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five-rivers · 3 years

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Solutions to Nonlinear Equations

For @currentlylurking for the Phic Phight. :)

“Ancients, Vlad. I’m not rejecting you because I’m a rebellious teenager and you’re an adult, I’m rejecting you because you’re incredibly creepy.”

Vlad sniffed in what he hoped was an aristocratic manner and raised an eyebrow, minutely adjusting his grip on Daniel to keep him pinned to the floor.

“We’re human-ghost hybrids, Daniel. I’d hoped that you’d have realized by now that we are meant to be ‘creepy.’”

Daniel squirmed and began to mutter into the carpet. “Clockwork never acts like this, I’m fine with him—”

Vlad pulled back as if burned. He hadn’t heard that name in—in—

In a long time.

Years.

The thought was almost expelled from his head when Daniel managed to elbow him in the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. Before he knew it, Daniel had slipped from his grasp and zoomed away.

Whatever aspersions Vlad cast on Daniel’s mastery of his ghostly abilities, the boy was fast. When he put his mind to escaping instead of picking a fight, he managed it more often than not, to Vlad’s great frustration. Hence Vlad’s usual strategy of needling the younger half-ghost until fighting was the only thing on Daniel’s mind.

He set down on a nearby roof. There went his plans for the day. Which, admittedly, had consisted of distracting Daniel while his ghostly minions set up a nasty surprise for him at the school, hence making him fail his test, which would, in turn, convince Maddie and Jack to let Vlad set Daniel up with a tutor, something he had suggested to them earlier, and—

Well. Daniel would find them, now, no doubt.

Ah, well.

He had more important things on his mind, now. Such as, how in two worlds did Daniel know Clockwork? Because Daniel never just said things like that. He barely knew anything about ghost culture. He wouldn’t know to bring up obscure, secretive, ghost historical figures. He wouldn’t know what that particular name would mean to Vlad.

Tongues of fire flared out of his fingers, bringing a measure of stability to the gyrations of his core and his emotions.

Daniel knew Clockwork. And, it seemed, met him with some regularity. Enough for him to compare his actions to Vlad’s.

Would that ghost never be satisfied with ruining Vlad’s life? Was he not satisfied with—

He cut off the thought, shaking his head. Never mind that.

What Vlad needed to do was find Clockwork. Which meant inducing Danny to go to him at a time when Vlad when Vlad could follow. Which meant determining when he had visited Clockwork in the past. An undertaking to be sure.

He closed his eyes and teleported to his lab beneath his mansion.

“Maddie!” he called out, even before his body had fully reformed.

The hologram flickered to life with a faint crackled from the projector. “What is it, sugarpie?” it asked with a smile.

“Review the audio recordings from Fentonworks,” ordered Vlad. “Search for the term ‘Clockwork.’ Report findings to me.”

“Sure thing, honey!”

Vlad had to review the cheerfulness settings on the Maddie program. Maddie was upbeat, but not that upbeat. This was almost sickly sweet.

He threw himself into a nearby chair.

Clockwork. He thought he’d never hear that name again. Not after he’d been literally and figuratively ghosted by him.

He telekinetically pulled a book off his shelf. He ran his fingers over the leather tooling on the cover. The book had been given to him by Clockwork, years ago, when he was still in that hospital.

Clockwork had been the one to first show him the Ghost Zone, and all the wonders in it. Clockwork had been his friend, his only friend, through that long, agonizing hospital stay. He had been supportive, wonderful, kind. He visited often, though not on a regular schedule. He’d helped Vlad ride out the waves of misery and anger that so often threatened to overwhelm him.

Then, without warning, nothing.

No goodbye. The last time he left, he had even said something along the lines of ‘see you soon,’ although the memory was frayed from age and Vlad could no longer recall the exact words. For a long time, Vlad had worried something disastrous had happened to Clockwork. But then he had finally managed to build his own portal, reach the Ghost Zone under his own power, and, according to every search he did, every line of inquiry that bore fruit, Clockwork was just fine.

Vlad had been furious. He had been betrayed. He had spent the better half of a decade trying to plot revenge against Clockwork, before realizing that was akin to plotting revenge against a god and turning his sights to a more manageable target.

Now…

Now, Vlad just wanted answers. Both as to the reason behind his abandonment and as to why Clockwork was apparently repeating history with Daniel.

“Sweetie pie,” said the hologram, with a chime, “audio processing complete. There are over ninety-nine instances where the word ‘clockwork’ is mentioned. Would you like to play the selected files?”

“Yes,” said Vlad. “Include the video portions where available, and the thirty seconds immediately prior to and following the mention.”

He turned his attention to the nearest screen. He had a lot of videos to watch.

There was an envelope pinned to it. It was sealed with wax, impressed with the image of a pocket watch and the initials CW. Vlad attempted, and failed, to suppress the growl that grew in the back of his throat. Was this a joke to Clockwork?

He tore the envelope from the screen, ripped it open with equal viciousness, and began to read.

Three cups sat on the tea service tray next to the teapot.

“Are you expecting someone else,” asked Danny, “or am I going to break one of these?”

Clockwork chuckled as he began to pour the tea. “The former,” he said. “Although you may always surprise me with the latter.”

He handed Danny his cup. Danny inhaled deeply. It smelled sweet. “What is it?” he asked.

“A chamomile blend,” said Clockwork. “For calm.”

“I think Sam drinks chamomile before she goes to bed,” observed Danny, offhandedly. “Who’s coming?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Danny made a face. “Do you have to be mysterious all—”

The front door of Clockwork’s lair slammed open, and Danny jolted forward in alarm – the only people who regularly did that were the Observants, who didn’t much care for Danny – but Clockwork put a steadying hand on his shoulder and rewound his tea into his cup.

“Clockwork!” came the expected yell. The yeller, however…

“Is that Vlad?” asked Danny, not quite scandalized, but more than a little surprised.

“Why, yes,” said Clockwork.

“Did you – Clockwork, did you invite him here?”

“Other than the Observants,” said Clockwork, “no one can enter unless I will it.” He took a sip of his tea.

“But,” started Danny.

Clockwork raised a hand. “Don’t worry, he’ll find us soon enough.” He repurposed the hand to pat Danny’s knee. “And even should he prove to be in a combative mood, I will not allow you to come to harm. You are safe here, Daniel.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Danny, looking away, towards the door in the sitting room through which Vlad would presumably enter.

Sure enough, a few seconds later Vlad half-flew half-skidded into Clockwork’s sitting room. He leveled an accusatory finger at Clockwork. “You!” he proclaimed, with a great deal of venom.

“Hello, Vladimir, I’ve poured you some tea. Why don’t you sit down? I understand it has been some time.”

“You under-? No! I will not sit down! I will not drink your tea. Not after you abandoned me for over a decade, just like that bumbling oaf—”

“Hey!” interjected Danny, not only because Vlad had once again insulted his father, but because he could tell that Clockwork, regardless of his stoic façade, was actually quite upset.

“Don’t interrupt me, Daniel,” snapped Vlad. “You don’t know what this, this ghost is. What he does. You don’t know that he gets close to you, makes you think you’re friends, and then drops you without a moment’s notice. Did you think it was funny to string along a man in dire straits? Did you?”

“I did not abandon you, Vladimir, I—”

Vlad scoffed and went on a tirade that Danny honestly found hard to parse. But it sounded like Vlad and Clockwork had known each other in the past and then fallen out of contact in a way that aggravated Vlad’s abandonment issues. Which didn’t seem like Clockwork at all, but Vlad sounded extremely certain and insistent, and Clockwork’s upset was actually finding its way into his voice, now. Danny didn’t—

With all the force and abruptness of epiphany, Danny realized what was going on here.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, putting down his cup. “Vlad, breathe or whatever. Clockwork, you did tell Vlad that you experience time nonlinearly, right?”

“Of course,” said Clockwork, clearly offended.

“But Vlad, ah, had you gone through natural portals often when you met Clockwork? Or, like, did you ever see him without him initiating contact?”

“I didn’t have my portal built yet, Daniel, so, no.”

Danny turned to Clockwork. “Why did you-? No that doesn’t matter. Haaauuuhh, Clockwork, do you have-?”

Clockwork waved a hand and a whiteboard appeared.

“Thanks,” said Danny, picking a marker up from the little shelf on the bottom. He uncapped it, then recapped it. “Actually, before that. Vlad—” he pointed at Vlad, who looked about one second from exploding “—you have some idea of how old Clockwork is, right? Or at least how old ghosts can get?”

“Yes, Daniel,” said Vlad, managing to overlay his supercilious ‘I know better than you’ attitude over his still obvious anger.

“Okay, great. So, just to establish, Clockwork has been around at least since, uh, beginning of time?”

“Give or take,” agreed Clockwork. “Although I have not experienced it all directly.”

“Right,” said Danny. “Just, already, his perception of time is different from our because of age differences.”

Vlad looked slightly less angry, and slightly closer to curious.

“But, then, there’s the larger issue,” continued Danny. This time his uncapping of the marker was decisive. He drew a flat, straight, horizontal line across the whiteboard. “This is our timeline. We deal with time linearly. We’ve also got, I don’t know, parallel timelines, like this.” He drew several more lines. “You following so far?”

“Yes, Daniel, I’ve read my share of science fiction.”

He was probably rolling his eyes. Curse his solid-colored red eyes. It made interpreting his looks and figuring out where he was looking during a fight much more difficult.

“Anyway, Clockwork isn’t on any of these lines. Because he experiences time nonlinearly.” He drew a squiggly up and down line on the board that resembled the world’s saddest sine wave. Or cosine wave. There wasn’t a y-axis on the not-quite-graph, so it wasn’t like anyone could tell the difference. They were effectively the same.

And Vlad still made fun of him for failing math. Danny knew plenty about math. He just didn’t have time to do the work. Mostly because of Vlad.

“Now, that, that is Clockwork’s timeline. It isn’t always in contact with ours. It’s, like, solutions to a system of equations. Nonlinear equations,” he specified, in case it had been too long since Vlad had encountered basic high-school-level algebra.

“It is somewhat more complicated than that, Daniel,” said Clockwork, exasperated. “It’s more of—"

“Yeah, but this gets the idea across more than the whole parade metaphor, doesn’t it?”

“I would say not. This doesn’t even begin to touch on my abilities.”

“That’s because we’re just talking about your perception of time,” said Danny. He considered for a moment. “And also your ability to interact with our timeline.”

“Which includes my ability to perceive multiple timelines.”

“But that’s complicated, and I still don’t get it,” complained Danny.

“It is less complicated than what you are currently trying to explain.”

“To you maybe, but the whole point of this is that you aren’t seeing things the same way we are. You disappeared on Vlad, what, a decade ago?” He looked to Vlad for confirmation.

“A decade is hardly any time at all,” said Clockwork with exasperation. He sipped at his tea.

“It was fifteen years.”

Clockwork made a somewhat dismissive motion with a gloved hand. “It’s a tiny fraction of your life as a whole.”

“It’s… closer to a third of his current lifetime,” said Danny with a wince. “Or a fourth? I don’t know how old you are, dude.”

“I went to college with your parents.”

“I know, and you were already graying then. Your age is weirdly hard to place.”

Vlad gave Danny a look, but his body language was no longer screaming ‘I’m going to beat the snot after you.’ Danny counted that as a win under the current circumstances. He disliked Vlad, but in a fight with Clockwork… Well, Clockwork could demolish just about anyone.

Not that Clockwork would. Just that he could.

“Daniel—”

“Please, Vladimir. Just sit down. Try the tea. I made it for you. I knew you would be upset, although I could not see exactly why.” Clockwork was almost pouting, now. “Fifteen years is such a short time.”

“Clockwork, I’m fifteen.”

“I know,” said Clockwork, patting Danny on the knee. “Your timeline is so small. And cute.”

Vlad was now distinctly on his back foot, offput and disarmed. “His timeline is cute?”

“It is. Don’t worry, yours is almost as cute.”

Vlad opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Danny pushed the whiteboard away.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he said. “Like I said, different perception of time.”

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel abandoned, Vladimir. I simply wanted to give you some time to, ah, how should I put this? Have space? Find yourself?”

Vlad sat heavily on the couch.

“You get used to it,” said Danny. “But, Clockwork, do you think you can talk him into having fewer evil plans? Because, really. There are way too many. Like, one a week. They’re destroying my grades. Have you ever seen anyone else who had weekly evil plans?”

“Evil plans, Vladimir? Really?”

#danny phantom #phic phight 2021 #phic phight #danny fenton #vlad masters #clockwork

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teawaffles · 3 years

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The Conspiratorial Bullet: Chapter 5

Returning our view from where the two girls began to rekindle their beautiful friendship to the site of the flag once again, a fierce battle was still raging on.

Just moments earlier, the blue team had been at a numerical disadvantage. But with their allies having received their communications and returned, the battle could now tilt either way…… No, they currently had the momentum to push the enemy back just a little.

“Alright, we’re totally forcing them back here!”

“If we can get through this fight, there’ll only be a handful of them left. We just have to hold out a bit longer.”

The nobles had spotted a chance of victory, and they could even afford to smile now. But as they verified their opponents’ positions from within a thicket, from behind a tree on the opposite side, a mysterious object was lobbed in their direction.

“What’s that?”

One noble had noticed the item sailing towards them — a bulging leather pouch. But its opening wasn’t fully shut, and as the blue team members stood rooted to the ground, the contents of the pouch spilled out onto them from above.

Out the bag poured a vast quantity of dummy bullets.

“H-Huhhhhhhh!?”

Stunned, the men shrieked as the rain of bullets pelted them without mercy. Of course, in the blink of an eye, most of them had been covered with paint.

One of the noblemen touched the paint on his clothes with a finger as he spoke in a daze.

“Is this, really possible?”

It seemed that doubt had surfaced in the others’ minds as well, for those who’d been paint-bombed simply stood where they were, their confusion plain as day. And as they did so, in the distance, a figure watched them from behind a tree.

“Sorry about that. Still, this is a great tactic.”

——As James Bond murmured that, he chuckled.

Needless to say, the one who had delivered that hefty blow on the blue team was Bond. At a spot far removed from the crossfire, he’d quietly made his preparations alone, and lain in wait for the chance to pull off this stunt.

Using bullets in this manner, when they were meant to be shot from a gun, could potentially invite controversy; but Herder had said, “If you get paint on any part of your body, you are out” — and not “if you are struck by a bullet fired from a gun”. In other words, if one adhered to the rules as explained, it could be said that this tactic of raining huge quantities of mock bullets on the enemy was legitimate.

Although they’d been suspicious at first, after a moment, the nobles looked at one another and laughed.

“That was an interesting attack for sure, but now…… what’ll we do? Should we call the referee and seek a decision?”

“Nah, we were completely done in — it’s our loss. Let’s bow out with grace.”

Far from leaving them frustrated, the innovativeness of that idea had felt refreshing; even as they harboured twinges of regret, the men obediently left the battlefield.

The red team members glanced at one another, as if wondering why their opponents were leaving the battlefield: it seemed Bond’s unconventional attack had surprised even his own allies.

Gazing at their puzzled faces with delight, Bond began to head for the apparent location of the opposing team’s flag. There was no rule that a certain person had to capture it, so he wanted to settle things himself if he could. With the blue team’s forces severely depleted, as long as they eliminated the remaining few members, they should be able to steal the flag with ease.

But the instant he saw the path to victory, from the direction of his own allies came a familiar voice.

“O—i, everyone. I’ve taken the flag. The game’s over now.”

That was absolutely impossible. A chill ran down his spine.

The voice announcing their victory—— was his own.

“Huh? We’ve already gotten the flag?”

“That was quicker than I thought.”

Naturally, since they thought the game was over, his allies had let down their guard. Bond shouted to them as fast as he could.

“No! That’s not me!”

But the warning came a second too late. Before his voice could reach them, several gunshots could be heard coming from their direction.

“……They’re done for.”

Bond bit his lower lip as he headed for his allies. There, a group of men stood in a daze, their clothes stained with paint. It seemed they had fallen into a spectacularly executed trap.

The number of players eliminated here was comparable to what Bond himself had taken out earlier. Once again, the balance of the battle had been restored, and his shoulders sank — but then he heard the rustle of leaves from a thicket behind him.

Sensing danger, Bonds dived swiftly into the nearby bushes. That instant, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a certain colleague’s young face.

Bond smiled as he raised his gun.

“You said you weren’t the type to get passionate, but that was a pretty nasty trick you pulled there ——Fred-kun.”

“That’s because I can’t let the team Mr William is on be defeated.”

Fred Porlock responded in a flat voice.

“Bond’s” voice from earlier had been a product of Fred’s mimicry. He’d led his opponents to mistakenly believe that the blue team’s flag had been captured, then took advantage of their lowered guard to inflict a massive blow.

“Hmm, so you’re determined to win too. Speaking of which, you’re rather passionate for someone who’s stone-faced.”

He purposely slung those provocative words over, and from the other side of the thicket, Fred’s retort sailed back.

“Perhaps — but getting too passionate only impedes my work. For me, an ironclad rule is to remain calm at all times.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true. It’s precisely this important work which requires a passion that’s second to none.”

“In that case, shall we prove who’s right?”

Fred’s unusually provoking comment had a somewhat joyful ring to it.

Bond chuckled.

“I knew you were a passionate man.”

With that single line uttered with joy as the catalyst, Bond leaned out of the vegetation and raised his gun. It seemed Fred had the same idea, for both of them were now pointing their revolvers at each other. But this was no time for indecision. Both men pulled the trigger, then took evasive action. The bullets passed through the exact spots they’d been a moment earlier, and they each hid behind a tree at the same time once more.

That thrilling battle lasted only a moment. Then, Bond called out with a childlike innocence.

“Aah, what a shame: I’ve been hit. Look, here’s the paint stain.”

“I’m not getting fooled by that — you completely dodged the shot.”

