Wild Heart

There’s not enough rope to tie me down. There’s not enough tape to shut this mouth. The stones you throw can make me bleed but I won’t stop until we’re free.

                                 Wild hearts can’t be broken

Independent Isabel Magnolia 

From Attack on Titan’s A Choice With No Regrets

- would let isabel step on me - needs protecting at all costs

The reason I've been MIA recently is my energy levels have just not been there. Plus I've had a pretty life changing few months.

Me and my partner are expecting our first baby!!!!

It's so exciting and nervous and my little stress head brain was going a thousand miles an hour. But things are going well, we're past the danger zone and I'm feeling a little more like me again.

A CHOICE WITH NO REGRETS

A study in CONTROL, loyalty — every movement measured, every glance calculated. Beneath the impassive stare lies a storm forged in BLOOD and SILENCE.

Indie, selective, LEVI ACKERMAN

Penned by Markus 30+

18+ PLEASE READ GUIDELINES BEFORE INTERACTING

“  I won't need saving. Especially not by the likes of you. We're not the same. I'm leagues ahead of you, so don't get it twisted. I don't need underground thugs getting in the way either. ” It's irritating how confidently Isabel speaks of the scouts, as if she knows better. But their worlds completely collide, even when wearing the same insignia. They would never understand each other. Nor does Laura ever desire to. And yet it infuriates her. All of it. Even now as she remains seated, moving one leg across the other, arms folding in her lap, an unamused expression souring her features, she wants nothing more then to BITE. For Laura's own fangs aren't so dull. But her skills were saved only for real combat. The real challenge. She doesn't mind getting dirty in the slightest, but in her eyes, the girl still isn't worth it.

Yet Isabel's eyes have the same spark. The same ferocious passion she's seen before. Many times now. Annoying. Vexing. That she lights with the same heart of those in the corp. That she has their unyielding resolve.

“  You obey your commanding officer. Obedience. That's something you learn when you actually train to be part of the military. ” HYPOCRITE. Someone known for ignoring those same commands should she see her own path ahead. But it's not the same. Feral animals needed discipline.

Beliefs intertwine yet there is NO seeing eye to eye. For her to even speak about unity feels unnerving. Laura should be the one saying it, not her. Laura isn't the one who needs the lecture. Though she despises the same cowards as Isabel speaks of, she does nothing to declare it -- she has no lapdogs, no safety either here nor there, because none exist in their world. She would rather be eaten by a titan then go back behind the wall. Never again. Never, never, NEVER-

“  Only those who are naïve would put any trust in a criminal from the underground. ” Their surroundings have gone QUIET. The tension filling the air with a sudden halt. Eyes shift, some glances scarce now, but most are locked towards the commotion. Neither of the two seem to care. Laura's attention only falls to Isabel.

Instead, she took a slow breath. One of those deep, tight-chested ones Farlan always tried to coach her through when things got hot. Her smirk didn’t fade, it just shifted. Sharper. Smarter. Her fists uncurled and her back straightened.

“Y’know,” she said, voice low but steady, “it’s real easy to talk big from a table, Princess. But I’m done wastin’ my time barkin’ back at someone who’s more rattled than she lets on.” She crossed her arms now, not in defiance, in control. It burned, holding it back, God, did it burn. But she did it anyway.

“I know where I came from. I ain’t ashamed of it. I clawed my way outta a place that chews people up for breakfast. An' yeah, I got scars. But they’re the reason I’m still standin’.” Her gaze locked onto Laura’s. Unwavering. Like a promise.

“You think I don’t belong? Fine. You don’t gotta like me. You don’t gotta trust me. But when shit hits us full-force out there, you’ll see why they gave me this uniform.” She jabbed a thumb at her chest the Wings of Freedom catching the light like a battle cry.

“I’m not just here to bite, Laura. I’m here to fly. Even mutts can take off if they’ve got enough fight in ‘em.”

She started to turn, but paused, just long enough to toss one last snarky grin over her shoulder. “Oh, and thanks for the manners lesson. Real rich, comin’ from someone spittin’ venom like it’s her second language.”

A cocky grin that won't last long. Learn your place, because it wasn't here. A stray dog. It was putting it lightly. But to Laura that's all she was and would be. In simplistic terms, she was no member of their regiment. Yet she has the nerve to proclaim her standing, to spit words about things she doesn't understand (it doesn't matter, she doesn't need understanding from a thug) and she even called her-

PRINCESS. Sweetheart. If her eyes widen, they narrow just as quickly. Jaw clenches, remaining still in her disposition, even as a growing rage reaches to the very core of her soul. Wild. She doesn't care about the bread. But she does. She cares that something of hers was taken. With each defiant bite, the mess she makes, a very target is placed upon the girl. An obstacle. A liability.

“  Violence is just your nature. It's all you can be. Don't touch what doesn't belong to you with your filthy hands. I couldn't sink low enough to your level if I tried, so quit barking. Your presence is a disturbance enough. ”

Spineless, is that it. They could never be out in the front lines with the likes of her. Why were they here?

Sure, she was still figuring out how to navigate the Scouts, how to rein it in, how to yield when necessary instead of snapping like a wild dog. But she knew one thing without question: she belonged here. This was her place in the world, and no one—no one—was going to make her feel otherwise.

That’s what lit the fuse. Not the names, not the insults. It was the implication that she didn’t belong.

Her chair scraped loudly as she pushed it back, standing now. Not to lunge, but to let that cocky, wild grin stretch across her face like a snarl hiding behind teeth. “Obedience?” Isabel echoed, voice low and coiled tight with something wild, something that didn’t know how to bow. “Y'think this is about obedience?” Her laugh ripped through the silence—sharp and untamed, drawing every eye in the mess hall.

