#because to him their relationship was warmth and love and safety against the harsh realities of the league and that's something that he

[rocorambles]

A Skulk of Foxes

Pairing: Kita x Reader

Prompt: Fantasy

Genre: SFW, Fluff, Fox Shifter Kita, Fantasy AU, Shifter AU

Summary: You moved to the woods to start fresh, begin a new chapter in your life. Little do you know just how much your world is about to change because of a skulk of foxes.  

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Thursday, October 29th 11:00pm U.K. time!) 

You sigh with relief when you finally finish unpacking the last box of your possessions, stretching your aching muscles as excitement finally begins to bubble inside of you when you proudly look at your new home you’ve made for yourself. Reality is finally sinking in and your giddy with the feeling of a fresh start, a new beginning. The quaint little cabin is certainly different from the cramped modern apartment you had in the heart of Tokyo, but different is exactly what you need and you nestle into the cozy armchair by the window in your new living room, a cup of hot tea in your hands as you enjoy the silence of nature and the view of swaying branches. 

If anyone were to have told you that you’d willingly choose to live in the middle of the woods by yourself a few years ago, you would have laughed. You were a city girl through and through and the idea of not being surrounded by the noise of traffic and crowds of people was baffling. But after your long-term relationship had taken a nosedive into the ground and crash and burned, suddenly the city felt suffocating, filled with too many memories, too many mutual acquaintances and when you had seen this listing on your way back home from work one night, you had jumped at the opportunity to escape it all and start a new chapter. 

Your new way of life takes some adjusting to, but you don’t mind as you pull on your new hiking boots, eager to explore the acres of wooded lands you’re surrounded by. The air is crisp and fresh, and you inhale deeply, soaking in the peaceful quiet only interrupted by the crunching of dirt and grass under your feet. And that’s how your days idle by, you scoping out the area in the early mornings as the sun is rising with your trusty nature handbook you’d bought in one hand, a basket in the other hand as you look back and forth between the herbs and plants you see and the painted illustrations and tips in the book, returning with a bundle of freshly picked produce before signing onto your work computer and dutifully putting in your hours. It’s a tiring grind, but when you finally get to power down your laptop and sit outside under the bright night stars with a glass of wine in your hand, it doesn’t seem so bad after all. 

You get savvier and more adventurous, really leaning into country living as you begin to grow your own vegetables and fruit, set up a fire pit, plant flowers that you use to spruce up your living space. It’s a wonderful life, but there’s only one slight concern in the back of your mind.

The foxes. 

Growing up in the city, you’d never learned how to handle animals other than the rats and roaches the concrete jungle was infested with. Sure, you love your share of fluffy dogs and cats that you’d pet and play with, but there’s a big difference between domesticized pets and wild animals and you had noticed early on that your neck of the woods seemed to be rampant with foxes. You wonder if it’s just the fact that you’d never seen a fox in real life before, but you can’t help but think these foxes seem much larger than your usual fox, their fur and eye colors ranging far more than you thought was biologically possible. But even though they seem to like hovering around you and watching you intently from a distance, they never draw near and they leave your gardens alone, so you dismiss their presence, letting them do as they please as you go about your own business. 

The weather’s getting colder and you figure now is the time to test the fire pit you’d built. It takes a bit of fumbling around, but you beam with pride when you get a flame started, mesmerized by the flickering light and warmth beginning to billow. And although the wind has a bite to it, the radiating heat keeps you comfortable as you roast the chicken you had bought in town, mouth already watering as the smell of cooked meat begins to permeate throughout the air. But you’re startled when two furry bodies suddenly brush up against you and you stay perfectly still, unsure what to do when a gold fox leaps into your lap, curling into a fluffy ball as he stares at you while a silver fox calmly sits next to you, nudging your hand with his head in a silent order to pet him and you tentatively scratch behind his ears, staring in awe as he leans into your touch. 

For wild animals, they’re oddly well behaved and affectionate and you’re frankly stunned that they hadn’t just pounced at the raw meat and ran away with your dinner. But you’re not complaining and you continue petting them as your meal continues cooking, only stopping to their dismay when the chicken is ready to be cut up. Your heart breaks a bit when you see them staring expectantly at you and you swear they're both pouting as you make a move to bring the chicken inside the house, but their ears perk up when you leave your door open and beckon them inside and they’re quick to race towards you, rushing between your legs before making their way to your dining table and jumping up on the extra chairs you have set. It’s certainly an odd sight to see two large wild foxes easily make themselves at home, but you can’t help but fondly smile at them when you prepare three plates of food and they eagerly dig in. 

They’re surprisingly neat about eating and it’s almost eerie how they seem to purposefully keep the scraps and bones on their plate, almost human-like the way they grab your napkin, using it to wipe their mouths and paws. Maybe they used to be someone’s pets? But you don’t dwell on it, enjoying the company they provide as they curl up by your feet as you wash the dishes, as their feet pitter-patter after you as you do some errands around the cabin and you’re almost sad when they nudge you to the door, waiting for you to let them out before you go to sleep. 

You quickly realize there’s nothing to be sad about, not when you have a furry entourage that walks beside you whenever you’re outside, not when bodies are weaving in between your legs, almost threatening to trip you with how excited they are to play with you, not when heads are constantly butting against you, begging for pets. It seems like your two friends had spread the word and now you have a whole slew of friendly foxes wanting to get to know you better and you love every second of it, even building a little door for them to easily walk in and out of your cabin and it becomes a common occurrence for you to wake up to fluffy bodies curled around your body, for foxes to be perched on your dining room chairs at meal times, for you to have a lap full of needy foxes wanting your attention when all your bellies are full.  

But there’s one fox who keeps his distance from you and even though he’s not the largest of the bunch, even you can sense the quiet authority he has as the other foxes are quick to lower their heads submissively and run to him when he barks at them. Even the golden fox who you’ve come to pinpoint as the troublemaker of the group seems to quiet down a bit around him and one day when he’s being just a tad too rowdy with you, nipping you harder than usual as he excitedly pounces on you, he immediately whines and sinks his head into the crook of your neck in apology when the light gray leader harshly growls at him. You affectionately pet the sad gold pile in your arms and verbally assure the gray fox that you’re fine even though you’re sure that he can’t understand a word you’re saying, but to your surprise, as if he comprehends exactly what you’re trying to convey, the gray fox relaxes a bit and lies back down, going back to quietly watching his pack and you. 

The weather’s becoming frigid and you know it’s silly to worry about clearly healthy and strong wild animals who’ve fended for themselves their whole lives, but you can’t help the pang of concern you have for your furry friends as snow begins to creep in. However, in hindsight, maybe you should have been more concerned for yourself. It’s an especially brutal day and you really shouldn’t be outside at all, not with the wind whipping at neck breaking speeds and torrential amounts of snow pouring down, but like a true city idiot, you’d procrastinated about restocking your wood supply and now with nothing left to keep you warm, you have no choice but to venture out and collect as much as you can to at least keep a fire going on during the worst of the snow storm. 

You pride yourself on knowing the woods like the back of your hand now, but the pain of the wind whipping your face and the never ending white in your vision as the snow keeps on coming down makes it hard to concentrate, makes it hard to orient yourself and as the frost begins to get to you, making you shiver, making you lose all train of thoughts other than the fact that you’re literally freezing to death, you panic. You’re frozen stiff as you wildly circle around, trying to calm the swirling dark thoughts in your head as you try to make sense of where you are, but it’s no use. Everything looks the same now and you think you might be sick from the rocketing anxiety inside of you, but you’re pulled back to reality by a harsh tug at your coat sleeve and you almost sob in relief when you see a familiar light gray pelt tipped with black. 

Brown eyes look imploringly at you as he gives your sleeve another harsh tug and that’s all the encouragement you need to stumble after him, trusting him to bring you back to safety. Your legs are numb and there’s not a hint of grace in your steps and for a second, you’re afraid of falling behind, but your heart warms at the way he makes sure to never be more than an arm's length in front of you, always turning his head back to make sure you’re still right behind him, nipping insistently at you when you pause for too long. And even when you finally reach your cabin, he practically shoves you through your door with his whole body, almost ripping your clothes as he rapidly helps you remove your soaked through clothing. 

You’re shocked to see him still standing outside your bathroom door when you finally step out of the warm water, but still overwhelmed and exhausted by the day’s events, you only briefly acknowledge him as your body barely makes it to your bed before collapsing. And as your eyes shut and you slip under a heavy cloud of sleep, you swear you feel arms and hands rearranging you, carefully tucking you underneath your blankets, propping your head up on a pillow. You swear you hear a male voice scolding you for putting yourself in danger, telling you to rest. But too exhausted to open your heavy lids, you chalk it up to your imagination before completely drifting off. 

You’ll never be able to fully explain what happened as you finally wake up only to find that a fire has been started, a healthy supply of dry wood set up by it, your wet clothes hung up to dry, but unable to really remember much after you’d been guided back to your cabin, you think you must have just been working on auto-pilot before you passed out. (Never mind that you certainly don’t remember collecting that much wood.) But with no better explanation, you let it be, just glad to be safe and warm. And it seems like you’re not the only one happy to still see you alive and kicking as familiar visitors come by to check in on you and you have a strange suspicion that they’re worried about you, even the gold fox being more docile than usual as he cuddles with you. To your surprise, their leader also pays you a visit and you can’t help but feel chastised when you thank him for rescuing you, only to get a sharp nip and a growl in return and you swear he’s glowering at you. But it seems that all is forgiven when he shoves the gold fox out of your lap and regally takes his place, curling up and falling fast asleep on top of you. 

They never let you leave your cabin alone again that winter and it’s almost comical when they let out a series of howls as you climb into your car when you refuse to let even one of them ride with you. You wonder if an outsider would think you’re crazy as you speak to them, telling them you’d be right back after you pick up some much needed supplies and food from town that you can’t get by yourself in the woods. But eventually they quiet down and you chuckle when you see them all sitting outside your cabin through your rear car window, watching you leave, and you have a strong suspicion that they’ll be in the same exact position waiting for you when you return home. 

The town’s small, but everyone’s so friendly and helpful that you don’t mind waiting a tiny bit longer in line as the sole cashier takes care of everyone, enjoying the friendly chitter chatter and catching up on what’s been going on. The sheriff greets you and you smile at the handsome man. Daichi had been one of the first people to go out of his way to greet you. “It’s a sheriff’s duty to know everyone in town,” he had said, but you had a feeling that sheriff or not, he’d still be friendly enough to try and get to know the new person in town. Conversation is pleasant as both of you share what’s been going on in your lives, but your heart drops when he warns you to be careful of poachers in your area. His team is still trying to find and arrest them, but until then, he cautions you from wandering too far from home. He continues rambling on, but you’ve completely tuned him out, your mind only thinking of your new furry family and everything is a blur as you shakily pack your car trunk and race home. 

Relief floods through you when you see the foxes still lazing about and lounging in your yard, perking up at the sight and sound of your rapidly approaching vehicle. But their fur stands up and their tails rise in agitation at your distressed state as you usher them into the safety of your cabin and before you know it, you’re surrounded by multiple bodies whimpering and trying to jump on you to soothe you. You know it’s silly to talk to them and try to explain what’s going on, but with no other way to relay your feelings, you tell them what Daichi had told you, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes when you beg them to be careful, telling them they can use your house as a safe shelter whenever they need, and you don’t even realize that you’re almost completely sobbing until their light gray leader leaps into your lap and gently laps away your salty tears, nuzzling his face against your cheek as if he’s trying to comfort you. And whether or not that’s really what he was intending, you do feel better as you hug his large body close to you, burying your face into his soft fur. 

You feel lighter after that night, still a little wary and concerned for your newfound friends, but days pass and life seems normal. You don’t hear gunshots. You don’t see strange men roaming through the woods. Daichi and you keep in contact and although he tells you they still haven’t caught the perpetrators yet, slight hope rises in you and you wonder if they’ve moved on to a different area. But your hopes are instantly dashed when you’re abruptly woken by paws frantically clawing at you, loud distressed howls right in your ear and with your heart thumping out of your chest you stare with wide bleary eyes at the gold and silver foxes nudging you out of bed, one leading the way, the other repeatedly rushing you, his head pushing against the back of your legs. 

You have a bad feeling about what has them in such an uproar and you hate that your apprehension was warranted when you see their leader crying in pain, an ugly sharp metal contraption digging deeply into one of his front legs and suddenly you’re moving even faster than your furry companions as you lunge towards him, quickly, but carefully trying to assess the damage, trying to figure out how to untangle him from the horrid trap. You’ve just managed to pry open the trap enough for him to free himself and limp a bit aways when you hear the sounds of men's voices and approaching footsteps. And there’s nothing friendly about the way they’re shouting, nothing welcoming about the glint of their guns in the flashlight beams bouncing around, so before you can even strategically think about what you’re doing, you pick up the injured fox, careful not to jostle or touch his wound as you run as fast as your legs can move, not stopping even when your lungs are burning from exertion, even when you want to keel over from exhaustion, urged on and not allowed to slow down by the nips to your ankles the gold and silver foxes give you as they run alongside you. 

Gunshots are whizzing around you, but you have the knowledge of the terrain and expert guides on your side and the angry screams get quieter and farther away the longer you race forward before soon enough there’s only your labored breathing and the tiny cries of the fox you’re holding to your chest. But despite that, you don’t slow down, throwing your front door open as you slowly lay the gray fox on your bed, rushing to grab your first-aid box while simultaneously calling Daichi, putting him on speaker phone as you wash the bloody matted fur. You know you must sound frazzled, distracted as you fumble with words, trying to give him the best approximate location you can of where you’d lost the poachers while you tenderly pet the whimpering fox who’s hissing with every wipe you give to his bleeding injury, but you thank whoever’s listening that Daichi makes sense of your stuttered words and tells you he’s on his way to scan the area and for you to get some rest before hanging up and leaving you to give your sole attention to your patient. 

You whisper sweet encouraging words in a soft tone, apologizing and stroking his stomach everytime he winces as you continue cleaning his wound, but he stays perfectly still, not budging even an inch despite his discomfort and when you finally bandage him up, you smile as you see him finally slumping into your bedsheets, exhaustion finally catching up to him now that adrenaline isn’t amping him up and you can’t help the affectionate kiss you plant on his forehead as you tuck him into your bed, unaware of the way brown eyes stare at you in shock, unblinking as they process the intimate gesture you’d gifted him. And when you get ready for bed, shooing the other foxes out of your room to give your special guest some space and peace to fully relax, you’re still oblivious to the way a wet snout tentatively returns your gesture when you close your eyes, making light contact with your own forehead before curling his furry head underneath your chin and basking in your natural warmth. 

It’s warm when you wake up, which is welcome when it’s frigid outside of the safety of your blankets and you instinctively lean into the source expecting to feel the familiar plush fur of the foxes who come to share your bed sometimes. But your eyes shoot open when you feel warm skin underneath your fingertips and you have to fight back the scream when you come face to face with a man you don’t recognize who’s groggily opening his brown eyes, your body scrambling backwards. Tangled in the sheets, you don’t get far and fear lances through you as you stare wide-eyed at the stranger beside you who’s...panicking even more than you are? 

You pause in your escape attempt as you take a closer look at the man who’s frantically wrapping your blanket around his bare body, brown eyes staring at you in fear which is strange considering this is your room he’s intruding in. Common sense tells you to be wary and yet there’s something familiar about his eyes and when you finally take note of his light gray hair tipped with black and the bandage around his arm, disbelief runs through you as you tentatively approach his huddled form. 

“Are you- are you the fox I took care of?”

Brown eyes warily observe you as you draw near, but they widen in surprise when your hand gently runs through his hair and you give him the same sweet smile you’ve always given him when he was in his fox form. 

“You’re not scared of me?” 

You laugh. “If anything, I’m more surprised than anything else. Care to explain?”

And spurred on by the hope that the human he’s come to love might actually accept him for who he really is, he is quick to tell you everything and anything and you listen in amazement as he tells you about shifters, how him and his pack are all fox shifters, how there are different types of shifters all over the world, how they’re much more common than humans realize. He tells you his name, Kita, and the names of every fox shifter you’ve met. He tells you about the awful history of humans hunting them down to sell on the black market which has led them to live as foxes, deep in the woods, away from any living soul. He tells you about how you’re the first human his pack has interacted with for years, the first human to gain their trust after years of loneliness, never being able to access or connect with their human side. 

There’s a brief moment of silence as you take everything in, still softly carding your fingers through his hair. But the lingering question in your head finally slips out. 

“Why did you reveal yourself to me now?”

And your lips quirk at the shy flustered expression on his face as he buries deeper into your cozy blankets. 

“I was too exhausted to keep my fox form after everything that happened last night.”

But before you can tease him a bit more, there’s a knock on your door and you panic, unsure how to explain the unknown man in your cabin. However, it seems that you have nothing to worry about when you spin around, only to see Kita’s fox form nonchalantly curled up in your bed, looking at you with his own smug amusement at your gaping mouth. You rush to the door, Kita padding after you, a slight limp from his front leg and upon seeing the sheriff through your peephole, you greet him, giddy with relief when he tells you that they’ve managed to apprehend all the poachers thanks to your tip last night. 

It never crosses your mind how strange it was that Daichi so easily arrested all the men despite your extremely vague directions and despite it being pitch black, but unknown to you, it’s easier than you think to maneuver through the dense night woods when you have wings. However, Kita’s more perceptive than you and when he scents the air, he looks in interest at the man who smells like a crow and brown and black eyes lock for a second as a hint of acknowledgement runs through Daichi’s eyes when the shifter inside of him sees the fox for what he really is. But it’s only a fleeting glance, too quick for your human eyes to notice, and Daichi parts ways, subtly nodding to the fox who’s currently laying on your feet before waving goodbye to you, leaving Kita and you alone once again. Well, maybe not that alone, you think, as a group of familiar foxes come racing towards the both of you once Daichi is gone. 

Life is chaotic, in a good way, but chaotic nonetheless after that. It’s a new dynamic for all of you as you try to merge your two worlds and ways of life together. It no longer phases you when you see glimpses of naked men running here and there as they shift between their human and fox forms and you’ve learned to always have spare sets of clothing on hand to quickly throw their way when they do decide to take their human shape for a spin. Atsumu has finally stopped whining about not being allowed to sleep in your bed with you anymore after Kita had put him in his place and your face goes hot when you remember exactly what had transpired during that conversation. 

When you had found out they were shifters, you found yourself being a little more self-conscious and self-aware around them. It seemed unbecoming of a woman to be sharing the same bed or changing in front of foxes that turned into handsome men and soon Kita was the only one allowed in your bedroom. Atsumu had howled and complained the first night that Kita slipped into your bed next to you, demanding to also be let in, questioning why Kita was allowed to sleep with you, especially in his human form. And suddenly feeling like a parent who suddenly has to explain the birds and the bees to their child, you grow flustered, unsure how to broach the subject. But sensing your panic, a large hand gently grabbed your chin, turning you until you were facing the serious countenance that you’d come to love, and in front of the still wailing younger man, he had captured your lips in a searing kiss before pointedly looking at a suddenly silent Atsumu. 

“That’s why,” he had calmly said, but before he could even fully voice those two words, Atsumu had quickly retreated, closing the door behind him and leaving the two of you alone. 

The two of you had skirted around directly talking about what was going on between the two of you, but that kiss had officially sealed the deal and you both stay up late that night, talking about your future life together, as his mate, as your boyfriend and it seems like unsurprisingly, Atsumu has run his mouth off and the whole pack is there waiting to congratulate you two on finally getting together the next morning. 

And now here you are, living in a recently expanded cabin, loud and full of bodies, both furry and human. You take a sip of your coffee, rolling your eyes as you hear the twins bicker, a slight smile on your face when you see Aran and Suna in their fox forms, napping on the couch, the others sprawled out here and there as they cook and eat breakfast. But it’s the strong arms that wrap around your waist from behind, the mouth stealing a sip from your piping hot mug before burying his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder that makes your heart flutter and you turn to kiss Kita, melting into his hold as you both survey your new family, your new home.   

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #kita x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu writing #haikyuu fic #kita #kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Seven

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it’s all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared, for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au ??? (at this point idek) angst, fluff, slice of life etc ?? word count :: 2.6k author note :: ofc the reader would still be considered to be a duchess which is why it’s duchess!reader but i guess there’s just more themes of war and titans etc than i expected. so i guess it’s also cadet!reader ?? i promise i have a plan OK! T___T. anyways i hope that’s alright and not very confusing the original premise very much still stands!! :D also i promise levi gets better maybe soon who knows... → click here for the next part ! 

It's understandable why she's noticeably alarmed by the shift in behaviour, the concept of Levi showing any inclination towards caring about you is foreign to the both of you.

"The Duke has also been asking me and Mikasa the most peculiar questions too."

You blink. "What sorts of questions?"

"Ones concerning your past" She begins and your curiosity piques. "Asked if you ever mentioned anything about your old life. Basic information, I don't understand why he would ask now."

"He asked about me?" You question incredulously. This is surreal.

Bobbing her head up and down you stare closely at her trying to figure out if she's serious and she passes your test with flying colours.

You don't know if you should be nervous or afraid, perhaps he shifted back to his loving self for a while? Thousands of explanations surge past you but you can't pinpoint what exactly could have caused him to ask such questions. As far as you know, he's never been interested in you unless a transaction has been involved. That's all it's been since he snapped out of the spell. A purely transactional relationship.

Sasha places a firm hand on your shoulder "Talk to him, figure out what's going on." Her suggestion makes you shudder, frankly you're fearful around him after the events of yesterday night.