Fred had instantly seen through his deception. But even after his true intentions had been read like a book, Bond seemed to be enjoying himself, and he made to step out in preparation for his next move.

——Then, as if in response to that action, Fred raised his voice.

“Mr William, we can carry out a pincer attack now.”

“……What?”

That shocking line sent Bond looking around the area in suspicion. Then, as Fred had said, he saw William standing behind him.

“Hey Bond. How’s it going?”

“W— Will-kun!?”

For a split second, Bond panicked. He’d been trying to keep an eye out for William’s movements, but then the man showed himself just when he’d been focusing on Fred — this was the worst possible situation he could’ve found himself in. Bond knew he still had a few teammates left, but could it be that William had wiped them all out without making a sound?

In any case, it was a fact that his most formidable enemy had crept up behind him. Bond switched gears: in a flash, he took aim at William.

But far from defending himself, the man simply shrugged, as if he was troubled.

“Sorry, but — I’ve already been eliminated.”

“Eh?”

Yet another surprising statement. Bond’s thoughts were in disarray as he stopped himself, his gun still trained on William. Then, he felt something thud against his back.

“…………”

With an awkward smile plastered on his face, Bond turned his head, and looked behind him. There, stood Fred with his gun raised. Somehow, it seemed a slightly victorious smile had risen on his face.

He didn’t even need to check his back — he knew he’d been hit. With a magnificent sigh, Bond sat down on his haunches.

“Ah~, you’ve got me. So something like that was possible too……”

Now, he finally understood the plan that William and Fred had concocted. Bond ruffled his hair in regret, and William smiled as he spoke.

“There wasn’t a rule saying that you can’t take a detour as you leave the battlefield.”

William had anticipated the strategy his opponent would employ, then used the fact that he’d been eliminated, purposely passing through the frontline where Bond and the rest were in order to give the impression that he was still in the game. Of course, he made sure to tell the people he encountered that he was already out, so that they could avoid wasting bullets on him.

Even so, for those who knew William’s true power, the effect of his presence was enormous; now, just as William had planned, Bond made the mistake of leaving his back open to Fred.

“I didn’t think you’d also exploit loopholes in the rules.”

“Nonetheless, it’s a tactic bordering on foul play. Though, as long as Herder doesn’t show up, it should be alright.”

“……Will Herder-kun appear when someone breaks the rules?”

It was certainly an entertaining thought, but keeping watch over the movements of every single player must surely be a monumental effort. That said, it was flat out impossible for a single person to cover such a huge area — that was probably just a joke, wasn’t it?

In any case, Herder had yet to reveal himself; whatever the truth about his actions behind the scenes, with Bond — the mainstay of his team’s offence — now eliminated, this battlefront had effectively collapsed. As a result, the red team’s chances of victory were now almost zero.

“Aww, even though I was so fired up; I wanted to play on just a little longer.”

Bond hung his head in regret, and William smiled gently at him.

“It’s a pity indeed. Now it’ll be up to Moran and the rest to turn the game around.”

Analysing the state of the battle from here on, William looked towards the little cabin: the setting of the game’s impending climax.

Scoreboard

🔹 Blue team: Albert, Jack, Fred, William, Kevin, Andy

🔺 Red team: Moran, Bond, Louis, Helena

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #the girl who sees rainbows #illustration insert

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wisteriashouse · 4 years

Text

training.

pairing: rengoku kyoujurou x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2213

“Remember our deal?”

Kyoujurou calls from the other side of the dojo with a bright grin as he points his bokken straight at you, stance firm and eyes unwavering. In response to his enthusiasm, you only let out an exhausted sigh as you grab your own wooden sword from beside you, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your kimono. In contrast, Kyoujurou still looks totally unruffled after two hours of sparring, not a strand of bright yellow hair out of place even as he smiles radiantly at you.

The man before you is so annoying.

“I would like to remind you that I never agreed to this.” You counter loudly, but grip your practice sword tightly with both hands, shifting into a defensive stance. Not a second too soon, as the moment you do get into position, the Flame Hashira is already flying straight at you, so quick you see nothing more than a vibrant blur of orange across your vision.

Somehow, you manage to bring up your sword to parry the attack, the sheer force from his blow leaving your sore arms shaking. Ducking to the side, you swing at his legs, but he easily leaps over your sword, laughing the entire time.

“I decided it for both of us!” Kyoujurou’s laughter echoes through the dojo, and as much as you want to refute the fact, the sound of his happiness is one of the sweetest to your ears. “Whoever loses this match pays for dinner afterwards!”

“You eat far more than me, this isn’t fair!” You protest as the tip of Kyoujurou’s wooden sword nearly takes out one of your eyes, and would have if it weren’t for a quick dodge on your part. “And besides, it’s clear you’re going to win this match! You shouldn’t be using your friends as a means to free food, Kyo!”

The Flame Pillar lets loose a booming laugh at your accusation, twirling backwards out of the reach of your sword as you lunge forward. “You know I treasure you far too dearly to ever do that to you, my friend! Simply treat this as motivation to overcome your opponent, me!”

At his words, you blink once and shake your head hard to get rid of the blood in your cheeks. A friend, you remind yourself sharply. As kind, as courageous, as honorable of a man Kyoujurou is, he is also a Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corps. His mind is set on one thing only, slaying demons to save other humans, and he doesn’t have the time to even think about relationships.

“Perhaps when all this fighting is over.” He had told you once over tea on his engawa, smiling thoughtfully as he whisked the matcha in your cup. “For now, I do not have time to find a lover, nor the energy to give them my all. But a loving family,” he’d stolen a glance behind him at the Rengoku Estate, where you knew his father Shinjuro was perhaps lurking. It was only for a short moment, but you had understood the emotions in his heart. “That is something I dearly wish to have, someday.”

His dedication to saving others was, and still is, an honorable goal. You’re already grateful enough that he takes time out of his meagre rest periods between missions to spend time with you. You would rather not burden him with your feelings.

You’re so lost in your thoughts for a moment that you don’t realise that Kyoujurou has already darted within striking distance, his bokken colliding with yours with a resounding clack. Unprepared for the force, you stumble backwards over your own feet and fall flat onto your back, wheezing when all the breath is knocked from your lungs. The tip of a wooden sword comes to a halt squarely between your eyes.

You look up along the line of the blade to see Kyoujurou grinning at you, looking thoroughly pleased at his victory.

“Seven to two!” He announces proudly, sword still pointed straight at you. You’re going a little cross eyed looking at it. “Why did you falter?”

At his words, your heart skips a beat and you shake your head, trying to rid your head of all thoughts. Stupid Kyoujurou and his stupid charming smile. “It’s nothing, I’m just tired out. You’re the one who’s too energetic.” You try to play it off, reaching for your sword. “That’s enough training for today, I think. I’ll pay for your roasted sweet potatoes later at dinner-”

“That’s not what I asked!” Kyoujurou moves the tip of his sword down to your sternum, preventing you from getting off the training mats. You stare up at him in surprise. “My question was, why did you falter! Concentration and focus is of utmost importance in a battle, and I would hate to think that you would get hurt because of a lapse in attention! So tell me, why?”

“Kyoujurou, really, it’s nothing.” You insist, grabbing your sword. Your friend peers at you from above with slightly narrowed eyes, but eventually relents, taking a step back and holding out a hand. You take it gratefully and he hauls you to your feet with a little too much strength, your nose colliding with the firm muscles of his chest.

At the contact, you let out a small ‘eep’ and Kyoujurou grabs you by the shoulders to steady you. Even through your clothes, wherever he touches, fire burns at your skin in the most pleasant way possible. You can’t help the feeling.

“You are sure you’re alright?” You glance up to see Kyoujurou’s face mere inches from yours, golden eyes fixed on you in concern and so close that you can feel his warm breath on your cheek. You flush this time, unable to stop it, and quickly extricate yourself from his grasp before you spontaneously combust into flames.

“I’m fine!” You manage to get out, perhaps a little too high pitched to be believable. Kyoujurou stares at you for a moment more and you desperately hope that your face isn’t as red as you think it is.

Luckily for you, Kyoujurou seems to buy it, stepping back and thankfully allowing you to catch your breath. “One last match!” He tells you insistently. “We were supposed to go for the best out of ten for this bet!” You let out a pitiful groan at the thought of taking another beating, but at least he seems like he’s forgotten about what happened earlier.

“There’s no way I’m winning this.” You mumble under your breath as you ready your sword again, more than prepared to just get bonked over the head again with Kyoujurou’s bokken. The Flame Pillar hums thoughtfully, before his face brightens all of a sudden.

“If you win this one match, dinner will be on me tonight! As long as you get me onto my back, it’s your victory!” He suggests. You squint at him with narrowed eyes, but his offer has perked you up just a little more, even though your odds of winning are still close to none.

“Alright.” You agree, raising your sword once more. Taking in a deep breath to calm yourself, you ready your stance and shout at him. “Come at me!”

“That’s the attitude I like to see in you!” Kyoujurou laughs, before he’s before you in an instant, bokken weaving about in a series of complicated strikes. Forcing yourself to focus, you parry every single one of them before going on the offensive, driving your blade straight towards his neck and putting all the power into your legs.

“Faster!” The Pillar cheers you on excitedly even as he sidesteps you, bringing his blade up to knock yours to the side. “You’re improving, surely! That’s a great thing!”

You can’t even find the time to retort with a smart ass comment, too busy blocking his barrage of strikes and trying to keep your sword from flying clean out of your hands with each blow. He isn’t even breaking a sweat! Completely exhausted, you decide to end this match with a last ditch effort on your part, flipping your sword in your hand and throwing it blade first at Kyoujurou with all the strength you can muster. His eyes go wide with surprise for a second at your unexpected gambit and he raises his sword to block it, but that leaves him unguarded for the briefest moment. With a shout, you launch yourself straight at him, wrapping both arms around his waist and knocking him down to the floor.

The two of you crash heavily onto the mats, your sword clattering to the ground next to you. For a moment, the dojo is silent except for the sound of your heavy pants as you attempt to catch your breath, sweat dripping down your forehead and neck.

“That was a very surprising move! You have gotten me onto my back.”

You look down to see Kyoujurou pinned beneath you, your legs straddling either side of his waist. He’s strong enough to pull you off him easily, but he’s smiling up at you, and you’re not sure which would be more lethal to your heart.

“However, that wasn’t a very smart thing to when you’re fighting a demon.” His voice is firm, but a little quieter this time. You instantly wince when you think it through, throwing the only weapon you can decapitate a demon with is surely not a plausible battle strategy.

“Sorry, I got desperate-” You begin to say, but suddenly an iron grip wraps around both your wrists and your field of vision flips. Yelping in shock, you glance upwards and Kyoujurou is the one looming over you this time, both your hands and your lower body pinned down by his.

And he isn’t smiling.

“Kyo?” You squeak out hesitantly. There’s a different sort of fire burning in his eyes, unrelenting even as you try to tug your wrists free of his grasp. “Kyoujurou? What are you doing?”

“Throwing away your sword could put you in danger. The nichirin blade is the only thing we humans can use to fight against demons.” Kyoujurou’s voice is perfectly calm, but you’ve never heard him talk like this before. For some reason, it makes you squirm a little under his gaze; its almost predatory. “If I were a demon, what would you do?”

“I-” You flounder for a moment, trying to think of a strategy, but before a thought can so much as cross your mind, Kyoujurou shakes his head. “Too slow.”

He leans down, dangerously close, until all you can see is a head of yellow and red hair, feel the stray strands that have fallen out of the ponytail he put it in earlier tickling your collarbone. Your heart is pounding so hard you wonder if Kyoujurou can hear it, like a war drum beating in your chest.

“If I were a demon...” his breath is warm against the skin of your neck, and you let out a startled cry when you feel his teeth latch at the sensitive spot there. A shudder runs down the full length of your body, and you freeze, mortified. “If I were a demon, I would eat you up in an instant. You’re completely defenseless against me right now.”

His face is buried in your neck, so you can’t see the expression on his face. Mildly panicking, you open your mouth, and the first words to leave it are a breathless whisper.

“If you were the demon, I don’t think I would mind.”

Kyoujurou doesn’t reply for a moment, and what you’ve just said hits you like a punch straight to the gut. Before you can get the pieces of your frazzled mind together to explain yourself, Kyoujurou suddenly releases you and sits up to grin brightly at you.

You don’t know whether you’re relieved or disappointed.

“Now that won’t do!” Kyoujurou scolds you affectionately, ruffling your hair with one hand. You let out a noise of protest and bat his hands away, patting down your hair frantically. The two of you rise to your feet, your battered body protesting with every movement. “Even if I’m the demon, you mustn’t hesitate at all to cut off my head! Understood?”

You let out a sigh at his words and nod your head, already feeling the beginning of an ache settling into your muscles. You’ll have to soak in the hot springs after dinner to loosen them up, you think to yourself. Kyoujurou laughs at the expression on your face.

“Since you did get me on my back, however, I shall take it as your win!” He says cheerfully, and you immediately look up at him with excited eyes. “I’ll wait here while you get your kit, then I’ll treat you to dinner tonight as a reward.”

“Yes!” You cheer, looking positively delighted. “Thanks, Kyo!”

You wrap your arms around him for a quick hug, before running out of the dojo with a skip in your step. Kyoujurou watches you until you’re out of sight, before he lets out a long, drawn out sigh and squats on the ground, his face buried in his hands.

“So cute.” He murmurs to himself softly, and no one but the wind hears him.

#rengoku #rengoku fanfic #rengoku kyojuro #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #kyojuro #kyoujurou

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dwellordream · 3 years

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“This brings us to the most fundamental fact of rural life in the pre-modern world: the grain is harvested once a year, but the family eats every day. Of course that means the grain must be stored and only slowly consumed over the entire year (with some left over to be used as seed-grain in the following planting). That creates the first cycle in agricultural life: after the harvest, food is generally plentiful and prices for it are low (we’ll deal with the impact this has on trade and markets a little later). As the year goes on, food becomes scarcer and the prices for it rise as each family ‘eats down’ their stockpile.

That has more than just economic impacts because the family unit becomes more vulnerable as that food stockpile dwindles. Malnutrition brings on a host of other threats: elevated risk of death from injury or disease most notably. Repeated malnutrition also has devastating long-term effects on young children (a point we’ll come back to). Consequently, we see seasonal mortality patterns in agricultural communities which tend to follow harvest cycles; when the harvest is poor, the family starts to run low on food before the next harvest, which leads to rationing the remaining food, which leads to malnutrition. That malnutrition is not evenly distributed though: the working age adults need to be strong enough to bring in the next harvest when it comes (or to be doing additional non-farming labor to supplement the family), so the short rations are going to go to the children and the elderly.

Which in turn means that ‘lean’ years are marked by increased mortality especially among the children and the elderly, the former of which is how the rural population ‘regulates’ to its food production in the absence of modern birth control (but, as an aside: this doesn’t lead to pure Malthusian dynamics – a lot more influences the food production ceiling than just available land. You can have low-equilibrium or high-equilibrium systems, especially when looking at the availability of certain sorts of farming capital or access to trade at distance. I cannot stress this enough: Malthus was wrong; yes, interestingly, usefully wrong – but still wrong. The big plagues sometimes pointed to as evidence of Malthusian crises have as much if not more to do with rising trade interconnectedness than declining nutritional standards). This creates yearly cycles of plenty and vulnerability; we’ll talk about the strategies these fellows employ to avoid that problem in just a moment.

Next to that little cycle, we also have a ‘big’ cycle of generations. The ratio of labor-to-food-requirements varies as generations are born, age and die; it isn’t constant. The family is at its peak labor effectiveness at the point when the youngest generation is physically mature but hasn’t yet begun having children (the exact age-range there is going to vary by nuptial patterns, see below) and at its most vulnerable when the youngest generation is immature. By way of example, let’s imagine a family (I’m going to use Roman names because they make gender very clear, but this is a completely made-up family): we have Gaius (M, 45), his wife, Cornelia (39, F), his mother Tullia (64, F) and their children Gaius (21, M), Secundus (19, M), Julia1 (16, F) and Julia2 (14, F). That family has three male laborers, three female laborers (Tullia being in her twilight years, we don’t count), all effectively adults in that sense, against 7 mouths to feed.

But let’s fast-forward fifteen years. Gaius is now 60 and slowing down, Cornelia is 54; Tullia, we may assume has passed. But Gaius now 36 is married to Clodia (20, F; welcome to Roman marriage patterns), with two children Gaius (3, M) and Julia3 (1, F); Julia1 and Julia2 are married and now in different households and Secundus, recognizing that the family’s financial situation is never going to allow him to marry and set up a household has left for the Big City. So we now have the labor of two women and a man-and-a-half (since Gaius the Elder is quite old) against six mouths and the situation is likely to get worse in the following years as Gaius-the-Younger and Clodia have more children and Gaius-the-Elder gets older. The point of all of this is to note that just as risk and vulnerability peak and subside on a yearly basis in cycles, they also do this on a generational basis in cycles.

...Most modern folks think in terms of profit maximization; we take for granted that we will still be alive tomorrow and instead ask how we can maximize how much money we have then (this is, admittedly, a lot less true for the least fortunate among us). We thus tend to favor efficient systems, even if they are vulnerable. From this perspective, ancient farmers – as we’ll see – look very silly, but this is a trap, albeit one that even some very august ancient scholars have fallen into. These are not irrational, unthinking people; they are poor, not stupid – those are not the same things.

But because these households wobble on the edge of disaster continually, that changes the calculus. These small subsistence farmers generally seek to minimize risk, rather than maximize profits. After all, improving yields by 5% doesn’t mean much if everyone starves to death in the third year because of a tail-risk that wasn’t mitigated. Moreover, for most of these farmers, working harder and farming more generally doesn’t offer a route out of the small farming class – these societies typically lack that kind of mobility (and also generally lack the massive wealth-creation potential of industrial power which powers that kind of mobility). Consequently, there is little gain to taking risks and much to lose. So as we’ll see, these farmers generally sacrifice efficiency for greater margins of safety, every time.