“Y'got me twisted with one of yer lapdogs. I ain’t here to play nice or follow some fat brass sittin' comfy behind a desk. The Scouts?” She jabbed a thumb toward the insignia on her chest, eyes gleaming. “We're the ones who bite back at the world while the rest of humanity hides behind walls”

“I ain’t here to heel. But that don’t mean I’m outta control. I’m here to fight for the ones who can’t, to tear through anything that says we’re not worth savin’.” Her eyes flashed, voice steady now, rising with conviction. “Y'think I care about ‘proper’? Out there, it ain’t manners that keep us alive. It’s guts. It’s grit. It’s each other. You can call me a mutt but when it all goes to hell, yer gonna want me in yer corner. And I’ll be there. And yer gonna be the one crawlin' t'me for savin yer life.”

She leaned in then, green eyes alight, teeth bared in a crooked smirk. Voice lower now as she spoke only to Laura. “You wanna wait ‘til sparrin’? Fine by me. But lemme give you a warnin', sugarplum.” Her voice dropped, thick and syrupy with mock sweetness.

Kuchel sat across from Isabel, her hands tightly wrapped around a steaming cup of tea as if seeking comfort in it. Her eyes, usually calm and composed, gazed at Isabel with concern.

“I know you’re a tough girl,” Kuchel began, her voice firm. “You wouldn’t have survived the Underground if you weren’t. Down there, there’s no room for the weak—I’ve seen that myself. But still…” She trailed off, furrowing her brow as she searched for the right words. “This is different, Isabel. This isn’t some little game anymore, not just surviving day to day like in the Underground. From what I’ve heard, you’re caught in a constant game of life and death.”

“I’ve known your commander for a long time,” Kuchel continued, her voice growing steadier as she recalled talks she had with Shadis. “He told me what it’s like out there. Not the heroic tales you sometimes hear, but the truth. The screams, the stench of blood, the endless losses… He said every mission is like a roll of the dice, where you never know if you’ll come back.” Her fingers tightened around the cup.

“Keith told me how he’d lie awake night after night, unable to forget the faces of those he lost. And I don’t want you to become one of those faces.”

Kuchel looked at Isabel, her brow still furrowed, her eyes full of worry but also determination. She wanted Isabel to understand—to grasp how serious this was, even for a girl who had learned to survive the worst in the Underground.

“Tch… Y'sound like Farlan.” Her voice came out quieter than before, not sheepish, but grounded in a rare kind of honesty. “He's always talkin’ like that too. Like he’s already halfway to mournin’ me before the damn bell’s even rung.”

She sat back in her chair, arms crossing tight over her chest. Her eyes didn’t meet Kuchel’s right away—green flicked to the side, like she was watching something the other woman couldn’t see. Something distant. Or someone familiar.

“You think I don’t hear the screams? I do. Every time I close my eyes,” she muttered. “He's right. About the dice. But I’d rather roll ‘em with the Scouts than rot in the dark.” Her gaze finally returned to Kuchel, sharp again, but not cruel. There was something softer underneath the steel this time.

“I know this ain't a game. Wasn't a game when my friends starved to death three feet away from me. Wasn't a game when I had t'learn t'bite before I could even crawl.” She shrugged, loose and tired, but still stubborn. She leaned forward then, mirroring Kuchel’s stillness, but her grin was smaller. Realer. Something unspoken, guarded behind it.

“I ain’t planning on bein’ one of those faces, alright? But if I am… least I made it up here first. Least I saw the sky and soured with the birds.”

Laura's scowl deepens immediately at the comment. If people bit back a laugh at the claim, or if others rolled their eyes at the display, her only focus remained entirely on Isabel. Distain between them had always been a given. From t he very moment they paraded themselves into the regiment. Distrust was one thing, but there was something else she could never accept.

The back talk is enough to jab at her, if she wanted to get under her skin, she'd already begun that journey. The lit flame in her eyes go cold, a chilling refinement as she recovers herself.

“  Clearly. I suppose you can't expect much from a stray. ” She only lets her gaze fall to her own food momentarily, taking the time to pick up her fork once again. If she wanted to bark, then Laura wouldn't shy away. It wasn't petty. It was a challenge.

Her chewing slows, deliberate and obnoxious as she finishes the exaggerated bite she'd taken. The scrape of her chair legs echoes just slightly as she leans even further across the table, that cocky grin spreading like wildfire across her face.

“Stray, huh? Cute. How long y'been sittin’ on that one? Real classy.” She taps her fingers against the wood like she’s counting how many insults Laura’s got tucked away—zero that are actually original, by her estimate. “Y’know, for someone sittin' there with a silver spoon halfway down her throat, you sure do talk like yer better than the rest of us. But guess what, Princess?”

Her voice drops to a low, taunting murmur, thick with challenge and heat.

“I got more fight in one bark than y'got hiding up that broomstick y'call a spine. So if you’re lookin’ to play this game, sweetheart—” her teeth flash, wild and unafraid “—you better be ready to bite.”

And just to twist the knife, she reaches across the table and snatches one of Laura’s untouched bread rolls with a wink, takes a defiant bite, and talks through it, crumbs and all:

"If you keep it up like that, you´ll end up dead faster than you think!"

Her green eyes snapped to the woman, flashing with disdain and defiance as she leaned forward, elbows boldly hitting the table.

"Tch—Is it impossible for you to eat without a stick up yer ass?" she fired back, voice sharp with challenge. "’Cause I can chew however I damn well please, an' you can just deal with it."