my blade to the money. Warden or not, Ana made the sword for me. Practically speaking, nobody else would be remotely capable of wielding it effectively. Sentimentally speaking, it was probably my dearest possession.

Placing the envelope of cash in the pocket of the overcoat I wore with today's ensemble of a well-tailored, tan three-piece suit (why couldn't Dresden see the obvious social benefits of not dressing like a hoodlum?), I decided to set aside all other thoughts in favor of the most immediate concern. I couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to pay a visit to my new apprentice. I stepped outside, hailed a cab, and was shortly on my way.

-----

The house I arrived at looked like something out of a Hallmark card, something I wouldn't have thought possible in this part of Chicago. Complete with finely manicured lawn and white picket fence, it was the absolute model of idealized American suburbia. I could feel a kind of power emanating from within the borders of the property, and I knew immediately that this was indeed the correct residence. Michael Carpenter, Molly's father, was the only living retired Knight of the Sword, an ancient group of warriors who served to maintain the balance between Good and Evil on behalf of God. I could only imagine a retirement package from such an occupation would be graced with ample benefits from the Lord.

I was cautious as I approached the front door of the home, being careful not to offend whatever sort of divine bodyguards might watch over the place. I knocked politely, three times, and awaited a response from within. A woman promptly answered, and I could recognize in her face that this must be Molly's mother, Charity. I could also see in her general stance and demeanor, a woman of fierce physical and mental fortitude. I'd hazard to guess she'd once served as the sparring partner for her husband, and Ana had mentioned to me before my departure that the woman was an accomplished smith, likely as a means of indicating someone from whom I could commission a sword. I bowed my head politely, and introduced myself.

"Mrs. Carpenter, I am Donald Morgan," I spoke. "I am a wizard of the White Council. I am here on the Council's behalf to speak with your daughter, Molly, regarding the disappearance of her mentor, Harry Dresden. And, if necessary, continue her training in our arts in his absence."

Mrs. Carpenter looked at me, her right eyebrow arched upward.

"Morgan?" she asked. "The Warden? Harry spoke of you before. Not nicely, either, I should say."

I sighed. I should have known one of Dresden's friends would know my name and my reputation, colored though it might have been by his own perceptions. I could believe she did not think very highly of the man I once was.

"Former Warden," I explained. "I am no longer a Warden of the White Council, Mrs. Carpenter. After a political incident about a year ago, I was removed from my position and consigned to the Doom of Damocles, much like Molly and Dresden before her. That being the case, Dresden has gone missing, and is presumed dead. The Council has but two options regarding your daughter's future: execute her under the order of the Doom, or send me to mentor her in Dresden's stead. I shall see her through to her graduation into a full wizard of the Council, or merely until Dresden returns."

I held my arms out to the side, palms up in a non-threatening gesture of sincerity. I don't do those much, so I doubt it looked very convincing.

"I'm not here to hurt Molly, Mrs. Carpenter," I said, plainly.

Charity continued to stare at me for a moment, sizing me up, gauging my honesty.

Then, her voice firm, she said, "I won't invite you in. Prove to me that you mean no harm."

I understood her meaning immediately. Wizards, and other supernatural entities, cannot pass through a threshold (the magical barrier that separates a home from the outside world) without giving up a significant portion of their power. Certain creatures, like the Vampires of the Red and Black Courts, cannot pass through a threshold at all without first being invited. The threshold of this home was one of enormous potency, and stepping through it would mean leaving nearly all of my magic at the door, making me incredibly vulnerable. It was a common and reliable practice among those who were 'in-the-know' supernaturally, and I applauded her in my mind for thinking ahead. She was clearly a sharp-minded and no-nonsense woman, and having apprenticed under Anastasia Luccio, that was something I could most certainly respect.

"Very well," I replied, and stepped across through the doorway.

It was an odd sensation, leaving my magic behind me. Stepping through the Carpenter threshold was like stepping through a wall of gelatin and coming out the other side disrobed. I felt diminished and exhausted, as if I'd dived into a pool of ice water. I bowed my head politely in her direction after crossing, and she nodded at me. Had I been one of the few harmful supernatural entities that might have crossed a threshold uninvited without trouble, I'd likely have been pulverized by whatever security force watched over the household if I'd intended harm.

Charity motioned to the staircase with a wave of her hand.

"Molly's sleeping upstairs," she explained. "She was wounded when she went to help Harry at Chichen Itza."

I didn't have many of the facts, but if Dresden had been at Chichen Itza, he'd been at one of the most powerful domains of the Red Court. I could only assume it bore some connection to his supposed demise.

"Would it be a problem if I woke her?" I asked. "It's important we get this settled as soon as possible."

"It won't be a problem, but she's not in any condition to talk for very long," Charity stated, matter-of-factly. "She's heavily medicated, patched up on a helicopter and brought here by some of Dresden's associates afterward."

"Field medicine? Why not a hospital?"

"Her wound wasn't severe, she'd mostly overexerted herself after being wounded on the battlefield."

"Well, I am relieved to hear that she is alright, but I will need to speak with her right away so that she understands what is to be done."

"Alright, then. This way."

Inside a room cramped with sewing equipment, Molly slept soundly in a small bed, an IV in her arm.

Charity gently shook her awake as we entered, saying, "Molly, Morgan from the White Council is here to see you."

I didn't miss how Molly's eyes shot open with fear at the mention of my name. Once again, my old reputation preceded me. Swiftly, Mr's. Carpenter calmed her daughter with soft, gentle words explaining that I wasn't there to hurt her, and that I just needed to inform her of some changes regarding her apprenticeship since Harry was missing. Molly was still groggy from sleep and pain medication, but the initial adrenaline rush had cleared her head enough that she acknowledged her mother's words and nodded at me to proceed.