Modern farms are built for efficiency – they typically focus on a single major crop (whatever brings the best returns for the land and market situation) because focusing on a single crop lets you maximize the value of equipment and minimize other costs. They rely on other businesses to provide everything else. Such farms tend to be geographically concentrated – all the fields together – to minimize transit time.

Subsistence farmers generally do not do this. Remember, the goal is not to maximize profit, but to avoid family destruction through starvation. If you only farm one crop (the ‘best’ one) and you get too little rain or too much, or the temperature is wrong – that crop fails and the family starves. But if you farm several different crops, that mitigates the risk of any particular crop failing due to climate conditions, or blight (for the Romans, the standard combination seems to have been a mix of wheat, barley and beans, often with grapes or olives besides; there might also be a small garden space. Orchards might double as grazing-space for a small herd of animals, like pigs). By switching up crops like this and farming a bit of everything, the family is less profitable (and less engaged with markets, more on that in a bit), but much safer because the climate conditions that cause one crop to fail may not impact the others.

...Likewise – as that example implies – our small farmers want to spread out their plots. And indeed, when you look at land-use maps of villages of subsistence farmers, what you often find is that each household farms many small plots which are geographically distributed (this is somewhat less true of the Romans, by the by). Farming, especially in the Mediterranean (but more generally as well) is very much a matter of micro-climates, especially when it comes to rainfall and moisture conditions (something that is less true on the vast flat of the American Great Plains, by the by). It is frequently the case that this side of the hill is dry while that side of the hill gets plenty of rain in a year and so on. Consequently, spreading plots out so that each family has say, a little bit of the valley, a little bit of the flat ground, a little bit of the hilly area, and so on shields each family from catastrophe is one of those micro-climates should completely fail (say, the valley floods, or the rain doesn’t fall and the hills are too dry for anything to grow).

...While some high-risk disasters are likely to strike an entire village at once (like a large raid or a general drought), most of the disasters that might befall one farming family (an essential worker being conscripted, harvest failure, robbery and so on) would just strike that one household. So farmers tended to build these reciprocal relationships with each other: I help you when things are bad for you, so you help me when things are bad for me. But those relationships don’t stop merely when there is a disaster, because – for the relationship to work – both parties need to spend the good times signalling their commitment to the relationship, so that they can trust that the social safety net will be there when they need it.

So what do our farmers do during a good harvest to prepare for a bad one? They banquet their neighbors, contribute to village festivals, marry off their sons and daughters with the best dowry they can manage, and try to pay back any favors they called in from friends recently. I stress these not merely because they are survival strategies (though they are) but because these sorts of activities end up (along with market days and the seasonal cycles) defining a great deal of life in these villages. But these events also built that social capital which can be ‘cashed out’ in an emergency. And they are a good survival strategy. Grain rots and money can be stolen, but your neighbor is far likelier to still be your neighbor in a year, especially because these relationships are (if maintained) almost always heritable and apply to entire households rather than individuals, making them able to endure deaths and the cycles of generations.”

- Bret Devereaux, “Bread, How Did They Make It? Part I: Farmers!”

#farming #history #bret devereaux #writing #ancient #medieval

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carrot-kun · 3 years

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Jack and the Bean stalk (A Fairytale Remix)

Note: This story is inspired by the technique of Double reading, specifically Queer reading.

I stared at the beans in the bag as I walked along the road. These magical beans would surely fetch more money than that annoying cow I sold to the elderly woman! I hopped happily while looking at my friends playing in the field next to my house.

“Jack! Come on! We need one more person!” They shouted at me when I neared them. “I can’t. Mother will punish me if I don’t reach home on time.” I replied with a pout.

“But Sally is joining us! Don’t you want to play with Sally?” They asked with mischievous grins, pointing to a jolly Sally running around with her friends.

“Mother won’t hear my excuses.” I said and waved the crowd away. Showing Mother these magic beans was more important than playing with a pretty girl.

I entered through the open door and shouted for her. Her voice rang from the kitchen, so I ran to her and thrust the bag into her hands. “Mother, look what I brought!” I exclaimed.

“I don’t have time for your games, Jack. How much did you get for the cow?” She placed it down and turned to the boiling pot.

“I got this! I sold the cow to an old woman who gave me this.” I spoke with enthusiasm. “They are magical beans!”

She stopped abruptly, shock washing over her face. “You ... sold the cow for this?” She grabbed the bag and looked inside. With a horrified expression, she threw it out the window and raised her hand.

I closed my eyes in anticipation as her hand landed on my cheek. “Mother!” I looked out at the spilled beans, cupping my cheeks.

“You are sixteen! Don’t you know how to ...” Her voice trailed off. “What did I do wrong for you to be this way?” She sank to the floor and waved me off.

I walked out of the house and kicked the rocks. She threw them away! How could I sell them now?

The night was silent as I slipped under the sheets and looking over to where the lamp was burning a few minutes ago. Mother had prepared to go to Aunt Emma’s when morning arrived. The whole journey was going to take at least four days. Her face was pale and tired. She was going to work herself sick like this.

The morning was dull as Mother put the heavy bag on her back and walked towards the orange sun. I sighed and went to the kitchen to eat the food mother had prepared before leaving. Passively, I looked out the window, remembering the beans.

Humongous green snake like stems twirled around and reached upward. I ran to the back of the house and stood wonder struck at the sight of the towering plant kissing the sky. But these were just seeds yesterday. How had they grown so much?

I wondered how tall the plant was as I walked back towards the house. Locking the door, I ran back to green giant. I put a foot to the side, grabbed the overhead branches and started climbing.

The plant seemed to grow slowly even as I was climbing up, boosting my pace. A long and exhausting climb later I reached a thick blanket of clouds pierced through by the stem. Excited, I reached out to feel the clouds but to my surprise, they felt solid.

Carefully, I stepped onto the clouds and started walking towards a green patch I saw in the distance. Where those trees in the sky? I started to jog along, my eyes searching the unfamiliar terrain.

Green cover took over once I reached the area I had spotted. It looked just like the forests down on the ground, except one small detail. That being that these trees were at least ten times bigger. The trunks were wider that church's bell towers. Fallen leaves looked like boats and the grass tickled my elbows.

Pushing through the wilderness, I stepped into a clearing. A simple wooden house stood in the middle, not even the king's castle could compare to it in size. Dazed, I walked toward the enormous structure over soil grains the size of pebbles.

A loud gasp coming from my right made me jump. "You! You are from the ground!" The terrifying voice spoke slowly. Turning my neck carefully, I saw a ginormous young face framed by long wavy black hair observing me with care. "You are!" He shouted in glee.

Too shocked to move, I felt my forehead tingling as he moved closer, his wide brown eyes just a few feet from me. "Who are you?" I asked in a squeaky high pitch.

"I ... My name is Edward. How did you get here?" There was friendly curiosity laced in his words. His hand, which was as tall as me, inched towards me and his smile showcased a set of slightly crooked teeth.

"I climbed up the magical bean stalk." My voice slipped into a shriek when his hand laid flat in front of me.

"Magical bean stalk? She kept her promise!" He yelled in excitement. "Go on, get on my hand, I will take you to my house."

Hesitantly, I stepped onto his rough hand and sat down as he stood up. He covered me with his other hand as he ran towards the house. "What is your name?"

"Jack." I replied. He opened the door and put me on the table with some fruits and vegetables on one end. The interior was bare, with just a table and a chair.

"Jack, I need your help." He spoke as he sat on the chair. Leaning forward, he put in chin on the table.

"What kind of help do you need?" I asked him.

"I was cursed by the witches and wizards in my village and put here for a crime I didn’t commit. The only way for me to return to my normal state I need to make this potion." He slid a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket towards me. "But I can only get these things on land, my size prevents me from going down there. Could you help me make it?"

"These proportions are going to cost a fortune. I don't think I can help you." I said in a morbid tone as I examined the page which was the only normally sized object in the room.

"You can take these fruits; they will fetch you a pretty penny. With their size, I doubt you will face any competition." He thrust the huge fruits in my direction and looked at me with an anxious smile. "I will help you carry it down once dusk has set." He quickly added. "Please, I can't handle being stuck here alone any longer."

My heart melted as his eyes glistened. "Since we have till the evening ..." I sat down cross legged on the table, the paper stuffed into my pants. "How long have you been here?"

His eyes darted towards me and he smiled gratefully. "At least five months. During the first month, a kind older witch wrote down the recipe for the potion and gave it to me. Before she could help me make it, she was caught, and her powers were taken away from her. She promised me she would find a way of helping me before she escaped."

"I got the beans from an old woman, that must have been her." I placed my relatively tiny hand on his to comfort him.

Amusement lit up his face as he looked down on me. "I worked as a carpenter before ... this. I built this house and these..." He pointed to the table and chair. "... to pass time while I waited for her."

"You are quite talented, Ed. Do you mind if I call you Ed?" I asked him. He shook his head. We discussed our strategy repeatedly while we waited for the darkness to set in.

We left the house with me saddled in his front pocket, a burning torch in one of his hands, a basket with a few giant fruits in his other when night arrived. He descended the bean stalk silently as I held onto his shirt for dear life.

Once on the ground, he emptied the basket into the area behind my house and placed me down. To not disturb the neighborhood, he spoke nothing and just waved at me while climbing up the stalk, disappearing into the sky. I entered my house and slept till the morning sun was shining in my eyes.

Soon I was up and moving to put the plan into action. I walked up to Sally's house and called for her father. "Sir, I have a few things that I need to take to the market to sell. I can't carry them on foot, so may I borrow your cart? Of course, I will be paying you the rent for it at the end of the day." I told him when he came to the door.

"Sure, but take Sally with you. She is the one the horse trusts the most." I agreed to the condition and within ten minutes we were on our way to the market. Sally was bewildered at the size of the fruits.

"Where did you find these?" She asked. "Did it grow on the green tower like plant behind your house?"

"I found them in the forest yesterday when I was travelling along the road." I lied.

"Take me along the next time. Were there more?" She asked in a jolly tone. "I wonder what made them grow so big. I want to study these curiosities!" She exclaimed. "I am sure the scientist living near the market would love them."

"Maybe he will buy them from me!" I snapped my fingers. "Let's head to his house first!"

We reached his place and his curiosity made him buy all four of them at the price I asked of him. He didn’t even try to bargain; it was my lucky day.

With Sally's help I completed my errands at lighting speed and reached her house before the sun set. I paid her and ran to my house. Carefully lining up the ingredients near the tower of green, I waited for the darkness to cover me.

I sensed the stalk shaking a little and looked up to see him descending at a swift pace. When he saw the things lined up, a wide smile lit up his face in the dim light of the lamp I had brought with me. Placing a giant basket with even more huge fruits on the ground, we got to work. Making gestures to communicate, we made the potion and heated it up in four normal sized pots.

Once done, he chugged the contents of the pots one at a time. Over the next ten minutes, he shrunk to my height. I knew he was young but now I could make out that he was close to my age. He ran to me and hugged me once he stopped shrinking. "Thank you!" He shouted. "Thank you so much, Jack!" He placed a quick kiss on my cheek, his long hair brushed against my skin, and he held my hands.

"Your ears are turning red!" He commented when I stayed silent. I continued to look at the ground and tried to hide my red face. "Jack? Are you ..." Before he could finish, I looked with a silly grin that made him crack up.

"You are prettier than I thought you would be." I finally spoke, trying not to stare at him for too long.

"Pretty?" His eyes disappeared in his wide smile. "Why, thank you!" A dull red spread through his cheeks.

"You can stay with me; you can’t go back to your village, can you?" I asked him as we walked into the house, the lamp in my hand.

He shook his head and hid his eyes with his hand. "My family doesn’t believe me either so there is no point in telling them either." His lips quivered.

"Then stay with me forever!" I shouted while I pulled away his hand. ''Forever?" He stuttered as his eyes met mine.

"Forever." I confirmed, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his cheek.

The next day we sold six of fruits in the market with Sally's help. Even the king's men bought two. We gave one to Sally for her help and headed back to the house. When mother arrived the next day, we gave her the money we got for the fruits which would help us live comfortably for the rest of our lives. Mother took a liking to Ed, so she let him stay with us. He taught me carpentry,we started a carpentry store together and so we lived happily ever after!

#writers #writing #writeblr #writeaway #writerslife #writer #short story #original story #original writing #original post #fairycore #fairytale rp #jack and the beanstalk #fairy tale retelling

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

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You Set My Heart Ablaze pt.3/25

Vesemir grumbled under his breath as he scoured through the statistics from the last month. There had been a spike in calls recently, probably from the university students being back in town. The youths were reckless little shits who still hadn’t leant that cooking whilst being blind drunk was not a good idea, no matter how much you wanted chicken nuggets at three in the morning. There were also an unusual amount of false alarms or being called to incidents that really didn’t need the fire crew to attend.

In short, they were fucking busy.

And the team was not as efficient as it could be. Vesemir pinched the bridge of his nose. They didn’t have the government funding to open recruitment for more full-time fighters right now right now but they were currently struggling to keep up with demand. They were relying on the on-call teams more and more with every quarter. He sighed as he looked through the stats again, focussing this time on each team member’s performance.

“Oh Geralt.” Vesemir growled. “You can do better than that.”

He’d been too lenient on the man. He’d practically raised Geralt after his parents had fallen to drink after the accident that had left the younger man covered in burns. Vesemir had been a friend of the family for years. He’d never forget the terror that gripped him when the call had come in. The smoke billowing from the windows of the house that he’d spent so many evenings drinking wine over a good roast dinner. The ache in his heart when Visenna and Korin burst through the doors, soot covered and screaming for their son just as the fire engine had pulled up to the house.

Vesemir had torn through the house, not caring about his own safety as the heat become unbearable even through his uniform. He’d found Geralt cowering under the bed, trapped by a fierce blaze in his room. His pyjama shirt had been burnt clean off and Vesemir could see, even through the smoke, that the young boy had some nasty burns scorched into his chest. He’d saved Geralt’s life that day but the boys parents had never recovered from the guilt.

And now history seemed to be repeating itself with young Ciri. Geralt was trying to his best with the young girl, and to be fair to Geralt, Ciri appeared to have accepted him as her new family with no problem. Vesemir had allowed Geralt to take parental leave over the school holidays when Ciri first arrived in his life as a permanent fixture, just like if Ciri had been a newborn baby to a new father. However, once summer had turned to autumn, Geralt returned to work full time. He insisted that he would be able to drop Ciri off at school in the mornings, which Vesemir had happily allowed. The plan was that when Geralt eventually worked on-call night shifts again then one of his team mates would stay at Geralt’s flat to keep an eye on Ciri, or Yennefer would stay if she was in town. Geralt also had a babysitter, Coën, for during the week so he didn’t have to worry about getting home in time to pick the girl up from school.

All in all the young girl had been adopted into the fire family without hesitation. She had the entire wolf pack wrapped around her finger, even some of the cats had taken a shine to her from when Geralt had had to bring her to work on the weekends, and that rota was not known for their friendly attitude. They were a highly skilled group, made up mostly of volunteers who worked on-call shifts only, but their wit was scathing and the team banter bordered on inappropriate at times. Most of the grievances raised between the teams were against the cats.

The wolf pack, Vesemir’s own team from when he went out on jobs were more familial. They were siblings. They were the largest team of full-time firefighters and the glue that held the station together. The wolves tended to work daytime shifts whilst being on-call over night should any incidents occur. They worked opposite to the bears who were rota’d on day shifts when the wolves had their days off and vice versa. The bears’ volunteer on-call support tended to be the griffins rota but it wasn’t always the way.

Vesemir worked with all four teams as chief in the fire station, managing the rota and liaising with the supervisors for the other teams to ensure the whole operation ran smoothly. He just preferred to be in the office with the wolves. He had never quite overcome his bias towards his old team.

But Geralt had been erratic recently. He’d had to leave early all last week when Coën went off sick with the flu, and he’d been later than expected in the mornings too. Whilst at work he seemed distracted and just really not on peak form. It was having a bad impact on the rest of the team and Vesemir knew it was time to confront the problem.

He sighed.

This was only going to make him seem like the bad guy which really he’d rather avoid but it came with the job unfortunately.

He stood up wearily, wincing at the twin clicks of his knees, and exited his office.

“Geralt. Office. Now.” He barked.

“Oooh.” Lambert smirked. “What have you done now, White Wolf?”

“Fuck off Lambert.” Geralt snapped.

“Watch your mouth, Geralt.” Vesemir growled at the younger man. “Lambert, I want you and Eskel doing truck maintenance. We don’t have time to be sitting around on our backsides. Make sure all the gear is in the truck and nothing is damaged. I don’t want another trip to hospital because someone didn’t make sure their ventilator was working properly. Renfri, stay here and watch the phone. Geralt, with me.”

There was a groan from the room.

“Can’t I help with the truck?” Renfri moaned. “I hate manning the phone!”

Vesemir sighed as he considered her request. “Fine. Eskel and Renfri on the truck. Lambert you’re on phones, but next time I expect you not to undermine me Shrike.”

“Understood, Sir.” Renfri nodded and stuck her tongue out at Lambert.

“But…”

“No buts Lambert. Go.” Vesemir clapped his hands. “We haven’t got all day!”

The team scattered as they went to do their assigned tasks and Geralt slunk into the office behind him.

“Sit, Geralt.” Vesemir gestured to the small chair on the other side of his desk as he made himself comfortable in his own arm chair.

Geralt squeezed himself into the chair but remained silent, preferring to wait for Vesemir to start the conversation.

“You need a better plan for Cirilla.” Vesemir admitted with a sigh. Geralt tensed up immediately but remained silent. “I know last week was hard, Geralt, what with Coën letting you down but there has got to be a backup plan.”

Geralt grunted and covered his face with his hands. “I know. I’ll do better. I can do better.”