Whatever sick and twisted mind game he's playing at you won't let yourself become prisoner to it.

"No," You shake your head simply. "This is another one of his stealthy tactics, I won't give into it out of desperation."

"All the more reason to question where his morals lay." Sasha is persistent. The anxiety is burning itself into your body and it's tough to disregard its presence.

If there's one thing you have learnt in your lifetime it's to put trust in as little people as possible. You have your confidants and are dedicated to keeping your friendships with them. Sasha and Mikasa are loyal at heart and their steadfast nature is incomparable. But, they are anomalies. As much as you would like to admit that there are many diamonds similar to those two you can't.

It's rare to find reliable individuals in this harsh reality full of wealth, jealousy and power hungry survival. Levi, is a man you refuse to put even an ounce of trust into.

Putting any faith in him is hazardous. His unflappable demeanour, self-control, the knack he has for long-winded and gradual manipulation. Distant, bitter and calculating. You think he wouldn't care less if you were to drop dead this instant. In reality you aren't a human being to him, simply a problem out of the very many he already has. So why the sudden interest? Why? What is it he's after this time?

You've signed your life away to this empire under the ruse of becoming an informant. You're risking your life for him. What more does he want to coax out of you?

Those are the thoughts that scuttle past you as you pace in one of the very many hallways within the estate. Your initial destination had been his office but you retreat. For now you choose to withdraw from a battle of words. You aren't prepared.

But life has a way of never letting you pick when you encounter him.

The sound of footsteps behind you is a blunt indicator he's near but you let your naivety pray it's simply a maid. "Cadet." And there he is. Snarling behind your ear, breath blazing.

Cadet?

He must be able to tell you don't recognise the name which rolls off his tongue, especially when the two of you aren't in a professional setting, its placement is odd.

"What? Do you think you're worthy of a better term?" He's taunting you, disgusted that you're dense enough to think you're deserving of any other title.

Arms clasped behind his back he takes a long stride forward, you take a step back in response, he steps forward again and you move in the opposite direction again.

"I'm not used to it that's all. I know I am no Duchess."

His raspy voice creeps into your ear "Get used to it. You are my subordinate, don't assume this is a level playing field."

"Do you hop into all of your cadet's beds very often Sir?"

The question comes out of nowhere and as soon as the words have left your lips you slap your palms over your mouth taken aback just by how easy it is for the impulsive side of your brain to defy him.

"Really?" He asks darkly, and when you narrow your eyes in bewilderment, he coughs, clearing his throat to begin again. "Are you willing to bring this up right now?"

He's as close as ever now, if he moves an inch closer his nose will brush against yours, it suddenly feels difficult to breathe but you swallow the struggle away still unsure if you can force yourself to reply to his question. Is there a right or wrong answer?

For once, you choose to be selfish and put your interests before anyone else's even if that means risking your safety in the process. You just want to understand for once how his brain works.

Balling your fists into two you manage to squeak out what you've been holding back "Do you pry into the personal life of each and every one of your cadets or does that special rule only seem to apply to me?"

"Do you give all of your cadets random days off?"

"Do you-"

He grabs the back of your ponytail with his gloved hands, his skin isn't directly touching yours but the firm grip he has on you doesn't stop your cheeks from flooding with warmth. Fumbling around you're about to scream when he pulls at your hair again jestingly, his other arm moves to securely hold you keeping you stuck in the position you're in.

"Levi." You squirm around awkwardly trying to escape his grasp but he doesn't find this at all amusing.

"Captain." His firm correction catches you off guard.

"Sorry. Captain." Your throat is dry as you croak out the short reply.

Straightening your back you try to shake off the hold he has on your hair but he only tugs your head backwards warning you. Your bare neck is exposed and his eyes slip to your half done buttons. Rolling his eyes he knows if it were any other male member of the corps even the oh so respectable and mature Erwin Smith who caught you like this they would fantasize about how you look underneath that flimsy button up. It's now slipping down one of your shoulders.

Moving the arm that has been holding you down he jerks the fabric back up your shoulder.

"I was under that spell of yours. You're naive to think there's any other reason." He returns venomously, his voice is dripping in poison determined to exterminate any of the attitude you've shown him in the past two minutes.

"Why all the questions about my personal life? I was informed you interrogated a few of my friends."

He tugs at your hair again, you tilt backwards. "What do you hope to get out of this? Find out I have some sort of secret feelings for you?"

In the blink of an eye your bubble has been burst, deep down you did hope that was what this was about. It's not that you would like for him to love you, you wouldn't mind it but, if he loves you your safety is guaranteed that's all that matters. That's what you tell yourself. You don't miss the old him no you don't.

The colour drains from your face when you hear what he has to say afterwards.

"Adorable." His tone is spiked in mockery. "How fond you are of me, but I have no interest in the likes of you."

Heart leaping to your throat the simmering rejection settles.

"And. If you must know, you were given a day off today because Hange insisted every cadet have a day of rest before we all relocate to the training facility's dorms." You curse yourself, the transfer had slipped your mind completely.

"Got it? Fucking prissy princess." The expletive makes you wince.

Then he's silent, it's deafening and bizarrely you find his silence all the more daunting and menacing than when he speaks.

Wrestling yourself out of the grasp he has on your hair is your next move but he loosens his grip without being told to.

Levi allows for you to retreat with no further arguments.

And just like that the rare day off goes past as quick as it happens.

You learn that ignoring Levi is your best bet at living a peaceful life within the walls of this Kingdom. Follow the orders he gives you and you almost always guarantee your own safety. Living. Even if it isn't a happy life you are aware there will be some pleasant moments. Living to experience those moments is the only motivation you have.

Erwin has said you would benefit from working with the rest of the cadets more often. It stops them from questioning why you receive personal training - after all they are unaware of the deal stricken up between you and Levi, it's understandable for the influx of questions.

You don't mind, after all training with Mikasa by your side for most of your days sounds more appealing in the long term. It usually gets lonely and tedious being alone. The prospect of being around the other cadets appeals to you too. You haven't actually had the opportunity to speak to very many of them and a few new members have apparently joined the ranks as of today.

Curiosity is kicking in, everyone is mumbling about the new cadets joining the squadron. You count as one of the new additions you suppose, there's no other explanation for why everyone whispers and murmurs as you stroll into the crowded training area with Mikasa by your side.

"Isn't she the one who banged her head?" muffled chuckles are heard but you pay no mind to the expected response, they'll soon be done talking about you when the next person in line embarrasses them self in your place. Levi's sharp tongue has conditioned you to pay no mind to the commentary of the other cadets. Nobody seems to be able to humiliate you in his fashion.

Mikasa doesn't take the same approach as you when greeted by the unwelcoming whispers, instead she whips her head in the direction of the insults, it looks as if she's thinking about careening one of her steel blades at the group just to instill some respect into them but the simple jerk of her body facing them is enough to make them rotate away in panic and curve the topic of discussion elsewhere.

She mutters something unclear under her breath, you would ask her to repeat her sentence but you're sure all she's done is call the boys infantile and stupid for the way they conduct themselves.

Everyone is introducing themselves and you familiarize yourself with some faces. Krista, the human embodiment of a dainty flower, she's as sweet as honey, A brunette ruffles her hair, she seems close to Krista, she doesn't even bother to introduce herself until she tells her too. Ymir, is her name.

Next you acquaint yourself with Connie, he's friendly and more than happy to converse with you, a breathe of fresh air from the cramped nature of the gossiping group from before.

Everything is going smoothly but then you feel a shoulder slink over your arm, it's not Mikasa it doesn't feel like her.

"You know Jean?" Connie is obviously very surprised.

That's when your eyes bulge out of your sockets in complete and utter shock at the slim chances of this possibility ever occurring, of all the people in all of the places, you just so happen to encounter Jean Kirstein again. He's a wildcard that's for sure.

It doesn't even cross your mind to think he could easily rat you out and ask why a noble woman such as yourself is here of all places. In fact, that concern is at the back of your mind far from your attention. You simply smile, happy to see a familiar face. You barely know him personally but from your last encounter you've been able to discern that he's welcoming and sociable.

He's incredibly friendly patting your head and completely bombarding you with questions "I would have never expected someone like you to show up." If it were anyone else you would have taken it as an insult but he's genuinely curious what brings you here, that much is obvious by his tone.

"Likewise Kirstein, I suppose we live in a small world."

You purposefully choose to not reveal much, you don't know who you can and can't trust.

He seems to catch on because he doesn't follow up on his inquiry. Instead he and Connie ask what part of Paradis you're from, what your parents do, all sorts. You're so engrossed in making up a somewhat believable story you don't even realize Kirstein's arm is still slung over your shoulder.

It's only until Hange yells "ATTENTION!" at the front of the training grounds do your notice the close proximity between you and your fellow cadet.

Slowly edging away from him you're swiftly able to detach yourself with no disturbances.

Hange is introducing themself, hands flailing in all directions and eyes wide describing how their additional role is investigating titans, they say if you're lucky enough maybe one day you'll be able to help with one of their secretive experiments. A towering blonde brute nearby whispers that Hange is eccentric and odd, a few others say it's surprising they're a superior.

Sensibly, you bury the frustration you feel down your throat, but God would you love if those childish fools kept their false opinions to themselves.

Erwin and Levi exchange looks probably deciding who speaks afterwards, it seem begrudgingly Levi agrees to take the stand.

The training ground abruptly falls silent.

Levi taking a step forward surveys the area and not once does he bother looking at you.

"Rules." His voice rumbles. "Which you all must follow." His gaze unusually centers in on Jean, you bear witness to how his form begins to tremble. Just one look from the Captain and he's about to dissolve.

The majority of his rules are basic and can easily be predicted, "You are expected to help with the cleaning. If your personal hygiene is that of a pig you may as well walk yourself out of the door now." His silver eyes are stabbing into the front row, most likely because Eren is there. He's apparently missed cleaning duty for two weeks now, it's miraculous how he's escaped unscathed.

After Levi is done wordlessly threatening Eren he rubs his hands together expectantly. Lips quirking up into one of his sharp cut-throat smiles he stares right at Jean. After a moment of silence he speaks with clarity. "No dating between cadets is permitted. No fucking either, sorry to disappoint Kirstein."

Metallic eyes are piercing into his wobbly form again and all of the cadets burst into a rupture of giggles. You too are about to join them. Truthfully, it is laughable that his notorious womanizing reputation is known even to the Captains.

But before you're able to laugh your breathe falters, you can practically feel jagged daggers twisting and digging into you. Quickly before he swiftly looks away you’re able to note Levi's eyes deliberately flick up in your direction, gaze boring into you, it burns.

You feel guilty but don’t know what it is you’ve done to produce such a hostile response.

Nevertheless, you can feel his scrutiny impale you.

#levi ackerman #levi #aot #snk #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #aot headcanons #duke levi #levi x reader #levi x y/n #levi smut #levi angst #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #leviiattacks

[booksandlewks]

Intensity in Insmire | A Jurdan AU

Happy Holidays to my wonderful knife wife @starborn-faerie-queen!! I’m so lucky to have you as my friend and now snusband (we’re def married now) <3 I was so excited to see that I got to try and write something for you. I also have to thank everybody in the @jurdannet discord for helping me with my writer’s anxiety throughout, and @jurdannetrevels for hosting this secret santa event! 

So this was a prompt you didn’t ask for, but that I hope you will like. I thought of this right when I saw your name and have had a blast making it a reality. One of our first conversations in the discord was about none other than Lauren Layne, so I thought I’d give it my best go at making it Jurdan. I picked what I think of as the iconic scene in Passion on Park Avenue because Jude and Cardan literally define passion. You also put Nicaryn, so in my head when I wrote this they’re already dating and Jude just hasn’t noticed. 

"Be careful, you're going to drop that!" Jude said watching her twin throw down yet another box full of her merchandise.

 It was times like these that Jude wondered about her choice in friends. Not that she had so many choices in friends to begin with, something about her being "abrasive". People may not always appreciate her edges, but that edge is what landed her on the 30 under 30 list. She was grateful, if not confused, about her new-found friendships. While the ladies made for excellent company, and fellow schemers in action, a moving company they were not. Not that Jude would say a word against their help out loud. She was still so grateful to have her twin back in her life.

Jude would thank Locke for bringing them together, if she'd thought it was even remotely a part of his plan. Maybe she could thank him for dying, so that they could find each other in the park that fateful day. Not likely, she had better people to think on.

Nicasia kicked a box into the corner with the toe of her Louboutin heels, "You worry too much, they're not going to break because I didn't gingerly place every single one of your hundreds of boxes down."

"I'm not worried about you breaking an accessory," Jude said huffing as she moved to open the box Nicasia had kicked to prove a point. She held up the lipstick tube, twisting to expose the blade to prove her point. "I'm worried about one of my accessories breaking you."

"Oh, I like that," Taryn laughed, her eyes widening, "Can I borrow that for my next date?"

"Well, it is just a sample," Jude nodded her head to the truck parked outside her new building, "You can keep it if you help me unload the rest of the truck." 

"You drive a tough bargain, a days labor in exchange for one accessory?" Nicasia teased.

Jude put one hand to her heart and the other to her forehead dramatically, "Oh you're truly suffering going up and down the elevator while carrying small boxes."

"These boots were not exactly made for walking Jude," Nicasia said flicking her hair over her shoulder, and punctuating it with an all too casual check of her nails. Why she wouldn't just concede to putting her hair up was beyond frustrating to Jude. She wasn't sure if she hated or respected Nicasia's commitment to always looking perfect.

 "I mean I didn't get to where I was by giving things away for free, but I may have also ordered us pizza and tiramisu from the Italian place on Lexington Ave."

 "Ahh I knew you were my favorite twin!" Taryn said wrapping her arms around Jude and kissing her cheek with an exaggerated smack.

 "I'm your only twin, and you definitely did not know it."

 "The real question isn't why I can't move things in these heels, it's why you think I should be doing this in the first place," Nicasia said glancing speculatively.

 "Wait, yeah, aren't you meant to be rich now Jude?"

"Well, according to my accountant, approximately I am," Jude tilted her head and pretended to tally with her free hand, "filthy rich." She moved the box that had been hoisted on her hip onto the floor of what would be the main living area.

Jude wasn't insane, the larger items like the couch and industrial garment racks would be delivered by a moving company later. She just knew that she could handle the smaller boxes herself. She'd always survived by being self-sufficient, so she wasn't going to start changing what was working now. She'd moved herself into her first shoe box apartment, all her belongings compact and loaded into the back of her ancient little two door.

 "Then why on earth are we moving all of this by hand?" Taryn said turning to her sister, exasperated to see the determination gracing her twin's face. She hated that look, especially when it was on the face that was practically her own under all that stubbornness. "Nic, I need backup here, we're entering dangerously uncharted areas in stupidity. "

 "Jude, love, remember when we agreed to stop each other from entering another toxic relationship?" Nicasia said gently, her hands up as if coaxing a small animal.

 "No, I've blocked out the entirety of Locke's funeral out of a sense of self-preservation," she said voice and face purposefully blank.

 "Why stop there, why not erase him from your entire mind?" Taryn said a bitter edge to her words.  

 Jude laughed, "Me and my therapist are hard at work doing just that."

 "Well while you're working on that, have her work on the toxic relationship you've got with your stupid pride," Nicasia said checking her already perfect nails.

 "Wait, was all of that just the set up for the punchline to your dumb joke?"

 "Woah Tar, harsh words from the woman who asked for my backup in the first place." Nicasia pursed her lips clearly displeased that Taryn had not enjoyed her attempts at humor. "Maybe you should try being nicer to me considering that I have the power to save you from Jude's torture."

 Jude laughed as Taryn started to pester Nicasia to tell her what she meant. While they'd all become fast friends on the fateful day of the funeral, Jude couldn't help but feel that Nicasia and her twin had gotten closer over the summer. She supposed it had to do with the fact that they both had to worry about their reputations and what the fallout from Locke's infidelity would do to it.

That old wound started niggling at Jude again. She may not have been in an official New York society relationship with the man, but she'd had to mourn the loss too. She supposed it hadn't affected her societal standing, being Locke's dirty secret, but she hadn't gotten out unscathed. The bastard had known about her fears. She'd confided in him, about her mother's cheating and how she'd grown up not wanting to get attached for fear of ending up in a similarly messed up situation.

 He'd comforted her, talking about how cheating on somebody wasn't in her character. He'd spelled out what their story could be instead, spinning a story of comfort, safety in his arms, and safety in that future. It made Jude's skin crawl to think about now. How he could say all of this while cheating on her with Nicasia and Taryn, and using her to cheat on them. Some nights it actually made her physically ill. She was such a careful woman, and yet she'd never suspected.

 She wondered if lying to her was part of the game to him, it had to be. Jude thought about how she'd considered bridging the gap and calling Taryn to tell her that she'd met somebody. She'd been too scared to reopen that wound. At eighteen Jude walked away from the stifling role of being Madoc's daughter. She hadn't thought about what leaving Taryn behind to deal Madoc's only other eligible daughter would do. She left her behind for him to put all of his stupid high society rules and dreams into. She'd wondered about her twin over the years, but could never pick up the phone and just dial. What would things be like if she had? Thinking about it wouldn't change anything.

 During Jude's musings Taryn had moved into Nicasia's lap and was switching between pleading and apologizing. Her groveling was so over the top that a warm spot bloomed in Jude's chest while watching her. She had no idea how much she'd missed Taryn, and yet having her take up space in her apartment just felt right.

 "Okay, okay, fine!" Nicasia said standing up and taking Taryn with her. "I happen to have a friend through the New York royalty network, as you call it, and he lives in this very apartment complex."

 "Oh thank god, I love you Judie Bee Jones, but this is the worst."

 "Woah no, I never agreed to having anybody over," Jude said walking over to lock her door, "and wasn't the point of having you ladies around to avoid the assholes."

 "How can you call them an asshole when you don’t even know who it is?" Nicasia asked unlocking the door. Jude went to stop her, but Taryn simply took her face in her hands and pointed it towards the window where the open moving truck stood idle.

 "I promise he's good people, we grew up together," Nicasia said clearly forgetting that her and Jude had not exactly grown up as friends.

Jude did not have much of a chance to consider who might be coming to the rescue she did not need, as there was a knocking at the door.

The warmth she felt from being with her friends left her the second she opened the door and saw Cardan Greenbriar standing there. She'd never seen Cardan look anything less than impeccable, so she was even more furious to see him standing there looking like a Saks Fifth Avenue model from the catalog to help her move. A cable knit sweater, really, to move boxes. With an overcoat no less. No, no, this couldn't possibly be happening. Jude would rather move every single box one by one, than have Cardan Greenbriar help her.

What on earth could have even possessed him to try. She thought she'd made it clear when she'd damn near bitten his head off in her "entry interview" to the apartment complex. It wasn't her fault. Cardan had a particular way of getting under her skin, and the fact that he'd known her from her twin and had not even bothered to look at the application resting in his hand the entire interview had gotten her blood boiling. She'd never actually wanted to live in Elfhame.

The stupid application had been filled out for her and sent in by her mother ages ago. Eva Duarte had been so proud of Jude's success, it had never occurred to her that her mother had plans to use it as a statement. She'd miss her mother's mean streak, and wished she'd been around longer so Jude could understand this plan. Jude had been shocked to be called in for the interview to move into The Palace, and caught completely off guard to see Cardan on the day of the interview.  

 She must've released an actual snarl at seeing him darkening her new doorstep because Taryn and Nicasia pried her away from the door and invited him to come in. This was ridiculous ; she was not a rabid dog to be put in the corner. Although, she was considering biting Cardan.

 "And hello to you too Jude," Cardan said laughing as she struggled to break free of the grip of her friends, "Lovely as ever to see you."

"Why am I seeing you?" 

Cardan raised an eyebrow at that, "Not a very friendly greeting neighbor."

"I read over the paperwork your father sent over and it said that the building takes care of pests in the apartments."

 "Ha ha, very funny Jude," Cardan said stalking closer, "I do hope that's true, as I'd love to see them take you out of here."

 "Really, we're going to resort to I know you are but what am I?" Jude intoned, "On day one?"

 “Is this really our first day together, Judiebeet?"

 "Don't call me that!"

 "As much as I do love seeing you upset my sweet villain," he said trailing a finger over her cheeks, "I didn't come to pick a fight." Jude knew her cheeks had to be bright red, she always got flushed when she was mad. She hated that he had command over her, more than she appeared to have over her own body. Which only made her more upset when he called her that stupid name.

"Why did you come, I had demon summoning scheduled for later in the day," Jude said ignoring the looks Nicasia and Taryn were shooting her.

 "I was informed of a damsel in distress, and princely duties demanded that I come to your aid."

"Oh no, that's it," Jude turned on her friends glaring, and pointing at the door while practically shoving Cardan out, "Everybody out, I'll move them all myself."

 "Wait, but I brought champagne," Cardan said materializing a bottle from the inside of his coat. 

"Jude you can't kick the man out, he brought Dom," Taryn said pulling Cardan back into the apartment by his arm. Jude watched as he re-entered what was meant to be her space, unwilling to fight with Taryn.

"Fine, but if he's here he works," Jude said looking at Cardan as if to say 'unless you've got a problem with that.' The Cardan she knew would never deign to do a day's labor on his own. Always calling somebody his father employed to do things for him instead. So Jude was shocked when all he did was set the actually quite nice bottle on the counter, and gesture his hand towards the door with a look that said 'after you'.

Jude was not sure if she was pleased or pissed off when Cardan actually matched her for work ethic for the rest of moving. He eventually took off the coat, and the sweater, tossing them on the counter with his welcome gift. Jude wished he had not, as she'd been determined to carry more than him before that. She would have managed it too, if he had not rolled up his white dress shirt to the direct center of his forearm. Where it hugged just below his elbow as he worked.