"Hello again, Miss Carpenter," I began. "Your mother is correct that I'm not here to do you any harm. I can only assume the medicine is to blame for you forgetting I'm no longer a Warden."

I tried to smile to show I was being lighthearted, but I was long out of practice, and Molly got a somewhat sour look on her face. I awkwardly tried to recover momentum.

"Ahem, anyway, I have just been released from house arrest. I'm here because Dresden has gone missing, and is presumed dead. Whatever Dresden and the rest of you did at Chichen Itza has thrown the supernatural world into a frenzy. I couldn't begin to tell you even half the things I've heard, and my situation left me fairly out of the loop to begin with. Whatever it is, the Council is preoccupied with damage control, and wasn't sure what to do with you. After much deliberation, rather than have you executed under the Doom, I was chosen to act as your mentor until such a time as you graduate or Dresden returns. I was already under the Doom, myself, so it is no great loss to the Council, and it spares any needless bloodshed."

I paused to let Molly absorb what I had said, and then continued.

"It will only be a temporary arrangement, of course. Under my tutelage, barring Dresden's return, I imagine it would not take longer than a year or two to get you to full wizard status, in which case you would no longer need a mentor. And, of course, should Harry come back, he will be granted the opportunity to once again take over your training. As it stands, however, none of us has any idea what has become of him."

I looked at Molly sternly, though not bluntly intimidating, trying to put a kind of gentle, grandfatherly rebuke into my demeanor.

"What in the world was Dresden doing on the vampire's boat at the time of his presumed death?" I asked.

Molly let out a huff of indignation. "I should have known the first thing you'd do is be suspicious of Thomas."

"Why shouldn't I be? He is a member of the White Court--"

"He's more than just a White Court vampire," she interrupted. "There's a reason Harry was on the boat, and Thomas' offer to let him use it was made in good faith."

"You're the second person today to tell me that," I responded. I tried giving the girl a small smile. "I guess I'll take your word for it, for now."

"Thomas isn't responsible for Harry's murder," Molly said. "I know that for certain."

"You do?" I asked, arching an eyebrow at the remark. "That implies a great deal. If you know for certain that Thomas Raith isn't involved, do you know who is responsible?"

Molly sighed and shook her head. "No. But whoever did it didn't use magic."

"Captain Luccio was able to confirm as much to me before I came out here. Regardless, such discussion has no bearing on my purpose here. I won't trouble you with more questions. Get some rest, and I'll be back tomorrow so we can go over the details of your training."

Molly nodded, and promptly returned to sleep.

Afterward, Charity saw me to the door and wished me luck getting situated in town. She gave me the number for the house, as well as their cell phones, and told me that if I intended to continue investigating Harry's disappearance it would be good to get in touch with Harry's associates in town. A good place to begin would be with their mutual acquaintance Father Forthill at Saint Mary of the Angels, and Karrin Murphy of the Chicago Police Department, in particular. I thanked her, and made my way out the door.

No sooner had I closed the gate to the front yard behind me than I was very nearly run over by an emerald green stretch limousine that sped up to the curb in front of the Carpenter home. Immediately after parking, the driver walked around to passenger side rear door, opened it, and gestured for me to enter. I knew him for what he was the moment I set eyes upon him, and the voice that beckoned to me from within the limo only confirmed my suspicions.

"La! Mortal magi, always so paranoid," called a beautiful singsong from the dark interior of the vehicle. "You have my word of safe passage for the duration of a conversation, Wizard Morgan. On behalf of my Queen, I must needs speak with thee regarding the matter of Harry Dresden."

I looked from the driver holding open the door, and back to the waiting interior of the car. Stepping into the vehicle would be stupid, even with word of safe passage from one of the Fae. Then again, it was about Dresden. Considering that, I thought to myself: what would Harry Dresden do in this situation? The town, after all, needed someone to fill his boots for a time.

I got into the car.

#Dresden Files #Substitute Guardian #Morgan Lives AU #Donald Morgan #It's finally here #Sorry you all had to wait so long

[alwaysaprilia]

Captain Swan AU Prompt Series No. 5 (D)

No.1: Alphabet City

No.2: Of Singing and Streaking

No.3: Lie to Me (I’ll lie to you, too)

No.4: Like Toy Soldiers

No. 5 (A): We’re Going Down Swinging Part 1

No. 5 (B): We’re Going Down Swinging Part 2

No. 6: Bend, and Don’t Break

No. 7 (A): Speak Now Part 1

No. 7 (B): Speak Now Part 2

No. 5 ( C ) We’re Going Down Swinging Part 3

No. 4: Like Toy Soldiers Part 2

No. 8 (A) It’s Always Been You (And You Should Know That)

No. 9: The Art of Remembering

No. 10 For Your Consideration

No. 8 (B) It’s Always Been you (And You Should Know That)

We’re Going Down Swinging- Part 4

Present day

Something has shifted at camp, and it takes no special powers to see it. As the summer gets hotter, the anger and tension between Killian and Emma cools. It starts slowly, and simply-

 (-working together to square away the boats and ropes after sailing lessons, rather than leaving their fellow counselor with all the work in a bid to get as much distance between them as possible. Though silence still reigns between them, it's an easier one, more peaceful, a sharp contrast to the tense, suffocating version from the beginning of camp.

 -Killian saving a grilled cheese from the breakfast rush because Will and Viktor are bottomless pits and Emma, also a bottomless pit, always gets hangry and irritable if she doesn't have a mid-morning snack. He says it's to keep her from annoying him. She says nothing except rumble her thanks as she eats, smiling sheepishly at him between giant bites when he is no longer looking.