Vesemir nodded. “I know, Geralt. We can figure it out but whatever we’re doing now isn’t working. You can see that right? When you’re at work I need you focused on the job otherwise you could be putting the pack in danger. I will not risk their lives like that. What’s going on, son?”

“She called me Dad the other week and, fuck, I’m not. I can’t.” Geralt groaned.

“You’re worried you won’t be enough.” Vesemir guessed.

“I was never meant to be her father, Vesemir. Duny and Pavetta… They weren’t supposed to die. Fuck, then Calanthe and Eist too. She’s been through so much already. How could I possibly be good enough? I thought maybe Yen. I could ask her to try again. She’s always wanted a kid.” Geralt was panicking. That much was clear.

“Geralt. You know I adore Yennefer. She’s like family to me but don’t you think you’ve tried enough? You make each other miserable. That’s no way to raise a child, and a child won’t fix your relationship.” He sighed.

“Fuck. I know. I know that!” Geralt snapped. “But I can’t. I can’t do this on my own. How am I supposed to raise a kid? My own father was a piece of shit!”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow at the younger man. “Family is more than blood, Geralt. You know the entire wolf pack has your back. If it gets that bad then you’ll bring her in more often. She can stay here in the office with me, I don’t mind.”

Geralt’s yellow eyes flashed wide as he processed Vesemir’s words. “You sure?”

“Well she can’t stay in the house on her own. What about the school? Are there any after school clubs she could join?” Vesemir suggested.

Geralt shook her head. “No she’s too young for the clubs but she’s loving school. Her teacher, Jaskier, he’s really good with her.”

To Vesemir’s surprise, Geralt blushed.

“And this Jaskier, was he there when you went to pick her up last week?” Vesemir asked with a tilt of his head.

Geralt nodded. “Yes. He played guitar for her until I arrived to keep her calm. Ciri hasn’t stopped telling me about it since. Every evening it’s ‘Mr Jaskier says this.’ and ‘Mr Jaskier told us that!’ She’s completely smitten.”

“Hmm.” Vesemir said thoughtfully.

“And I’m happy for her, really I am. I’m glad she’s enjoying school but I just can’t help thinking that she should have someone like Jaskier as her father not me. I’m no good with kids, Vesemir.” Geralt groaned and sunk further down into his too small chair.

Vesemir laughed as he spotted the opportunity to tease the younger wolf. “You want Jaskier to be her father? Isn’t that a bit fast to be proposing to someone Geralt?”

“What?” Geralt’s head snapped up. “Fuck. No. That’s not. Fuck!”

Geralt stood up abruptly and glared fiercely at Vesemir. A lesser man might have been intimidated by the younger man but Vesemir just laughed. “Where’s your sense of humour gone Geralt?” He chuckled. “Go on. Get out of here, but remember what I said. I need your head back in the game, Geralt and we’ll sit down another time and work out a back up strategy for Ciri’s childcare.”

“Hmm.” Geralt growled and stalked out of the room.

Vesemir smirked at the younger man as he hurried from the room and then turned back to his computer with a sigh.

God he missed going out on calls. Paperwork was so fucking boring.

_______________

Just over a week after his little heart to heart with Geralt, Vesemir had a plan. Geralt was talking about Ciri and her teacher more and more during shifts. Even the other wolves had now picked up on it and it had become an endless source of entertainment for the pack. Vesemir wasn’t quite sure whether Geralt had noticed his fixation with Jaskier Pankratz but he was sure that he would go mad if he had to hear anymore about him. So far he could tell you what Jaskier’s favourite colour was (yellow), how many instruments the man could play that Geralt knew of (guitar, piano, harp and strangely the lute?), the colour of his eyes (cornflower blue) and his Starbucks coffee order (Caramel latte with an extra shot of coffee and cinnamon on top). Vesemir wasn’t even sure he wanted to know how Geralt knew all of that about his daughter’s school teacher.

Geralt hadn’t been this smitten in a long time, not since Yennefer. The worst thing was that the man seemed to be completely oblivious, or in serious denial. Vesemir had known Geralt was not solely attracted to women for a long time. He’d been one of the first people Geralt had come out to during his teens. It had been a bit of a shock at first but it had been a learning experience. No one would look at Geralt and assume he was anything but straight. It was on that day that Vesemir really started to understand why you should never judge a book by its cover.

Geralt had been pretty calm about it. He’d strolled into Vesemir’s kitchen one morning with a tall brunet trailing behind him and announced that the boy was now his boyfriend and they were going out to see a film.

It had taken Vesemir a while to realise that Geralt had been terrified about his reaction which was why the pair of them had scarpered so quickly. He’d managed to confront Geralt later on about the whole affair. It had been an awkward conversation. Neither of them were particularly verbose but Vesemir had assured the young lad that it didn’t matter who he was attracted to, Vesemir was his family and that was never going to change. They shared an awkward one armed hug and Geralt had gone up to the room Vesemir kept set up for him.

Over the years Geralt hadn’t had many long term relationships, Yennefer Vengerberg being the most prominent and long lasting, and as far as Vesemir was aware, Geralt tended to date women over other genders and it had been a long time since he’d seen the younger firefighter be so infatuated with another man.

He was determined to be as supportive as he could and show Geralt that he was ok with his choice of partner regardless of their gender.

The first part of Vesemir’s plan was to talk to Stregobor from Ciri’s school. The station was getting busier and he was sure it was because people were, quite frankly, morons. Everyone in the damn town seemed to have forgotten basic fire safety. They needed to counteract that, and fast, before someone got hurt. The best way to do that was to engage with the community in an interactive event, starting with the schools.

And if it gave him an excuse to meet the famous Mr Pankratz, well then, that was just a bonus.

The only downside was having to face the demon headmaster himself.

Stregobor was a fucking prick of a man. Not to mention he had unfortunate history with Renfri. Renfri had attended the school when she was younger and the headmaster had decided very early on that the young girl could do nothing right. She was constantly in detention and Stregobor had personally made it his mission to attack every bit of work the she did. Vesemir hadn’t known Renfri at the time but it was one of her favourite topics of conversation when the pack were in between calls. She’d had a troubled childhood but then so did everyone on the team. They were a band of misfits. Vesemir wouldn’t change it for the world.

The team was busy with a call, a house fire on the outskirts of Lower Posada. The call had reported that the fire had started in the kitchen, as most fires did, however the household had reportedly had a history of domestic abuse and the local police department were attending the call with the Wolves to look for signs of arson. It was always messy when the police were involved with their calls. The police were used to taking point on cases but in arson jobs it was down to his team. It meant long hours for both teams and an emotionally challenging day for all involved. He’d sent an email round to the on-call firefighters to let them know that the whole Wolf pack were out. He’d believed it was only fair to keep them updated on situations like that. No one enjoyed getting their day disrupted out of the blue and if any other calls came in it would be down to the Cats to take the call.

He looked up at the photograph that was hung on the wall. His own face stared back, wrinkle free and chestnut brown hair. He was in his uniform with his own team from when he’d first joined the fire brigade. They were all retired now, those that were still alive. He wondered what they would think of him, tucked safely behind his desk and buried under his paperwork. He’d always proudly announced that he would never become the chief for that very reason. His heart was behind the hose and up the ladders, he’d say, one of the best firefighters of his time.

He chuckled his past naivety.

When his knees had begun to creak and he wasn’t able to keep up with the fitness required to be a full time firefighter he hadn’t had the heart to retire. He loved being a fireman and he loved helping Posada and the surrounding towns. Geralt had just been starting his own training as a fireman with Eskel at the time and Vesemir suddenly realised he now had the chance to pass on his knowledge and experience to a brand new generation of firefighters. So he’d taken the promotion and stayed on whilst his friends and colleagues had slowly retired from the job one by one.

It didn’t mean he enjoyed paperwork anymore than his younger self had.

He sighed and dialled the number in his hands.

“Good Afternoon, Dol Blathanna School, Ms Merigold speaking, How can I help?” The receptionist spoke politely.

“Good Afternoon. My name is Vesemir. I’m calling from Morhen Fire Station. I was wondering if I could speak to the headmaster?”

“Vesemir. Geralt Rivia’s boss?” Ms Merigold asked.

He was taken back by the question. “Yes.” He grunted, wondering where she was going with this.

“Geralt has you listed as one of Ciri’s emergency contacts. Is there something wrong with her father?” Ms Merigold sounded concerned.

“No. Nothing like that.” Vesemir tried to assure her. “I’m calling about trying to organise a day for my crew to come in and speak with the kids.”

“Would Mr Rivia be there?” The receptionist asked with a mischievous tone to her voice.

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to be asking that, Ms Merigold.” Vesemir replied cautiously.

But she just laughed. “Oh gods, no. I’m asking for a friend. I swear. No. Also we’d have to consider Ciri having her father coming to school.”

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be Ciri’s teacher would it?”

Ms Merigold cackled on the other end of the line.

The plan it seems was going swimmingly.

________

Vesemir strode out into the yard where the wolves were all running fitness drills. He appraised their form and technique for a few minutes before calling out.

“Right! Gather round!” He shouted so that his voice could be heard even from the top of the tower where Eskel was currently hanging. “Careful on your dismount, Eskel. No showing off.”

“Yes sir!” Eskel called back but when he was a few feet off the ground he pushed himself back and backflipped to the ground, landing with a grin.

“Eskel.” Vesemir growled. “Once we’re done here I want you running laps.”

“Sorry Chief.” He chuckled but had the decency to bow his head.

“Boys.” Renfri muttered under her breath as she joined Geralt and Lambert in the middle of the yard in front of Vesemir.

“What’s up, Chief?” Lambert asked. “The alarms haven’t gone off.”

“Your observation skills astound me, Lambert.” Vesemir replied dryly.

“What? I’m just saying.” Lambert raised his hands in defence.

Geralt hit Lambert gently in the arm. “Maybe if you shut up, we’ll find out.”

“Enough.” Vesemir groaned. “I have an announcement. This time next week we have a special call to attend. I’ve already agreed that the cats will cover the station as part of their volunteer on-call hours. You will be required elsewhere.”

“Yeah! Field trip!” Eskel punched the air and cheered. The other three firefighters seemed less impressed.

“I can’t leave Ciri overnight.” Geralt huffed and crossed his arms.

“You won’t have to.” Vesemir raised an eyebrow. “In fact, you’ll be seeing her during the day.”

Geralt frowned. “What?”

“We’re going to Dol Blathanna School for the day.” Vesemir smirked as Lambert, Geralt and Renfri all looked like they were being sent to their death. Eskel, give him his due, was the only one who still seemed happy with the news.

“This is a joke?” Lambert asked. “Please, dearest Melitele, say this is a joke.”

“No.” Renfri snarled. “I’m sorry Vesemir but absolutely not!”

Geralt remained silent.

“I’m shit with children!” Lambert protested. “They get all grabby hands and they always want to play with the sirens. I can’t spend the whole day listening to sirens.” He groaned.

“The parents are worse.” Eskel pointed out.

“Fuck. The parents are worse!” Lambert moaned. “They all think we’re strippers! Vesemir please say this is a joke.”

Vesemir smirked. “Geralt? You’ve been quiet.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“To raise awareness for fire safety with the kids and their parents.” Vesemir replied. “You’ll all have noticed that there’s been an increase in calls recently.”

There was an affirmative grumble from the pack.

“It’s a good idea.” Geralt admitted.

“Traitor.” Lambert hissed.

“He’s only saying that because Jaskier works at the school.” Renfri muttered.

“This has nothing to do with Ciri’s teacher.” Geralt snapped. “I just think it will be a good preventative measure. I’m tired of being called out for stupid reasons.”

“I’m still not going to that hell hole.” Renfri glared fiercely at Vesemir.

“I know, child.” Vesemir nodded. “That’s why I’m giving you the chance to stay behind with the cats. It would be good for the kids to see you at the school, we need more girls on the team, but I won’t force you back.”

“I’ll stay.” Renfri said. “Otherwise Stregobor will end up with the firehose around his neck.”

Vesemir rolled his eyes at the venom in her voice. “Shrike, they’ll be no killing.” He admonished.

“I was joking.” He mumbled. “Mostly.”

“So it’s settled.” Vesemir nodded at his team. “Next Thursday we’ll be visiting Dol Blathanna School, with the exception of Renfri. No Lambert, you are not staying behind, and Geralt I expect to be introduced to young Ciri’s teacher. We’ve all heard so much about him.”

Geralt groaned and turned on his heels to head back into the station, leaving the rest of the wolf pack howling with laughter.

_____

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #vesemir #geralt x jaskier #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #modern au #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing

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theclaravoyant · 4 years

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AN ~ At long last; a *very* belated Roaring Twenties Rarepair Exchange gift for the amazing @bobbimorseisbisexual (lazyfish), who prompted “Scis & Spies + Regency AU".

This fic was inspired by the show Gentleman Jack, which is technically set in the Georgian era but it's pretty close! It’s also the longest thing I’ve written in like a year, and my first ever S&S fic! Though it may not be apparent from the appalling lateness, I had a great time writing this; I hope you enjoy it too <3

Rated T. Mostly fluffy. Relationships: Scis & Spies (Bobbi x Simmons x Fitz x Hunter, polyamory)

Read on AO3 (3800wd)

The Jacks and the Gentlemen

Barbara Elizabeth Morse was a woman of a peculiar kind. She always had been.

Ever since she had developed the capacity to loathe things, for example, Barbara had loathed her name; in particular, the foremost. But the fact that she insisted on being addressed as “Bobbi” instead was merely the first in a long line of deviations she took from the expected norm of her assigned sex so that by young adulthood, she had permanently marked herself as quite the oddity.

Growing up, Bobbi had no interest in the banal niceties expected of a woman of her station, and less than none in frills and petticoats or tending house. Even learning the arts and languages and traipsing around her family’s estate on horseback became dull and boring after a time. What was the point after all, Bobbi reasoned, of broadening one’s horizons if one was only permitted to gaze at them from the safety and mundanity of one’s lace-curtained bedroom window? What was the point of developing a sharp mind if it was allowed only to consume and perform as it had been told? It was a gilded cage to be sure, but a cage nonetheless, and so Bobbi dedicated much of her life to spreading her wings and flying free of it.

To this end – and despite much protest from her hand-wringing family - Bobbi left the comforting cloister of her estate and travelled the world; whereupon she discovered and indulged in many a fascination that had been denied her for so much of her young life. She experimented with tailored coats and hats, trousers, cravats… She studied science and medicine, biology, strategy… She delighted in romantic challenge and chase and left many a heart broken in her wake. She was even married for a time, to a disgruntled British naval officer, but it didn’t stick. Few things did as, quite the opposite of bored, Bobbi became rather restless; all but consumed by the need to discover what the world held in store for her.

When came the news that she had to return home, it was devastating. Without the benefit of hindsight, it hardly seemed to Bobbi that there could be a new and equally enticing journey about to begin. Yet, she had never been one to be cowed by things not going her way, and so she held her head high – a little too high, perhaps, when she insisted upon driving the carriage home herself; fearing, not that she would admit it, that her recently-returned nightmares of the carriage walls closing in around her would finally come true.

Bobbi endured the talk of her home town with as much dignity as she could muster – and as both a woman of high class and exceeding stoicism, that amount was not insignificant. Still, she could not entirely pretend, to herself at least, that it did not bother her; the way they all seemed to talk about her as though she was the small one, the poorly achieving one, having done nothing with her life but travel and dabble in knowledge after knowledge. Even the ones she thought might understand seemed to be hopeful that her return was a sign she was ready to settle down, and the more times this was insinuated, the more Bobbi wanted to cut off her own hair, denounce all civilisation, and steal away into the night. She had the skills and the courage to do it now. The only thing stopping her was the need to rebuild her estate before her family’s finances collapsed entirely and left a few dozen good people out of work and home.

… Although, if she were being completely honest, it did not hurt matters that she had also been invited for tea with the newest and most curious of her neighbours, one Miss Jemma Anne Simmons.

Miss Simmons was a pretty young woman, but her arrival was making a splash in the papers as much for her scientific mind as for her elusive inventor fiancé, and her appearance of apparently Shakespearean beauty. So, as much as Bobbi had been weighed down by tired social occasion after tired social occasion with the socialites that flittered through town on the ever-changing wealth of this new age of industrialisation, she had a feeling in her gut that this one was going to be different.

That feeling certainly was not nerves, Bobbi insisted to herself as she stepped over the threshold of the Fitz-Simmons house – and then again, as she was announced and ushered into the parlour, to find Jemma in all the resplendent glory the papers had promised. The woman seemed delicate, refined, and delightfully feminine in all the ways Bobbi knew she herself was not and Bobbi – who had always been a rather brash sort – felt herself oddly humbled by Jemma’s smile.

“Good afternoon,” Jemma greeted, “it’s Barbara, isn’t it?”

Bobbi couldn’t help but cringe. “Please,” she requested, “call me Bobbi.”

“Oh yes, of course. My apologies.” Jemma curtsied a little – and was that a blush? “It’s lovely to have you, Bobbi. Would you care for some tea? Of if you would prefer, I can send for coffee…”

She reached for the bell, but Bobbi raised a hand to stop her.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she agreed. “Young Hyson, if you have it - black, with no sugar. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jemma nodded, and began to pour. And yes, that was definitely a blush. Bobbi was even feeling a whisper of her own as Jemma added – as if she was trying to hide how desperately she wished Bobbi to acquiesce –

“I wonder if we might take tea outside this afternoon. I’ve been positively beleaguered with meetings today and I must see to my plants.”

A woman after her own heart. Bobbi smiled.

“Of course. We should stretch our legs after all.”

“Then it is decided.”

Bobbi’s heart dared to flutter in her chest as Jemma’s cautious hostess’ smile erupted into a beaming grin. The woman took hold of her skirts – revealing boots much like Bobbi’s own, rather than slippers that might have matched her otherwise refined ensemble – and took off out of the parlour door with great gusto. Finding herself drawn to follow, this time undeniably by more than her botanist’s interest alone, Bobbi strode after Jemma as best she could while reeling at her own spoonishness.