She dropped one of her merchandise boxes when his arm brushed hers while reaching for another, shocked by the contact of his skin hot against her own. Furious with herself for the look that graced his face when she cursed and picked up the box, she decided to be less ambitious with how much she carried.

They had not actually had all that many boxes left. Which made it all the more traitorous that Nicasia had called in for help. As the work dwindled Nicasia and Taryn gave up the pretense of pretending to want to help move the boxes, and sat on the benches that were near the building's entrance. They sat close talking and laughing quietly at each others jokes. Jude could be funny too, but her humor was more dry and wicked. Just as Jude was sprinting to get the very last box, the pizza delivery driver had pulled up to the curb. 

Taryn had gone from commiserating with Nicasia, to giving Jude puppy eyes in 10 seconds flat. Jude laughed softly as she went to go pay the man. Her path was blocked by Cardan who'd made a beeline for the car as it pulled in, while she'd been distracted. If she hadn't been so focused on his damn arms she might have missed how he went to get his wallet from his back pocket. Hell no.

Jude stood one shot at having Taryn and Nicasia not mention her attitude since Cardan walked in, and that was to buy their silence. Nothing says be on my side like hot pizza and good dessert. Which is why she was going to pay for it. Cardan was already handing the man a crisp bill when Jude went to shift the box she'd been holding to under one arm. God, she hated him so much. She'd already missed out on getting to bond with her friends over how annoying moving was because of him, and now he was going to ruin their meal too?

He'd already ruined Jude's childhood, but she was an adult now, and he would not even get a single day from her. She grabbed the boxes of her food and walked to the elevator clicking the button for her floor and slamming on the door close button before he could follow. She walked into her apartment, and she would've locked Cardan out if it not for the fact she had to wait on Taryn and Nicasia to follow. If she had to face him again today, it was going to be on her terms and her rules.

 Jude moved to the boxes now all neatly lined up in what would be her living room. She scanned the barcode stickers on the top of the boxes, each item had been carefully cataloged so that she could be sure that she didn't lose anything important in the move. Downsides to owning and running a successful companies that sold accessories with a dangerous edge? There was so much inventory to keep track of.

 She found what she was looking for and swapped her sneakers for stilettos. She'd love to see Cardan try to look down on her when they were eye level. She'd give a new meaning to the term glaring daggers. She was perfectly capable of paying for a damn pizza.

The door of her apartment opened and Cardan strolled in, his arm around each of her friends. Jude let out a breath that his shirt had been set back to normal, although she was not sure if she was relieved.

 "Really, my own twin?" she said putting a hand on her hip and looking at Taryn who moved, hands up, to sit on the counter top.

"Jude, he got us pizza, please be reasonable," Taryn said in a placatory tone.

 "I got you pizza, this interloper just stole it because pizza is joy, and he can't let me have it."

"You need to stop, you're hangry and turning into rude Jude," Nicasia teased using the family nickname she knew Jude hated. That was just low, she'd revealed that in a 2 A.M. group chat. Which every woman knows means it’s classified information.

 She was being rude, she knew, but well...frankly he started it. Years ago, but she was a petty elephant and would not forget.

 "Fine, have a slice of pizza and then get the fuck out."

When Nicasia and Taryn turned their looks at her, Jude just blinked her eyes slowly a few times. She had never claimed to be a saint. 

"Can I at least get a drink before you kick me out on my ass?" Cardan asked the corner of his mouth upturned.

"Nope, sorry," Jude started and feeling her friends angry stares added, "I just moved in, and I haven't stocked the fridge yet."

"Well, then it's lucky for us my friend was kind enough to drop in to christen the home with champagne," Nicasia said as she made remove the muselet. Jude watched her carefully grip the wire as she twisted it off with effortless ease, and admired her friends grace. Jude would've likely embarrassed herself biting at it. She'd been served champagne at events, but it always came in a glass if she was honest.

 With the sound of the popping cork her control of the apartment got further away from her. She watched as the three of them opened cupboards and looked at an empty counter top as if expecting glassware to simply appear. Jude knew she could easily scan the boxes and find her glassware, but business had taught her to spot an opportunity.  

 "Oh darn, it seems like we can't get you that drink after all."

 "Yes, you seem very forlorn about it," Cardan said shaking his head at her, amusement in those dark eyes. 

Jude gave him a mock apologetic shrug of her shoulders, lips pulled to one side of her mouth. The amusement in his eyes turned to challenge. Unbeknownst to Jude, Cardan's newest hobby was complicated jigsaw puzzles. He had needed something to do while being able to keep an eye on his father, and he found that once he started he just couldn't resist figuring out how the pieces fit together. She'd just presented him with his newest game, and he was going to figure out her pieces.

"Don't worry my darling, like I said we're neighbors now," smiling when Jude scowled at the pet name, "I can just head to my place, and get us some glasses."

It was clear that he'd gotten under Jude's skin when she stalked towards Nicasia and took the bottle from her, and into her own hands. Nicasia just looked at Taryn, and whatever that look meant Taryn must have understood. She moved to the edge of the counter top and invited Nicasia into the circle of her legs, resting her chin on her the top of the other woman’s head.

"How very unfortunate for high-born little princes like you, that you can only sip champagne from the finest of glasses."

She looked right into his eyes as she began glugging the expensive bubbly from the bottle and drinking it like watered down beer. She raised an eyebrow at him as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I do hope I haven't offended you Cardan," she said snarling out his name as if it was foul, "I'd hate to scare you off from ever visiting again."

"Not at all, I'm quite charmed by your lovely manners," he said walking over to where she stood by Nicasia. "Do not expect others to share my depraved tastes," he said taking the bottle from Jude's firm grip and drinking directly while their gazes stayed locked in a battle of wills.

 "Nic, you feel like we're interrupting something here?" Taryn said from where she sat inches away. It shocked Jude out of her stupor, and her sister hopped off the counter as Jude made to reach for her. She was suddenly stricken, it was all fine and well to hurt Cardan, but she wouldn't lose Taryn again. Not when she just got her back.

"Ugh I thought you'd never ask, this is all too straight for me," Nicasia said taking Taryn's hand and making for the door.

"Wait guys, don't go--"

 "Nope, text us when you're ready to act like a person again," Nicasia said laughing as the door shut behind their quickly retreating figures.  

 "Way to go, you scared them off with your stupid smoldering thing."

 "Jude, I think you'll find I'm not the one in the wrong here, although I am delighted to hear you think I smolder," Cardan said backing away from her.

"I meant that stupid staring," she started but trailed off when she noted his smug face.

 "Jude, all I've done today is bring you a housewarming gift and offer help at my friends request."

Jude opened her mouth to protest about the pizza slight, but stopped as she'd realized she'd just dig herself into a deeper hole. All he'd really done was cover her food for her and her friends. Was it possible that her childhood tormentor really had come here without the intent of torturing her. She'd been too caught up in trying to catch his next move, that it hadn't occurred to her. He’d clearly taken her silence to mean something else, because he went to gather his coat and sweater.

"Look, it's clear you don't want me here and I'm not actually trying to hold you hostage in your own apartment."

Jude's pride stopped her from correcting him. She'd been working so hard to get him to leave, that she couldn't exactly walk back her position now. She wanted to though, she wanted to grab him by those rather toned arms and hold him in place. To explain herself or make him explain himself, she wasn't sure. Instead she nodded her agreement, and silently watched him leave. She watched as he walked down the hall, opening and then closing his door. Only then did she finally unfreeze from her doorway and shut her own door.

She sat for about 30 minutes just trying to process all that had just happened. She was not sure when she'd become the villain in this story, but she didn't enjoy the feeling. He was the bully, not her. If his actions today were to be trusted, maybe not even him any longer. Jude stood up suddenly confident in her movements as she scanned the boxes searching for her glasses. She hadn't actually moved everything today, so all she was able to find was some coffee mugs. She looked down at her "I Rule" coffee cup, it'd have to do.

Jude went to where the remains of the bottle was left on the counter, and poured it into the cup. She wouldn't apologize, as she was not truly sorry. Even if he was not the menace he used to be, one day of rudeness was the least of what he'd deserved. She did however write what she'd call her concession. She'd apologized for the coffee mug. The note told him that while her fine Waterford Crystals were still in storage, it should taste just as good coming out of a mug. Jude left the note under the cup, and knocked on his door before leaving.

#if you hate the story I’m sorry but at least you have a cute edit #that was braggy about the edit....but it have lotta color so i like it #matching watches or shoes wasn't very them #so i figured the accorn like Jude found in the book #also i made Nicasia's hair slightly blue in the edit #uhh mostly just dying about the words #i don't normally publish anything #i was considering chickening and just giving the edit #but your secret santa box and note were too damn loving and supportive #damn you #if you love it can i be Mrs. Starborn? #I know the position of Mr. Starborn is taken #but I love you so please consider opening a secondary position #if i could send you a box of cartoon hearts i would #jurdan #jurdannet #jurdannetrevels #secret snusband #jurdan fic

[poptod]

Ya’aburnee (Merriel Shelton x Reader)

Description: ya’aburnee (arabic, phr.) - “you bury me”; wishing for a loved one to outlive you because of how unbearable life would be without them. Drabble angst :)

Notes: I know this is below par, you’ll have to forgive me, I’ve had a migraine for nine years and it’s kind of flaring up recently. I put the keep reading thing really high because it goes straight into it and I don’t wanna trigger anyone.  Warning: Suicide, depression, self harm Word Count: 1.5k

Merriel isn't the most observant person in the universe, but he isn't an idiot either. You know this, you base your truth upon it, you pray to whoever listens that he won't pay attention. For you, the decisions you make and the things you do are the only sane thing. Belt upon skin, beating till it breaks – that's peace, it's sincerity, and for once in a hectic life, it's calm. There's marks that dot your skin, lining and defining ridges along your arms and hips. He's caught up in this game you play too well – he couldn't notice.

Standing beside him, overlooking a city lit bright in the dark of midnight, you wonder what he'd do if he knew. Would he hate you? Many would. Most would think you insane, and maybe you are, but it isn't for you to say. He keeps you alive, not that he knows that. Him and the rough touch of his fingers against your palm, his breath hot against your ear when you dance with him, chests pressed tightly together. He puts a hand on your waist to guide you, and you almost wince. You manage not to. Quiet violins play from inside, dulled by the glass door separating the balcony from Merriel's apartment. Plants in more pots than you can count line the balcony, hanging from the ceilings, vines dripping down to the apartment below you. In a sultry voice he whispers, I'm glad ya came, his lips brushing against your temple, lingering for only a moment before he pulls away. Deep into your eyes he stares, caught up in a beauty he knows too well and longs to love better.

You remember when you met him by the ocean, the wind whipping so hard your face blushed red from its' bite. Despite that you didn't move, petrified by the ocean's harsh waves, stuck in the dream of escaping all you knew. He sat beside you then, his legs dangling beside yours off the public dock.

Tonight isn't like then – no harsh wind, no discomfort, but you still find yourself unsettled. It isn't him, you know it isn't, it can't be him, it has to be you. It has to be you feeling sick with yourself, despising every thought in your head and punishing every word that escapes you. You've driven away everyone, everything but him – he's managed to stay. He finds something within you, some semblance of a person that you can't recognize within yourself, and somehow that hint of kindness has kept you going.

He shows you the constellations, intertwines your fingers with his in a way only those built for each other can, his words melting like impurity and virtue all at once in your head. The scent of smoke and iron swarms all around you, an intoxication you can hardly bear. It's not a familiar feeling for you, being unable to handle a form of escape – you've taken your fair share of addictions on. Marijuana lessens your anxiety, LSD takes you far away from where you stand, alcohol blocks out everything you hate to feel.

Flirtations aren't enough to stop it from returning, which he notices every now and then, rarely bringing it up. The topic is an uncomfortable one, no one can deny that.

And you desperately think that maybe, maybe you won't return to the way things were when you first met him, standing at the dock, ready to fling yourself off the deep end in a mortifyingly literal way. Maybe he can keep you safe, and it feels as though he can when he leads you back inside, brushing your hair out of your eyes and standing too close. He almost kisses you, you can feel it about to happen, the way he leans in, the way his eyes dilate, the fondness for you radiating off every action he takes. When he doesn't, and the two of you part for the evening, you realize you didn't feel anything. You didn't feel a thing when he was far from you, you didn't feel a thing when he stood so close you could smell the gin on his breath.

I don't know why I'm going against these thoughts, you think on the ride home. I'm not worth the effort of saving.

In the safety of your own home you take scissors to your skin, too scared to use a razor and yearning for more pain than a belt can give. With that, the bathroom door is locked behind you, even though you know your apartment is empty. Crimson stains your toilet lid when you sit down, dizzy from the rush it gives you. The scars already marking your hips remind you that you're tainted and will always be that way. No one could love that part of you, no one can say you're worth the time – your decisions in past and present bar you from many aspects of normal life. No swimming, no one night stands, no relationships, no normal clothes shopping, no normal work.

As you lay down on your bed, still clothed, your shoes still strapped to your feet, you stare at the ceiling and think about him. He is the only perfect aspect of you, even if he isn't truly a part of you. The part of you that loves him is the only part that feels right.

You don't fall asleep, not until dawn.

It's not really a conscious decision when you wake up. More than anything it's automatic, something that should've terrified you to your core, but it doesn't. Maybe the thought has crossed your mind too many times, but when you reach for your pistol you don't have any raging thoughts. You don't think about your parents or friends. In fact, you only hesitate when you hear the phone ring – only Merriel knows your new phone number. Curiosity overcomes you, and you leave the gun at your bedside, pick up the phone, and lay it down on your desk, not ready to respond to anything.

"Hey," he says, his usual softness injured by the static. "You there?"

You remain silent still, resting your head against a couch cushion and staring listlessly at your mostly empty bookcase.

"Uh... I've been noticin' you've been actin' a bit.. off. Jus' wonderin' if everythin's alright. I know I probably sound paranoid or somethin', but I... can we meet up? In person? I don' really feel like talkin' about this over the phone."

When you still don't speak, you hear the rustling of clothing before the dial tone. It sparks a suspicion in you, but it isn't enough to distract you entirely – you lie there for a moment more, bereft of energy, before you drag yourself back into the bedroom, trailing over the bumps and ridges of the pistol.

Everything should be alright. There isn't anything in your life that adds to misery besides yourself, and therein lies the issue – there is no way to rid of yourself to heal. Only to end.

Two knocks come from your door, beating fear into your veins when you remember you rarely lock your door. There's little purpose to when you don't care what happens to yourself. How could he have gotten here so fast? Perhaps you'd dazed out longer than you thought; with shaking hands you reach for your gun, resting your pointer on the trigger, finally feeling something for the first time in what feels like forever.

In your empty apartment, barren of personality and objects, he calls your name. He's never been here before, and his confusion and alarm is clear in his tone. Sharp footsteps make their way to your bedroom door, which you made sure was shut behind you, and when the handle clicks you hold the gun to your temple. You almost pull it, almost make it – it's just a millisecond, but the second you see his face you falter. He does too, eyes widening as he sucks in a sharp breath, his steady hands pausing in midair as he reaches for you.

You stand at an impasse, wondering who will make the first move. There's so much inside him, so much life in his eyes, draining by the second as reality sets itself in his mind.

"Are you fucking stupid?" He growls suddenly, and you realize he's pulling the gun away from you, ripping it and tossing it across the room. In a swift movement his arms wrap around you, tugging you into his warmth. He rests his face in the crook of your neck, breathing deep as he holds you tight, silently begging for whatever beast that took hold of you to banish itself forever.

"I wanted you to bury me," you whisper almost sweetly, and though you feel a shiver run through his body, he does not let go.

He doesn't pull away, not for a long time. A welcome pressure around your shoulder and waist, you allow him to stay as he is, desperate to give you some sort of comfort. When he does release you he rests his hand on your cheek, brushing your hair off your face once more.

"Never do that again. Never even think of doin' that shit again," he breathes out, eyes scanning your face for any sign of dishonesty. You nod, tears welling up suddenly, burning their way down your cheeks. "I thought someone broke inta y' house, god, I didn't... fuck."

"I – I'm sorry," you manage to choke out through sobs, falling to your knees as you wonder how you could fail at something as simple as suicide.

The words weren't meant for him, though they could be – sorry I hurt myself, sorry you had to see that. But no matter how one looks at the situation, it doesn't erase the fact you meant I'm sorry I couldn't do it in time.

He never learns this. You thank God for that.

#merriel snafu shelton #snafu x reader #the pacific #rami malek #rami malek character #gender neutral reader #male reader #Female reader

[thecandywrites]

Of Heaven and Fire

So now since I’m home and only doing online schooling 2 days a week. GUESS WHAT I HAVE FOR ALL MY ORC LOVERS OUT THERE? YYYYEEEEESSSS MORE ORC GOODNESS. With a spin on my new creation- THE MOURA. Enjoy. This part is rated t for that good good in the beginning but it’s going to be rated M for mature in later parts. Because I’m a lemon flavored factory.

You were having the most peculiar dream again, having had similar dreams for the last month or so, you were walking through a market. But not one that you had ever been in before. It had all kinds of strange foods and the smell of the ocean was in your nostrils and you could hear the crashing of the waves nearby but couldn’t see them because of all the stalls surrounding you. You were being led by a little girl, she had dark green skin and black curly hair and you couldn’t tell what she was but she just sounded adorable as you bought all that she wanted, since you seemed to have unlimited funds in your heavy coin purse on your waist, you bought all kinds of treats and fabric and thread to make her dresses but as you put the fabric up to her, her face was blurred. But she called you “Auntie Yana” so she she knew you and after you bought all that her heart desired, she led you back to her home, that strangely felt like home to you too as you dropped off your food in the kitchen before you dropped everything else off in a communal bedroom that she shared with her sisters, where her bed was close by as you went through all that you bought with her before you found something else that you forgot to put into the kitchen before you excused yourself to bring it there before someone grabbed you by the waist and you were pressed against a big strong chest that felt abnormally warm as you relaxed against it as a bright excited smile bloomed on your face

“Have fun in the market today?” A distinctly masculine voice rasped in your ear as his massive hands began to stroke you all over, making a shiver travel from your ear all the way down to your toes as you felt yourself smile as your head plowed back and laid it against his chest as you turned your head up and to the side to smile up at him, but his face was blurry too but he kissed you over your shoulder sweetly and held you with care as his hand caressed your face. You could sense he was so strong that he could easily hurt you but you felt you trusted him not to. That you were safe, if not very loved and cared for.

“Not nearly as much fun if you had been there with me.” You purred as you reached back with your free hand that wasn’t around the sack of spices and you felt massive bulging muscle underneath his clothes and you could feel your center start to tighten and heat up in anticipation.

“Well did you get a chance to miss me?” He rumbled as you felt sharp teeth playfully nip at your exposed neck and shoulder, sending delightful shocks of lighting down to your groin and your knees buckled as one of his hands found a slit in your skirts that your moura feather cloak made for him so he’d have access to your body without having to actually lift up your skirts and his fingers found your waiting slit practically dripping for him.

“No,” you defiantly maintained as you bit your lip to keep your voice in check as he pressed his finger past your outer feminine lips before digging in just right which made you keen and your breath hitch in your chest before it came out in a labored gasp.

“How come your body is saying yes then?” He teased as he started to rub at your nub perfectly, your whole body betraying you as it writhed against him. Your plump breast being squeezed ever deliciously by his other hand as you felt his hot breath on your neck and shoulder between hot kisses to your flesh, the shoulders of your gown now falling off to expose even more of yourself to him.

“Because it’s a traitor.” You managed to sass him as he was already half way to giving you an orgasm as he started laughing which made him pause in his ministrations which made you whine in protest.

“Come on, don’t stop now.” You pleaded before he pulled away from you.

“Well if you want me, come and find me, or do I have to catch you again? Midair perhaps?” He urged as he pulled away from you, taking his warmth with him as you turned around and the bastard had vanished into the shadows! Damn smug son of a bitch.

Then you heard the alarm. And it was getting louder and louder and…

You were awoken in the middle of the night by an alarm being sounded by the patrolmen that guarded the colony in shifts at night, all of you quickly running to the jump points on the roofs as your parents urged you and your siblings to change into birds as you did as you were told as your father was already half way through putting on his armor, quickly hugging and kissing you goodbye and reassuring all of you that you would see each other again soon.

“What’s happening?” You asked.

“We’re being attacked, we need to fly to safety.” Your mother answered as she made sure all of her children were changed into birds and with her before you followed her, all of you flying as fast as you could up into the night sky as hummingbirds, known for their dexterity and nimbleness just in case there would be arrows to take you down and small enough to fly through a net easily if need be. But there was no net and the higher up you got, the bigger all of you got as you continued to change forms, to bigger birds with bigger wingspans to climb higher faster.

“To the cloud!” Your mother called as she made sure all of her children were flying with her as were the other moura mothers and fathers were doing with their own children as the non moura parents were defending Suchi as the children without the moura gene were hidden away safely in the bunkers with other mouras choosing to stay behind to defend the bunkers, transforming into the largest phoenixes they could change into, ready to kill any attacker without hesitation.

Suchi was a mixed moura community in the mountains. From this height and in this form, you couldn’t tell who was attacking but you could see the mouras who were staying to defend it turning into phoenixes to burn whoever dared come against it, spewing fire like dragons over the city gate as others flew up to the dragons to awaken them to fly down to protect the colony. Since mouras and dragons were allies before you saw the dragons flying out of their caves to come to the colony’s rescue, relief filling all the citizens of Suchi who saw it and dread into the attackers.