 -Emma stopping by his afternoon water-skiing lesson, and dropping off a freshly chilled water bottle because he's always been terrible about drinking enough, along with a tube of sunscreen, because he's even worse at that. She says it’s to keep him from bitching and moaning about his sunburn during the campfire at night. He says nothing, save smirk and toast to her retreating back as she stalks away. 

 -they arrive at meals together sometimes, and then more times, until they arrive together more often than not. They still do not sit by each other, but no one misses how the distance between them at the table gets smaller and smaller each time, and how conversation, previously avoided like the plague, slowly starts to trickle through-)

 -before progressing to a point that Ruby, observing Emma and Killian chivying their band of trouble makers into some semblance of order, working in tandem, never missing a beat, words, smiles and laughter flowing easily between them, comments on how it was almost like a blast to the past, a scene right out of high school. She's quickly shushed by Elsa, as if calling attention to the two might upset the delicate balance they have managed to strike, and perhaps such care is warranted. For all the improvement between Emma and Killian, the past and whatever happened between them is still soundly ignored, with all the characteristic determination that is both their hallmarks. 

 Mary Margaret sighs and murmurs that it can't be healthy, while David silently nods his agreement. Regina rolls her eyes and reiterates for maybe the thousandth time that it's high time the two grew up and got over whatever high school drama drove a wedge between them. Robin simply shakes his head at that statement, because he knows as well as she does that asking Emma and Killian to get over each other is akin to asking someone to move an ocean. Viktor and Will simply up the stakes in their betting pool, because they know the truth as well as everyone else does-something big is going to happen soon. Whether it's good or bad, that, no one can tell, but they all know it's coming, as sure as the sun rose and the moon waned.

 ...No one mentions the looming end of their time at camp.

********

 When things come to a head, it happens in the most cliched way ever- a good deed that did, in fact, not go unpunished, an old injury aggravated, ending with Killian and Emma alone in an empty cabin, with the latter forcing the former to take his shirt off, spurring events that should have happened long ago to finally take place-but that's a little further ahead. 

 At present, it's Games Day, when the campers complete for glory in their own mini-version of the Olympics, and they are at the last event.  

 Killian is stationed at the climbing frame obstacle, near the top, ready to give a helping hand to the kids who need it. Grace is almost over, has one hand gripping the edge and is bringing her other up to join it-when she slips. Screams echo around the course, but Killian throws himself over the edge, and manages to snatch the falling girl’s wrist. Emma, near the bottom on the other side, feels her heart leap into her throat. She’s climbed the frame and is by Killian’s side in under a minute, reaching over for Grace’s other arm. Together, they pull the crying girl safely over the edge and guide her down the other side and to the first aid tent, where the diagnosis is thankfully a case of mild shock, a lightly sprained wrist, and nothing more.

  The campers are taken into town for a movie night and a sleepover in the town's museum, a chance for the junior camp counselors to have a break and enjoy some time among company solely over the age of 18. In between roasting smores and grilling hot dogs, wrapped in warm and familiar conversation with the other girls, Emma notices that Killian barely moves his left arm, and constantly rubs at his left shoulder. It’s the same one that Brennan Jones had dislocated when Killian was 11, was frequently abused in high school during his time claiming football team glory, and she knows it’s given him trouble constantly since. The day’s events had probably set off the old ache, a suspicion confirmed when she hears him wave off David’s concerns with a smile that doesn’t quite hide that he’s in pain. Her eyes narrow immediately, and it’s not long after that that she disappears from the bonfire, intent on locating something she needs to put that particular situation to rest.

 It never occurred to her that an entirely different problem would rear its ugly head.

 ********

 Later, Killian walked to his cabin alone, and noted how strange it was to see the building so quiet, so still, with the campers away in town. The ache in his shoulder had escalated into a fierce throb, so much so that even the mystery of where Emma disappeared to so early could no longer hold his attention, and he'd decided to retire.  Across the small clearing was the Bad Blood girl’s cabin, and from its windows blazed out a cheerful light, which at least answered that particular question, and he stared in its direction, motionless, a direct contrast to how his thoughts swirled. It was of little surprise when they settled on what appeared to be the topic he simply had no power to keep away from, no matter how many years had passed: Emma Swan. 

  Even now, when things between them were better than they had been all summer, her presence was hardly soothing when he was in the best of moods. She got under his skin just as easily when she wasn’t trying to as she did when she was, and he'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to hold himself back from slinging his arm around her shoulder or engulfing her in a hug or other decidedly less innocent gestures that he didn’t want to think about. 

  It was a problem that had only grown the more time they’d spent in peace. Though the rational side of him knew it wasn’t Emma's fault at all, this electric awareness he'd always had of her, right now, with his shoulder a constant nagging pain only adding to his frustrations, the most likely thing that would result from seeing her would be an argument. The best thing for everyone would be for him to withdraw and tend to his injury in private. It would give him time to gain a little more control over his impulses-or make the attempt at least. Semi-convinced, he turned towards his own cabin, and ignored the sentiment that he would rather have been going the opposite way. He frowned as he realized that when it came to his former best friend, it seemed like he was doomed to never be able to do what he truly wanted to, and for the life of him, he couldn't work out exactly whose fault that was. 

  Further musings were interrupted when he entered the single room, for several things happened at once. He sighed in relief at the glorious, beautiful, silence, and then jumped about a foot in the air when his bedside lamp switched on without his input, flooding the space with light. Once his eyes had adjusted and his heart had resettled into its normal position, he swore long and viciously, partly from shock, but mostly because Emma was there, on a chair next to his bed, (-of course she was), rendering all his best intentions moot, as always. He was only halfway through a list of all her most annoying qualities when apparently fed up of his tirade, the subject of his ire got to her feet, and walked right up to where he still stood and ranted. Her expression was schooled to project boredom, but the light that always preceded trouble when they were younger flickered in and out of her gaze. 