As they traipsed across the lawn, Bobbi marvelled in the delight Jemma seemed take at being out of doors, and drank in the prelude to the greenhouse – half snatched away by the wind though it was – with which the other woman was regaling her. Bobbi found herself entranced by Jemma’s spirited expression; the way she revelled in the trials and tribulations of seeking and transporting her large collection of exotics, unfazed even as the wind began to pull locks of her perfect hair from its arrangement and blow them unceremoniously into her face. And then –

“Oh, excuse me, Bobbi,” Jemma pleaded, and her expression narrowed into a scolding sort of glare. Bobbi followed the line of it and saw a ladder propped against the side of what appeared to be a disused chicken coop, and a figure hunched atop the rickety roof in an overcoat and goggles, fixing some contraption or other to the highest point of the pitch.

“Ho, Fitz!” Jemma hollered, as the figure lost hold of a tool and it fell to the dirt. He cursed.

“That’s Fitz?” Bobbi blurted. “Your Fitz?”

“You sound surprised,” Jemma noted.

“I meant no offence, it’s just – I’ve met quite a few of these entrepreneurial types and generally they’re rather… obnoxious.”

Jemma scoffed. “Oh, believe me: he’s plenty obnoxious.”

Resolute, she handed her cup of tea to Bobbi, hitched her skirt up a little higher with both hands and made a bee-line for the chicken coop, until she was close enough that her boots were in the muck.

“Fitz!” she called again.

“Yes, love?”

Fitz’s head jerked up at the call, and he saw her and Bobbi and apparently not the loose tile on which he had stepped. Before he could do any more than yelp in surprise, he had slipped and fallen flat on his back, coughing and spluttering and winded. His curls looked madder than ever as he lay there in resignation, and spat a soiled feather from his pouting mouth.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma lamented. She locked an arm with her fiancé and hauled him out of the sludge. “I told you to wait until Mack could come down and help with all this.”

“Mack and I are building the mechanical milling machine,” Fitz corrected. “This is a sonic fox repellent. It’s just a prototype but – Oh, sorry. I’m Fitz, by the way. Leopold Fitz, technically, but please don’t call me that.”

“Barbara Morse, technically,” Bobbi greeted. “But please don’t call me that either. I prefer Bobbi. Sonic fox repellent, you say? Let me know if it works – I might have to purchase a couple for myself.”

“Well, uh, thank you, but um –“

“But Mack will be here any minute, dear,” Jemma interrupted, waving Fitz toward the house. “Go and clean up now. Go! Honestly.”

“Yes, dear.” Fitz rolled his eyes, but smiled at his fussing fiancé as he retreated toward the house. Jemma slogged the rest of the way to the chicken coop and retrieved the screwdriver he had dropped, setting it on a step of the nearby ladder in case he went looking for it later. Bobbi looked on with nought to do but hold the two teacups steady, and she was a little surprised to find that despite what perhaps should have been a heart-wrenching reality check - to discover that the most recent object of her affection was indeed happy with someone else - Bobbi felt nothing but delight. No jealousy, no despair. And, if anything, a redoubled sense of yearning.

“Sorry about him,” Jemma apologised as she returned to Bobbi’s side to fetch her tea. “He’s a lovely man, really, and very intelligent, but he’s not accustomed to being complimented by beautiful women.”

“Well, with you around you think he’d be used to it by now.”

Jemma laughed, and raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. “Careful, Ms. Morse, you’ll give a lady ideas.”

The delivery of it was coquettish, light-hearted, but still Bobbi couldn’t help feeling that she’d crossed a line. She thought of poor sweet Fitz, and her heart sunk.

“I- I’m sorry, Miss Simmons. I meant nothing of it. Just that… Mr Fitz is a very lucky man.”

Seeing that she had sent Bobbi skittering, Jemma hurried to backtrack so emphatically that she almost spilled her tea.

“Oh, please! No need to apologise, it is all in good spirit – It was I who misspoke without the proper context. You see, Bobbi – may I still call you Bobbi? – your reputation precedes you in this regard but perhaps mine does not. Oh, dear.” Flustered, Jemma paused to gather herself and suddenly wished very dearly for a side table on which to deposit the lukewarm, useless beverage in her hands. “You see, I have been known to uh, entertain the attentions of the fairer sex myself. Not only am I not in the slightest offended by your perfectly innocent compliment, but I- I’m afraid I must confess I’d rather hoped you were being flirtatious.”

Bobbi gaped. “But… Fitz? I couldn’t. You’re engaged. It’s- it would be-”

“Fitz and I have an understanding,” Jemma clarified. At least, she phrased it like it was a clarification, but Bobbi only stumbled deeper into her confusion. She’d only seen the pair interact for a few odd minutes and already the connection was clear.

“He doesn’t- He’s not in love with you?” That man? Are you sure? Perhaps she would have to rethink her own calibration for stoicism if he had managed to keep that a secret.

Jemma shook her head.

“I’m not explaining this right. It never comes out simply, does it?” She clicked her tongue, tutting to herself as if musing on a new location for a particular pot, and not resolving the several short circuits sparking off inside Bobbi’s mind right now. It seemed like hours before she finally began again to explain:

“Fitz and I have been friends for the longest time,” she said. “As we grew and discovered that each of us had rather taken to those of our own sex we thought, if we were to live and love as our true selves well then, why not make it a marriage of convenience? Of course, he went and fell in love with me, didn’t he – and I him, do not misunderstand me: by some very blessed coincidence, we are very much in love. But our arrangement still stands. Fitz would not take offence in the slightest if you and I were to… explore any possibilities that may… arise.”

“…Right.”

“I can see that you need some more time to process,” Jemma observed. “Well, if I haven’t scared you off entirely – let’s say no more of it, for now. Come. Let me show you the greenhouse.”

They said no more of it for the rest of the afternoon, and for several days after that. They wrote little notes back and forth, about tea and chickens and foxes and plants, and very much not about the other topic of the day. Jemma waited for Bobbi to broach it and Bobbi – despite thinking about the arrangement with increasing regularity as time went on – dared not. The exact reason for it eluded her; did she fear that perhaps she had misread something, and that Jemma had not in fact, meant what she had said after all? Did she fear being the other woman – as she had been asked and offered many a time by men and women alike who did not have such an arrangement with their partners? Or did she fear the opposite instead; that she had finally found someone as unusual and brilliant and queer in every way as she herself was? Perhaps even two someones?

No doubt, there was some combination of all three tangled up in this knot in her chest, but it was the latter that kept Bobbi going to her desk in the middle of the night, pulling out a pen and paper, and not… quite… putting… the words down.

Or putting them down, and crossing them out.

Or putting them down, and throwing them in the fire.

As she watched the pages curl and blacken, Bobbi could taste the bitter memory of the last time she’d found herself in such a position. She had few regrets in her life, but one of them was that day; the day she’d let (or rather, driven) her former husband’s last words to her fall into the fire. There had been a lot more anger involved that time around, she recalled, and no shortage of jabbing at sparks with the fire iron, to make sure she’d got every last bit. This time, it felt like a step in the wrong direction. Like she was waiting to release the breath she was holding, or for the knot in her chest to untie and it never would.

I fear I must, were the last words she could discern now, from the letter she had burnt. She reached for the poker with a tremor in her fingers, and gritted her teeth. One good jab, and it would all be over. Then again, there was a blank spot just there. She could save it, if she were careful – and quick, as the words were already shrinking before her eyes.

I fear I

I fear

Fear

And then they were gone. And her breath was still caught in her chest but she lifted her head. She may have burned her bridges with the Midshipman after all, but she could still remember that infuriatingly rakish daredevil smile of his.

“Come on, love,” he used to like challenging her. “A little fear is nothing to be afraid of.”

It was something that had always bound them; the rush of taking risks, the revelling in new horizons. It was every reason she had to have left her home in the first place; perhaps that was what had made their relationship last so long, despite the warning signs. And as Bobbi reflected upon this image of herself, kneeling at her hearth, clutching a fire poker with a shaking hand at some unearthly hour in the morning - and not for the first time at that - she had to laugh. This was exactly the reason Hunter had broken up with her and after all this time she had to admit, the limey was right: as much as she purported to be bold and confident, to love a challenge, she was a coward when it came to affairs of the heart.

But Bobbi was no fool. She knew regret, and she knew the value of a wasted opportunity. She had regretted leaving Hunter enough times in her life thus far; she dared not waste such an opportunity again.

So she stood, and reached for her coat. Never mind the nightgown, never mind ringing for Davis; Bobbi figured, she could tack a horse herself just as quickly and if she didn’t take action now the fear might just get the better of her. Perhaps the boots, though, rather than these flimsy slippers – yes, she should take the boots.

She pulled them on in a fluster, hopping in through the stable door, and tacked up in the dark as fast as her fingers remembered how. Of course, she could walk to the Fitzsimmons’ – they were only next door after all, just a little ways down the road - but it was far too late at night for that, and God forbid it would give her too much time to think.

Fortunately, Belle was fleet of foot and it was not long at all before she was clattering up the FitzSimmons’ driveway, her heart in her throat. There was a carriage she did not recognise in a nearby pen. Did they have a guest? Should she turn back? Belle whinnied low as if warning her, and Bobbi swallowed her fear once again. If she did turn back, no doubt she would find herself achingly alone by the fireplace for many more nights in her life, and as much as she treasured her independence, she didn’t want it to be like that. Not when it didn’t have to be.

Bobbi slid from the saddle, and as she tied Belle to a nearby post she spared a thought of gratitude that she had decided to wear boots for a little relief against the chilled and dewy cobblestones. With a deep breath, she approached the threshold, and knocked, and rang the bell.

Seconds passed, and though she counted them along their way they still somehow felt like minutes. Like hours. Bobbi watched every breath steam in front of her and after the third she closed her eyes and reluctantly wondered what it would be like to just give in to the dread, and forget the whole thing.

Just as she was on the knife’s edge of giving up, however, the door opened a crack.

It was Fitz, with his soft curls and his shirt loose and dishevelled, and upon recognising the figure who stood at his door, a rather bewildered expression.

“Jemma, dear,” he called, “I think- I think it’s for you.”

And so Jemma came to the door as well, and looked Bobbi up and down. A frown crossed her features, concerned and curious, as she ushered Bobbi inside.

“Are you alright?” she wondered. “I… hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know.” Bobbi bounced on the spot. With adrenaline keeping her blood pumping, she hadn’t realised it was quite so cold. “I know. It’s my fault. I meant to tell you so- so many things. I was flattered- I am flattered. Exceedingly so. I just…”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Jemma assured her. “I should never have sprung something so… unconventional on you like that!”

“But being unconventional is why I like you.” It blurted out with no restraint, and Bobbi felt her heart warm when Jemma smiled. “And it’s not the- the arrangement itself that worries me. I suppose I thought you were mocking me; that you might not have been taking me seriously.”

“Bobbi.” Jemma looked her square in the eyes, and very deliberately reached out a hand to take hers. “We were very serious – and still are, if you’ll have us.”

Fitz nodded his agreement earnestly, and at last, Bobbi felt the knot in her chest begin to untie.

“Well then,“ she confessed, “I suppose my answer is yes.”

Jemma beamed, and clapped in delight.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “Won’t you come in for a drink to celebrate?”

“Certainly,” Bobbi agreed. The fear was fading much faster than she had anticipated, and she smiled at her companions with genuine warmth in her heart. “I would love a brandy, if you have it.”

“I’ll pour you a glass,” Fitz said, and scoffed. “If Hunter hasn’t taken the last drop.”

“If- who?”

Bobbi stammered, and let Jemma and Fitz usher her into the lounge without protest, with hardly a thought as she checked back over what she had heard. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Where’ve you been, lovelies?”

That voice, she knew it. The spinning, slightly drunken dance he was doing as he poured himself a glass. Even that scruffy beard, and the medallion of St Anthony that gleamed on a leather thong around his neck as he turned away from the fireplace and back toward the door - Bobbi couldn’t see it from this far away but she knew, she knew that’s what it was.

Apparently, he knew her just as quickly too, as he froze mid-dance and mid-pour and stared. Not too long ago, he would have made a snide comment to try and to get a rise out of her – speak of the devil? she could imagine he would say - and a rise she would gladly have given him. But this time he simply… stared.

“Uh…” Fitz wondered from the sidelines. “Do you two know each other?”

Jemma elbowed him, and hissed for him to hush, but it barely registered to Bobbi. She was too busy watching Hunter, waiting for him to burst the bubble of nostalgia and rose-coloured glasses she had no doubt shaded him with. Any second now.

Instead, he smiled, and held the last glass of the brandy out to her.

“It’s good to see you, Bob,” he said.

“It’s good to see you too.”

#aosfic #scis & spies #agents of shield #aosficnet #roaring 20s rarepair exchange #marvel #polyamory #clara's fic tag

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isobel-thorm · 5 years

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Yes

John figured joining the Resistance to spite his brother after the Deputy’s Baptism was going to be his undoing. He didn’t figure on it also leading to him getting the one thing he wanted from Rook.

Dedicated to @devotchkas and @nickiburkes for being horrible enablers and agreeing that that one bit in Reign was a John/Deputy situation waiting to happen.

John looked at the clock in the corner. Deputy Rook had been gone for two hours. It was supposed to be a raid on the Grain Elevator, barely a ten minute drive away. It wasn’t at all like her. Something was wrong.

Joining the Resistance had been a whirlwind. Joseph had treated him like an insolent child him one too many times at the Baptism, and he had had enough. He had shown up at his freshly captured Ranch with Hudson in tow, promising all the information they had wanted- as well as Hudson’s release, for immunity in the whole ordeal.

Rook had been more than willing to argue the rub with him until he pointed out that the arrest warrant had only listed Joseph’s name- and produced the very document that Joseph had saved from the fire to ‘make a point about later.’ Rook had outright refused, but after getting Whitehorse and Hudson involved in the decision-making, they had come to begrudging acceptance of the terms.

John had played nice and answered all of the questions he was asked honestly- if not with mild complaining. The Deputies had played nice as well, allowing him to sleep in his own bed, go anywhere he wanted- so long as it was in the house and under supervision most of the time- though as time went on, the chaperones got more lax.

After he had played by their rules for a while- a point he was making to Rook after he had accused her of not following the rules what felt like ages ago now, he might have even considered her a friend. It was strange but not unwelcome, having a friend for once. The fact that she was easy on the eyes was the icing on the cake.

But then as time went on, he found out that his dear Deputy was Wrath incarnate. He had seen her meticulous with plotting out attack strategies. He had seen her in action, taking out a couple of stray Project members that had attempted to retake the Ranch by being completely obvious and running up his airstrip. She had snuck up on one, shot them in the back of the head and the hurled a knife at the other one, embedding it in his eye. She was ruthless when she wanted to be. There had been a report that she had tried to take back the Misery with a couple of companions, and had been utterly destroyed when they had been discovered just late enough that two of the hostages were killed just so they wouldn’t be rescued. Her nobility had been her undoing that night. She had come back to the Ranch and he had made the mistake of checking up on her in the living room and she had retaliated by absolutely wrecking the room, throwing books and whatever that wasn’t nailed down around and screaming her lungs out. He had counted it as a blessing that she didn’t throw anything at him or take it all out on him, but she hadn’t- and she had stormed off, apparently determined to not let him see the obvious- that her outburst had ended in her crying.

Still, the literal damage was done, and the outcome was simple- he had fallen in love just a bit.

She was Wrath, she shared in his sin, she understood him because his ticks were her ticks, her priorities were his priorities.

She had been the first one to reluctantly thank him for his information after the first few insider tips had been worth it. It had been adorable at the time, muttering the “thank you” with her arms crossed and eyes set firmly in the corner of the room.

It had warmed up to not having closed off body language after a while, and then she could look him in the eye, and then she drifted closer with each passing piece of information he had.

And then came asking him for advice about certain attack strategies, and then jokes about whatever the Project members had been talking about before their timely ends. And then, on nights when it was just them leaning over the map, they’d swap childhood stories. Rook had never met her parents, John had insisted she was probably lucky for it. He told her about the vague happy memories he had from his childhood- as few and far between as they were, and she had done the same.

Before long there was no space between them in the strategy meetings. John would tell them something about an operation just on the border of the Valley, he’s get too close into her space and point just over her shoulder so they were nearly touching.

It was enough to get Whitehorse and Hudson to set him with a suspicious look, then they took special notice that Rook hadn’t exactly moved away, either.

It had progressed like that until their friendship was commonplace. Whitehorse stopped idly having his hand cover his gun when they spoke. Jerome had let John sit in on a handful of church services - so long as he kept his mouth shut. Mary May gave him a beer with the others whenever they came back from a mission.

It was nice. And he had gotten way too comfortable in that routine because he finally, finally had a place where he was appreciated and people listened.

So when Rook had gone to the Grain Elevator, not come back in at least four times what it usually took, and even Whitehorse was pacing uncomfortably in the living room, John was worried.

Not only for his new station, his place with his new companions- but for her, his opposite, the one who had made this all possible.

It was nightfall by the time there were several shouts that ‘She was back!’ and by the time she had reached the front door of the great room before she was limping inside. Upon further inspection, she had a busted lip to boot.

But she was alive, and steady on her feet and he hadn’t lost her. Thank God, he hadn’t lost her. He kept repeating it in his head.

“Where have you been? What the Hell happened?”

“The Grain Elevator went south. Guy was hiding around the corner and took me out with a pipe, I’m fine.”

“Took you out with- “ John practically choked as he parroted the report back, then frowned. “Look at me.”