Mouras were a magical being, usually living in the heavens themselves, their grand castles and estates disguised as clouds from the surface. Mouras had three forms, a bird of their choosing including a pheonix form, a human form or a human with bird wings like angels. Most mouras on the surface were married to royalty- kings, cesars, emperors, sultans, czars, whatever the case may be otherwise mouras usually only married their own kind. But some chose to marry non royalty because they fell in love with outsiders. Because of that, they were outcast of the moura society in the heavens and in the palaces and harems and made their own societies called colonies, there were colonies of mixed moura families in the mountains in every mountain range on the surface, all of you in alliance with the other mixed moura colonies and new colonies being built almost constantly to keep from overcrowding. You were born into such a community to your moura mother and mixed human father. However in times of disaster- such as war or seige- you were allowed to take refuge in the clouds themselves for a short time.

What made mouras the most coveted by royalty is they had the ability to turn whatever they wanted to- into gold a power fueled by the sun itself- a secret every moura guarded with their lives because such a gift becoming well known could lead to enslavement and the reasons dragons preferred to nest near moura colonies was a mutually beneficial relationship. Dragons protected the colonies in exchange for their caves practically bursting with gold and a few animals from the colony’s livestock as food every now and then along with friendship and companionship, not to mention the protected nesting sites and their own courting grounds.

But mouras had much more than the ability to turn what they wished into gold. They had healing powers as well. Add to these gifts- their affinity for music, singing and dancing to accompany their supreme grace, elegance and swiftness and naturally ethereal and gorgeous good looks- which was why they were so prized for and by royalty. Who wouldn’t want a companion who was beautiful, graceful and elegant, swift, nimble and flexible and would fill any treasury to the point of bursting with gold and heal your afflictions? Which also meant that the moura colony strongholds were a magnet for merchants, willing to climb the steep mountain roads and trails to sell everything from fabrics and furs, furniture, other metals, tools, spices, food, cattle, herds and flocks of all kinds, instruments and jewels and everything else under the sun and they were often paid in gold- what was in reality, the very rock that mouras carved their stronghold out of in the mountain sides- turned into gold in private.

Granted your life wasn’t as grand as your cousins in the heavens who’s very great castles were made out of the clouds, or your other cousins in the great harems in the different realms, served by a myriad of servants and dripping with jewels and pampered to an extreme degree, for your family didn’t have any servants, all of you being as self sufficient as possible, but it wasn’t as harsh as it could be in other parts of the world and it was better than living in the streets. The fortifications were strong and colonies were always built on top of several mountain springs and rivers so that clean water was always in abundance and the colonies surrounded mountain valleys where the different flocks and herds could find pasture because the very dragons that inhabited the caves in the mountainsides closer to the peak, fertilized the valleys so that they grew almost neon vivid green grass, herbs and wildflowers in abundance and the forests around the colonies particularly thick because of it too.

And even though your life wasn’t as charmed as your cousins, you had something none of them could boast of- your parents loved each other very much and had freely chosen the other and raised you and your siblings with love and care whereas your heavenly and earthly royal moura counterparts were often arranged into their marriages- something that the mountain moura communities were escaping from and vowed to never do to their offspring and your colonies were very close knit and friendly and a haven for all who sought refuge there. You knew nothing of hunger or sickness because mouras never got sick and because of your moura mother, you and all your siblings inherited your moura traits from her and your father was just a humble blacksmith, happy to make coins, weapons and armor for the non mouras just in case of besiegement and the colony was built like a maze so that just in case it was besieged- it was almost impossible to navigate unless you were born and raised into it. Each moura colony making their own strongholds in such ways.

Once all of you were safely in the cloud you all watched as the moura parents changed the cloud into one big room for all of you to rest in so you wouldn’t have to keep flying to stay up before the eldest moura got everyone’s attention as everyone kept asking the other why they were being attacked.

“Attention everyone!” Elder Veros said as she raised her old withered hands as everyone soon hushed.

“I know all of us are scared and concerned for our non moura family members who had to stay behind. We were attacked by an army of orcs, we tried to offer them gold to leave us alone, but they wanted marriage and they think they can take us by force!” She explained as you all gasped in horror.

“How come this is the first time we’re hearing of this?” Others asked.

“They’re orcs! What moura in their right mind would want to marry such a barbaric beast?” Elder Trikeng countered in a condescending sneer.

“We could have opened the gates and let them come and try anyway! Like we do for every other kind that comes to us.” The others argued.

“I know. That was offered. But it wasn’t good enough! They wanted us to participate in a reaping, where they would just walk through the colony and take whoever they wanted off the street! Can you imagine the chaos? How many of our mothers would they choose? Without any inkling if they had any family already? Imagine our little ones! Imagine them taking our little ones and we can’t argue or fight it and I don’t want to imagine the horrors they would inflict on them.” She explained as everyone seemed to let that sink in as your mother hugged your little sister tightly, her feather cloak turning into a massive fur blanket to cover all of her children from the chilliness up at this altitude as you sat down, your own feather cloaks becoming cushions under you as the others did the same, thankfully because of your moura heritage- breathing up here wasn’t so hard, it definitely was a strain and took several long moments to get used to but you could tell there was less oxygen this high up as you held your little sister Perideli in your lap as your mother nursed your baby sister as your other siblings held onto their little siblings as you all huddled closely together for warmth. You were lucky, your mother was a pureblood, meaning all of her children carried the gene, the other families weren’t so fortunate. Often having at least one child in their families without the moura gene because their own parents were often a few to several generations of mixed moura.

“We have fought tooth and nail against such things, there was no way we were going to ask any of you if you were willing to sacrifice yourselves to them. You all deserve to marry for love and marry who you want to marry no matter their status.” Elder Veros insisted as you looked at your other friends before you handed off your little sister to your other sister Yaviane who didn’t have a sibling in her lap, kissing her on the head before you got out of your mother’s fur blanket.

“Benyana!” Your mother whispered harshly. “Get back here!” She ordered.

“I just want to see.” You told her as you and the other teens and young adults managed to make a window in the cloud to look down and changed to your eagle eyes to really see what was happening before you saw that the orcs were clothed in fireproof armor and had already anticipated the fire that would be unleashed on them, loading trebuchets with meteorites, that were harder than the stone walls of your fortress and the meteorites were too dense and had such a high melting point that the dragon fire and phoenix fire was actually making them more destructive and the city’s gates were being battered because once the meteorite struck and did damage, in practically bounced back to them and they were retrieved to be used again, each time, they were relaunched, they gained more heat from the dragon and pheonix fire and thus did more and more damage.

Clever bastards. They were going to break through

Mouras were intelligent, fierce, strong and resilient by nature, as most predator birds are but with the orc numbers, preparation and brute strength alone- it looked like things were going to be in the orcs’ favor. If the orcs got through- it was all over. Suchi had only been besieged a handful of times since it’s being built- usually by now- the attackers would be dropping like flies because of the altitude sickness and trying to crawl down the mountain again. But these barbarians were not. It was like the altitude didn’t affect them at all. With every impact of their hits, your wrathful anger grew into a rage so much so you could feel the phoenix fire burn in your chest as it went up to your nostrils as the tips of your fingers grew clawed, forcing your clenched fists out of their hold. Oh those bastards were going to pay with their lives for this.

“They’re using meteorites!” All of you announced before the others made windows in the clouds to see for themselves before you collectively heard ‘oh no’s’ from everyone else before you got an idea.

“I need the fastest flyers! If we can go down and dive and strike the meteor balls that they have and turn them to gold, gold is softer than our stronghold. The gold will dent, break apart and melt before it destroys the walls or even strike at their armor and weapons it will melt too!” You called. “It’s too risky!” The adults argued but one look among your friends and you decided before you flew out the cloud’s windows and dove before you could hear any other argument from the others, transforming into missile raptors, a bird so fast they could leave fire in their wake like missles, sounding like them as they would dive down, the fastest flyers in the world and diving towards the orc army, all of you swooping down and striking the meteorites and all the other weapons and armor with your fifth golden feather to turn it into gold with lightning fast speed before you would take to the skies again and out of reach as you heard the cheering sounds from the non mouras behind the walls that could see what you were doing and began to direct you and you in turn directed the others, screaming your commands as the others obeyed. the phoenixes and dragons now burning the gold until it melted into pools at the orc’s feet, the orcs quickly discarding their melting armor before it would melt to them and they got burned, all of you passing through the fire because you were all immune to both dragon fire and phoenix fire before the orcs simply ran with what they could carry, mainly their own weapons turned to gold- all the meteorites, being slapped out of their grasp along with most of their armor. But just as you were about to take to the skies but you heard a voice- the same voice from your dreams and it made you pause and look back to see who was the owner of the voice-

A terrible mistake-

The bastard managed to capture you with his bare hands, plucking you out of thin air and holding you fast so that you couldn’t wriggle out of his grasp or break free and in the commotion you were captured and taken with them as they retreated and it didn’t matter how much you clawed and bit at who had taken you, once you were put in the leather sack, you could barely breathe from the little bit of air coming from the mouth and it was too thick to claw through.  

“Quick, a cage,” the holder hollered before you were dumped rather unceremoniously into a bird cage that was barely big enough to hold you, but the thick iron bars would take all your phoenix strength to melt and you had exhausted most of your reserves so you couldn’t even change it and melt it if you tried but it had two sets of bars, a big set and a small set, not even if you changed into your hummingbird form could  you get out of it. But at least you could breathe and look around now- as you screamed your lungs out, making your distress call- calling for another moura to come save you but no one answered as you started to panic and try to get out of the cage itself all the way down the mountain as they all ran for their lives, all the towns on the way up to the colony being boarded up protectively, a few brave souls peeking out to see the orcs pass through before the cage you were in was wrapped in another leather wrap and put on the back of a draft horse, the horses running for hours, as you braced yourself in the cage, still trying to scream your distress call, every time you did, the cage was hit by the rider as you were yelled at to keep quiet and once the horse stopped then the cage was taken off the horse and handed off- the rider ordering for the cage to be brought into the warchief’s home before they stomped off and you didn’t hear their voice anymore, you were carried into a house and the covering was taken off to reveal an orc family with little ones as one warrior came in, his burn wounds on his arms extensive.

“We failed. They’re protected by dragons, phoenixes and missile raptors, but not like any other missile raptors we know of. The raptors turned everything they touched into gold, our armor, our weapons, everything, it was all useless when they’re gold, it all melted off of us, and those damn raptors are fireproof, I watched as they all passed through the fire unharmed. We’ve never seen or even heard of anything like it, the elders warned of us of the phoenixes and the dragons, they were wise not to mention the raptors, we would have had it if it had not been for them,” the Warchief explained in staggering gasps as healing balm was put on his burns by his servants and his warchieftess as they stared at his dented and half melted gold battle axes that had been dumped on the floor.

“Could be worse, they could have turned them to foam or wood or something, at least the gold is worth something.” The warchieftess tried to soothe as she dressed his wounds herself.

“Where’s Brock?” The Warchieftess asked before a younger male orc came in and revealed himself, as you recognized him as the one who had caught you out of mid air, the one who’s voice you had recognized and now in this light- you could see the bastard as he was nursing his own burns and scratches that you had inflicted when he caught you before he had put you in a sack since his shield had burst into flames before you struck it and it turned to gold before it partially melted too as he dropped his shield down along with his own golden broadswords and battle axes, all of which were mostly melted before he kicked the cage in vengeful anger, melted gold stuck to the leather of his boots and coming off in dried crusted drops.

“You stupid fucking raptor! You ruined everything!”  He roared which only made you scream back defensively before you tried to make your distress call before he picked up the cage and punched the cage with his free hand which temporarily shut you up before he slammed it back down on the table it had been put on, if that table had been made out of wood, you’d be impaled on a pile of shards but thankfully it was only metal and the metal banging rung painfully in your ears.

“Brock don’t! That raptor might be worth something yet, don’t stress it any more than it is.” His father growled which made his son just glare at you as you glared back.

“We should roast it and eat it.” Brock sneered.

“You will do no such thing!” You screamed back, your voice so hoarse and raspy from screaming all night before everyone froze to look at you.

“Did the mouras seriously train a missile raptor to talk?” The warchieftess murmured as she paused in dressing her husband’s wounds to look at you curiously.  

“Oh I can do more than talk.” You seethed at Brock.  

“That so? Turn your cage into gold then.” Brock taunted.

“No,” you refused.

“Why not?” Brock prodded.

“Come closer and I’ll turn you to gold instead.” You threatened, it would cost you your life but it would be worth it.

“Really? Do it, I dare you.” Brock pushed before he tried to put his hand to the cage before his mother ripped his hand back.

“Don’t get in an arugment with a fucking bird! It’s a magic bird but it’s still a bird, you look and sound like a lunatic.” She reprimanded.

“At the very least a barbaric asshole.” You seethed and he looked like he was ready to crush your cage with his fists.

“Go check to see if anyone else has caught another one Brock.” The Warchief ordered before Brock growled menacingly at you as you screamed back before he left the tent and you did your best to break free but you were too weak now so you just hung your head in defeat and started crying.

“Pretty bird cries.” A little one noted as it walked over to you. The thing had to be younger than 5 as you begrudgingly realized that her voice sounded too familar in your ears as you stared at her, trying to place where you’ve seen her, but your head hurt and you were utterly exhausted.

“Kari no!” The mother said before the young girl stuck it’s fingers in the cage. You were half tempted to bite the little monster’s fingers off but you did no such thing because you knew that would be a line too far but you just sat there and begrudgingly let it pet you through the cage.

“Don’t cry pretty bird.” She cooed to you which made you huff a laugh before you leaned into her touch because pets always did feel good no matter what form you were in as she wiped your tears from your eyes. Damn it she was a darling and cute little thing too. Practically adorable.

“Look, bird tears papa!” She said before she pulled away and showed her father the tears from your eyes.

“Birds…don’t…cry.” The warchief muttered but she just wiped the tears on the bandage and kissed it before she came back over to you as the warchief and warchieftess both just looked at each other as they tilted their heads before Brock came back into the room with a silver cuff on a thin silver lead.

“Kari get back!” He roared which put you on the defensive again.

“Don’t hurt the pretty bird!” Kari said as she shielded you with herself, standing between him and you despite her small size. Bless her soul.

“Do you want to turn to gold?! I saw that thing turn a whole stock pile of meteorites into gold. Get away from it!” Brock ordered.

“She’s already stuck her fingers in the cage, if it was gonna turn her into gold it would have already, the thing is tame, she’s been petting it the whole time and not so much as a hiss or a snap.” His mother argued. “Unless that bird just happens to either like kids or like girls or both.“

"Both.” You confirmed.

“That thing ain’t natural.” Brock pointed a finger at you accusingly.

“No duh genius.” You bit out as you glared at him through the bars as he just glared even more hatefully at you as Kari giggled.

“Did any anyone else catch one?” The warchief asked.

“No, this is the only one, others were caught but they all managed to escape within moments of being captured, they all said they shrunk down to a smaller bird and flew away.” Brock admitted and you blew out a breath of relief. Thank the gods. Although now that you thought about it, that’s what you should have done. Damn it.

“Papa can I have the pretty bird?” Kari asked hopefully. “I promise I won’t eat it.” She swore.

“It’s the family’s bird.” He informed her gently but firmly as you narrowed your eyes at that.

“Here, put this on its leg, that cage is too small for it.” Brock huffed before she took it from him. Something about that thing wasn’t right but you were too panicked to really slow down and think it through as to why. In a colony that the citizens can turn everything into gold- silver was king, all of Suchi’s real money was in silver. But this silver was different. But you couldn’t process why or how. But something about it made your soul recoil in abhorrence.

“Please don’t, I can’t be enslaved, no, no, no! Please don’t do this Kari!” You pleaded, crying again and backing up and trying to get in a ball and hide your legs in your feathers.

“Were you a slave?” She asked as she paused.

“No, but my mother was.” You explained. “That’s why Suchi was built, for all who want to break free from slavery.” You explained.

“How much do you know about the Moura?” The warchief asked, not noticing how quickly he was healing already.

“If I tell you about them? Will you let me go?” You asked.

“If your answers satisfy our curiosity.” He ventured yet you didn’t trust that answer. There was no way in hell it would be that easy.

“Put the cuff on, so you’re not cramped in that tiny cage, and once you satisfy our requests, then we’ll let you go.” Brock offered.

“All of you swear to me that no one will touch me without my consent and that I will remain unharmed.” You put to them before they agreed, Brock begrudgingly so.

You submitted and let Kari put the silver cuff on your ankle before she wrapped her arm in a cloth so you could get out as you gingerly got on her arm before you tried changing into a hummingbird to get out of the cuff but it shrunk to fit your foot before you changed into an eagle but it changed again before you turned into a phoenix but all it did was change with you and no matter what you did, you couldn’t get it off, not even when you spewed fire at it, it wouldn’t melt.

“What is this?!” You shrieked as you changed into every bird you could think of, wearing yourself out as you did so as Brock just grinned wider and more smug by the minute before he took the lead and yanked it.

“True form.” He commanded as he did a whipping motion with the lead as he did so before you changed into your human form and landed on your ass on the floor as everyone else gasped, including yourself as Brock just stared at you, slack jawed before he just started laughing, at first in amusement before it turned into one of victory. Your feather cloak shielding you mostly from the impact before it became armor for you since it could no longer turn into wings for you.

“I knew it! You’re not a magic missile raptor, you’re just a shapeshifter.” He boomed before you found your feet and tried to attack him, your hands becoming clawed again as you tried using the last of your energy to become a phoenix again but couldn’t, you just collapsed on the floor at his feet, unable to even stand, your own body barely skin and bones now as your clothes hung off of you since your moura cloak could became your clothes when you weren’t in bird form and the armor continued to shrink to try to fit you properly.

“Hey you hurt me or any of us- that null and voids our word not to hurt you.” He taunted as you just glared daggers at him through your thick lashes before his mother took the lead from him.

“Hey!” Brock frowned.

“She’s not going to stay tethered to you, you’d abuse the privilege and power like you just did. Kari already proved we’ll get farther by being kind.” His mother explained. “But Kari is too tender hearted and you’re too vengeful right now to manage her. So I will.” She decided.

“What’s your name?” She asked as she turned her attention back to you.

“Benyana Auksa, Yana for short.” You begrudgingly answered as you just sat on the floor and pouted before Kari came back over to you curiously before she climbed into your lap, your armor receding around her since you sensed she meant you no harm where as your armor grew spikes directly at Brock before gave you a hug as you hugged her back. At least Kari was nice- she reminded you so much of your little sister Perideli.

“Thanks for trying to help me.” You thanked her.

“You’re welcome.” She murmured as she sat in your lap and inspected the embroidery in your clothes, practically entranced by it.

“Do you have children of your own that we’re keeping you from?” The warchieftess asked you wanted to lie but this stupid thing on your ankle wouldn’t let you, if anything it was like it was compelling you to answer with the whole truth.  

“No, just 6 little brothers and sisters.” You answered as the warchieftess and the warchief nodded in understanding.

“So, what are your names?” You asked as you held Kari and rocked her as the time of night started to really affect you, you felt it was almost dawn as she yawned and got comfortable in your lap, your outfit growing a fur shawl to wrap around you and her since she was a little furnace in your arms and you were particularly cold since you used up all your reserves and had no body fat to insulate you anymore.

“Warchief Drad, this is my wife and warchieftess Rhoslan…” He explained before he introduced all the other members of his family.

“So ask your questions.” You put to them once they introduced themselves. Hopefully you’d be able to go home by morning.

“So what do they call your kind?” They asked.

“A halfling.” You answered reluctantly.

“A halfling of what?” They asked.

“Human,” you bit out.

“Humans can’t shapeshift, so what’s the other half?” They asked and the more you thought about lying the more this damn shackle burned you. There was magic to it as you stared at it hatefully.

“Moura.” You finally hissed before the burning stopped.

“So mouras are shapeshifters,” the warchief realized.

“Yes, but not all mouras carry the shapeshifting gene though, most in Suchi do not, I myself make up a precious few who do.” You explained and they nodded in understanding.

“Do you know why we were denied from entering Suchi?” Drad asked.

“From what I was told by the colony elders as we all sought refuge from your attack is you wanted to reap us, take who you wanted off the street, without any thought or consideration as to who they were, if they were already married with children to another. You could have reaped our children. What mother willingly lets a stranger steal her child and do the gods only know what to it? Especially if that child is still nursing?” You returned as they frowned deeply at you.

“That’s not what a reaping is or how a reaping works. Only single marrying age people would be selected.” Brock argued.

“How can you tell if they are all standing in the street?” You countered.

“Because it happens on a specific day, everyone is prepared for it. Only the single should be out of the house besides it’s not like we would be complete strangers, that’s why we would want to enter the city first, at least scout or befriend the potentials first.” Brock explained.

“But your elders shut the city up before we could even try to approach. And we approached many times.” The warchief pointed out.

“You’re orcs, how could we know that you weren’t there to raid us?” You argued.

“Because we were unarmed!” Brock argued. “All your elders did was try to bribe us into going away before they insulted us.” Brock pointed out as he folded his massive arms over his chest.

“That’s because you insulted us first by trying to reap us!” You yelled angrily at him.