  "I'll make you a deal," Cutting across him like he hadn't been speaking, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll own up to all of my apparent shortcomings, in front of our friends and do all your chores for the next two days, plus my own-if you give me a high five with your left hand, right now. If you can't...you'll have to do as I say for an entire half hour, no arguments. What do you say, Jones?"

  She uncrossed her arms, and one eyebrow lifted in challenge in unison with her right palm. Killian glared darkly and at least ten seconds ticked by before he attempted her dare, an endeavor that was a total failure, just like the maddening girl had known it would be. Unexpectedly, Emma didn't smirk in triumph, nor did she gloat. Instead, what looked suspiciously like concern flashed through the familiar green of her eyes, and those she rolled magnificently as she dropped her waiting hand.

  "Christ. Would you stop being so ridiculous? Get on the bed, already."

  She might as well have announced that she was secretly the princess of an enchanted wonderland and the savior of entire realms. His mouth dropped, and although he wanted to deny it, the choked sound that had been far too loud had definitely come from him. He mouthed soundlessly for several long moments, while Emma pursed her lips to keep from laughing, before she finally took pity on him and pulled the small bottle of lavender essential oil from her back pocket, waving it under his nose. It was a flashback, Ingrid's method of choice to relieve aches and pains, a preference passed on to Emma, and a reminder of so many times she had kneaded out his sore muscles after a game. Before he could think about it much more, he nodded, turned and walked to his bed, facing slightly away from her to hide cheeks that had flamed crimson.

  Emma's amusement didn't last too long, especially once she noticed that Killian would be unable to deal with his shirt by himself. It was hardly the first time she had taken off a man’s clothes, but she couldn't explain the hesitation before she moved to him, the way her fingers trembled as she reached for the hem he’d managed to drag halfway up his torso, or the tingle that raced through her at the contact with his skin. Her reactions made no sense, and so Emma fell back on habits she'd mastered...ignoring the hell out of them.

  Killian jumped at the feel of fingers brushing along his back, too absorbed in the struggle with his t-shirt to have heard her approach. He spun around in time to see a flash of embarrassment and uncertainty dance on her face before a businesslike mask fell over it all. 

  "It'll be easier if I help." Her defensive words barely had time to register, similar to how he barely had time to protest, because while it might be easier for her, for him it would be torture, but Emma was too quick. In the next instant she'd pulled the soft cotton up his body, off his head and for the second time in less than ten minutes, he stood there gaping stupidly while she seemed completely above it all.

 Running through his mind was all the thousands of ways he had imagined this moment playing out, (-how her shirt would quickly follow his, how he'd thumb off the button on her jeans or tug the skirt off her waist, how there would be laughter and heat and sweet anticipation, how he would savor every glorious moment until his body finally covered hers, how she would hold him near, so close they would be unable to tell where she stopped and he began-)  and he cut off the dangerous line of thought with effort, focused instead on the irony of how different reality was. Had he been a little less distracted, he could have taken comfort in the fact that Emma was as discomfited as he, and was quite unable to pry her eyes from his chest. As it was, the best he could do was cough awkwardly, turn away from her even more, and toe off his shoes. 

 "Uh..Thanks. So-how do you want me?"

 This time, it was Emma who made the strangled sound, quickly squelched, and she ignored the funny look he sent her way, settling down on his bed. 

 "Just-sit upright in front of me. Facing away," 

 Her tone, pitched a little higher than usual, was Killian's first clue that perhaps he wasn't the only one having difficulties, but he hid his small grin, and did as requested. Emma stared at the expanse of his broad back before her, and allowed opportunity for the more sensible side of her to take over, because seriously what the hell was she thinking? Killian was quite capable of doing this himself, she really should just leave him the bottle and beat a hasty retreat to her own cabin before she did something even more stupid than say, take his shirt off, but it seemed like she'd lost control of her body. Instead of standing up and fleeing, she'd uncapped the bottle instead, and was now shaking a substantial amount of the oil into her palm. 

 Somewhere, her sensible side was groaning in defeat. Somewhere else, the devil in her was cackling with glee.

 For his part, Killian shifted impatiently, and silently debated the wisdom of the situation, an internal discussion that grew more and more unruly as time went on and still Emma made no move. He had halfway convinced himself to speak up and call the whole thing off when she finally put her hands on him. If he jumped slightly at the contact or breathed in sharp, neither of them mentioned it. 

 Emma started off gently, her touch so uncertain and fleeting that Killian's earlier reservations came roaring back, but then her grip changed, the pressure increased, and the groan of relief that escaped before he could stop it was borderline indecent. It was the ice breaker they needed-Emma laughed out loud this time, and at the bright and happy sound Killian relaxed instantly.

 "Keep it together, Jones. Think of the children."

 Killian's eyes fluttered shut at the respite her massage was bringing and shook his head. 

 "Even if the children were here, it's their fault I'm in this mess in the first place, so I think they'll understand, Swan." The words were grumbled, but there was no real ire behind them, and both of them knew it, with the exchange fading into small smiles. 

 They spent the next several minutes in companionable silence, and the mood was light and easy, as if they had somehow carved for themselves a pocket of time and space away from the rest of the world. She changed the pressure of her touch according to the shift and play of his muscles, the way his breathing deepened and went shallow, the tiny encouraging nods he gave her. Despite the rather uncomfortable start to his current situation, Killian felt at ease for the first time that day, the ache in his shoulder diminishing under her touch. 