Rook let out an indignant squawk when he cupped her face and practically yanked her towards him. She huffed and looked him in the eye once she realized he was checking for a concussion, judging by how intensely he was looking at her eyes. “I’m fine. Promise. Want me to do that walking one foot in front of the other thing, because I can probably-”

His pinky and ring fingers dug into her neck, and she had half a mind to wonder why before he had crushed his mouth to hers. It made him a little too prideful when she went slack in his arms for a second. So he hadn’t been the one to entertain this possibility. Good. Plus there was a certain rush the kiss gave him that he hadn’t felt in years. God, it was worth it.

She was utterly silent for a couple of seconds and then yelped- but it sounded pained, not protesting. She pushed him away, but it wasn’t lost on him that she twisted her hands in his shirt to keep him close, either.

“What?”

“... You would pull that stunt when my lip’s in ridiculous pain, you asshole.”

Well, that wasn’t a flat out rejection now, was it? His eyes flicked to hers for a moment before he bent and kissed the corner of her mouth, opposite the cut, then reveled in her answering sigh when he pulled back. “Better?” he teased.

She went red in the face for a moment, then, so quiet he almost missed it: “Yes.”

He went absolutely still at that, then looked her in the eye again. The look she gave back was pure challenge, and he fell in love a little more then and there. She knew exactly what she was doing. She was very knowingly playing with fire. And he’d be damned if he didn’t make sure she got burned. He leaned over to kiss her cheek and waited.

“Yes.”

He kissed her jaw.

“Yes.”

Her neck.

Far more breathy then the last few, but all the same: “Yes.”

He scoffed, though there was no animosity behind it. He licked his bottom lip, then pulled back. “Well, Deputy. If that’s all that took to get you to say that, we could’ve solved a lot of our problems quicker. And it would’ve been a lot more fun.”

“Had to earn it first,” she answered. “And it’s not your ‘Yes.’”

“I think I’m more inclined to this one,” John countered. He opened his mouth to continue, then immediately shut it upon hearing another set of footsteps approaching the great room rapidly. He took a wide step back before they reached the interrupted reached the doorway.

It was the Sheriff, and he barely paid John any mind before he bolted for Rook in order to look her over for injuries.

John made his way to the exit door, his shoulder at Rook to find her looking back with an uncertain expression. He offered a smirk, then looked away and his eyes fell on his landline on the table, with that red button reminding him and whatever nosy Resistance members of Joseph’s voicemail.

Well, maybe Joseph was right about some things.

#John Seed #John Seed x Deputy

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fabricadeconhecimentos · 5 years

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The Complete Copywriting Course : Write To Sell in 2019

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mywalkhispath · 5 years

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Testing of Faith

In This World You Will Have Trouble…

Why, God? Why me? Why now? Why here? Why this? Why am I in this valley of sickness, pain, suffering, shame, hopelessness? God, why don’t you heal me from this thing? Oh, how many times have I asked myself these questions as I traveled through one of life’s valleys? I want to stay on the mountain top where I can see for miles, see where I’m going, live above the troubles of the city in the valley below. But do I really? Do I really want to stay where the winds are cold, the oxygen thin, the winter severe with troubles of its own, the terrain is rugged and a wrong step can be deadly? How about the plains…the flat expansion of earth that’s not really a valley formed at the base of two mountains, but doesn’t have the rugged edges of the mountain top? You know the easy place where life is predictable, the children are respectful and help with the dishes, husband and wives love each other with abandon, everyone is healthy, the bills are always paid on time….

We don’t live in this nirvana, we live in a broken world that is full of sin and suffering. A world where our faith is tested daily, sometimes more severely, more painfully than others. Sometimes we barely recognize the testing and passing or failing can have life long implications.

Why must we go through this testing? Much like the refining of metals to remove impurities and make it stronger, the successful testing of our faith makes us stronger and deepens our trust in God. When others see how we respond to the difficult time in our lives it can affect their personal walk with God. My cousin, Brooke, has been battling stage 4 breast cancer for several years now. This is her second battle with this terrible disease and the aggressive nature of this battle leaves little hope for a complete remission. Brooke has three elementary-aged children and works as the Women’s Ministry Director at a large church in Columbia, SC. Her husband, Justin, was killed in a biking accident last August. I am in awe of her strong faith and how she continues to rely on God in all things. Through her social media posts, speaking engagements, and personal interactions I am sure she is strengthening others. Her facebook page is here. God has provided a strong faith-filled family and community of friends who help her manage her treatments and family obligations as she continues with chemo treatments to keep the cancer in check.

There are numerous instances of the testing of faith in scripture. Jesus was tested by the devil for 40 days; Peter and the other disciples were tested and martyred for their faith, Job was tested when the devil took his children and his earthly belongings. They all came through with stronger faith, faith enough to die for what they believed in. Jesus now sits at the right hand of God, the disciples at His feet, and Job was given even more than he previously possessed. They were faithful during their testing.

There are also examples in Scripture where the testing didn’t go so well. Adam and Eve gave in to the serpent’s testing by eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, resulting in their being banished from the Garden of Eden. Moses killed a slave master. King David had an affair with a married woman and tried to cover it up by having her husband killed. Still, God used them for His purposes and their names are familiar to both Jews and Christians.

In John 10:10a (NLT) Jesus says, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy.” The thief wants to take our joy, to test our faith and see how strong it is. How we respond is crucial to where our path takes us. How do we navigate our valleys, and even the precarious mountaintop well?

Before your faith is tested, surround yourself with strong believers:

We live in a society where fewer and fewer feel they have the need or the time to attend church services, yet this is where we are most likely to find strong believers. Listening to podcasts or religious music, watching services online, or doing online Bible Studies are great to expand our knowledge of Jesus Christ, but they don’t give us the benefit of intimate knowledge and relationship found in community with other believers. Church people are no more perfect than you are, made from the same dust, molded by the same God.

Other strong believers may be in your family or in your neighborhood. Seek them out, discuss your faith and their faith. Share your fears and joys. Start a bible study in your home or at work and be willing to be vulnerable with the attendees. Then you will know who you can turn to and trust when you are tested.

As your faith is being tested, get a team:

In March of 2018 my 10 year-old grandson was admitted to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. The diagnosis was asthma and atypical pneumonia. After he was released and spent a week at home, he, his sister, and a cousin came to stay with my husband and I, over 500 miles away. He did well - swimming in the pool, going to the zoo, and other area attractions, as long as he didn’t overdo it and had his inhaler handy. Upon returning home to his parents and to school he began having even more trouble breathing than before. Back to the hospital where a CT scan showed a 90% blockage in his trachea that wasn’t readily visible in the X-rays taken during his first stay. He was air-lifted to a premier children’s hospital where the surgical team was assembled and a strategy for removing this growth without collapsing his lungs, suffocating him, or leaving some of it behind was developed. This season was probably the most I’ve had my faith tested in a long time. “Faith over fear” became my unspoken mantra as I prayed for his healing. During this time I felt the prayers of my team of friends, family, and church washing over my sweet grandson, his parents, and me. A prayer warrior I’ve never met had a vision of Saint Raphael, the Catholic Saint of Healing, standing over my grandson…as a Methodist, the Saints are rather unknown to me, but the peace of mind this gave me is undeniable. The surgery was successful and that child of God is able to run and play with his cousins and friends, not worrying about having asthma! This team of prayer warriors helped strengthen my trust in God as the surgical team strengthened my trust in medicine. Our struggles don’t have to be wrestled with in a vacuum. Get a team!

As your faith is being tested, tell God how you feel:

Your prayers don’t have to be just about solving the struggle. When I was a teenager I thought little of telling my parents when I didn’t agree with a decision or family rule or being grounded for ignoring said rule. Yet, I have to remind myself that I can go to my Heavenly Father with my hurts, my frustrations, my anger at what I’m facing. We serve a loving God who wants to have a relationship with us and open communication is key. Yes, God is all-knowing and doesn’t need me to tell Him what’s going on in my heart and mind…But just like I know the answer my kids will give me when I ask how his or her day went, I still like to have the interaction. Getting what I’m feeling out in the open helps me process, it sparks clarity, it helps me understand better why I’m in this situation.

After the testing, praise God:

I am currently reading “It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way” by Lysa TerKeurst. Here is a link. If you’ve read Lysa’s earlier books you know that she is very vocal about the struggles she has had during her life. In 2008 Lysa revealed that she’d had an abortion 16 years earlier. The faith needed for someone who is so visible as a woman of God to step out and own this action and the subsequent pain is unfathomable to me. In “It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way” she discusses going through betrayal and two life-threatening health issues, yet she comes out praising God and the blessings she has received from these valleys…or in this life “between two gardens” as she likes to put it. She praises God for the pain that kept her hospitalized until the doctors could find out what was wrong, thus, saving her life. She praises Him for the time she needed to sit and just be, and heal.

My cousin, Brooke, praises God for each day, each moment, that she receives to spend with her children and extended family. Would she have chosen this path? Definitely not! Is she modeling what a solid faith looks like even during extreme adversity? Most definitely!

What the evil one intends to harm, to shame, to lessen our focus on our loving, faithful Heavenly Father, our God uses for good (Romand 8:28). Lysa’s and Brooke’s stories encourage thousands of women. The biblical accounts of Joseph (Genesis 37-50) and Ruth (the book of Ruth) encourage both men and women to place their faith in God, knowing that He has plans for each of us, to prosper us, and give us a life worth living (Jeremiah 29:11). In the second half of John 10:10 Jesus states, “My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.” Praise God, for He is faithful, He loves us, He promises to never forsake us! Praise Him for loving us enough to see us through the valleys of our lives, to allow us to be challenged in a way that makes us stronger. We live in a fallen world; let’s be thankful that God is with us each step of the way!

Why me, God? Better yet… Why not me? Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” Thank you, Jesus!

#itsnotsupposedtobethisway #faithoverfear #prayer #whymegod #youarestrongerthanyouthink

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burksvang28-blog · 5 years

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serenephenix · 6 years

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... To help you

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

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

…To help you

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Gen/ Gen

[Genre]: Family, Hurt/Comfort, centers around Veronica, Marco & Lance

[Warning]: mention of very protective but ultimately supporting siblings

[Word count]: 4.800

[Status]: completed

Post season 7 – related to this post I made

[Omg help me I’m back on my shit again. After months of having been unable to write I can’t seem to stop. Have fun guys. This is suuuuuuper self-indulgent by the way. Kudos to anyone who makes it to the end.]

[Important PSA after the first comments on Ao3: No bashing the team, be it in the tags or in a reblog. Lance is not a prize to be won by either side]

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

Once might have counted as nothing more than a fluke. A second time she might play off as a coincidence maybe. By the third time, Veronica had a sinking feeling plaguing her. After the fifth time, she had stopped counting and instead started to consider that this had to be more than a mere “fluke”.

Far be it from her to hold grudges or make hasty decisions, but the more time Veronica spent around team Voltron, the angrier she became almost every instance.

Honestly, the fact that her ire had grown enough to be noticeable even to her family was admirable in itself – there were few people that could pride themselves in having disturbed Veronica’s inner peace so profoundly that she was falling back into bad habits.

“You’re chewing on your pencil.”

She startled, taken aback by Marco’s nonchalance. She cleared her throat and demonstratively put the poor, abused tool down to recline in the uncomfortable chair they had stolen from another room down the hall so that at meals everyone had a chance to sit at the relatively small workbench that served as their table and “office” outside of office.

But the last one only truly concerned Veronica herself.

Marco was idly scrolling through something on a datapad, finger lazily dragging along the surface. Judging by his expression it had to be pictures from before the war had broken out – small glimpses of the past he had managed to take with himself on an even smaller chip he had guarded with his life. It was incredible he had ever thought of taking them with him, much less having stored them there in the first place.

The original chip still hung around his neck, attached to a sturdy necklace and protected by a plastic casing that had seen better days already. A testament to the trials and losses the journey from Cuba had brought with it.

She caught a glimpse of a picture –fairly old, since she caught her nine year old herself in the left-hand corner – and she felt something in her chest tighten as she caught sight of Abuela smiling up from an angle. Such a sweet smile, unsuspecting of all the terrible things that were to come.

There was no way that Marco had not noticed her taking off her glasses to wipe at the corners of her eyes, but he had the grace to not further comment on it.

“I miss her.”

“Me too.”

She wished she could have seen her at least one more time. Once the Galra had arrived she had not managed anything more than to text her family in a group chat, telling them to run and hide.

After communications had been cut by the invaders, there had been many nights where Veronica had lain awake, wondering, worrying, sometimes crying in the privacy of her small bathroom.

So, when she had reunited with them months later after the missions in the tunnels, the joy had blinded her to the terrible truth for a few minutes.

Knowing that her family was mostly safe and unharmed was a blessing, but as her parents sat her down and told her in soft whispers that their Abuela had suffered a stroke or heart attack during their crossing, Veronica could not stop herself from thinking that it was unfair.

One more time. What she wouldn’t give to tell her one more time that she loved her.

But it was too late, and as she rationalized (as much as it hurt), she was so much luckier than many of her friends and comrades. Many of them had no more family to return to outside of this building.

The gurgling and hiss of the faucet had Veronica looking up, watching with a small smile as Marco came back with a glass of water she accepted gladly.

“Thanks.”

Marco shrugged, corner of his mouth twitching upward a little.

He had been the one to try CPR on Abuela when it had happened. Of course he would, seeing how he had been a lifeguard at Varadero beach for a few years now. Still, it had not worked. Veronica hoped that Marco did not guilt himself over it.

Likely sensing she might ask first if he did not intervene, he pointed to her pencil, her gnawing having left clear indents in the smooth plastic: “What’s up with that?”

Veronica took a large gulp of water first, deciding if she should answer honestly.

Her mind was made-up instantly.

“Lance has been considering staying with us.”

Marco blinked at her in clear shock. His flat palm came to slap at his forehead before it started smoothing his hair back.

“Oooooh… so that’s what the whole morning crying was about.”

Veronica nodded. Neither she nor Lance had explained themselves to the rest of their family and so far she had respected that, even if Maria, Luis, Mama and Papa had needled her. They were worried and Veronica understood it all too well, but Lance was the one who needed to decide for himself when to open up about his impending choice. Today though had put a few things into perspective for her and she needed a second opinion for that, and out of all of their other family members, Marco was one of the more discrete ones. He’d know not to blab.

“I personally think he should stay.”

Marco did give her a questioning look at that but waved his hand for her to go on.

“A team should be about respect and trust. And there is nothing against teasing each other or making jokes. Even our MFE fighter pilots tend to do it,” she smiled fondly at that. One might not be able to tell, but those kids were masters of banter in their own right. According to Veronica’s own tally chart Leifsdottir and Kinkade were tied for first place, not by the amount of shots fired but by the accuracy and truthfulness of them. Griffin and Rizavi, even as a united force, stood no chance.

Veronica’s smile vanished though, as she remembered the interactions she had been privy to over the past week, where she had taken over for a communications officer that had fallen ill.

It was probably due to their late night conversation and the endless praise Lance would wax about his teammates, but what Veronica had seen and heard instantly made that cold yet blazing protectiveness resurge.

As she had concluded, team Voltron was indeed made up of wonderful individuals, unique and incredible in their own ways.

When one gave it a bit of thought, having former cadet Keith Kogane work almost seamlessly with a team felt like a fever dream. While Veronica had never personally interacted with the defiant youth back in the day, she had heard complaints from all of the staff forced to deal with him. The calm leader giving instructions over the comms was almost unrecognizable. Captain Shirogane always seemed to swell with quiet pride whenever it was pointed out.

Veronica could understand him all too well – if anyone were to talk that same way about Lance, she would likely not react any differently.

Pidge, or rather Katie Holt, was indeed just as smart as Lance had emphasized. Not that there had been any doubt about it during the briefings and strategy talks leading up to their final stand, the young woman coming up with a multitude of scenarios whenever a new element and detail was added to their plans. Veronica was all too curious about finding out just how she was processing things so quickly even without a computer handy. In regards to snark, she and Rizavi would get along wonderfully.

Hunk was the main reason they had managed to salvage many of their vehicles in the aftermath of the fight. She had yet to taste any of his cooking (which Lance reminded her daily was to die for), but what she could say was that he was a creative engineer. Just the other day, she had listened to him chatter with his friends all the while helping one of their engineering groups restarting an emergency generator for a medical facility. In the end, he and the other engineers had ended up building it from scratch, Hunk throwing in suggestion to get the most out of it. Some of these adjustment sounded downright alien - which they most likely were.

Princess Allura herself was one of the most regal and beautiful women Veronica had ever had the pleasure to meet. Which may be why she was rooting for her brother and, subsequently, liked flustering Lance with comments and remarks regarding Allura’s interest in him. But as much as Allura was a princess, she was also a kind and devoted person, one of the first to rise to coordinate the actions for reconstruction and the last to leave in the evening.

Amazing people in their own rights and yet…

“I do not think staying with team Voltron as it currently is will do Lance a lot of good in the long run.”

She looked at Marco over the rim of her glasses.

Her earnestness must have hit a nerve, since slowly Marco’s surprised expression shifted from disbelief to concern, his brow furrowing and mouth pinched.

“What makes you say that? Lance seems to like them. Can’t be that bad then, can they?”

Veronica let those words settle a little.

No, the members of team Voltron were not bad people, not by a long shot. But just as any other individuals with agency, they had their faults and made mistakes.

Allura, as Veronica had noticed, could be somewhat stubborn if she saw herself in the right.

Hunk could be dismissive of others when under pressure.

Pidge had a tendency to be unrelenting, be it in her very scientific explanations or tasks she had set herself.

Keith seemed to not always think things through entirely, sometimes getting blindsided by details that had not been discussed prior, ultimately tripping him up.

But all of these, in Veronica’s opinion, were excusable.

She needed to take a deep breath, indignation rising inside her like bile. It was not helpful or necessary at the moment. She needed to keep a clear head. Marco’s judgement need not be clouded by her feelings.

“Did you know that when you are in a relationship long enough, you become deaf to certain things being repeatedly said, both parties no longer noticing it even happens?”