“It goes against our culture and is the very thing we’re trying to free ourselves of. All other mouras are either in the heavens or in the royal palaces. And for most mouras they are arranged into marriages in their childhood or at birth. The colonies are a haven for the outcast mouras, mouras who just wanted to marry for love instead of money or power or politics and marry on their terms, your reaping goes against that, with you reaping us, we have no say so, no control, how is that different than the life we were shut out of and shunned for wanting something different from? For the other mouras it is unthinkable to marry an outsider, a non moura, let alone a non royal. So they cast us out of the heavens and the royal houses forsake us too. The mountain colonies are the only homes we have and the other outcasts are our only families since the rest of our families shun us and would no sooner slit our throats than offer any kind of aid. To finally carve out a life for ourselves just to be "reaped” right before we can finally choose for ourselves who we want to marry and live the rest of our lives with, it is too much like what we were fighting against and the very reason we ourselves are outcast. We have fought for our freedom and we deserve to fly free because of it.“ You explained as Rhoslan gave her son and her husband a meaningful look. Something akin to ‘I told you so’.

“Now, I have answered your questions, let me go.” You demanded.

"Oh hell no, we’re not done.” Brock argued and if you had the power or the energy you’d burn him where he stood as you stared daggers at him. You could feel that you were actually tethered to him since he was the one who caught you and introduced this hell shackle. You wished your heavenly moura cousins could have heard your call and would come to the call, except for Kari- you wanted all of them to burn- especially Brock.

“I think it’s time for bed before we ask anything else.” Rohslan suggested before she handed the lead to one of her older daughters as you reached out to touch the gold weapons and armor- turning them back to their original iron as you sucked as much density out of the metal as you could, knowing it was going to take quite a bit of work to get them straight and viable as a weapon again and even then- they would rust to dust well before that. That single act regaining some strength back, the muscle mass at least in your limbs returning a little so that you had some strength to pick Kari up and carry her to the other room before her other sisters directed you to put her before they pointed to a spot you could lay down on before you used your own moura feather cloak to make an enclosed cocoon to sleep in. The silver chain sticking out like a tail before you cried yourself to sleep, your tears turning to diamonds around you. A sign of extreme distress for mouras.

The next day you gathered your diamond tears and put them into a little pouch on your waist before you peeked out of your cocoon, your feather cloak looking like dragon scales in a cocoon before you noticed it was safe and the dragon scales receded and changed to normal feathers before turning into your outfit for the day before you were brought by Kari’s sisters to a meal- apparently dinner- since you slept most of the day away as Kari had you sit right next to her before you thanked the servants there for their service, which they seemed particularly happy with before you asked and received some tea for your throat before the warchief and warchieftess and Brock and his other brothers came in for the meal too.

“So do all moura tears heal?” Drad asked as he unwrapped his arm to reveal the whole area where your tear had been wiped on the bandage had been made anew as you looked at his healed arm and sighed in defeat.

Damn it. Another moura secret out.

“No. Your daughter’s intent with that kiss to heal you probably did that, orcs have magic too just like any other being, well, except humans who have none. So since I’m half human- my magic and abilities and powers are significantly less than my purebred mother’s. My tear just enhanced Kari’s own power. Moura tears are just tears until they’re used with intent, if Mr. Asshole over there for instance were to strike me and force me to cry to do the same, my tears would burn him to the bone before they would act like viper venom in his blood.” You explained defiantly before you began eating the food that was laid out on the table before you licked your lips and kissed Kari.

“Now go kiss all the booboos.” You urged her before she giggled and did as you told her too, her kisses healing the members of her family before she returned to you and kissed your cheek affectionately before she got back into your lap to eat from your plate as you tore your food into bite sized pieces for her.

“Why am I the asshole?” Brock asked after he marveled at his healing wounds.

“Because somehow, you managed to catch me midair which takes skill, one that under any other circumstances- I might just respect, but currently, no, you can go straight to every circle of hell for all I care, but then you enslaved me by whatever magic is binding this silver cuff on my ankle and the chain. So that means, either you will be the one to release me or you will be the first to die when I am rescued.” You defiantly explained to him as Kari’s older sisters were grinning because while you were half their size, you were twice as fierce and had spunk and spirit and they could respect that.

“If.” He reminded you and if your stare had real daggers, he’d be dead by now. Damn him!

“Oh no, that’s a when, I gave that distress signal long and hard enough that my cousins in the heavens should have heard me. And if they didn’t, I stand out, words going to travel like wildfire that the orcs managed to enslave a moura, do you really think that whatever land you live on- that the ruling family will eventually find out, and when they come to investigate- they will take one look at this silver cuff and enact justice. It is illegal to enslave a moura in every single kingdom. You will all pay the consequences of my enslavement, to the point that not even your own enslavement will save you from our wrath. It is best if you let me go now, they might show leniency.” You threatened which if you were a royal moura- would have real power and backing behind your words.

“Yeah, except you’re in the middle of orc country and you’re looking at the warchief,” Brock reminded you as he nodded to his father. “Who to orcs- is the same thing as the king. And it’s not illegal here to enslave a moura. So even if the neighboring countries were to try to rescue you, it would be an act of war. Do you really think that your one little life is enough to entice a war? If anything, they’ll just write you off as a casualty. And you will grow old here, just like the rest of us. No one is going to rescue you.” Brock insisted and damn him to every circle of hell, he had a point. Only the heavenly moura had the numbers and strength to really rescue you, the royal moura had too much political agenda and you sincerely doubted any of them would ever trouble themselves to save the offspring of the black sheep of the family.

You put Kari to the side, kissing the crown of her head as you did so before you got up, pulled a feather from your skirts, transforming it into a dagger and yanked him off the bench of the table backwards by sticking your fingers in his nostrils and pulling with all your strength and weight so that he landed on his back on the floor and put it into his hand and pushed it to your own throat as you straddled his large chest, manage to balance even though your knees couldn’t touch the floor as you sat over him, your long platinum blonde hair falling like a waterfall around you, the ends of your hair splaying out on his chest.  

“Then kill me now, I would rather be dead than live like a slave!” You urged him, angry tears welling in your eyes. You never envisioned your death like this, but this still had more dignity than life as a slave.

“No, we have already vowed not to harm you.” He let his arms go lax and they were so heavy you couldn’t keep ahold of them before they fall above his head, his hand purposefully letting the dagger go and tossing it to the side so that he was unarmed and the dagger transforming into just a feather again.

“You stupid good for nothing son of a bitch! How dare you do this to me! Kill me like the monster you are damn it!” You demanded as you just started hitting him in his chest, your tiny fists barely do anything to him as he just sighed and shook his head and turned you over so that you were on your back as he pinned your wrists above your head as you tried kicking him but he just pinned your legs down with the weight of his own leg as you still struggled against him. He wasn’t even trying that hard to pin you down, his own weight alone was more than enough to practically smother you and his hold on you was firm but not bruising or harmful.

“Let me go!” You shrieked.

“I will let you go once you calm down and quit being difficult and so dramatic! Gods, I thought the street performers were dramatic! They’re nothing compared to the hysterics you’re throwing yourself into. You’re not going to live like a slave, we’re not going to hurt you or starve you or work you to death or anything like that, life with us isn’t so horrible that it’s worse than death, you’re actually part of the family now, so honestly? It could be so much worse, we could sell you as a slave, that’s always an option.” He explained as you started to suck in snot from your nose to try to spit venom at him.

“Hey- don’t spit at me or on me, I swear to the gods, you spit at me or on me, I’ll dunk you in the horse trough!” He warned as he pulled a hand away from your wrist to point at you. “A nasty, slimy, mucky horse trough.” He warned as you narrowed your eyes at him and swallowed your spit. That would take ages to clean out of your clothes.

“Now quit yelling and screaming and cussing like some kind of banshee. Mouras are supposed to be lovely and the epitome of sophistication and civilized behavior. You’re bringing shame on your moura heritage.” He taunted as you gasped in outrage.

“How dare you-” you tried argue but he just grabbed your face, his fingers pinching your cheeks to keep you from talking but not hard enough to bruise as you grabbed his wrist, your fingers becoming clawed to get him to release you.

“I said- stop.” He repeated, using the same calm and condescending tone he would with a two year old having a tantrum.

“Act like a lady and we’ll treat you like one. Act like a damn fool with more barbarism than we have, and we’ll treat you like that too. You set the tone for your own treatment.” He reminded you as he watched your eye teeth turn more and more fanged.

“Hey you bite me or spit venom at me…remember, horse trough or…you know what? I’ll kiss you, I owe you a kiss for every strike.” He realized as you gasped even more scandalously, your fangs instantly receding before you shut your mouth and bit your lips to keep them from being available to him for that.

“There we go, found your weakness sweetheart.” He crooned as you stopped struggling altogether and just frowned deeper and deeper at him and glared even more hatefully at him.

“Enough Brock.” His mother warned before he got off of you and let you go before you took the feather and put it back in your dress.

“Don’t you ever touch me again.” You growled.

“Hey, you touched me first.” He argued and that stopped you, your mouth hanging open to argue before you shut it as you once again realized he had a point. Smug motherfucker.

“Now, go eat the rest of your dinner, we let you sleep all day to gain some strength back, you’re as skinny as a stick.” He urged which made you stand up and dust yourself off before you stood up to your full height and walked back down the table where Kari and her sisters were nearly crying from holding in all their laughter.

“So, where were we, oh I know what I wanted to ask- So what about turning things to gold and back again?“ Drad asked thoughtfully and your shoulders sagged in defeat as you just held your head in your hands before dragging them down your face in frustration. There was no use fighting.

"That’s a power every shapeshifting moura guards with their lives to keep this very situation from happening to them again. How do you think every royal house got to be so rich? And why do you think it’s now illegal for anyone to enslave a moura in every realm there is? It’s to protect us. Of course if you ask- it will be denied until everyone is blue in the face. But it’s why it’s considered only royalty is good enough for a moura to marry into which is ironic.” You answered.

“Why is it ironic?” Rhoslan asked curiously.

“Because that’s just a different kind of slavery altogether, you have to obey any edicts from the council and the realm that you’re inhabiting, they get to live in luxury- but they have no control over thier own lives, it’s all controled via the council who decides who lives where, who will bear who’s children, what will happen to those children, everything- which is why the mountain moura will hold onto their freedoms and their power over themselves and autonomy till their last breath and why we hang onto it so strongly. If you really wanted a moura in your lives, you would have better luck going to the council and renting one just like everyone else, although the chances of you getting a gene carrying moura are very slim since not all moura children get the gene and if they do- it’s incomplete and for royal moura- right now the odds are one in a hundred and twenty eight chance of having the gene because you’re talking six to ten or more generations from the original heavenly moura and moura genes are delicate and have a very short half life but at least you’d get one in name and pedigree, which I have neither. But otherwise to marry a non moura and a non royal- it’s considered a foolish waste. It’s a power that’s extremely costly to use. It took me and my friends years of reserves to do what we did last night. I’m usually twice this size and three times as quick and four times as strong, so clearly, that’s what that power has cost me personally.” You answered as you held out your skinny little arm- your elbow joint being the biggest part of your arm besides your hand.

“Where do your reserves come from?” Drad asked and you were tempted to growl in frustration because these motherfuckers were asking all the right questions, they were smarter than you anticipated and damn this silver ankle cuff because it was burning you the longer you fought not answering the question and answer it with nothing but the whole truth.

“Purebred mouras get all of their strength and reserves from the sunshine, but us halfbreeds, we can only get half from sunshine, the rest we have to get from food and rest just like everyone else and most of us who are born without the moura gene altogether, and therefore the sunshine would affect them no different than anyone else and they couldn’t escape when you attacked. You were going to win had I not talked the others into intervening, you would have won and so many of my friend’s have siblings and non moura parents would have died last night along with my own father, and you would have been responsible for massacuring half the colony all because your feelings got hurt because of an insult? Do you really think any moura in their right mind would ever marry an orc after this? Any orc from any clan ever for the rest of their lives? Do you have any idea how staunchly we hold onto grudges and prejudices? Do you even know how long mouras live?” You posed.

“How long?” Drad asked curiously.

“Oh only three to five hundred years. Half mouras get a fraction of that though. The mouras in the royal families? They’re lucky if they live to see a hundred years because of their own genetics, most can not even change like I can. Like I said, moura genes have a very short half life. I don’t even know of any moura has even had relations with an orc. No half moura orcs have ever come to us, at least that I know of. But I’m only a youngling, only 17 summer solstices and 18 winter solstices old. But I can tell you- that there is no way in hell you would ever reap from us now, even if this clan were attacked tomorrow by another clan and even if your women and children managed to escape and sought refuge in the colony- after the attack last night? There is no way that we would let you in or that we would ever offer you shelter. If you had just taken the gold offered or set up trade or something, anything other than attacking us, we would have though. But now? We would think it’s another trick or attack again, another trap. Although, to be fair- the elders never announced your previous attempts or approaches, they made it sound like you came to the colony only yesterday and made you demands and once we tried to negotiate, you dismissed the negotiations, turning your noses up at them and promptly threated to take us by force and bring war to our door. It wasn’t until last night when we were in hiding, that they told us about it at all. They made it sound like you would just barge in and take whoever you wanted in the street without warning. But they are older, and I know for certain that most if not all are speciesist. When the dwarves that helped carve out Suchi intermarried with the moura there was a lot of stigma, still is even after a few generations.” You revealed.

“So if you’re going to ask me to turn anything else to gold, it’s going to be a very long wait until I can replenish myself.” You insisted as they nodded in understanding.

When you were done with dinner, the leftovers were taken back to the kitchen before Kari showed you around the clan as the sun was setting over the sea. It was beautiful.

The clan lived next to an estuary. Where a river met the sea, it was gorgeous if you were honest, with birds flying overhead.

“Are the birds your family?” Kari asked as she watched you watch the birds flying overhead, your heart breaking in jealousy and sadness but the sunshine was helping.  

“Not these birds.” You answered in a whisper as you wiped the tear from your eyes before she walked you over to the market where the fresh fish was being cooked up, the leftover from that morning’s haul, the fishermen fishing all night the night before as news of the failure seemed to spread before they looked at you curiously as in the fading light, your moura marks were starting to glow. Beautiful scrolling patterns on your front, feathers on your back and arms.

You covered your mouth as they picked up huge…bug looking things that Kari giggled at as they moved in the air as they were being picked up and placed in pots of boiling water.

“What- is that?” You asked as she brought you over to the bucket that that one had been pulled from, finding more in there.

“It’s a lobster! You eat the tail meat, it’s really good!” She insisted.

“Uh, ok, I’ll take your word for it.” You placated her as she walked you through the market, pointing everything out to you and telling you about each one as her sisters walked with you, holding the silver lead casually before they started talking about the different kinds of fish in the market, which ones were good, which ones were ok, which ones were awful and so on. You recognized sardines- because during the summer solstice, when you would fly over the oceans, you could dive easily for these but all these others were too deep to dive for. But they were pretty as the girls decided to treat you to them as they got some of everything at all the stalls, each vendor having a different spice mix on frying them or cooking them in various ways.

You were used to raw fish, but cooked fish was especially tasty. Especially grilled with some salt and citrus. It was awesome and you ate until your stomach distended from your belly and thankfully Kari got full from her meal too and got sleepy before she took your chain and walked you back to their sleeping quarters and had you make another bed out of your feather cloak which you obliged before she got in with you and cuddled up with you as you did the same, grateful for her warm nature before you dozed off, a lone hole in the top, far enough away that no one could reach inside and grab you or her but would get a good air flow as her sisters went to bed too.

“So? Was she worth it?” Rhoslan whispered to her son as they both peeked inside and watched you sleep peacefully, the light of the moon filtering in through the room from a skylight, the moon making your moura marks radiate and pulse as you pulled even more energy from it, Kari cuddling up to you as the feather cloak became a thick white fur blanket to stave off the chill in the air as they could see your moura marks through the fur.

“She will be. She almost has too much fight in her.” He complimented as he smiled fondly. “But looking at her now, I can see why the whole world is in love with them and I can see why they’re so hard to get to and get a hold of, let alone keep.” He murmured quietly.

“She’s not going to love you with that chain on her ankle.” Rhoslan reminded him.

“I know, I just can’t let her go too quickly, or she’ll fly away before I really get a chance to prove myself to her. So maybe not today, or in the coming weeks or maybe months, but hopefully, sooner than later, I can win her over. I just can’t believe that the woman I’ve been dreaming about for a month is real, I froze on the battlefield when I heard her voice, imagine my surprise when she came right out of that fire and promptly turned everything on me to gold as a missile hawk. In all my dreams she has always been a dove.” He sighed as he rubbed at his chest, where you had “hit” him earlier. While he understood your hatred and misgivings, to have you so close and above him had sent him practically into a tizzy because he had dreamed of that too several times but you were always lower and riding him like you owned him and it hurt that you would hate him so much and so fiercely and downright almost forced him to kill you, the dagger had even cut your neck a little and he had wanted so badly to disarm you and kiss the mark but you would surely kill him if he tried just yet. He just couldn’t get over how beautiful you were. You were all piss and vinegar and anger and wrath and just fire, pure fire, from the heavens themselves as he wondered how magnificent you’d be at full strength.

“Well it looks like Kari is doing most of the work. It’s probably because of her that she’s even half as decent as she is.” Rhoslan murmured.

“True, thank the gods for her.” Brock nodded in agreement.

“You have an uphill battle on your hands. She’s going to make you earn every inch.” Rhoslan warned.

“And she’ll be worth it.” Brock grinned before he left and took care of a few things before he went to bed himself.

#Orcs #orc romance #orc boyfriend #orc fantasy #exo #monster boyfriend #Of Heaven and Fire #part 1

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I have no idea what I'm doing and I must scream about my friend's OTP

*bangs pots together* I HEARD THIS FANDOM NEEDED MORE SICKFIC SO I CAME HERE TO PROVIDE With angst too! It's simple, even simplistic to a fault in fact, but I'm kind of happy with it? The beginning especially, man I love writing the literal equivalent of suffering. The ending may be a letdown, but I hope it's decent anyway.

also yeah can we all stan my good pal @chess-of-flowering-kingdom's writing in the chat because she's much better than me at this FE3H thing, she’s like an icon or something in this fandom

-------

Thanatophobia

Summary: [thanatophobia: noun. Literally, “fear of death”; a feeling of dread, anxiety or sollicitude when thinking of or faced by death or the process of dying. Derivated fromthe Ancient Greek "θάνατος", death, and "φόβος", fear or anxiety.] Ingrid almost loses someone again. 

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (post-timeskip) Ships: Ingrid/Sylvain (pre-relationship)

Wordcount: 2.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

-------

Her vision was blurry from the water flooding in her eyes, her hearing by the sobs she was trying to keep inside, her thoughts from the swirling concerns and confusion hitting it at once. Her head ached, so did her heart, and her stomach was hardly able to keep up with the nauseating worry she was finding herself to be the victim of.

Yet, and it only hurt further to admit it, even the best training in the world couldn’t have prevented this, so all she could do was not let herself get eaten away by her sorrow, as looking like a mourning widow would do nothing to improve the absolutely abhorrent situation that was unfolding right before her helpless eyes.

 It wasn’t like it was her fault, she knew that. She couldn’t have prevented it even if she had tried her hardest: in a way, this was bound to happen, but that train of thought only made it worse. What, was she supposed to just stay here and do nothing because this was always going to end in some tragedy one way or the other? Was she supposed to believe there was fate above all of their heads menacingly staring at them and waiting for the first opportunity to cause them misery to happen?

As it stood, Ingrid hated being unable to do anything, always wanted to do something and be of some use whenever things turned sour; yet reality was forcing itself on her, itself and its terrible sides and toll. It was telling her that no matter what she did, no matter what she was trying to do, no matter where she went, no matter how or why, it was a superior face on her soul bound to its realm by her flesh and blood.

If reality wanted to pain her again and make someone die on her for a second time, it could, and it wanted very desperately to show her this without any possible contestation on her part.

 Perhaps it hurt her even more to know this would eventually happen, no matter what she said or did. Ingrid had always watched over Sylvain ever since they had known each other, had gotten to know every side of his personality to the point she could predict every single thing he was about to go through with. He was a free spirit, someone who took his life lightly, a true skirt-chaser, someone who listened to her and stared into her eyes without ever considering if her words could have an impact on his life.

Ingrid had always found him to take his existence too much on the light side of things, and Glenn’s demise had only enforced his feeling, but she could only confirm that to a whole new extent she had never wished to behold today.

 They were fighting alongside on the battlefield, the two of them, against the enemy forces. She was the prideful knight, he was the free-thinking monk, and they worked better than she’d have expected coming him and his seemingly lack of seriousness about anything that involved life-or-death stakes. Both on the battlefield, sharing a portion of land as decided by their strategist, weapons out and senses sharp, focus undefeatable as she defeated her foes one by one on her fierce mount.

At least, it was in her case, because Ingrid couldn’t stop spotting in the corner of her how sloppy her battle partner was. Usually, and that was one of the qualities she could give him, he was more than competent when fighting, He’d usually slipped in a couple teases and flirtatious lines of banter between two battles, yet all she heard are pants and wheezes coming from his side, her moves slow and unprecise, the absolute opposite of what a warrior was supposed to be standing for in her eyes.

 But the battle was raging on, so she ignored it at first and just made it out to be a minor thing. Must have been because he had been chasing skirts all night again, without thinking of tomorrow’s battle (even if that seemed too easy of an explanation). It was a day like any other, even if the taste of blood wasn’t as strong as it’d have usually been. Nothing wrong to report on, truly, or so she thought (or tried convincing herself of? It wasn’t clear, not even in the heat of the moment where lucidity of the mind was key). And, in her point of view, it all looked fine and usual until she noticed she was alone killing off the last of the enemy’s forces.