 "Do you remember the weeping willow at the edge of park, the one we used to spend hours playing on?" His voice was a low, relaxed murmur, and although typically, a trip down their shared memory lane would make her hackles rise, Emma smiled at the question instead, her voice as equally soft as his.

 "Of course. Like I could forget the tree you almost fell to your death from?" 

 The wry comment made him laugh and he gamely endured her light reprimand to keep still. "You're being dramatic," he accused her, feeling even more of his muscles go lax. "I wasn't even ten feet off the ground, and I managed to catch myself, thank you very much."

 Emma rolled her eyes at his smugness, before she continued to knead at his skin. 

 "Barely, Jones. Right, turn around, I'm done with this side."

 In hindsight, she probably should have given that request a little more thought, because when Killian readily complied, she found she was much, much too close to his naked chest. More than that, she was not even a little prepared to have him watching as her gaze jumped wildly from the slope of his shoulders to the dusting of dark hair on his chest to the column of his throat in a desperate bid to find some safe place to look. 

 Get it together, Emma!

 The voice sounded eerily like Lily, come to drag her out to gym again, and she allowed herself one deep, breath and a quick prayer to whoever was listening as she started to massage his shoulder once more. Emma kept a laser focus on the front of his shoulder this time, intent on a particularly tight knot, and hoped he hadn't noticed her freeze.

 "What...what made you bring that up?"

 Unfortunately for her, Killian had noticed her falter. Fortunately, however, he was far too occupied with going through a similar reaction himself to make any comment on it, completely distracted with the realization that she was closer to him than she had been in years. The waltz they had shared called for proper distance, one that certainly didn't exist between them now, as he sat Indian style, and she in turn had her feet neatly folded under her thighs, her knees almost touching his shins. He could see every freckle on her face, could smell her sunscreen, sweat and traces of something floral that combined was altogether too alluring. He'd narrowly avoided the temptation to stare right into her eyes only by being focused on the tendrils of hair that had strayed from her bun and lay against her neck. The next few moments were spent fighting the itch to twine them back to join their fellows before he realized she had even spoken. 

 "Jones?"

 "What? Oh. Right. I just realized that I must have been a really shrimpy kid then, because I pulled my shoulder that time too, and the pain wasn't this bad." Amusement curved his lips upward, and he told himself he felt nothing when he saw the matching grin steal across Emma's lips too. "So either Grace weighs more now at age 10 then I did at age 12, or-my pain tolerance levels have dropped."

 Emma's grin shifted to a smirk and she shook her head. "When we were 12, I was about a foot taller than you, so it is definitely the former. Don't you remember all those school pictures when you had to be always been in the front? And how Ms. Wells would always try to cast you as an elf?"

 Apparently she remembered well enough for the both of them, and Killian shot her a flat look as the unpleasant memory resurfaced. It held only momentarily, because she'd started to giggle and he couldn't help but laugh with her instead. In the next moment, she got a little more aggressive in her efforts and he winced in response, with Emma immediately pausing in concern.

 "Sorry. Was that too much?"

 "No-it was good." He motioned for her to keep going. "Don't stop."

 Emma studied him, as if confirming he wasn't only displaying a brave front and then she shrugged and did as instructed. Killian took the opportunity to study her in turn, with no danger of being trapped by her eyes.

 "You're probably right,"

 "I'm right about a lot of things." The smart response was delivered with a flick of her gaze to his, her voice filled with amusement. "What are you talking about this time?"

 "That I was just...small for my age back then. I probably have the same tolerance for pain, and maybe even more now." The moon could be seen, full and bright outside his window, and for the first time, Killian looked away from Emma. "If there's one thing I've learned so far, it's that I've been built to endure a lot of it."

 It was the offhand way he said the words that got to her. His tone had still been lighthearted, and he'd obviously not meant to start any serious discussion, but Emma's hands faltered in their rhythmic motion, and then slowed until they had stopped altogether. Killian, curious at the interruption, shifted to look at her and found that she was already watching him. 

 Emma sat stiff, because even if she hadn't been able to see the truth of his statement in his expression, she still would have known that he was right-she had been there after all, through most of it, until the day she hadn't. She could not apologize, even now, even when she acutely felt their temporary reprieve collapsing under the weight of the past. She still could not bring herself to say the words 'I'm sorry I left", not when they would be a lie. Instead, she smiled sadly, breaking their stare and moving her hand to the middle of his chest. 

 He pulled in a breath at the contact, and forgot to let it out again. Or maybe it was her who ceased to breathe. Regardless, neither of them moved nor spoke until she tapped once.

 "Not surprised." Blue clashed with green, and Emma's smile was small, but genuine as she continued. "You always did have a strong heart."

 Killian's breath caught at the butterfly touch and his heart stuttered to a stop at her words, because for once, there were no walls up between them, no cutting remarks meant to incense and offend to keep the other away. Although some part of him whispered a distant warning, the rest of him roared louder. He had realized this for the opportunity it was, the one he should have had years ago. So he could react in only one way as she made to lift away her hand-by reaching up with one of his own to trap it in place instead.

 Emma tensed, gaze flitting from her hand wrapped in his, still held closely to his chest, to his eyes. They glittered with too many things to properly decipher and the look in their depths instantly put her on alert. Still, after valiant effort, she managed to keep her voice calm and collected, not at all betraying the furious hammering of her heart.

 "I-kinda need that. Will you let go?"

 "I will." It sounded like a promise, although it did nothing to make her feel better, and his next words only intensified the dread that crept through her. "If we can talk about one thing."

 Emma's heart continued its unsteady pound. Despite the fact that her sensible side was screaming bloody murder, advising her to snatch back her hand and get the hell out, now, the words were out before she could stop herself. 