Marco gave a cough that soon turned into full-blown laughter.

“Tell me about it. Marta would never shut up about me messing with her nifty system for all of our clothes,” his expression lost a bit of its mirth. Veronica could only guess that he was mentally revisiting the rooms of a house that was probably destroyed like much else on Earth, “After a while, it just became a running gag. Heh, even the kids were getting a laugh out of it.”

“Exactly.”

He started at her sudden interjection, at the harshness in her voice as she gripped the glass she was still holding with a little more force.

She took another deep breath as Marco slowly came closer, taking with him his chair with protesting screeches from chair legs dragging across the floor.

Once sitting, he leaned forward, crossed arms resting on the table’s surface, face grim.

“What’s going on?”

Veronica raised her left hand, elbow still on the table and started massaging her temple with her thumb. The pain when she pressed just the right spot was distracting enough to calm her.

“I’ve been dealing with communications for a while now, to help with coordinating the reconstruction efforts. Ever since Lance told me about wanting to quit, I might have paid more attention to him and his team, however subconsciously,” her lips twitched but there was nothing funny about all of it, “And this past week, since taking over for officer Anatoly, I’ve been in charge of communicating them their tasks. For that, I’m on the comms constantly and I hear everything that’s going on.”

She took off her glasses, putting them in front of her, wiping at her tired eyes. The screens were doing them little good.

Marco was kind enough to wait, even went to refill her glass and Veronica thanked him for it.

“I cannot tell you how many times Lance has been treated as ‘dumb’ in this one week alone.”

Marco’s stared at her open-mouthed, indignation making his shoulders hunch and his brow furrow so deeply that Veronica was almost afraid the resulting wrinkles would be permanent.

His mouth closed with an audible clack that had both of them wincing, but it did obviously not quell Marco’s anger.

“All of them?” He merely asked, and suddenly Veronica was no longer sure this had been such a good idea.

She put a firm hand on his shoulder, felt him tremor slightly under it.

“Not all of them.”

It still did not seem to appease him.

“What about his commanding officer? Shouldn’t he intervene?”

Veronica resisted the urge to suck in her lips, thinking back to all of the instances where Captain Shirogane had indeed intervened when the team’s discussions went too far off topic for them to still be entirely concentrated on their tasks.

Her heart felt heavy.

When words failed her, she merely shook her head.

“Just as I said: you become deaf at some point.”

The chair went crashing down as Marco surged to his feet, stomping towards the door, and it took all of Veronica’s strength and weight to stop him as she latched onto his wrist with both her hands.

He turned on her sharply, his eyes ablaze with fury and Veronica was so, so glad that she was not at the receiving end of that raw fury.

“This solves nothing,” she reminded him, her voice calm while everything inside her was anything but.

Marco tried to unlatch her, but if he thought her training was for nothing then he was sorely mistaken.

“MY BROTHER DID NOT GO TO WAR TO BE CALLED DUMB!”

His voice boomed through the confined space and Veronica was beyond thankful that right now everyone else was still gone, that luckily it was just them here.

Marco gave another shot at throwing her off, but just as with the first time, Veronica stood her ground, digging the heels of her shoes into the floor.

“I agree with you, I do,” she amended, voice growing louder at the last few words as Marco still resisted, “But antagonizing the people he looks up to and loves is not going to help him!”

Because her brother had told her as much. Shortly after their heart-to-heart, Lance had repeatedly come to her when he could not sleep. As far as Veronica could guess, the impending decision was robbing Lance of sleep. As if recurring nightmares he refused talking about were not already doing a fine job of it. On one of those nights, as Lance had heavily leaned into her side with drooping eyes, he had whispered about the time he had spent hunting coins in a mall’s fountain to get Pidge some retro console from Earth. He had fondly whispered of Keith’s cluelessness about simple cheers, mentioned Hunk and Pidge’s reprogrammed Paladude, a gaming session with Coran and their team leader (and Lance still refused to tell her why he had suddenly been crying at that one), or how Allura had helped him train with a cool sword he had yet to show Veronica.

Lance, undoubtedly, loved his team just as much as he loved them. And Veronica did not doubt that if she asked the team, they would likely call Lance their friend. That did not mean however, that they were properly showing their appreciation.

Veronica would be lying if she said that none of their own family had never called Lance a ‘brat’ or a ‘dumbass’ on occasion. Because Lance, for all of his helpfulness and sweetness, could be a pain to be around. Still, at the end of the end of the day and after every sibling squabble, there never had been any doubt that they loved and supported him.

And as she had observed recently, Lance had very much mellowed out and matured during his stay in space.

Which was why she agreed with Marco’s statement but could not allow her very loyal older brother to hunt down any perceived offenders on Lance’s behalf.

Lance did not need added conflict in his life, and Veronica would not forgive herself if she were to become the source of it.

Marco gave a huff but remained still, face turned to the closed door leading to the hall.

Veronica seized her chance.

“I want Lance to be happy. I promised him that I would respect his decision no matter what. And there might be a chance that Lance does want to go back out there. You’ve noticed as well, right?”

The way Lance would sometimes look out at the night sky, tiny dots of light reflected in his eyes as he gazed out with a longing that was far beyond any of their understanding. It was the core of Lance’s conflict.

He had seen space and its wonders, was enticed by it like those old sailors by the sirens’ calls, but just like the legendary Odysseus, her brother was tired and weary just like most of his friends.

And if Veronica had to guess, there was a good amount of loyalty involved in Lance’s indecisiveness.

Loyalty to his friends.

Loyalty to his duty as a defender of the universe.

Loyalty to their family.

Marco was growing less tense under her touch, allowing Veronica to let go with one hand to cover her eyes.

“If Lance wants to go back out there, I will let him,” her voice dropped to almost a whisper, “but I do not want him to be stuck with people that will inevitably bring him down.”

There was pressure building behind her eyes.

“I don’t want to lose him too.”

Barely a minute ago, she had held onto her brother to stop him from leaving, and the next she found herself enveloped in a bone crushing hug.

They held onto each other for a long time, Marco drawing back first as he gave her an apologetic smile.

“Is there any way to fix this mess?”

Veronica had given it some thought over the past few days. The conclusion she had come to was daunting.

“I think the first thing that needs to be done is addressing the issue. At this point, I’m afraid that Lance will try to rationalize it.”

When they had been younger, Lance tended to do that a lot. He might grow angry if someone treated him unfairly, but in the end he would always find a way to explain it away. Usually the common nominator was Lance himself. In an educational environment, it had sometimes saved Lance’s behind, since he’d end up applying himself more for upcoming tests.

But this was not school, and this was not merely tests they were talking about.

Veronica loathed to think what conclusions her might already have or might come to in the future, should a mission go wrong.

Marco gave a groan next to her, knowing all too well what his sister was referring to.

“What’s more is that Lance is not doing himself any favors. I’m talking about dismissing input that is too complex for him and shutting down attempts to simplify it.”

Because she had heard it herself. Usually it was Pidge, sometimes the Altean advisor that Lance would shut down the moment they went to explain a given topic in depth. At this point, it also no longer mattered whether this behavior was the origin or the result of the team’s perception of Lance.

“You called?”

Marco froze at the voice sounding from the door they had not heard opening, and Veronica felt any hope of formulating a plan of attack fly out of the window.

Marco turning around allowed them to look at Lance who stood in the entrance, head cocked to the side and holding out a generic white plastic bag.

Lance’s eyebrow was drawn up, giving both of them a very questioning look.

His expression was enough to tell them he had undoubtedly heard that last part.

This was not how she wanted this conversation to happen, but if they did not tackle this at once it would only lead to misunderstandings.

Marco was ready to stammer his way through a lie, she could practically hear the gears turning frantically inside his skull, and she decided to intervene at once.

“Actually, yes,” she gestured at the table with a placating smile, faltering a little when she noticed the chair still lying on the ground. That detail did not escape Lance’s notice and he frowned all the harder for it.

This was not going as planned.

Lance needed to be as relaxed as possible. She needed a distraction.

“What do you have there?” She asked, glancing at the plastic bag still dangling from Lance’s wrist. He appeared taken aback by her sudden interest, but a genuine, excited smile spread on his face.

“Oh! Yeah, this is from Hunk. I asked him if he could cook something for you guys, since none of you believe me he’s a good cook.”

He was bouncing over to the area where the plastic plates and cutlery were stored and Veronica watched a little helplessly as Lance set the table for the three of them while Marco quietly put the chair back in its place.

He looked so happy, pouring water into an electric kettle while dumping a few spoonful of a powder substituting coffee into three mugs.

She wanted this to last. She wanted for Lance to smile like this more often, to be happy and not worry about leaving people behind.

Once everything was set for the three of them, Lance saying he hoped the others would come soon, he finally wrangled out an inconspicuous hot pink bowl out of the bag. The moment he removed the lid, Veronica could feel her mouth water.

“Are those...,” Marco started, voice almost an awed whisper.

Lance’s grin was almost reaching his ears: “Yep!”

There was no mistaking it. Veronica would recognize one of her favorites from a mile away.

She knew she was gaping in a very undignified way but…

“How?” she breathed, taking one of the looped pastries between her fingers, inspecting it with wonderment.

“Don’t ask me. I have no idea how Hunk still managed to cook half of the stuff we ate on our trip back and still make it look like Earth food,” his expression momentarily turned into a grimace before easing into something less disgusted, “Sometimes you really don’t wanna know though.“

He shuddered a little while Marco was already biting off half of his buñuelo, slapping the table with the flat of his palm.

“This is so good,” he finally said, looking close to tears.

They laughed good-naturedly as Marco reached for a second, when his first one was still held in his other hand.

It looked and smelled a lot like the pastry they had baked back at home on special occasions. Hunk had even taken care of covering it with thin streaks of dark caramel. It was every bit as soft and tasty as it looked when she took her first bite, and she now understood Marco’s sudden outburst.

It was one of the few pieces of home she’d had in a few years.

“It’s really good,” she said, actually sniffling, making Lance laugh again.

“I know.”

They ate in silence, Lance closing the lid once they each had two (“So there is some for the others!” he had reprimanded Marco), and each taking a sip from their coffee.

Marco had been won over, obvious in how he kept pestering Lance with questions.

“Where did your friend even get all of the ingredients? Do they have a secret stash of cassava here on the base?”

“Once again: don’t ask me, ask Hunk. He can tell you.”

That had Veronica looking up, still cleaning her glasses with the hem of her shirt. Under the automated evening lights, Lance looked a little washed out. Now wonder, his day had been longer than hers, even without actually having spent that much of it outside of the base.

Now or never. She put her glasses back on, turning to Lance fully and garnering his attention at once.

“On that same matter, Lance,” and she almost did not say it, not when this would instantly break this small reprieve from their everyday lives, “you get along with your teammates, don’t you?”

For a few tense seconds it looked like she had broken Lance with her question.

His chuckles were filled with confusion and discomfort.

“What are you talking about? Of course we get along, we’re team Voltron after all.”

She could feel Marco’s nervousness as if it were her own. This was not going to be a nice conversation.

“I’m not merely asking about your cohesiveness as a team, I’m asking about your solidarity as a group of friends.”

Lance was already reclining back into his chair, his eyebrows going up as he stared at her in incomprehension, hands bracing against the edge of the table.

“Veronica, I’m really sorry, but I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”

She was ready to retort, when Marco beat her to it.

“Are you really okay with your friends calling you dumb?”

She could not believe him. Veronica threw him a glare she hoped would melt his head off but Marco just returned hers without any remorse.

Their attention was drawn back to Lance as he waved his hands around.

“Woah, woah, hold on a tick! What’s this about? And what’s up with you anyway!” He addressed Marco directly, irritation palpable in his voice.

“This is not some kind of joke Lance,” Veronica interjected, giving her younger brother a stern look that threw him off, “You know I’ve been listening to you for a while over your channels, and I admit that I… do not entirely approve of what I’ve heard so far.”

It was more than just “not merely approving” but there was no need to rile Lance up further. If he was any bit as protective of team Voltron as he was of them, there would be no getting through to him by accusing them of anything.

Still, Lance’s eyes moved from her to Marco quickly, obviously not understanding or accepting what was happening right now.

Finally, and sadly, he leaned back with his arms crossed. She wanted to hit Marco for his blunder. This was now going to be harder than ever.

“My relationship with my team is great. What do you even mean by the stuff you heard?”

Band-aid it was then. Quick and painful.

“I am not okay with my brother being repeatedly told and treated as an idiot.”

Hurt flashed across Lance’s face at that but what really caught Veronica’s attention was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. So he was not as unaware as he pretended to be.

He swallowed dryly, hunching in on himself, his eyes shielded by his brown locks with how much he’d lowered his head.

His words were so low she almost did not catch them.

“Doesn’t matter.”

She was ready to explode from tension alone at this point.

“It does, Lance. It matters to me and everyone else!”

She had not meant to shout but this was just too much. Both Lance and Marco jerked in their seats at her outburst. The defiance he had previously shown was quickly bleeding out of Lance, as he made himself even smaller. He suddenly looked like he’d aged at least a decade.

Still, he said nothing, not in his defense nor of his friends. Just sat here with them; a tense silence consuming them all.

Marco was careful in pushing his chair away as he got up. Veronica was unsure what he wanted to do, knowing Marco he might either stay or leave to fight this battle another day.

Relief flooded her when instead of going to the door, Marco circled the table and before Lance could even react, had their brother enveloped in a tight hug. It was a little awkward, Marco having bent down his bulk to embrace Lance while the latter’s arms hovered in the air a little uselessly, blinking back at Veronica in confusion.

Marco was not really a man of words, and Veronica not someone who sprung into action easily. But maybe, with their forces combined, they might be able to get through to him.

“Lance,” she said quietly, her calm voice having her brother glance at her with his still bewildered expression, “I know you really love your friends, but that is no excuse for them to walk all over you when they hurt you. Even if they do it unintentionally.”

He was enraptured by her face, not even caring about the tears undoubtedly clouding his vision.

Time to put her cards on the table.

“I would feel better knowing that, if you go back up there again, you do it with people that respect you and your boundaries.”

There was no more holding back the tears. Lance’s entire face crumbled, one of many small sobs bursting out of him as he kept staring at Veronica pleadingly, his arms at once clinging to Marco so tightly he might leave bruises.

Not that Marco minded, Veronica could see Lance’s jacket straining a little with how tightly he was winding his arms around him.

Veronica settled with smiling at them fondly.

One step at a time while the clock kept on ticking.

#vld #voltron #vld s7 #vld season 7 #vld spoilers #lance #veronica #marco #Serene writes #completed #i'm on my shit again

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egan28egan-blog · 5 years

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9 Healthy and balanced Set Cooking Recipes.

. Ingenious advertising ... I was shocked to locate a quite healthy diet plan opposed to the fad diet I presumed that would be actually. Diet regimens high in calcium off dairy have actually been presented to help with weight management by aiding you absorb less as well as burn even more fat. While I agree that this may be actually a good idea for some people, to me, the percentage of fat burning entailed really isn't adequate to have yet another pill. When I shed my body weight you finest feel I am going to really love every bit of my body system, supported it, reveal it off and also brag on all my hard work. I have actually been actually maintaining a diet journal for a very long time and also that truly is a mental release. Having actually fallen my weight on 5:2 diet I have actually now switched over to 6:1 diet as well as find I can easily still keep my target body weight array as my general consuming routines have currently changed. I'm done in favour from enlightening individuals not just on what a healthy and balanced diet resembles, yet likewise ways to prepare well-balanced food items. As well as many studies have actually revealed that these diet plans have actually prospered in lowering a number of the threat variables for cardiovascular disease as well as diabetic issues. If you carry out experience hypoglycemia, discuss control alternatives along with your doctor: downward medicine change, shifting dish amounts or even opportunities, adjustment from workout schedule, consuming additional carbohydrates, and so on So I WAGER that the people who buy the tea are actually additionally a lot more aware of just what they consume as well as just how they exercise because they do not want to squander their loan or even their time. Loads from investigation recently along with human beings and fMRIs, therefore practical magnetic resonance image resolution, has really focused on offering meals cues to people as well as looking at exactly how the mind reacts to this kind of meals. Although this is actually certainly not possible to attempt the tapeworm diet in many countries, this is actually being delivered at some places in Mexico. This added sugar can create blood glucose level spikes, weight increase and can leave you really feeling hungry. Other normal examinations include blood pressure, cholesterol levels, kidney functionality as well as body weight. Through all suggests these diets are good for effective weight loss but need to not be actually a way of life. One complete providing of 18Shake possesses an all-around nutritional account to avoid food cravings, build slim muscle mass, and help supply actual fat loss perks. Flat Stomach Tea possesses a sturdy social media presence, and also it does have organic substances in their tea blends. I reviewed Dr. Fung's analysis of this research study yesterday and also began to stress that I was doomed to obtain back all the weight I had actually lost. Nevertheless, this's likewise true to mention there are plenty out there who have actually succeeded at long-lasting effective weight loss. Leah Brennan: In regards to fads in the literature, if you are actually doing an even more comprehensive treatment with additional help from wellness experts as well as off others in a similar circumstance or from friends and family you are actually more likely to become capable to receive your weight reduction attempts. State you're a person that's presently met his best body weight and definitely would like to pay attention to muscle building.