As it stood, meddling with the dried leaves of the early autumn metamorphosis, crimson poking out from the light browns and oranges, was the unconscious body of a childhood friend.

 The assault had stopped for them, in the far-end part of the battlefield; yet the feeling of dread wetting her back in cold sweats didn’t give in, nourishing itself from the misery plaguing her mind. Ingrid got off her mount, her stallion’s reins firmly enclosed between her fingers, approaching the suddenly shapeless form of who could have only been Sylvain if she squinted enough with heavy steps and a heavier breath.

She slowly crouched, feet trying to avoid stepping on the leftovers of the battle, until her available hand could touch him, the other gripping harder on the reins as soon she realized what was wrong. A clump formed in her throat, her stomach twirled, she felt like she was about to get sick from the sudden rush of worry nausea taking a hold of her system like a demon possessing her body. Without uttering a word, she put him on his back, finally able to see his dirtied face and harsh breathing, skin paler than the corpses around them, red splattered across his cheeks like blood on a soldier’s attire.

 Ingrid didn’t waste words trying to wake him up, but her hands burned when she let go of the rein to put him on her mount and escort him back to safety, back to their base while she walked, in silent, with a troubling vision and sobs threatening to exit her chest if she wasn’t careful to them even for a moment. Her feet crushing the dirt and leaves, three breathes of different intensities and faraway cries were the only things she accepted hearing for the time being, careful that none of these breathings stopped all of a sudden and forever.

She was sniffling worry in. This was happening, under her eyes, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She was no healer, no priestess of any kind. She didn’t know how to beg a deity for someone’s wellbeing, all she knew was fighting and court codes, in the end. Despite the toll of the battle on the enemy’s forces and her army’s victory, her heart couldn’t scream any cry of war, couldn’t sing a hymn, because it was busy crying while her mind was busy not to let herself do the same.

 And, in this time of great mental distress, sorrowful Ingrid realized something: for the first time in her life, no matter what had happened before since they had been children, no matter what she could say or even think of uttering, she couldn’t do anything for Sylvain.

 The rest of things was a blur from then on. She brought her horse back to the base, couldn’t explain what had happened aside from the idea that he had collapsed while she was looking elsewhere to fend against the enemy, and watched events unfold while her hands went unoccupied and her legs restless. Her entire body turned into lead jelly, stiff like metal yet tender from her weaknesses striking at once. Healers tried their best, but only words of apology came out from them: they had spells for injuries, not illnesses, and they were as helpless as she was.

When she was invited to see him after a more formal exam, shortly before the battle ended with her army’s flawless and stainless victory, Ingrid turned down the offer. She wasn’t ready to face the situation, not at first at last, and went for a walk outside instead to calm down the nausea and stop her thoughts from becoming a tornado inside her skull.

 The air had gone cold since the battle had ended, the warmth of her companions and blood pouring on the floor having given stead to night’s silence and comfortable judgement. Nobody could see her now, all inside either celebrating or getting concerned, maybe both; but even her hunger had gone missing, buried under the thick layers of concern she kept putting on because of her own uselessness.

Her hands rubbed against her arms, her breath emitted clear smoke against the black backdrop of the night embracing her, her feverish skin finally calming down to a point where she felt like she could face her friend again, even if this entire fiasco made her doubt her own feelings’ nature. Perhaps staying for too long in the dark quietness of the deserted paths only accelerated her uncertainties, so she went back inside, the warmth of a group reaching back to her right as her skin was shivering.

 Her heart was wavering with the intensity of a typhoon, even as her footsteps echoed in the corridors as she made her way to the infirmary. She knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply, not expecting any considering it was already fairly late in the evening. The silence of the room reminded her of the outsides, which eased her heart into entering the room, even if immediately the sight of Sylvain in this bed, left to devilish devices, stung her deeper than she’d have thought.

Her hands were fiddling together by themselves as she sat on the chair that was already there, eyes unable to face it. She wanted to weep at last, let her sorrow run free; but that’d have been disgracing Sylvain, disgracing all the cautious words she had ever told him and all the messages she had tried to drill through his skull as much as possible so he wouldn’t ridicule himself again, so she wouldn’t suffer second-hand embarrassment from him.

 Her heart was pounding. In truth, she wasn’t confused about her feelings, more than she wanted to deny them: really, falling for her childhood friend wasn’t something she wanted. It was even worse if she considered how he was such a skirt-chaser, flirting with everything that moved or had a pulse, from her grandmother to their female colleagues: it was going to end badly for her if she truly stopped lying to herself about it, if something made her stop rejecting what she shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

The problem was that this something had already come around. No matter how much she told herself this, seeing Sylvain in this bed was like watching herself lose Glenn all over again: it started small, it always ended terribly, this much she had been taught and she had learnt over the years, throughout her experiences and connections with people. She was afraid of losing someone else, so she denied their value to her and tried keeping her tears inside, even if she knew it was all a lie, even if she was fully aware it had been nothing but a charade of refusal and unhealthy denial.

 Yet, even with all of her efforts, Ingrid was crying, tears rolling down her face and sorrow finally making its way out of her airways, pouring in thoughts and tears. How ungraceful, how weak coming from the woman who had wanted to become Dimitri’s most fellow knight, the one who grief and death shouldn’t have scared like a little girl whom the world had deemed to forever be lost in the eternal penumbra whose last beacon of light had been engulfed by the shadows.

At least, she was alone, unseen from the world, with the only witness being an unconscious man. It was the only consolation she had, the one thing fate had decided to keep her away from being shame and dishonour, but it was minor compared to the pain raging in her chest.

 Until she felt a trembling finger stroking her cheek, stealing a tear away.

 With her vision now restored, Ingrid saw the impossible: Sylvain, awake, the faintest smile he had given her on his face, whose finger was indeed against her cheek despite the weakness she could tell came from it. For a moment, a short moment, time stopped, until he broke down coughing and her heart started stinging again.

“’nice to see you, Ing,” he slurred as he looked at her, breathing still as heavy as it used to, glass-eyed and disgraceful all around. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability on his part…

“…nice to see you too, Sylvain,” she tried to ignore that fact and hide her relief to see him conscious enough.

 It meant that, in another sense, she could finally do the one thing she should have done all along.

“Never, ever do that again. I don’t want to escort you out of the battlefield after harvesting your body like rotting wealth.”

“That’s not a… nice thing to say…”

“Do you think worrying me was a nice thing to do?”

If she couldn’t have hidden the tears forever, she surely couldn’t have pretended like she wasn’t blushing from embarrassment after dropping such a line. In fact, like a foolush beginner, she had stolen her own speech away from herself. Talk about a bad move on her part.

 “I… I made you worry…?” His voice was unnaturally groggy and low, as if gravel had infected his airways. It was like speaking to someone else altogether if she didn’t focus on his face.

“…of course you did. We’re friends.”

“Ah…” His expression was genuine, this much she could tell, but his sudden solemnity weirded out in some measure. “Sorry… I thought it’d do the opposite, but…” He coughed, yet smiled, and it confused her even further. “’was wrong.”

“You sure were…”

 They fell into some kind of constantly broken silence, wordless moments interrupted by coughing fits she had never wanted to hear and desired to see gone for the rest of their existences. Her heart continued aching against her bones, fatigue never truly coming to her senses, until Sylvain put her hand away from her face and she missed his undesired hotness.

“Y’know, I’ve always l’ved you, Ing…” He slurred, his face’s flushing making her unable to tell if it was genuine, just a delirium kind of side effect, or a plain joke. Considering the context, she scratched the last theory out on her quick mental list.

Not like she’d have possibly had the wittiness to reply to that in her usual fashion, not when she had feared for his life merely an hour ago all evening.

  “I…”

He’d forget that by the time morning rolled around, right? Someone like him wouldn’t have normally laid down his feelings like that. She could, maybe just this once, maybe because he was alive and she was more than happy about this fact, allow herself a confession of her own.

“It may have been reciprocal for a longer time that I thought.”

 Her response must have rendered him speechless, because all she saw him do was blush even further and almost faint on her.

“Hey, are you alright?!” She yelled without really realizing about it. “You should rest, that’s the only way you’ll win against this thing.”

She still didn’t know what the nature of the illness was exactly, but for now, she’d do without that piece of information. It wasn’t like she had dared asking or even thinking about it, it could have sent her into another wave of choked sobs if she had.

“I… s’pose you’re right… See ya later, Ing…”

“See you. Take care.”

 She waited for him to completely fall asleep before leaving the room, her heart still heavy from the concern, exhaustion of the day and sudden revelations that had showered on her out of the blue. It really hadn’t been the right moment to have those, this much was for sure.

Yet, tomorrow seemed a bit more promising now. She still felt helpless, useless on the surface, and her chest ached from seeing such a dear friend (this, she couldn’t deny anymore) in such a pitiful condition. Nonetheless, she left his room before she could give him the one thing he didn’t quite want in her opinion, her pity, and thought sleep would clear everyone’s minds out of whatever had bothered them during the day and made them endlessly stir.

Yeah, she just needed a good night of sleep and for him to be alright. It was a lot to ask for, but she’d be caught red-handed trying to get that to happen nonetheless.

-----------

By the time day rolled around, even if the fever was still clogging his brain, Sylvain hadn’t forgotten about their conversation.

Ingrid didn’t quite know what to make out of that realization.

----------

jokes on everyone (that includes me, a clown) I know very little about the game, it was just to make my good friend Azure smile and write even more angst

As such, I want to formally apologize if anyone is OOC beyond recognition.

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #ingrid brandl galatea #sylvain jose gautier #sylvgrid #sickfic #angst #introspection #stream of consciousness #bad things happen bingo #bthb 2 #otp: never would and never have

[sleuthsts]

@revoide​ asked :  “  i loved you more than i planned ”

              YOU  WERE  THE  ONE  WHO  RUINED US.

CHARLOTTE ,       the  devil  we  knew .       he doesn’t answer ,       not wanting to give her any hope    …         any reaction towards what she said .     breathing stalled ,       unable to truly keep his front of not caring .        although it may be obvious ,      HE’S SHOCKED SHE’D ADMIT THAT .      unwilling to believe she’s being honest  .      however there’s a warmth in it .    the idea of them reconciling     …    maybe even going back to the way they were without the harsh aftermath .       the true reality of relationships that fizzle out .      aren’t we just the perfect example ?         i can’t stand it ,                          the unpleasant turning behind the navel .   yearning for a fix  …        i hate that i need a fix .    i hate that i end up feeling like i need something stronger than a cigarette .     his hand hovers over his pockets .    fingers slightly twitching wanting that easy fix right away .

                            “    right your master plan …    ”

calvin can feel the sadness in her tone ,      but there would always be doubt when it came to charlotte .     such an actress ,      but the shows she put on were quite entertaining to watch .      the truth was simmering underneath whatever lie she concocted .        never ending pool of soft swift words drowning everything surrounding them .      the sweet dialogue she spoke off soft lips he can’t help remembering when they connected against his own .       a memory that seemed like forever ago .

“    you wanted to r - ruin my life  …  my career ,    ”      he didn’t think it’d be so difficult speaking to her after an abundance of time had passed .      funny how someone who once felt like home   …      like his safety could now give him such anxiety .      how many times had he held her close feeling as though nothing could break them  ,      as if everything would always feel so perfect .      how many times have i cried already ?     how many times will i have to cry and feel so incomplete ?       ruined and demolished .      how long until i realize a cigarette wont fix these problems and wont help me forget you    …       how long before i move onto something that makes it easy .   .    “    and you might’ve gotten that …     ”

she’d have her hooks deep in his skin until his last breath and it was humiliating to admit .       in a sea of strangers ,    her line caught him .       hook , line ,  and sinker .       hand reaching for you to save me ,   but  all you did was watch me drown and smile .       calvin simply scoffs ,      wanting the interaction to come to an end .           “      was it worth it in the end ?     ”        as sarcastic as the tone he used was ,      he truly wanted to know .     was this grand scheme of hers satisfying in the end ?

COULDN’T YOU HAVE LIED FROM THE START?      so we don’t go round and round pretending we don’t care ?       hands dig into his pockets ,   thumb remaining out .     a stance she should recognize by now .     eyes meet with hers .      besides her he hasn’t told anyone .      calvin would burry himself in work to avoid it ,       avoid meeting new people or becoming involved .     oh how she broke him .      AND  THOUGH  HE HATES IT ,  SHE DID GET WHAT SHE WANTED .    a man who’s broken so deeply he can’t return to the state you found him,       tell me you didn’t mean it .      it was a joke to break the pieces of me you haven’t reached .       it’s a new experience of pain .      almost a high he feels .      heavy on his shoulders ,      this boulder of crushing hope he has in her lying .      he ,    honest to god hopes she is lying in this very moment .       why?       because he knows it’ll only have it all come rushing back in .       the love she doesn’t deserve .     a love he pretends isn’t there anymore .     unstable when she’s around ,    mentally hurting himself .

       it’s not true .        it’s not true .        it’s not true .        it’s not true .        it’s not true .        it’s not true .

WHAT IS IT ABOUT YOU ?      unable to erase you from my memory .       remove your images from my phone .      the smiles we shared .      her ghost haunts him deep into the night ,     dreams of a perfect world .      calvin opens his mouth to speak again ,     but he decides against it .      instead turning around and walking away from her .      those hooks of hers though   ...     so deep it sinks deep further into his skin than he knows .      he stops walking ,    hand balls into a fist with nails piercing his skin .      if he didn’t see her again after this she’d never know .      he’ll walk back to her .      panicking silently to himself .      clawing its way up his throat ,     preventing him from speaking until                

                    “     c - charlotte i never stopped …   loving you .     ”

#revoide #this took way too long but voila

[anonthenullifier]

This Wasn’t What I Had in Mind

Title: This Wasn’t What I Had in Mind

Gift for: Carlye (@scarletphantom1704)

Rating: T

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: During a rendezvous with Vision, a seemingly innocent excursion forces Wanda to remember all she has lost.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15996662

Prompt: I would love to receive a piece of fanart/or a fanfic of Vision comforting Wanda after a flashback, triggered by an ordinary object, and a panic attack in public. (MCU)

To Carlye: This was a fun but challenging prompt. I hope the story meets what you were wanting with the prompt :)

To Anya (@atendrilofscarlet), my beta, you are amazing! Thank you for reading so many versions of this in such a short time period and answering all my questions :D.

To everyone else, I hope you enjoy this too!

Made for the Scarlet Vision Exchange 2018!

It is freezing.  Wanda suspects the only reason the steam hovering in front of her face isn’t crystallizing is because of how rapidly she is sucking in the frigid air and then pushing it back out. It’s so cold her wool-gloved hands are buried deep in her coat pockets instead of seizing the opportunity of the moment and holding Vision’s hand. In lieu of intertwined fingers, their bodies are huddled, shoulders and hips practically glued together as they stare forward.

“Did you know,” he glances down at her, movements minimized to retain heat, “until today the coldest day in Sopot’s history was -2.5 degrees Celsius?”

She’s fairly certain the winters at the compound were comparable to now, possibly worse, yet the rush of air coming from the sea seems to banish all potential warmth, leaving just a gray, lifeless wraith of an afternoon. “Don’t tempt me with such balmy facts, Vizh.” What she assumes is a breathy laugh, though could easily be a shudder at the bite in the air, mingles with the crashing of waves against the embankment of ice along the shoreline. “You know, this really wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“I did offer an alternative of staying in the hotel next to the radiator.”

Wanda cracks a smile at the specificity of the statement, his mind so vast and yet during their clandestine meetups it collapses to only reach out as far as what they are doing in the present, disregarding any subtext of a time further than now. “We’ll go back soon.”

A nod and a bump of his shoulder confirms his desire to do just that, “I believe that is for the best,” his voice shifts to being overly concerned, a tone that has been increasingly common for the past several weeks, “I do not believe it is in your best interest to develop pneumonia again.”

Wanda shrugs. In her opinion, the downsides of being sick were far outweighed by other factors. “Got you to stay with me for longer.”

“Yes,” a tiny smile sparks a small, welcomed ember in her chest, “though it also almost led to my discovery.”

“You act like Nat hasn’t pieced us together yet.” Sneaking around is never what either of them wanted as a basis of their relationship, which is why it was almost a godsend when Nat confronted her months ago. Anger mixed with disbelief and betrayal, but in the end was a hope, a guarded, questionable hope, one that allowed for an understanding to be reached that so long as Wanda was safe and checked in when required, she could be happy. Despite this, Vision still insists on never crossing paths with the other rogue Avengers. Likely worried that the pressure of lying about seeing four people would be too much. Giving vague and unhelpful answers to Ross about his time “searching” for her has already taken its toll on his demeanor, she’d never ask him to add to that responsibility. Wanda veers their thoughts from that particular topic, determined to make the most of their rendezvous. “When I started pestering Steve about a beach getaway, this wasn’t really what I meant.”

Vision glances down at her, then to the desolate stretches of sand, before finally settling his gaze on the angry, icy sea. “Though not ideal, tactically this is smarter. During the summer there are upwards of 2 million people in this city-“

“I know, Vision.” It’s been a hard set rule of Steve’s that they avoid peak tourism seasons when determining the locations each time they move around. Arguably large crowds could provide more cover, a greater chance to blend in, but it also means more eyes and cameras that might happen to upload one of their faces to Twitter or Instagram. That doesn’t mean Steve had to send her here in November--even September or early October would have less tourists and have the added bonus of potentially being warm enough for a proper beach vacation. “I just had it all planned out and it didn’t involve freezing our asses off.”

“Well,” he removes his hand from the safety of his pocket and wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to nestle in the blissfully warm crook of his arm, “If it were warmer, what did you envision us doing?”

The images of such a dream flash through her mind, all nondescript as to the beach itself, given she had no idea where Steve would send her, but there are commonalities in all beach resort areas. “We would have woken up early,” a disbelieving wrinkle mars his forehead and she nudges him with her shoulder, “earlier than usual, at least. Maybe we’d grab breakfast and buy some snacks and then head to the beach to claim our spot before all the tourists descend.”

“So far we have been successful with your plan.”

Wanda regrets that they are outside because it means she can’t watch his irises spin in delight at the dryness of his sass, so she’ll have to settle for the slight, prideful smirk on his pale face. “Well if you want to continue with the plan, then slap on a speedo and dive right in.” The incredulous silence stretches out for several seconds. She can practically hear the gears in his eyes swishing while he figures out a response, his distaste of immodest clothing in public (for himself, personally. He believes everyone else can decide for themselves what is and is not comfortable to wear in public) is a topic they have discussed at length when she tried to get him to wear shorts over the summer. Wanda happily fills the continued silence, pushing the idea just a touch more by offering him the argument she had already crafted for his inevitable hesitation in the swimwear. “It’s what all the locals wear, you wouldn’t want to stand out.”

“I-” another long pause precedes the cautious, diplomatic cadence of his diverting words, “well it is really, um, an incredibly unfortunate happenstance for us to be here when it is so cold then.” Vision doesn’t allow room for her to comment further or persist in ribbing him on the matter. “What else, did you have in mind?”

“Well, after we had swam and enjoyed the sun,” the latter not even attempting to peek through the clouds for emphasis, instead remaining hidden in its own winter gloom, “we would walk the pier until we got to the end of it where there’s just the sea in front of us and the sun on the waves.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Wanda smiles at the warmth in his voice. “We’d watch the water, talk some more, I’d definitely kiss you-”

“That part of the plan can certainly still happen.”

“And then,” Wanda pulls her hand from its safehaven in her coat so she can wrap her arm around his waist, relishing the tightening of his grip in return, “we’d grab ice cream and go back to the hotel for some alone time before you have to leave.”

She can sense the wistfulness of his mind soaking in the imaginary sun and it almost makes the air around them feel a few degrees warmer. “Perhaps we can salvage some of it.”

“Oh?”

An enthusiastic, mesmerizing grin matches the brightness of his eyes as Vision looks down at her, “I believe there was an ice cream stand open not too far from here and,” he steps away from her and places his leather-gloved hands on her upper arms, “if I can manage to figure out the radiator, we can adjust the temperature in the room to allow for us to pretend it is summer.”

Wanda’s cheeks ache, possibly from the icy wind assaulting her face, but a more probable explanation right now would be the broadness of her smile, “Sounds perfect.”

The ice cream stand is harder to find than Vision’s plan suggested, their search leading them in a meandering labyrinth of cobbled streets and alleys as they investigate every building that has the same pink and brown ice cream cone sculpture. Eventually, after what feels like twenty stops, they come across a lone ice cream vendor.

Wanda’s image of this moment is different from reality, her memory filled with hot summer days and smiling faces handing her ice cream that’s started to ooze down the ridges of the cone, whereas the man shivering behind the glass case is mutely unimpressed by Vision’s very friendly, “ Dzień dobry*.”

A harsh, “What do you want?” is the reply. Wanda laces her fingers through Vision’s, noting the tension in his muscles and preparing for the talk they’ll have later, at how, because of his accent, among other things, he can never pass himself off as a native speaker wherever they are at. She thinks it’s kind of cute, his belief that he could ever mask his proper English accent to fit in, but she also sympathizes given her own experiences of trying (and failing) to not be an “other” in public after moving to New York.

To help with his attempts to blend in, Vision has started eating with her, treating his choices in food like he does everything else -- with a laser focus and a desire to be equitable to all options. What this invariably means is that he is about to ask about every single flavor, combo, sauce, and cone. Given Wanda already knows what she wants (it’s what she gets every time), she responds before Vision gets a chance to read any flavors, “Stracciatella.” A heaping cone is passed over the counter, her tongue happily running through the creamy, chocolate speckled heaven while her eyes turn to take in the tiny, ill-insulated building as Vision mulls over his choices.