 "What thing?"

 Inwardly, she cursed, for she had always been a touch too daring, too curious for her own good, and something told her that this time she would not escape unscathed.

 "The last night I saw you." 

 Killian watched as she froze, and with the confirmation of her worst suspicions, Emma recognized the sticky feeling that welled up in her as panic. If there was anything in the world she wanted to talk about less than that night, nothing came to mind and she shook her head immediately.

 “No. I…I don’t want to talk about that. It’s…it was such a long time ago, and-I don't know about you, Jones, but I'm actually enjoying the fact that we can go two hours without trying to rip each other's head off now." The attempt at humor was accompanied by a smile that felt strained, even to her, and matched her tone exactly. "Can’t we just let it be?”

  Killian searched her face, deliberating, and for a brief, glorious, moment it looked like he had granted the reprieve...except he hadn't.

 "I can't. It's been eating me up inside for years and I can't...I can't do it anymore."

 In his last six words was the pain from the three years that had gone by, from the wounds dealt by her departure, left to fester, fed by regret and pain. He spoke quietly, but still Emma flinched like a thunder clap had echoed through the room. 

 "Please let's not do this." 

 "Do you know what it was like, those first few weeks?" Her whispered plea fell on deaf ears as he asked his question, eyes haunted, desolate, and she couldn't look away. "We had no idea- I had no idea where you were, if you were safe-I had no idea what had happened to you. Did you hate me that much at the end, Emma, that you couldn't even let me know you were alive?"

 It was the height of irony that she would have given much over the summer to have him look at her with anything but contempt and irritation, and now that he was, now that she could see the depths of hurt and sadness she had left him with, she wished he would go back to pretending she didn't exist. Her shoulders slumped, her gaze dropped to the bed between them, and when he sensed that she wouldn't leave the moment he let go, Killian did just that. 

 "No, of course I didn't hate you." Her exhale was shaky, and she met his gaze for only a brief moment before she looked away again. “I could never-that's not it, that's not why I left,"

  "Then why?" Killian tried to keep his voice calm, but it was akin to trying to hold back the tides. "Christ, we'd been together practically our whole lives, Swan, we were best friends, we were family, and you just left without saying a word-"

  She laughed, low and incredulous, and he swallowed hard at the sound, unable to continue, especially when she started to speak.

  "I didn't say a word? I remember it quite a bit differently, Jones, I remember saying a lot actually, and maybe it was too much, because at the end of it...what else was there to say? The last night I saw you, I just about ripped my heart out of my chest and gave it to you on a silver platter and...you said you didn't want it." 

 Emma glanced up, a brittle little smile on her face, and shrugged as if that night hadn't torn her world apart, like it hadn't sent her into a tailspin that had taken years to recover from, if she ever had at all. Her voice shook as she continued and she forced herself to ignore that particular bit of self-reflection.  

 "You said you didn't want me."

 Killian recoiled as if she had snapped a whip at him, but now, Emma was victim to an unstoppable flow of words and she could do nothing to bar the tide. 

 "If there was anything that summer taught me, it was that I was barely strong enough to function when I didn't have you at my side, so sticking around and watching you fall in love with someone else? After I'd spent years wishing and hoping it would be me, waiting for you to see me like that-even if I didn't know that's what I had been doing, I-I couldn't-I needed to leave. I needed to show myself I could still stand on my own, that I could still be alone...that I could be without you. Because by then-I didn't have a choice, did I?"

 It was fascinating, the play of emotions across his face as she had spoken, cycling from regret to hurt and sadness then stopping at anger that had his eyes blazing and hard. She couldn't look away. 

 "So then you decided to leave, did you, and in all your hurry to be alone and prove something, you never once thought about what that meant for me? It never once occurred to you that you were leaving me alone too?"

 "You had Milah-" Her emphatic statement was cut off by his outburst, frustration clear in every word.

 "Milah wasn't you, Emma! She wasn't there when my father was beating my mother and I to a pulp and I was too bloody scared to tell anyone about it! She wasn't there each time that bastard got cleaned up and came back and then left despite all promises not to! She wasn't there the time my brother went missing and I almost went out of my mind! She wasn't there for the most fucked up parts of my life, but you were, you were the one to help pick up all the pieces and get my shit back together, you were the one who told me I could be more than just the boy from the wrong side of town, you were there. You were always there." He was tired and defeated at the end of it, his words quiet, the look on his face damning. "Until you weren't."

 The accusation hung like a blade between them and Emma shook her head, a weak denial against the words they both knew to be true.

 "Don't do that, don't you dare-" Her eyes burned but the glaze of tears didn't fall, she would not let them. "Do you think it was easy for me? Do you think I enjoyed it? I left everything and everyone I had ever known, and -"

 "You didn't need to go at all!" Killian interrupted hotly, his blankets curled into his fists at his side. "You could have stayed, you could have talked to me-"

 "Like you talked to me that night you mean?" It was Emma's turn to flare up, her face carved into tense lines, jaw locked and eyes blazing. "When you couldn’t even-fine. You want to talk so badly, Killian? Then let's talk. Tell me why. Explain to me why you couldn't love me like I love you. Talk to me now, like you couldn't talk to me back then."

 It was as if they had been transported back in time to that terrible night years ago. The empty parking lot and her faithful car had been replaced by an empty log cabin and a bed but Killian hadn't changed, he was still looking at her with that strange mixture of emotions that rippled past too quickly for her to understand, with the silence and regret building, the air growing thick. Now, just like then, his expression was softening, and she knew, she knew he was going to reach for her and that could not happen, she wouldn't be able to think if he touched her. Emma jerked away, as unable to withstand it at present as she'd been in the past, especially once she realized her fatal slip...