Some of the workout sessions point out to repeat X4 yet I haven't been carrying out that considering that I presumed that was actually just for folks who do the PIIT challenge. That is actually time to cure your relationship to food items and your body, and also find all the confidence you need to have to reside the lifestyle that is truly meant for you ( spoiler notification: that involves A TON OF happiness). I assume being quite insulin resistant, a minimum of in my scenario, was the main reason my weight reduction was actually slow in the beginning. There have actually additionally been actually Get More Information perks found in consumers, coming from long status cravings reductions to weight management. When I found Blogilates as well as just how beautiful and also self-assured Cassey was actually, I took place her internet site and located a clean eating 90 day food plan for FREE! So individuals that were white as well as dark thinkers and didn't attain their weight target were most likely to back out and also state properly I can not arrive I may at the same time certainly not trouble in any way. The 17 Day Diet plan includes readjusting your intake from carbohydrates, body fat, healthy protein and also fats over a series of 17-day cycles, which may have the impact from improving metabolic process as well as protecting against the plateaus that prevail with the majority of diets. The largest one in our weight reduction community is actually that our company usually opt for low calorie versions that just make our team need additional from all of them as our company want to get back exactly what our company have shed. Hi there ethicalbarrier, I am actually thus fed up these diet regimens - basically an even more grew Atkins diet plan, although Atkins has actually arrived a very long way. That has actually been an eye opener as well as useful support system for instruction my choices in meals to assist my slimming down (21 pounds considering that 1/1/11) as well as learning to make knowledgeable options to preserve my weight once I come to where I intend to be actually. Because of higher degrees from the hormone ghrelin, scientists at the College of Chicago discovered that rest starvation can impede fatty tissue reduction as well as that it likewise led individuals to experience hungrier. As you examine how you can easily reside better, check out some of the best preferred diet plans today. When I to begin with began this experience, I produced it a mission to attempt a new meals whenever I headed to the shop. He points out individuals in the surgical procedure group had lower levels from particles called limb chain amino acids, which are understood to become linked with insulin resistance. Growing I believe I most likely experienced quite a few of the different behaviors linked with food. I acquire so frustrated when folks report on exactly how food items illuminate the very same nerve organs pathways as medicines ... I'm absolutely no, that's the other way around: medicines brighten the neural paths of meals. I bet this is actually a concern (a trouble?) with several, or even most, quite low-carb diet plans if supplements typically aren't made use of. The complication with these (accident) diet regimens is actually that people usually ignore actually changing they means they take a look at food items. Thirty Minutes to an Hour a time from keeping up 48 hr weight lifting periods is actually crucial. Food preparation has actually been actually a significant finances saving idea for our company. Organizing the meals for the week and staying with that spares money and time. While some people trying to reduce weight may make use of those options just before paying for a weight loss solution, field expert John LaRosa believes they possess little bit of impact on the general excellence from bigger weight-loss providers. I assumed that a mini series of messages about this will be very practical for you all considering that you fellas wonder concerning that as well as since I think that is actually the most underutilized part from the Body weight Watchers system. Leah Brennan: Our experts don't know quite regarding why that is that folks do not finish a weight loss assistance. This was terrible for me. This had me along time to understand that my diet plan was so crucial for my skin layer as well as my health. As well as losing weight on the scales doesn't always equate to weight loss which is actually essentially the objective. It's certainly not achievable to customize your strategy during the ordering procedure due to the fact that of the intricacy and also extensively differing choices available.

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elopez7228 · 6 years

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Force and Fury - a MadMax AU [Reylo] fanfic. ENGLISH VERSION Chapiter 3 : Starkiller

There was neither an incident nor an attack during the journey. Unkar had picked a team of four scavengers, who joined Rey as planned a couple of hours before dawn. They all came from Niima and Rey knew them well. The truck driver was Riley, a blond woman with a side of her head shaved. Next to her sat Jared, carrying an automatic rifle. His skin was a deep shade of black and his sight flawless. The roof of the truck was the position of Sun, a skinny girl with dark skin, fearing neither sand nor sunburn, operating a heavy machine gun. The fourth member of the expedition, a swift man called Foster, followed the truck on his motorbike. As for Rey, she drove far ahead, carrying Fluffy-Evil-Lord-Of-Death in the empty wagon. Rey remained woke, expecting a treason any moment. Was Sun going to aim and execute her from her position? Would Riley and Jared try to crush her little bike under their truck’s massive wheels? Was another team of henchmen going to pop from behind boulders and ambush them? What was Unkar’s plan of action this time?

The previous day, after Unkar’s attack, Rey made it home without new trouble, and everything was quiet for the rest of the day. But she couldn’t keep calm : why did Unkar put a reward on her head? She was aware of two new elements that could have led him to this sudden interest : the wreckage, and the dog. The location of the wreckage couldn’t justify killing her, quite the contrary actually ; it would benefit him much more if she stayed alive. This meant he was after the dog.

It was a beautiful dog and he’d make quite a barbecue, but that wasn’t enough yet to hire four murderers. As far as she knew, she was the only scout of her kind in Niima. Which meant this dog was worth her sacrifice… it made no sense.

She now drove the track towards the shipwreck and was actually starting to relax. If these four scavengers had been willing to kill her, they would have made attempts by now. She could focus on her surroundings… the desert was never empty, despite appearances!

Her headache was fortunately quite mild at the moment. She only felt the buzz due to the dog on her vehicle, and the truck a few hundred yards behind. Nothing worth her attention.

As the blue shade of the night stretched over the plain, they stopped and raised their camp.

According to Rey, the shipwreck was only a few hours away, but it was safer to take halt for the night. They know too well the dangers of nocturnal expeditions.

The vehicles were carefully checked : engines, oil, gas, tires. Guns were loaded and night guard was established. First round for Foster and Sun, then Rey alone, then Riley and Jared.

They didn’t ignite a fire, it would have been too obvious in the darkness. Rey pulled out a bowl and poured water for the dog, who drank loudly. Riley, biting on her protein stick, couldn’t take her eyes of him.-

- Where does that dog come from, Rey? She asked after a while.

Rey shrugged :

- I found him, lost in the desert, and I kept him, that’s all.

- Are you going to eat him? Sun asked.

Rey smiled, as if the question had been completely silly :

- No! No, I’ll keep it as pet.

- What’s his use, beside eating your rations and water supplies? You could make profits from him, organize fights and gambling… All it would take is some training.

- No, seriously, I’m not into gambling. I’d rather keep him this way.

Riley frowned :

- Someone is going to steal him. There’s good money to make, what a waste. You’ll get in trouble.

Rey stayed silent, looking at Fluffy-Evil-Lord-of-Death as he playfully trudled around, waving his tail. Riley and Sun were right : this dog was going to draw attention on her. It had already started. Her lifelong protector had turned against her and she doubted to ever feel safe again until she arranged the situation.

She sighed :

- I’m always in trouble. At least now I’m in trouble in good company.

She stood up and stretched her neck :

- I’m going to sleep. See you in a few hours.

After what, she whistled sharply and pat her lap with her flat hand ; the dog came to her on that call and she rubbed his head.

- Come on Evil Lord Of Death. Let’s go to bed.

Everyone proceeded on getting ready for the night to come. Rey snuggled in her blanket, next to her bike, keeping her staff and machete close. The dog sniffed around, seemed to chase his tail for a moment, then curled next to her.

She listened to the soft voices of Foster and Sun, to the familiar clicking of weapons being handled, as both of them took their positions for the first watch. Steady squeaks and muffled moans came from the truck as Riley and Jared were having sex. Nothing unsusual. Rey gave in to sleep.

A sharp pain drilled her temples and she woke up screaming, holding her skull between both hands. People. People everywhere.

They were under attack!

She jumped wide awake. It must have been close to midnight, as the moon was high in the sky. She saw accurately Sun loading the machine gun on the top of the truck. Foster banged on the side to wake up Riley and Jared. Fluffy Evil Lord Of Death bristled and bared his fangs. Rey climbed to the top of the truck to join Sun and and stared at the desert around them. She pointed a finger towards the approaching men.

_ Over there, in front of the sand dune, she said. There are two of them.

_ I can’t see shit, Sun hissed between her clenched teeth, hands stiffed on the gun. Let’s ignite the torch lights, we can’t fight in the dark.

_ No, Rey said. They don’t know I can see them ; they show too much confidence. We can overcome them without taking any risks.

She knew, on pure instinct, where the ennemis stood. They were at least four : two crawling forward, who obviously didn’t know they had been caught yet, and two more on the other side, riding a large motorbike. What tribe did they come from? They didn’t look like raiders.

The one on the motorbike roared engines and raced toward them. It was a wide bike, with a single wheel on front and two on the back. Sun swung the gun and shot blindly, in a deafening thunder and flashes of light that blinded Rey for a moment. As if it had been the sign everyone was waiting for, suddenly all the guns started firing, in every direction. So much for stealth! Rey, lying on her stomach, could see bullets shooting around her. She was useless up there ;she was much better fighter in close combat. She climbed swiflty down from the truck’s roof and stood straight in front of the motorbike, ready to overthrow the pilot from his vehicle. She sensed that the dog was nearby, but she had bigger worries at the moment. The bike raced to her. Rey jumped aside to dodge it, but the pilot sharply steered, in a two wheels drift that almost knocked it over. Caught off guard by this sudden turn, Rey didn’t react fast enough to dodge the metallic staff that stroke her. She collapsed on the sand, breathless, her vision blurring. She could hear around her the roar of raging combat ; she heard the screams of Sun, Riley, Jared and Foster among those of their attackers.

She stood up with a wince, looking for the dog. He was in the middle of the battle, and she called “Evil Lord of Death! Attack!”

But the dog ignored her as he happily waved his tail in front of the rider. Rey, still struggling to catch her breath, stood frozen in surprise for the second time in only a few minutes.

The man exclaimed : “BB8! It’s BB8!”

And Rey, stunned, only managed to mumble “BB what?” before crumpling to the ground, stricken in the back by an attacker she didn’t see.

Kylo Ren didn’t turn around as two tall figures came in the large room of walls made of raw concrete. He was contemplating the lake, and its dark and still waters. Slaves were busy on its shores, such as tiny ants.

- Tuanul village is no longer a concern, I personally made sure of that, Kylo Ren said in his mask.

A female voice, with a metallic hue due to her helmet, rose behind him :

- Did you find any Resistant?

Kylo Ren slowly turned around, to face his counterparts. Phasma was wearing an uneven armor, which she had been carefully grooming. Its chrome shades quite stood out in this palace of sand and rust. As for Hux, he was a shriveled yet sleek man, who took great care of his clothes when no one else could afford such luxury. He wore his red hair in a mohawk and nails in his ears. All three governed the First Order, under direct command of the Supreme Leader Snoke. Hux lead strategy, Phasma lead the armies and Kylo Ren led intelligence. Hunt and kill, military strikes and meaningful executions, that was all him. His name and his shadow stretched over the First Order as symbols of his power and his wrath.

- Our informants didn’t lie : Lor San Tekka was operating a well and a Resistance network. The well will be clogged today and the villagers should be on their way to the fortress, if you gave your orders as planned.

- I did. Phasma answered.

- And the Resistance Network, did you catch them? Said Hux with a nervous twitch of his shoulders.

Kylo Ren lowered his masked face to him and Hux flinched.

- The orange dog had been spotted near the village. He must have fallen off a vehicle and I expect him to try to gather with his owner, straight to the Resistance. I offered a fairly high reward to our barons for his head. Whoever sees him should catch it and inform us.

- And? Any news yet?

- Not yet. But it’s been less than 24 hours. Trust me : an orange dog can not pass unnoticed. We’ll hear about him soon.

- You better. Hux hissed between his teeth. The Resistance gets more allies everyday, and I don’t see you containing this plague.

Kylo moved a step forward. He was much taller than Hux. His voice was bitter.

- Are you questioning my strategy, Hux?

The red hair man flinched and slightly backed out as Kylo Ren leaned over him :

- All I’m saying is that I need results. These anarchists disturb our operations.

Phasma’s metallic voice cut short the argument, and both raised their heads to listen to her :

- Taxes will be perceived in two weeks time. You both know what that means. If Resistant is planning a coup, it will be then.

They knew what she meant : barons of the whole territory would send their ambassadors driving tank trunks to pay their taxes (whatever their village could produce : food, slaves, raw materials) and bring back water. There would be lots of hustle around the fort, temporary camps would rise, there would be people everywhere, and along with them would come parties, thefts, and fights. It was tradition to proceed to a few public executions, to make a statement and remind them who ruled this country. Snoke wouldn’t make an appearance, he never did. Yet Phasma, Hux and Ren should show off. Their main ally was the owner of the petrol fields and the refinery plant. It was a disabled man, whose legs were too weak to support his enormous stomach. He was a flabby mountain of wallowing flesh in his castle, another fortress at fair distance from Starkiller. Convoys of water and gas rode back and forth between both fortresses, and as these were the most valuable resources of this forsaken desert, the track between Starkiller and the palace of Jabba the Hutt, as he was called, was the Resistance favorite target.

Kylo Ren’s fists clenched to his sides as the simple thought of Resistance. His reputation and relevance within Starkiller would only stop being questioned when he’d crush this batch of vermins, lead by a woman whose sole name drove him mad : Leia Organa.

Because she was his mother, Hux, Phasma, Snoke, but also every single war trooper in starkiller questioned his loyalty. Because she was his mother, each failure was suspicious. Because she was his mother, he was fallible. And this idea infuriated him.

Phasma had work to do, she was to organize the troops for the tax ceremonies. The upcoming weeks would be exhausting. She gave a polite salute and left the room, closing the door behind her. Hux and Ren were now alone.

As soon as she left the room, Kylo Ren raised his hands to his helmet and took it off. He dropped it on the steel table that stood in the middle of the room and racked his fingers in his hair.

Hux didn’t make a move and stood straight, hands behind his back.

Kylo Ren’s voice rose, deep and strong as it wasn’t modified by the helmet anymore.

- I hate this season. The crowd. Those pathetic creatures…

- Now is not the time to fail, Ren, Hux said, raising an eyebrow.

Ren stared at him with furious eyes. The crowd gave him excruciating headaches that denied him sleep and made him even more nervous than usual.

Hux knew that and yet, he kept pushing.

- I won’t fail. Kylo answered, endorsing each word.

Hux came closer :

- You overestimate yourself, Hux said. You are obviously exhausted.

As he talked, he came even closer. They could almost touch each other and Ren felt his burning breath on his lips as Hux spoke. He was so close that the painful buzz in Ren’s skull because unbearable, even though he had managed to ignore it until now.

- Step back, Kylo Ren mumbled, almost begging.

- Does it hurt? Hux asked.

Ren didn’t grant him with an answer and turned his face away. Hux’ finger gently touched his chin to make him look in his eyes. He whispered :

- Let me help you.

Ren felt Hux’ mouth take his, and he closed his eyes. His brain was buzzing louder than ever but the heat rising from his crotch diverted him. Hux’ hand layed on his genitals, over his black shirt. Kylo Ren felt himself grow hard and the buzz inside his skull seemed to correspondingly decrease. A tongue slid on his lips and he opened his mouth. Hux had his tongue pierced, a cold and hard bead that toyed inside his mouth and that he wanted to feel on his body. This thought aroused him. He flinched and took a step back to lean on the table behind him. The General’s left hand had seized the back of his head, as he deeply kissed him ; his right hand rubbed his penis, up and down, though his clothes. The headache and become a peripheral issue. His hardened penis almost hurt and with a swift move, he grabbed the general’s ass and squeezed him. He felt his hardness rub his own and a moan escaped his lips. This sound seemed to arouse Hux, who broke off their kiss and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Without breaking eye contact, he slid both hands on his torso, above the black shirt, and slowly kneeled in front of him. Ren bit his lips in perspective. He bit one finger of his glove and pulled it off with his teeth before dropping it on the floor, before racking his fingers in his lover’s red hair. Hux’ face was just facing his crotch, and his long fingers were operating Ren’s zipper and belt. After a short time that felt like an eternity to Ren, Armitage Hux’ hand grabbed his burning cock, as Kylo moaned again. Hux’ tongue slid along his shaft in slow up and down strokes, then without warning, he covered it with his mouth. Kylo tilt his head back. It felt amazing. His whole body was completely focused on the feeling of Hux’s mouth around his cock, and everything else vanished in a blur. Hux was going up and down on his shaft, sliding the bead of his tongue around the penis head, and Ren clenched his left hand on the table he was holding.

His right hand was gripping the General’s hair and moved along with him with jerky movements. Hux resisted his instructions and Ren felt pleasure in that struggle, his wrist against this neck, his cock against this mouth, and he felt a pressure rising from inside his crotch. Deeper, stronger. Suddenly Hux bit and Ren roared as he released his hand completely. His burning cock sprung from the general’s lips who gave him a dark gaze. Ren immediately grabbed his hair, with both hands, and sticked his lover’s face against his slick, hard cock.

- Finish the job. Ren said.

- I don’t take orders. Hux hissed between his clenched teeth.

- Then do it because you fucking want to. Ren creaked, releasing both hands.

- Fuck you, Hux said, but he took the penis back inside his mouth and resumed the movement.

With both hands, he grabbed Ren’s ass through the leather pants, and Ren spread his tights, holding himself the the table. The feeling was divine. The headache had vanished and his body felt so relaxed at this sole feeling that he could have come, yet the burning lips of Hux on his cock were irresistible. He moaned and finally came, bluntly, jerking semen in his lover’s mouth. Hux swallowed and stood up as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He seeked Kylo’s mouth and kissed him deeply, in a passionate exchange of semen and saliva.

Kylo was relaxed, eyes shut, and negligently zipped up his pants. Hux stopped him by grabbing his penis.

- We’re not done, Hux said.

Kylo tightened his fingers around Hux’ wrist until he released his cock and pushed him away.

- I am. Snoke is expecting me.

Hux tried to protest, but Kylo shoved him away with a shoulder punch, straightened his clothes and picked up his helmet. The General watched him walk away, powerless, and seized his own hard cock through his pants.

- Fuck you, Ren! He screamed, furious.

Kylo gave him a slight wave of his hand as an answer, without a look back.

Yet he stopped at the door and looked above his shoulder :

- See you tonight, General.

- I don’t take orders! Hux screamed on principle, but he already knew he’d be there, available for Kylo Ren, that very night.

Once again, Ren had been manipulating him from A to Z.

#mad max #starwars #madmax #star wars #crossover #AU #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #the last jedi #reylo #kylux #smut

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