#You fire unjustly

[mc-posts]

You fire unjustly, you rehire. Judge Orders Pro-Life Flight Attendant Re-Hired At Southwest Airlines

You fire unjustly, you rehire. Judge Orders Pro-Life Flight Attendant Re-Hired At Southwest Airlines

Original articale can be found here. A Texas federal judge has ordered Southwest Airlines to reinstate Charlene Carter, the flight attendant who made headlines after a jury ruled that she was unlawfully fired for expressing pro-life views and for criticizing her union. In a decision filed on Dec. 5, five months after a jury decided in Carter’s favor, Judge Brantley Starr remarked, “Bags fly free…

[rosenclaws]

Pride & Prejudice || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

Summary: You're an actress auditioning for theatre production of Pride & Prejudice and Leopold finds you practicing your lines.

a/n: Okay so, I need more leopold being an actor and cute moments so this was born. Full confession. I have never watched or read Pride & Prejudice so I am very sorry if I messed up anything aksdfhl. Anyways i hope u like it!!!

The fire escape has to be Leopold's favorite place. He sits on the small chair and watches the bustling city below him. Overwhelming is an understatement when it comes to the last couple weeks.

Falling into the future sounds like a work of fiction, yet it was his reality. Adjusting hasn’t been the easiest but he’s lucky to have Kate and Charlie and well, you. 

“Do you think I could have ever considered marrying the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of my beloved sister?” Leopold perks up at the sound of your voice. 

You’re Kate's neighbor, kind of. You live below her. Leopold has seen you a few times, mostly when you lock yourself out of your apartment and need to climb through Kate's fire escape. He knows you’re an actor like Charlie but in the day time you work at a coffee shop. 

You served him once or twice when he came to visit you. Your knowledge of theater is extensive and Leopold always had an interest in the stage so conversation came easy. You also loved movies, something he was completely unfamiliar with. He remembers your eyes lighting up at the very idea of showing him your favorite films. A soft smile across his face as he recalls your many movie nights. Though he didn’t quite understand every movie, he could care less when you were so passionate about each and every one of them.

“You arrogantly and unjustly maneuvered Mr. Bingley away from Jane. Can you deny it?” The dialogue catches his attention, you must be practicing for a show. He climbs down the fire escape to your apartment. 

“Your manner…Ugh!” You fall back onto your couch as you throw the sides onto the coffee table. 

“I’m never going to get this right.” You groan helplessly. 

“I thought you sounded lovely.” You let out a small scream as you hear another voice. Turning your head you see Leopold sitting on your fire escape. 

“Leo! What have I said about knocking?” 

“My apologies.” He climbs through the window and walks over to you. He looks at the pieces of paper and reaches down to pick it up. 

“Pride and Prejudice, I had no idea they turned this into a play.” He flips through some of the pages. He remembers reading the book and enjoying it quite a bit. 

“Have you gotten the part?” You scrunch your face as you shake your head. 

“No. Auditions are next week. I…” You hesitate to continue but he smiles softly and you cave instantly. 

“I wanted to audition for Elizabeth but a couple friends told me I’d probably be a better Charlotte.” 

Not that you had anything against the character and a part is a part no matter how small, but you wanted to play more than a side character. Leopold's brows furrow as he sets down the script. 

“Nonsense, do not listen to them. I think you would make a perfect Elizabeth.” He compliments sincerely. Of course you would, he thinks. You’d be perfect in any role. 

“Thanks.” Your eyes drift to the sides on the table. Leopold stands with his arms behind his back, even in casual clothing he radiates this aura unlike anything you’ve seen. 

“You know Leo,” You smile as an idea pops into your head. “I think you should audition too.” Picturing him as Mr. Darcy is easy. After he did his butter commercial, you realized he was a natural for acting and with his background, he’d be perfect for period pieces. Not to mention how handsome he is. You’re sure the director would be tripping over himself to get Leopold a role. Leopold seems uncertain at your suggestion. 

“Here,” You pick up the sides and hand him the one for Mr. Darcy. He skims over the lines and frowns. 

“I do not recognize this.” 

“Oh yeah, they’re from the movie. The director wanted to include his big monologue and the kiss.” You explain, making a mental note to show him the movie later. 

“I understand wanting to take creative liberties and all but…” Maybe he’s a stickler for the classics but he isn’t exactly fond of changing such a well written book. 

“Just give it a try.” He sighs and stands a bit taller. 

“You are too generous to trifle with me. I believe you spoke with my Aunt last night, and it has taught me to hope as I had scarcely allowed myself before.” He looks up from the script and you give him an encouraging smile. 

“If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me forever.” You want to melt under his gaze. It’s not fair how easily the words flow out of his mouth. How naturally charming he is. 

‘“If, however, your feelings have changed…” To your surprise he sets down the paper and walks closer to you, holding out his hand to you. Hesitantly you take his hand, unsure of where he was going with this. He pulls you up, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“I could, I would have to tell you, you have bewitched me body and soul,” His hand gently grabs your chin as he steps closer to you. You stand frozen in complete shock. The script is long forgotten, the pages having fallen from his hands. 