 ...explain to me why you couldn't love me like I love you. 

 Self-preservation kicked in, and the urge to flee grew stronger, because some things, it seemed, would never change. Killian Jones was still her kryptonite, somehow capable of making her forget promises she'd made to herself, effortlessly breaching her carefully constructed walls. She needed to leave, she needed time to process, to recover from the fact that she might just have revealed her greatest secret- 

 Emma mustered her strength, and retreated behind the thinnest veneer of calm she'd ever made in her life. She placed the bottle carefully between them and then stood, slipping her feet into her flip flops.

 "Right. That's what I thought. Keep it, I'd apply once more before you sleep. I'll see you around."

 She held herself together quite admirably in her opinion, despite the fact that she was all but running for the door. She had it halfway open before a hand reached out from behind her and pushed it closed, and Emma gasped, then spun round. Killian was right behind her, and at least now, there was no mistaking the emotion in his eyes-it was anger, fierce and unyielding. Effectively cornered, there was only one option left: attack.

 "What the hell do you think you're doing Jones?"

 "No more running, Swan." His left hand lifted to join its counterpart on the door, caging her in and Emma would have cautioned his use of it, especially at the slight spasm of pain that passed over his face, but she was too irritated now.

 "Excuse me?"

 "You heard me. No more running. You went all the way to the other side of the country three years ago, where will you go now? Alaska? Indonesia?" He shook his head and took another step closer. "I'm not taking that chance, not this time. You wanted to know about that last night? You wanted to hear my side of it? Then you're going to have to stay and listen."

 Emma was ready to tell him to go to hell. There was a withering reply on the tip of her tongue, one that would have told him in no uncertain terms where to stick it, but then the belligerent set of his jaw relaxed, and his whole frame sagged. The blue eyes that had been filled with angry fire just seconds before were now soft and pleading. He looked much more like the scared and exhausted version who would turn up after each night Brennan Jones had been particularly drunk than the snarky and sarcastic one she'd been butting heads with all summer. 

 She didn't move as he dropped his left arm. She didn't breathe when he took her hand captive again, and twined his fingers loosely through hers, his touch gentle and unsure, as if trying to hold the wind. 

  "Emma, please. Please don't go. Don't leave. Not again." 

 At that point, it didn't matter that for most of summer, they had barely had a conversation that didn't involve sniping, sarcastic tones and cold words. In the middle of their first real conversation in years, he had lost all his pride, and wasn't above begging.

 "Killian-"

 "What if I told you-what if I told you that you were right that night? What if I lied?" Killian swallowed, and watched as the implications of what he was saying registered. He watched her eyes widen, filling first with confusion, and then spark with suspicion. "What if I told you that I felt the same way? That I always-"

 "Stop it, just stop!" This time when she snatched her hand away, he let her, even as he silently hoped she wouldn't walk away. "What is this, you feel sorry for me, so you're telling me what I wanted to hear back then? Is this supposed to be a joke?"

 "No, Swan, it's not. Just, listen, please, if you listen to me now, I promise I will never bring it up again,"

 The words were almost a mirror image of the ones she'd said to him that fateful last night. She was trapped in a vicious cycle of deja vu. Her mind was screaming at her to run, as fast and as far as she could, but it was the tiny whisper from her bruised and battered heart, telling her that they had already done that once, for all the good it had brought, that won out. 

 Emma crossed her arms, as if pulling up an armor to protect herself from whatever would happen next. Killian read her actions as acquiescence and immediately backed off, the hand that had held back the door shifting to the nape of his neck instead. Strange that he'd thought about this moment many times over the last few years, but when it finally arrived, he found himself no better prepared than the night of their very last fight.

 "Jones-"

 Killian raised a hand, a signal that begged for one more moment to gather himself. Emma huffed and then settled more comfortably against the door, waiting, but quite reluctantly. It could not be clearer that his time was limited, and so, Killian fell back into old habits: he leapt before he looked, and started to speak before he was even sure what he was going to say…

  **********

 Interlude

 - he is five years old, and his mother is crying. She's been doing so for a while now, ever since his father shoved her and then stormed out of their little house, a cloud of bad temper and the smell of liquor following in his wake. He doesn't know what to do. He's not the best at telling time yet, but he knows his big brother gets home only when the shorter hand of the clock is pointed to the seven, and it's still between the 5 and 6. He is on his own, his mother is crying and he wants her to stop, because it hurts to see her so sad. 

 His hands shake as he pours a glass of water, tiny hands clumsy and unaccustomed to handling the pitcher, but he manages and spills only a little. He has to call twice before she finally looks up at him and his glass, blinking through the tears. Her hand is as shaky as his when she accepts his offering, and she drinks and places the glass carefully to the side before opening her arms out for him. Her embrace is familiar and comforting and he shuts his eyes as she starts to hum. It's not the normal, sweet melody he's used to, but she's stopped crying, at least, and the tightness in his chest eases somewhat. 

 He pulls back a little to stare her in the face. She is beautiful his mother, and even more so, when she's not crying. He tells her the former, leaves off the latter. She smiles and thanks him, and then holds him close to her once more. Exhausted from all the tears, her last murmur before she sleeps is that he is so much like his father. He is sure (-he hopes) she means that they look alike, and not that they both make her cry, but the chill in his heart returns, because he is only 5, and he realizes his father is not a good man.