It’s a basic ice cream store. The requisite signs about toppings and pictures of beaming beach goers in speedos (something she’ll kindly direct Vision’s attention to while they eat) lining the walls. There’s a section of the far wall with postcards and fading pictures with autographs. One catches her eye, a recollection of those faces surfacing though she can’t quite place it until she notices a melody in the air. The music is different from the usual happy, bubblegum pop of these places. The song playing from a speaker behind the glass case curves her lips up, the fast paced, punk sound unmistakable. This was one of Pietro’s favorites and she hasn’t heard it in a long time. Wanda makes a mental note to have Vision listen to Hladno Pivo later, even if he’ll dislike it, most likely critiquing the harshness of the vocals and the clashing of the instruments. “And what is this one?” Vision’s voice draws her attention back to the counter where he’s pointing at another flavor and the man, knuckles white around the ice cream scoop, is doing his best to not be annoyed at all the questions.

“ Kasztan, it’s uh,” the man waves the scoop as he searches for the word, then he snaps the fingers of his other hand, turning to Wanda, a congenial almost hopeful uptick in his voice as he switches languages, “kesten, ja?”

A tingling in her chest blooms at the question. “It’s um,” Wanda nods her head, trying to close out the song so she can focus on translating the word. “It’s,” the tingle grows into a claw, wrapping its digits around her ribs as bursts of fiery light erupt from her mind. She turns towards Vision, hoping his curious and bright eyes will do what they always do best: calm her. “It’s um chest-,” yet the words fumble out as her breath begins to fail her, the talons of remembrance puncturing her lungs,”-nut”.

Vision’s Interesting fades away, the movements of the ice cream vendor slowing as he spoons out a cone, but Wanda finds she isn’t really there anymore. Instead she is ten again, lungs spasming into coughing fits as she sucks in the fresh air. Pietro is at her side, hand clutching her own, pulling her each time he coughs to get the last of the dust from his body. You would think, after a bombing and numerous rescue missions, that someone would be helping two children in the street, and yet there are terrifying screams coming from the stretchers being carried out of the building that garner all of the attention from the medics and the bystanders. “Dođi,” Pietro tugs her hand but her feet stay firmly planted to the ground, eyes refusing to leave the hole in the building where their home used to be. “Dođi, Wanda, otišli su.**”

Eventually she budges, head hanging low as they wander the city, no one noticing them until a woman stops them several streets over. Pietro handles the conversation, Wanda’s mind far too lost to comprehend what is being said, something about if they need help or if they are hungry. Whatever is said leads to an ice cream cone shoved in her hand, her fingers begrudgingly scrunching around the paper wrapper. Why she has ice cream is a mystery, it’s not a hot day, it’s not a happy day, it’s not even a filling food after days trapped under a bed. A hand waves in front of her eyes, focusing her energy on the beaming, filthy face of Pietro, a beige hued mound of ice cream hovering at her mouth, “To je kesten***”

A frantically quiet, “Wanda?” dissolves Pietro’s smiling face.

Vision waves a hand through the air, brow etched with concern until she nods, swallowing down the rising bile at the memory, refusing to give in to it now, “Yeah?”

“Would you like to eat outside?” It’s not what he actually wants to ask her, not what is coursing through his mind or painted all over his disguised face, but to maintain their cover, it’s the best he has.

“Um,” Wanda stares at the beige ice cream cone in his hand, attempts to nod, but gets distracted by the room closing in, inch by inch, a subtle, unnerving minimizing of the space around her. A numbness spreads through her hands, one that is different than the flow of her powers, and it follows the rapid increase in her heart rate. Deep breaths should work, at least Vision always made her do it in the early days of their friendship. A steady inhale, hold for three seconds, and then an exhale. Repeat as many times as needed. Eyes, she can hear his voice in the distance, as if through a wall, need to be trained on one item. So Wanda looks straight ahead, only to see the damned cone and the trickle of ice cream oozing over the paper wrapper.

Pietro always ate his ice cream fast enough to not let it melt, no matter if they were ten, fifteen, twenty, he always ate it joyfully and quickly. And it was always the same flavor, he refused to eat any ice cream that wasn’t chestnut, they even learned which parlors carried the flavor, on which days, and who they could convince to give them either a free cone or a discounted one. He should be holding that cone right now.

The trickle of despair dripping into her soul suddenly turns into a downpour and she can feel the bullets ripping through his body, her knees ache at the cuts from when she fell--lost, confused, and angry. Years had passed, literal years without Pietro, and she had coped, survived, learned how to move on, yet she needs him back. Desperately wants that constant, to feel his mind, hold his hand. Wanda’s body starts to shake. She closes her eyes, clamping out the image of the cone, breathing in deeply again and again, though it becomes more difficult, the absence of Pietro too much, her soul torn asunder day after day after day without him. She no longer even has the Avengers, doesn’t have the compound, can’t count on Vision to always float through her wall, or get the shit beat out of her at training to distract her. The world hates her, half her former teammates hate her, she’s a wanted fugitive with no prospect of salvation. Much like when she was ten, clutching Pietro’s hand, eating ice cream. Only he’s not here anymore.

Her chest burns, breaths shallow and labored as the world seems to dissolve, the past mixing with the present, taunting her with a blank and empty future, and she can’t determine if she’s ten, if she’s falling with Sokovia, if she’s sleeping in a shelter with Pietro’s arms around her, if she’s back at the compound listening to the soothing lull of an English accent, or if she’s in Poland on a freezing day eating ice cream with her undercover boyfriend.

Only Pietro ever fully understood her when she spoke of separating from reality like this, of getting lost in the sea of memory, where each wave crashing down brings only more confusion. Wanda is falling now, a weightlessness overtaking her, and she closes her eyes as she feels her home plummet from beneath her, heart shattered and body empty, accepting her fate to join Pietro, wherever he went.

There is a feeling of movement, not of free falling, but hovering, her eyes cracking open long enough to see the world morphing around her: walls dropping away, the wind picking up around her head, stirring her hair, her legs swinging freely. There is motion and there is sound, words muffled and muddled so that she isn’t sure if people are screaming for help in the hell of flames, demanding why they are being asked to leave their homes, taunting her on the streets, calling her a criminal and a witch, or even just asking if she is okay. Her senses function like a kaleidoscope, shifting and rotating so that each combination of stimuli produces bursts of distorted experience that masks what exactly is happening or where she is. Wanda closes her eyes tighter, time slipping through her grasp, her fingers grabbing at the strands of her life, instead scrunching into the fabric of whomever is holding her-- maybe it’s Pietro, guiding her to wherever he’s been; maybe it’s Vision saving her from falling with Ultron’s carcass; maybe it’s the guards securing her after another flare up of her newly gifted powers; maybe it could even be her mother, cradling her after a night terror.

There is a chiming and then the world stops moving.

“Wanda?” A voice reaches out to her, calm though fraying at the edges. “Wanda.” Lavender fills her nose and a sweltering heat cocoons her. “Wanda, it is all right.” The ground under her sinks and creaks. Wanda flexes her fingers, digging her nails into a stiff fabric and a fluffy foundation. “Wanda, I made you tea.”  

She opens her eyes a sliver, just enough to confirm she is on a bed, noting a blurry patch of crimson not too far away. A sound attempts to come from her mouth, but her throat is parched, unwilling to function more than a croaked, “Vizh?”

A hand runs through her hair, each stroke diminishing the thoughts, bringing her back to the present. “I am here, Wanda.” It’s enough to vanquish most of the confusion, solidifying which reality she is currently in, yet still her body sinks under the weight of Pietro’s continued absence. “Do you want to discuss it?”

They established a routine in the early months of being Avengers, back when she was still figuring out who he was and what she was after everything, back before she could kiss him whenever she wanted, before she could slip into his mind at any given time, before he held her in a way that wasn’t just for comfort. It’s been a long time since they’ve used it, but clearly he remembers. Step 1: Neutralize the chance of public detection, Step 2: Utilize the calming principles of lavender and chamomile tea. Step 3: Offer to talk. “I-” Wanda tries to sit up but he lightly presses her down, crawling into the bed next to her so that their eyes are level. The gears are back, whirling in a frenzy that clashes with his overall calm demeanor. There’s so much to say, so much of it has already been said, countless times and honestly, she has no desire to talk about all of it again, can’t help but feel embarrassed at still having panic attacks like this. “Kesten was Pietro’s favorite flavor.”

“I see.” All of his empathy and apologies (ones for not being able to stop it sooner, for not being able to save Pietro, for not being able to take this pain away, for them being forced to moonlight as a couple) are wrapped into the two syllables along with a firm, nonjudgmental understanding that she doesn’t want to talk. “Would you like to try muscle relaxation?”

Wanda wants to know who all saw her attack, witnessed her crumbling facade, whether it attracted too much attention, if someone caught a picture and uploaded it somewhere. But he’s already moved them to Step 4: Regain control. Wanda decides to play along knowing there should be plenty of time to interrogate him as to what danger she placed them in. “That sounds nice.”

Unlike all the other times he did this at the compound, Vision wraps his arm around her, placing a chaste, loving kiss to her forehead before starting the process. “We will start with your hands.”

The first time he had her do this, she felt ridiculous, challenged him on it and refused for a time. Eventually he convinced her which soon transformed into her hoping he’d recommend this technique, as it allowed her more time with him and a chance to purposely place all of her attention on his voice. “Ready.”

“Focus on your fingers,” she wiggles them, brushing his stomach in the process, “I am glad you found them.” The smile is easily detected in his tone, but fades quickly as he instructs her. “Now focus on each hand individually, first squeeze your fingers into a fist, noting the tension," Wanda nestles into his chest, following his instructions, bending the fingers of her right hand into a shaking fist.  "Good, now ease your fingers open until there is no tension left.”

Her mind and powers calm as she begins to loosen the control of her grief, her fingers relaxing and dropping down one-by-one in relief. “Right hand good to go.”

A hand brushes through her hair, “Good job. Now your left hand.” She repeats the process, clenching and then unclenching her fingers, exhaling happily once both hands are resting against Vision’s body. The next step is her arms, so she starts to flex her right arm but pauses when Vision hugs her closer, drawing her forehead tenderly to his lips again. Such contact was never included in their routine, yet he seems indifferent to the change, segueing calmingly to the next part, “Well done, Wanda. Now-”

She stares into his eyes, awed at the twists and turns of life that brought this man to her and how he can so easily transition her from an all encompassing loss to the feeling of butterflies in her stomach.  “You’re changing the protocol.”

“I, um,” Vision frowns, not an upset or angry gesture, but a contemplative and shy move as he runs his fingers along her back, “thought such a gesture might aid in your relaxation. Perhaps a rewards based system of motivation.”

The timidness that fueled each touch and word in the early days of their not-quite-friendship-but-not-quite-lovers relationship has fallen away over the last year, giving way to this new, still cautious, but more confident side of Vision. Wanda grins, “I think it sounds helpful. Want to keep going?”

The half-arc of his lips is radiant, “Yes, now your arms.” He scoots away from her, leaving enough room for her to follow his instructions, “tighten your right bicep, drawing your forearm up.”

“Welcome to the gun show, Vizh.” It’s a joke he didn’t comprehend the first five times she used it, but now he simply smiles, head shaking as he watches her flex her muscles before releasing her arm to lay back down along her side. Then she repeats the action, and the joke, on the other side before Vision moves back, their chests touching as he lays another kiss on her forehead. “Next?”

They move through her body, his even commands guiding her to raise her shoulders up to touch her ears and then lower them into a peaceful state. He kisses her forehead with another “Good job.” Wanda sucks in a deep breath, creating tension in her lungs, only this time it’s under her control and Vision’s supervision, not a sense of gasping but a sense of order, her breath releasing against his face, causing him to blink rapidly before bestowing her reward. Her stomach collapses in and then expands out in time with his voice, only she pushes it farther than she's supposed to, bumping him with her body which leads to a quiet laugh as he kisses her again. “Lastly, Wanda," Vision holds her close, their foreheads touching as he talks, "squeeze your left thigh and curl your toes, then release.” Wanda sighs as she finishes the exercise, body sinking into the mattress, not because of grief anymore, but a sense serenity and contentment.  

Several minutes pass in silence, only the slight buzz from the radiator and the even rhythm of Vision’s breathing filling the air around her with a pleasing warmth. Having allowed her time to bask in her relaxation, Vision tiptoes into his next comment, “I am sorry.”

“For what?”

He shifts slightly, the springs complaining until he settles, lips pursed and eyes twisting in anxiety, “That the day did not match your expectations.”

None of her beachy daydreams included this moment, this is undoubtedly true, yet Wanda finds herself content to be wrapped in his arms, cuddled close on a freezing day. “It’s not your fault, Vizh. The day wasn’t horrible.”

“Not horrible is a poor benchmark for a day when we get so few together.”

Wanda grins at him, freeing her left arm from his embrace enough to draw her hand down his face, watch as his eyes flutter shut at the touch. For all that she has lost, all that she will lose in the future, she’s overjoyed that amongst all of that she has found him. “Well, there’s still time for you to fix the radiator and slap on a speedo.” He kisses her, stifling her laugh and distracting her from the world and all its cruelties for just a bit longer.

*Dzień dobry:  Good afternoon ** Dođi. Dođi, Wanda, otišli su: Come on. Come on Wanda, they’re gone. *** To je kesten: it’s chestnut!

#sve2018 #scarletvisionexchange2018 #scarlet vision #wanda maximoff #vision #mcu #angst and fluff #pinch hitter #mine #ao3

[shooter-nobunagun]

[There is a point, a singularity where it all begins and then the path splits into innumerable different roads...]

[What happens in ‘to the beginning’, it all starts here. But as for which path will be the ultimate outcome...you will have to decide for yourself.]

“Jack-san! Hurry, your son’s just been born!” The nurse on duty rushed out of the sliding doors as he strode into the hall, sliding the final locks of his gear in place.

Good. He’d made it just in time.

“Came in at 7.4 pounds, only half an hour of labor and with a full head of hair already! It’s blonde right now, but it’ll probably darken later on,” the head nurse chatted away cheerfully, but he barely heard her comments; they were irrelevant after all, when he could just see the child for himself.

“—Aah, and our new father has arrived! Gud timing, tha’s fer sure. Congratulations, Adam.” A hearty clap from the Scottish man who’d been there to assist, only just returned with the slightest of nods because there was only one—no, two people now were the only things that mattered—

“Oh, look who’s here...” She was as exhausted as he’d ever seen her, but her face couldn’t be more proud. His beautiful wife Sio Ogura, codename “Nobunagun”, lay there with her hair spread in a messy halo, the crying newborn cradled softly against her chest. “Look, it’s tou-san...” Gently she lifted the baby towards him, who started fussing and squirming and wondering who this stranger was carrying him away.

“I...hello there...” He could hardly breathe, unsure of anything or what to even say—but the swell of pride in his chest and the beginnings of that deep, inexplicable bond of parental love—that was something he could understand, and embrace. This was his child—their child; all theirs, something special made just by the two of them. “Aren’t you something else...”

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he? His eyes are just like yours, you know.” A tired but proud voice from her as he softly stroked his son’s fine hair and peered at those emeralds that, one day, would look the same as his. “I can’t believe he’s here…”

“I can hardly believe it myself,” he murmured, blinking rapidly because his eyes were getting moist. “Sio…you did great, love…”

She sighed contentedly as he returned the baby to its mother, who proceeded to squirm and root around for her nipple. “Oh! I guess he’s hungry already...” Smiling, she shed the top half of her robe and the infant latched on, suckling noisily.

“He’s a smart one, tha’s fer sure. Oy Adam, surely ye can stay a wee bit longer? Don’t hear Geronimo paging fer ye over the system yet...”

“I…” He was supposed to shake his head no, and gently but firmly inform everyone, his wife included, that he had to leave soon; Geronimo was already waiting at the drop pod’s entrance, and this mission could not be delayed any further. And yet he just stood there, nodding wordlessly for a second, before leaning down and giving his newborn son the smallest of kisses on his tiny head, before sweeping Sio up into a full, warm kiss. “I love you…both of you…” Warmth, pride and most of all an overwhelming feeling of love; love and affection towards his wife, the protective love of a father towards his child, and the love and gratitude from his friends and family who were there to help support them through all this.

“I love you too, Adam…I know it’s cheesy, but I can’t remember being happier…he’s so perfect…” She lay buried against his chest, both of them watching their baby peacefully as he nursed.

In this moment, it was hard for Adam to comprehend they were still fighting. That in fact, outside of this sheltered little haven, the world was not at peace; indeed, the war that led them to meet in the first place was still raging, more terrible than ever. It had only been the longest of odds that allowed him to be present for the birth of his son, rather than swept onto the battlefield as they’d originally planned. Even as Hunter strode over to open the window for a touch of fresh air, the icy hail greeting them was indicative of the harsh reality of their fortress’s chosen path.

The Alex Logan, their home-away-from-home for many years now, battling through a fierce snowstorm as it crossed over the Arctic circle along its route. Still, despite the harsh weather it was one of the few places left that afforded them some measure of safety, even in the air. The Alaskan wilderness had reported disturbing activity through the frozen ground itself—and as much as Geronimo despised the cold, she and Jack were the only ones who had enough strength and the right weapons to hack through a battlefield of ice.

“Mmmnn…Adam, you really have to go?” Hazy maroons glanced upwards, but he kissed them shut. “I know…Geronimo’s probably blowing a gasket right about now…”

“Heh; let me handle her, love. I’ll be fine.” As he reluctantly got up from the warmth of their embrace, the reality of his mission came flooding back in the form of adrenaline. Despite Geronimo’s seniority, he was the field commander for this mission, with the leader of the First Platoon as his second. Years of competitive rivalry had somewhat mellowed out into a utilitarian, if not friendly, professional relationship. Still, Adam knew he’d never hear the end of it if he was late—and Geronimo was always punctual.

“Say good-bye to tou-san for now, okay? Don’t worry, he’ll be back…won’t he?” Those maroon orbs cast an enigmatic shadow over her face; worried, but trying her best to remain hopeful, to remain calm and let him focus on the battle at hand without worrying about them.

“Of course, Sio. You know I’ll be fine; especially with Geronimo, we can handle whatever’s down there.” It felt at that moment he was invincible, even though Galileo had warned him there was a very real chance whatever was causing the signals was entirely unknown, and more than likely extremely dangerous. But in the warmth of his new family it was hard to see beyond that sphere, of the real world that lay outside this steel fortress.

“Be careful out there, mate. I mean it.” As he secured the final parts of his suit, Hunter came up to him looking as serious as he’d ever appeared. “This ain’t just some gung-ho, kill count free-for-all anymore—ye’ve got more than jus’ one t’ live fer, now.”

Click. The steel in his emeralds sent a shiver down even Hunter’s spine. “Don’t worry, Hunter. I know...believe me, I know it now, more than ever...”

And still he felt no fear; Nightingale chastised him for being overconfident and warned him hubris was just as deadly was cowardice, but he ignored her. There was no way...no way he’d let his child grow up without a father, without parents. Even if this war would consume the rest of their lives, he and Sio had agreed to do everything they could to raise a family, as best they could.

He was supposed to go, but only one step forward before he turned heel and, not even caring the room was full of hospital staff and Hunter, swept Sio into a full, passionate kiss; a little deeper and hungrier than would be proper for public eyes, but nothing could shake him right now. “I promise, I’ll be back just fine,” he whispered, before kissing her eyelids, one at a time, and then one final brush on his son’s forehead. “Wait for me, loves.”

“Adam...be careful...and come back to us. We’ll be waiting...” A single tear slid down but he wiped that up before it even fell. “Please...”

“Of course. I promise.” And then he proceeded to climb out the window, much to everybody’s surprise.

“Uh, Adam? Drop pod’s down the hall, unless there’s some new procedure I’m not aware of...”

“Oh, I know.” Shrugging nonchalantly, he spread those enormous razor-tinged wings, yet white feathers still fell to the ground like snow. “But I figured, this way Geronimo won’t be chewing my ear off about how I’m late.” 

With a final salute, he casually fell out backwards, before spreading his wings and meeting up with the drop pod just as it was about to begin the launch sequence.

“About damn time! I was starting to think I’d have to handle this frozen mess on my own, Jack.” There was an irritated glare as the short-haired woman snapped her pocket watch shut, slipping it back inside her suit. “I know your wife just gave birth, and congrats and all, but did you really have to cut it so close?!”

Adam could only shrug helplessly, that grin still lingering on his face. “Sorry Geronimo, but I did make it before the launch, as I said I would...”

“Pfft yeah, 10 seconds is a real margin.”

“Better than 0.1 second.”

“Whatever. Just strap in, Alaska’s not gonna save itself...that frozen piece of shit...” Still, he knew she wasn’t really mad at him. A birth from one of their own had been the talk of the entire organization ever since Sio became pregnant nine months ago, and now with his son’s arrival at last, he was sure there was bound to be some sort of celebration—which he would miss, but that wasn’t the important part.

“So, do we know anything else about this ‘mysterious’ Object?”

“Jack the Ripper, Geronimo, launch sequence will begin in T minus 10, 9, 8...”

“Nope. Don’t have a damn clue still. But hey, when has that ever stopped you...”

“Isn’t that my line?”

“—4, 3, 2—”

“Look Jack,” and she turned to look at him square in the eye, “just don’t go and do something stupid that’ll require me to haul your ass back, or worse, your corpse. And I’m not just saying this because Nobunagun’ll turn me into Swiss cheese if that happens—you’re a father now. You’re responsible for more than just your own life. So don’t fuck it up, got it?”