  -he is 15. School is out for the day, the weather is gorgeous, a golden afternoon laced with a cool ocean breeze, the sky blue and blazing and dotted with puffy clouds, and best of all, his best friend is laughing gaily by his side. Emma's arms swing freely, for he carries her books and his, all the better to facilitate her wild gestures as she speaks. In her hair, its stem twined through the haphazard braid she'd fixed above her ear in the morning, is a bright yellow buttercup he'd presented to her with a flourish, cheerful and bright against the gold of her tresses.

 She is describing the mayhem that the ongoing war between Regina and her half-sister Zelena for control of Storybrooke High's cheer leading squad has wrought, and though he could care less about the Mills sisters battle for dominance, he does care a lot about how much it entertains Emma. If their squabbles mean the Swan girl will spend the rest of high school laughing and amused, then he hopes Regina and Zelena will never find a truce, for his and Emma's lives had never been ones filled with constant laughter. A knobby elbow jabs into his ribs just then, and he snaps back to the present in time to see his companion pull a ridiculous face at him, punishment for his perceived lack of attention. He can't help but laugh as well and amend his previous thought: their lives had never been filled with constant laughter-save for when they are together. 

 They round the corner that brings both their houses into sight, and as his eyes fall upon the white car parked in the driveway of his home, his smile freezes. It dies completely when the driver's side door opens, and a familiar person steps out. There can be no question that Brennan Jones is his father, for he had passed nearly everything of his looks to his youngest son, except for his eyes. Those, Killian owed to his mother, and they are the only part of his reflection that doesn’t make his skin crawl. Regrets about resemblance are the last thing on his mind at the moment, for today, his father appears sure footed, and swinging off one of his arms is a grocery bag full of food with flowers peeking out the top- all signs that point to this being Brennan Jones' Sober Version, the one that was in some ways, the most dangerous one of all. This version constantly raised Anne Jones’ hopes only to dash them mercilessly when he inevitably disappeared, and the Raging Drunk that was his usual persona came back. 

 Emma notices that something is wrong immediately; of course she does, for she knows him better than anyone. Her eyes narrow the moment they land on his father, and he can tell from the way she stops and glances behind them that she is calculating how far they have come from the corner, and whether they will still be able to retreat without drawing attention. He knows from her set jaw that she has deemed it too far, just as he knows from her expression, an equal mix of determination and concern, what she will suggest next. It will be some complaint about homework, and how she will absolutely not be able to accomplish anything without him, so please could he come home with her and help her out? There might even be dinner in it for him. She picks history to whine about, slowing her steps to a reluctant plodding, and it's all very transparent but Killian is weak and he is tired of seeing that hopeful light bloom in his mother’s eyes only for it to disappear when his father disappoints her as he always does.

 So he agrees, and stops short of actually drawing level with his house, where Brennan, having spotted them, now waits. He sends Emma on with a promise to be there as soon as he tells his mother where he is going to be, and when Emma departs, he squares his shoulders, approaches and gives his greetings. Brennan doesn't acknowledge him at first. His father's eyes track Emma's movements with interest, and immediately, his own hackles rise. His best friend is lovely, and only growing more so still, but if his father even thinks of going there...he calms down fractionally when Brennan meets his gaze and he sees only honest curiosity in their depths. He answers the questions in short order: yes, that is Emma Swan. Yes, she's still his best friend, and yes, she's grown quite tall. 

 Killian's skin itches at how the look in his father's eyes has turned speculative, and especially at how he grins knowingly when he asks if the buttercup was from him. He doesn't wait for the response before he claps his son genially on the shoulder and turns to head into their house. The Jones men seem to favor flowers when wooing women, he says, and it's heartening to see that like father like son still very much applies to them. The words lodge an ice pick in his heart because he is 15, and he wants to be nothing like his father.

  -he is 17, and he's had just a little too much to drink. Storybrooke High's football team has ended their season the conference champs, victory delivered on David's and his shoulders, and they are sure to be co-captains when their last year of high school begins. For now though, thoughts of the future are far from his mind. At present, he is more concerned with why the bloody key hole keeps jumping from place to place and why there are suddenly four of them, when the door to the house opens and Killian falls in a heap at his older brother's feet. He groans, for the key hole is not the only thing that has multiplied, and his older brother's disapproving face dances around him in fours.  

 Liam sighs at him, he thinks, he can't exactly tell, because he's telling him about the ridiculous game he'd just played, and won, aching shoulder be damned. He remembers at the last moment that Liam had been at the game, made a special trip from Boston just to see this last one, and they had already celebrated, just the family, a little earlier on in the night, so he hardly needed the play by play, but it's worth re-telling he thinks. 

 By the time he's done, Liam has helped up into his room, telling him to keep it down, for their mother's bedroom isn't too far away. He has regained enough of his facilities to apologize for being a pain, he'd not meant to drink so much, but Emma had been at the party and they'd been challenged to defend their beer pong crown. Swan never backed down from a challenge, and therefore, neither did he, hence his staggering home at this hour. Liam smiles, he thinks, and merely helps him out of his varsity jacket and his shoes, before tucking him in like he's six bloody years old and Killian secretly loves it. 

 Not that he'd ever tell. 

 Before Liam leaves, he hovers at the door, and Killian manages to inquire what he's forgotten. His brother says nothing for a long time, and then only shakes his head and tells him that this little episode aside, he's extremely proud of Killian, because despite his worries, he's shaping up to be quite the young man. It's a nice thought, strong enough to overpower the fleeting question of what Liam was worried over, and Killian falls asleep with a happy glow that has nothing to do with alcohol. When he wakes the next day, he is still 17, with a hangover as fierce as his headache, and as he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet, he realizes what had worried his brother so: the realization that at 17, he might be more similar to his father than he had thought. 

  TBC.

#cs ff #cs au #We're Going Down Swinging #captain swan #captain swan fanfiction #my fic