He grinned, that smile crossing from excitement into bloodlust as the pod began its acceleration. “Geronimo, mate...I don’t think you’ll have anything to worry about...except how many of those creatures you can slay today.”

“Oh, I think that would be your problem, Jack.”

"...So, first to 100? Loser buys the winner a round?”

She licked her lips and both of them stared at each other with rather psychotic grins. “Sure, Jackie-boy. Just remember, this was your idea.”

“Of course, of course...”

Some things never changed; the rivalry between him and Geronimo, that would probably go down until the end of time. But other things, like his new family...

‘Sio, I promise I’ll be back, safe and sound. This is only the beginning, after all...of the next chapter in our lives.’

Nothing would happen to them; he would make sure of that. No matter what came at them, or what foreboding visions Nightingale might have hinted at, he didn’t believe them—couldn’t believe them. For he was Adam Muirhead, the reincarnation of one Jack the Ripper and Florence Nightingale, and she was Sio Ogura, the reborn soul of the infamous warlord Oda Nobunaga. And nothing could stand in their way when they were together, not even fate.

Ah...but you know, even my powers cannot predict the future...so let it be said, that no matter what may come your way, you must be the ones to hold onto that hope...for at each starting point, there will forever be an innumerable number of paths that you might take...

#documentation #to the beginning #//SO #//i wasn't entirely truthful #//this is posted after the epilogue #//but on purpose #//i actually wrote it out long before the story finished #//call it stylistic choice

[helplesslyinlovewithcharacters]

For the Good Times - Bruce Wayne x Reader

My stomach churned as I pressed the button that would take me to the penthouse, Bruce's penthouse. I wished the lift was slower so I could have longer to collect my thoughts and tame the shaking of my limbs. Weeks had passed since I'd last been here, I was too heartbroken to collect my belongings any sooner, the weight of our separation weighing me down as my brain had tried to convince itself that the relationship wasn't over and that we'd be okay. The harsh reality of the situation was the Bruce had ended our time as a couple and Alfred had called to say I could collect my things, making the decision for me.

The door dinged open, revealing Bruce's gorgeous apartment. The warm light of summer cast the room into a soft glow of soothing shades. Upon hearing the doors open, Alfred approached me, opening his arms as a form of greeting. I wrapped my arms around the butler, grateful of the comfort he was providing.

"Good afternoon, Miss (y/n)" His smile was warm but I could still detect the pity in his eyes.

"Hi Alfred, how have you been?" My words were overly cheerful trying to hide the fact that just being in the apartment was draining my energy as I tried desperately to keep the memories of Bruce and I at bay.

"Very good, Miss. Busy as always" He let out a soft chuckle before his voice took on a more remorseful tone "Master Bruce wouldn't let me touch anything, just said that you could take whatever you wanted"

I smiled bitterly, the only thing I wanted wasn't in the apartment, it was at Wayne Enterprises pretending to earn a living. But I nodded my head politely and uttered a thank you before turning to walk towards the bedroom we'd once shared.

I cautiously opened the door with trembling fingers, flashes of mornings spent wrapped in each other's embrace and nights spent talking about anything and everything flooded my mind. My eyes squeezed shut as I left out a shuddering breath. Forcing my feet to move forward, I picked up the bag Alfred had set out on the bed and began to pack my clothes up. I knelt down by the dresser, carefully pulling a drawer open. There were more clothes than I'd expected, a wave of pain crashing into my chest as I realised how much time I'd spent here and how it had all gone to waste. I was emptying the draw Bruce had given to me, a small smile cracking the pained expression on my face when I remembered how nervous he'd been about it.

"Baby, have you seen the shirt I left here last week?" Bruce emerged from the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging from his mouth and only a towel covering his sculpted waist. He slowly removed the toothbrush before rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the floor. For once in his life, Bruce Wayne looked nervous.

"It's-uh-its in the middle drawer" I raised an eyebrow at him, confused by his odd behaviour.

"Why's it in a drawer, I always leave my clothes on the chair in the corner?" Bruce's bare feet shifted on the floor, his hand returning to his neck.

"I just thought-uh-y'know you stay here a lot and leave a lot of stuff so you should-uh-should have a draw" A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth, warmth spreading across my body. Before Bruce could react I'd wrapped my arms around his shoulders, gently pulling his head down, our lips connecting. I whispered a thank you, our lips brushing. He tried to pull me closer only for me to jump away from him.

"Eww, you're all wet!" He chuckled darkly, a mischievous look flashing in his eyes before he began to chase me around the room....

My vision turned misty, the happy memories causing the knot in my stomach to pull tighter. When I reached for another piece of clothing my hands pulled out an old faded t-shirt. The fabric was soft and thin from age but that didn't stop it from feeling as warm as a hug when I'd worn it. It was Bruce's, making it big enough to swallow my shoulders and cover half of my thighs. He used to pretend to get angry when I stole his shirts but when he'd given me the draw there was a pile of them neatly tucked into the corner. I resisted the temptation to lift the top to my nose, craving Bruce's comforting scent that never failed to make me feel safe and protected. I knew it would be wrong to take them, despite my desperation to, I reluctantly closed the drawer, replacing the t-shirt, leaving the rest of them untouched.

Rising from my knees I surveyed the top of the dresser. I was shocked to discover he hadn't thrown away the pictures of us, I figured it was only a matter of time before they would be discarded and replaced by photos of some one new. I gingerly picked up my favourite, debating whether or not to take it. We were smiling in the picture, our noses red from the cold. We'd been ice skating when Bruce had decided it was the perfect time for a photo. My cheeks had been sore from laughing at my clumsy movements on the skates when he'd pulled me to his side, placing his smiling lips to my hairline before taking the picture. With tears slowly making their way down my face I placed the photo in the bag, deciding it wouldn't be missed by Bruce.

My eyes scanned the room one last time, having collected my toiletries and other possessions that were littered around the bedroom. They landed on the small record player that was settled next to the chair in the corner. I had few records whereas Alfred had taught Bruce to love them dearly. My feet carried me to the player before I could stop them. My heart stopped once I recognised the record sat in the player, it was one of mine. I started the record, "For the Good Times" by Al Green filling the room with soft but sorrowful music. I retreated to the chair, my legs unable to support myself as sobs racked my body.

"Why are we listening to this?" Bruce's tone clearly displayed his displeasure about my choice of music.

"Because it's beautiful"

"It's depressing, just listen to the words" His annoyance only served to amuse me.

"That's what makes it beautiful, he's expressing his heartbreak and desperation"

Bruce scoffed "What part of that isn't depressing?"

"Oh shut up and come here" He slowly rose to his feet, shaking his head stubbornly when I attempted to get him to dance with him. I kept my arms wrapped securely wrapped around his neck, pushing out my bottom lip.

"No" He tried to appear stern but there was laughter evident in his tone.

"Pleease" He shook his head again, laughter shaking his shoulders. I pushed onto my tiptoes, placing soft kisses over his jaw and face, muttering pleases in between. I smiled triumphantly as I felt his arms snake around my waist and his strong body begin to guide us around the room.

"Okay," His voice was scarcely more than a whisper as he buried his head in my neck. We danced until the song came to an end, Bruce slowly raised his head. Love arranging his features into an adoring smile.

"You have me wrapped around your little finger" He joked.

I beamed at him, my expression mirroring his....

"(Y/n)?" The question was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. My head shot up, my eyes were met by Bruce's. His eyes were watery and surrounded by dark circles, his tired body frozen in the doorframe. I abruptly rose to my feet, frantically trying to wipe the tears from my eyes.

"Bruce-hi...I-uh-came to get my stuff. Sorry, I didn't m-mean to take so long" My voice shook with pain. He cleared his throat, trying to reduce its sudden tightness.

"S'okay..I came back early, ran out of work to pretend to do" He attempted to smile at his words but it transformed into a pained grimace when he saw the bag at my feet.

"(Y/n)-" He couldn't finish his sentence, his constricted throat not allowing it.

"I-I should go-"

"No-please! Stay, just for a little while?" My body started to shake from exhaustion and the pain that was torturing my body.

"Bruce, I can't"

"Yes you can, baby, please" He choked out.  My eyes snapped to his at the pet name, a blush flooded his cheeks when he realised his mistake. I was stuck in place, trying not to notice the agony in his eyes and the way his body was quivering.

"(Y/n)-I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. Do you need help with anything?" A sad smile graced my face, I shook my head, unable to bear Bruce's kindness. My fingers wrapped around the handle, tenderly picking up the bag before moving towards the door.

I'd almost made it when Bruce put his arm out to stop me. His eyes were squeezed shut as a sob erupted from his chest.

"Please-just for a moment, pretend that you love me and-and just stay with me" My heart shattered, seeing Bruce in pain only served to increase mine. I gently wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and pressed my face into his chest. His warm scent coaxed me into a sense of safety and comfort. His arms held my waist so tightly it was almost painful. I raised my head, our lips pressing together in a desperate and pain filled kiss. Both of us trying to hold onto the remains of our relationship.

"I would never have to pretend, Bruce" His body trembled against mine, unable to hide his torment.

"Don't say things you don't mean" Bruce groaned, separating himself from me.

"I mean it, Bruce"

"No…you hate me, you said you didn't want to be near me anymore" It was then I realised how much my angered words had affected him, he didn't see that they were just impulsive words filled with rage, not my true feelings. His fear of isolation had only fuelled his insecurities.

"Bruce, baby, I didn't mean it. You know that I was just angry that you wanted to end us over something as stupid as a forgotten date" My voice had taken on a pleading tone, I was desperate for him to see the truth in my words. His eyes met mine, a glimmer of hope shining through the sadness.

"I was scared when you forgot about the date-I'd received threats on your life and when you didn't show-" He was barely able to continue, "I thought something had happened and then I was so scared…I thought the only way I could keep you safe was by distancing myself from you" He rubbed his neck before continuing.

"Which seems really stupid now. God, (y/n) I'm so sorry, please can we go back to how we were?"

I released a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding, all of the pain seeped out of my body being replaced by happiness because the man I loved still loved me back. I knew I should be angry but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"I love you, you idiot" His head shot up, his eyes met by my beaming smile.

"I love you too" Though his eyes still looked tired his body was relieved of the guilt he'd been carrying, becoming relaxed.

"Good, now you can unpack my stuff for me" A smirk settled on my face as I watched his form into an expression of shock. We both began to laugh as we embraced each other, happy to be back in each other's arms.

#batman #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #batman x reader #bruce wayne one shot #batman one shot #bruce wayne angst #batman angst

[animalsoffarmsanctuary]

Happy Year of the Rooster!

It’s Chinese New Year — and this year, we’ve all got something to crow about! This is the Year of the Rooster — a time to honor our feathered friends and all we can learn from them.

Chinese New Year offers a wonderful opportunity to make new beginnings, celebrate the individuals and experiences that are important to us, and value the ways in which we may grow when we empathize with those around us. Whether or not you were born in the Year of the Rooster, there is so much that we can all learn from these often-misunderstood animals, and so many positive qualities that we can appreciate in them and emulate in our own lives.

Rod Stewart is known for his dancing skills!

According to the Chinese zodiac, people born in the Year of the Rooster are loyal, outgoing, dedicated, and beautiful – and these qualities extend to our galline counterparts, who can inspire us to take charge of our lives and deepen our sense of self-worth. Roosters feel that it is important to be heard — and thanks to support from friends like you, we can tell the world how magnificent they truly are when we take the time to listen.

Sadly, roosters often don’t get the credit — or respect — they deserve. They often find themselves cast aside by humans — viewed as nuisances, or unwanted because, unlike their female counterparts, they can’t lay eggs.

In fact, we receive more calls asking for help rehoming roosters than any other placement request — at least one inquiry each and every day. And unfortunately, there are more roosters in need than there are homes for them.

Feisty, charming Li Mu Bai exploring at our Southern California Shelter.

But you can be a compassionate voice for roosters this year by helping to spread the word that every one of them is someone, not something. When people take the time to get to know roosters as individuals, they can come to admire their bold confidence, protective nature, and proud individuality.

Unfortunately, many roosters’ lives follow one of two tragic trajectories: being raised for meat, or born into and discarded by the egg industry (depending upon his breed). In either case, he is denied the chance to grow up and enjoy the rich, fulfilling life he has the potential to lead. When granted the freedom to live life on their own terms, however, it is inspiring to watch roosters confidently greet each day as the beautiful gift it is. Their admirable spirit is something we can all embrace as we welcome the Year of the Rooster!

Handsome Luther always makes his voice heard.

Roosters love to be seen, heard, and admired, but sadly, most of them live their lives without ever really being seen at all.

Cornish-breed chickens, called “broilers” in the industry, make up the vast majority of all farm animals who are raised and slaughtered for food; the meat industry sends 8.8 billion chickens to slaughter annually in the U.S. alone. Typically raised on factory farms, these birds are locked away from public view — meaning that the average person never sees the deplorable ways in which they are treated.

So-called “broiler” chickens on a factory farm.

These animals are selectively bred and fed to grow at alarming rates, reaching their “slaughter weight” of about five to six pounds in just 42 days. Shockingly, these terrified, fragile beings are still peeping like the babies they are at the time they are sent to slaughter. Instead of finding safety and comfort under their mothers’ wings, they are crammed into filthy, warehouse-like buildings among thousands of other birds. Many experience ailments including heart and lung problems, and their legs and bodies break down from their unnaturally massive size.

The dashing Mo Justice.

For most roosters who are killed for food, life will end at an industrial slaughter facility. But others find themselves at live markets — businesses where customers may pick out a live animal who is then slaughtered onsite. Our friend Mo Justice, now a resident of our New York Shelter, likely escaped from one of New York City’s many live markets. But unlike the countless roosters who meet their end at these facilities, this resourceful boy escaped and now serves as an ambassador for others just like him.

In late 2015, Sgt. Anthony Egan was patrolling a Brooklyn neighborhood when he spotted Mo Justice, alone and in distress. Mo was ill, weak, and on the verge of death. Sgt. Egan’s heart went out to him and was determined to help. 

A proud Sgt. Egan with his rescued pal. 

Thanks to a team of compassionate friends, Mo was able to make his way to Farm Sanctuary. Here, Mo has recovered — and blossomed. He carefully watches out for the ladies in his new flock, and they are quite taken with their handsome suitor!

Mo with his lady friends. 

As consumers become more aware of the harsh realities of the meat, egg, and dairy industries, many have begun to seek out animal products that come from smaller farms that are presented as “humane” alternatives. They hope that the animals on these farms enjoy a greater quality of life and care, with more space and a higher level of individualized attention. Unfortunately, these ideals are often far from the truth — we’ve witnessed all too many cases of cruelty, neglect, and lack of care on such farms. And even in the best-case scenario, where animals are raised according to the most “humane” standards, there is nothing humane about killing an individual who wants to live.

Baba Ghanoush rooster visiting with new friends: young turkey poults!

Present-day agriculture has industrialized reproduction and child-rearing — perhaps the most natural processes on earth. Roosters, when allowed to live life on their own terms, are fiercely protective of their hens and do everything in their power to keep their flock safe, and hens establish relationships with their chicks even before they hatch. But sadly, most chickens — hens and roosters alike — are prevented from experiencing these natural bonds, and are instead separated from the individuals they would hold dear if they had the chance.

Today, no matter where they end up, nearly all chicks begin their lives in hatcheries. Eggs are artificially incubated and hatched; chicks never get to experience the warmth of their mothers’ bodies. 

In the egg industry, female chicks are wanted; males are not. While still just fragile babies, chicks are sorted by sex — and it is at this point that most layer-breed roosters’ lives end before they truly begin. 

Since roosters cannot lay eggs, they are considered useless by the egg industry. And because birds from egg-laying breeds do not grow as large as the Cornish birds who are typically used in the meat industry, meat producers wouldn’t want to take on the egg industry’s unwanted male chicks because raising them wouldn’t make sense for their bottom line. Therefore, these male babies are typically treated no better than trash, ground up in macerators while fully conscious, placed against electrified “kill plates,” or gassed.

But since the process of sexing chicks is often quick and inaccurate, some young roosters are mistaken for females and thus avoid this fate. Such was the case for Judd and Jackson, who are likely Miller’s Champion Brown Leghorns, a type of chicken that is bred to produce large quantities of eggs. Treated the same way as the hens they had been mistaken for, they were debeaked in preparation for a brief life of confinement, in an effort to prevent them from harming other birds out of frustration.

Judd exploring at our Southern California Shelter.

Eventually, however, their true identities were discovered. Considered to be of no further use since they couldn’t lay eggs, the boys were packed in tightly among thousands of “spent” hens who were sent to be slaughtered as part of a religious ceremony. But luck was on Judd and Jackson’s side once again, when they were rescued by activists and brought to Farm Sanctuary. Today, they serve as ambassadors for the countless males who sadly do not make it out of the egg industry alive.

Jackson enjoying a nice day in the courtyard.

It’s clear that roosters born into the world of industrial meat and egg production are treated inhumanely. But what about the birds who reside in more “humane” homes, such as backyard hobby flocks? While their circumstances may appear brighter, their lives typically begin in a similar way to their brothers who are raised for meat on factory farms or born into the egg industry.

Most chicks sold to backyard hobbyists are born in hatcheries and are shipped through the mail, either directly to buyers or to places such as feed stores that then resell them to the public. Baby birds shipped through the mail may travel without food, water, and protection for days at a time. And since backyard flock keepers typically want hens who will lay eggs, males are often unwanted in these situations as well. In many cases, male chicks who are inaccurately sexed are sold as females to unsuspecting buyers, who have a rude awakening when they later discover that one or more of their “hens” is actually male. In other cases, male chicks are purposely included to serve as “packing material” for the more financially valuable females before they, too, are discarded. Many, sadly, do not even survive the journey.

Weechee and his best rooster pal Widdle were sold to their former guardian with the assurance that they were female. Fortunately, we were able to take them in at our New York Shelter. These pranksters delight us with their vibrant personalities and always keep us on our toes.

Even the most well-intentioned hobbyists, who want only the best for the birds in their care, can be faced with a difficult dilemma if a flock member turns out to be a rooster. Many municipalities forbid residents from keeping roosters, leaving their guardians with little choice but to get rid of them. Sadly, many roosters in this situation end up abandoned or killed — some wind up in shelters, where euthanasia rates are high, while others are killed by predators or die because they are unable to adequately fend for themselves.

King and Stephen draw plenty of attention from sanctuary visitors, who are enamored by their rock-star “hairdos” and even bigger rock-star personalities! 

The story of Stephen and King, named for the author, could have ended in horror — but instead, they are enjoying their happily-ever-afters at Farm Sanctuary’s Southern California Shelter. One morning, we found the brothers and four other fancy-breed roosters in a cardboard box at our shelter gate. While we can’t know their exact origin, the logical assumption is that they were sold as females to a guardian who either didn’t want or was prohibited from keeping roosters. 

Hansel survived the cruelty of cockfighting.

Some roosters find themselves in need despite having well-meaning guardians. But others are raised by people who treat them cruelly on purpose. Farm Sanctuary residents Derek Zoolander and Hansel came to us after a cockfighting bust and now inspire us with their ability to move beyond the trauma in their past. While both bear physical scars from their cockfighting days — they are missing the majority of their combs and wattles, removed by their former “owners” — they now have the chance to live their lives in peace. In their case, because they were not able to live with each other or other birds, they have each found companionship with friends from other species!

Derek Zoolander’s story.

These days, Derek enjoys living and protecting his new goat friends Marcia and Maurice, while Hansel feels at home with pals Timi, Mason, and Topanga sheep and Clarke and Kent goats. The boys love chaperoning their new interspecies flocks, and we are thrilled that they are finally free to be the protective, loving boys they long had the potential to be!

Bean always has the best interests of his flock at heart.

Roosters are very protective; for some, like Derek Zoolander and Hansel, that means looking out for goats and sheep, but a more common living arrangement sees roosters protecting the lady friends in their flocks. 

The ever-vigilant Milo Gibson.

Farm Sanctuary residents Bean and Milo Gibson — who live at our Northern California and New York shelters, respectively — are always looking out for their girls and give loud warning squawks when they spy anything that looks amiss. Both boys are very chivalrous and treat their girls with care and respect. During mealtimes, for example, Milo alerts the girls and lets them feast first before joining in himself. And Bean has an adorable habit of holding treats, such as cranberries and grapes, in his beak for his hen friends to take and enjoy. When given the opportunity, roosters will do everything in their power to keep their hens happy, healthy, and safe. Their loyalty and spunk is much to be admired — and at Farm Sanctuary, we are happy to witness manifestations of this love each day.

Milo and his ladies.

Despite all the difficulties that roosters face — no matter the industry they’re born into — it’s incredible to discover just how unique, relatable, and inspiring they truly are. We can learn so much from these special birds (and honor the “roosters” in ourselves) when we put compassion first. 

If you’re interested in welcoming a rooster into your home and heart — and have the time, ability, resources, and rooster-friendly zoning necessary to properly care for one — please consider becoming a member of our Farm Animal Adoption Network. For those who aren’t prepared to adopt a rooster, it’s easy and fun to support a feathered friend from afar through our Adopt a Farm Animal Program.

Please join us as we welcome the Year of the Rooster and celebrate the incredible qualities that these very special birds possess. With your support, we may usher in a new year for roosters and all farm animals — and we are incredibly thankful for your support in making their new lives at sanctuary possible. Together, we can continue to promote compassionate vegan living through rescue, education, and advocacy efforts. A compassionate world — and year — begins with you!

#year of the rooster #roosters #chinese new year #birds #chickens