“And I love and love and love you. And never wish to be parted from you from this day on.” He finishes his monologue as a whisper. You part your lips but no words come out, wanting to hold onto this moment for longer. 

“I believe you mentioned a kiss,” He mumbles. 

“It’s uh, towards the end…” He hums and without another word he gently kisses you. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His lips are so soft, so gentle yet so passionate. One of his hands snakes to your lower back, guiding you even closer to him. The kiss breaks and you’re left breathing heavily, smiles on both of your faces. 

“You’re really good at this. Maybe you should become an actor.” You say jokingly. He chuckles and brushes his thumb along your cheek. 

“I was not acting,” He admits. 

“You are truly, utterly, bewitching and If you were to accept, I would die a happy man.” Jesus, he knows how to talk. 

“I would be an idiot to say no to you.” You grab his face and crash your lips onto his. He steps back but quickly matches your fervor. 

“Join me for dinner tonight, so I can court you properly.” He says breathlessly, his face slightly flushed. 

“Properly? So you don’t normally kiss a girl before dinner?” You say teasingly. 

“No, But for the sake of theater, perhaps I can make an exception.” That’s as forward as you’ve ever seen from Leopold, an innocent smile on his face but a clear spark in his eyes. Smirking, you glance at the scattered pages on the ground. 

“Good, because I think we need to run the scene again and again.” 

[heich0e]

suguru's throat feels tight.

not in the nice way—like when someone pays you a compliment you aren't expecting, or you're given a thoughtful gift.

his airway is a vice; sticky and closing in on itself like a boobytrap in those terrible action movies that satoru always makes him watch, where the walls are slowly crushing inwards on the hero, leaving no obvious way to escape.

his face feels hot—too hot for the meagre amount of alcohol he's had to drink that evening. hot enough that he's sure his cheeks are flushed a vicious red. he looks down at his hands, still wrapped around the half-drained drink between them, and when he pulls one away from the circumference of the glass he sees the way his fingers tremble, moved by a force only he can feel.

he sets his cup down on whatever surface is within reach and looks for the nearest exit.

the bar is crowded, and every body that jostles him on his odyssey to the door makes him feel even more sick to his stomach—makes him acutely, and uncomfortably aware of just how many people are jammed into such a confined space. with every step he takes towards the fire exit (the one which at this point he just has to pray isn't connected to some kind of alarm) it seems to be growing further away, like his steps are a paradox he's trapped in.

finally, finally, his hands press down against the push bar of the door, and cold winter air hits his burning cheeks like a slap.

he's on his knees retching into the grimy snowbank that lines the back alley before the door has even fully swung closed.

"oh, wow,—"

suguru can barely hear you over the sound of his pulse in his ears. it was too noisy in the bar to make it out this clearly, lost in the thrum of the bass-heavy music and the spiral of his thoughts, but now it's unmistakable. it pounds in his head, under his tongue, trapped in the walls of his throat.

he lifts his head, his eyes bleary from the tears his exertion had sprung to them, and he sees a figure a few paces away from him with a cigarette lifted to their lips.

he blinks hard, willing the world to come back into focus. as it does (painfully slowly,) he can see you better. the first thing he can clearly make out is the oversized jacket you have wrapped around your frame (big enough that it can't possibly be your own.) his eyes flicker next to the bare legs that peek out from underneath it, and trail all the way up to the lines of your face as you watch him. but it's your eyes that make him falter for a moment: curious but strangely impassive at the same time.

"—rough night?" you ask, but you make no move to come any closer to him.

he's grateful for at least that small mercy, he can't help but think.

"sorry," he chokes out, spitting into the sludgy grey snowbank one last time just to try and get the terrible taste out of his mouth. he stands unsteadily, his hands braced against the brick wall of the bar to keep himself balanced. "i didn't even drink that much."

he's not sure why he feels the need to say it, or make any effort to save face when you've just seen him at what's surely one of the lowest points of his life. you're a stranger, after all. what does it matter, anyway?

you hum a bit, taking another drag from your cigarette. the sound is halfhearted, and it upsets him unjustly.

"i really didn't," he insists, wiping at his mouth with the back of his knuckles and turning to you properly. "i-i'm on these new meds and they've got me all fucked up."

your eyes widen a bit, and he watches the way the smoke slips out of your lips—painted a rich, ruby colour for the evening.

"no shit?" you ask him. "you shouldn't be out partying if you're sick, y'know. alcohol can really fuck up scripts."

"i'm not sick," he replies quickly. too quickly. too ardently to possibly be true. and the silence that follows is too heavy for such a cold, still night. he looks away, fixing his eyes on the road at the end of the alley.

"oh," you drag out the word, an understanding lilt in your tone. "those kinda meds."

suguru glances back to you.

"so," you take a step towards him, and it sets his teeth on edge. "what's your poison of choice then? paroxetine? fluvoxamine? good ol' fashioned escitalopram?"

suguru's head is still spinning from the liquor, but his pulse has died down a bit. now his mouth feels uncomfortably dry.

you keep going.

"are you taking it neat or did they give you a little chaser with it too for a bit more"—you make a little flourishing gesture with your hand—"oomph."

you're right in front of him now. close enough that the smell of your cigarette has finally reached him. suguru can't help but eye it covetously, longing for the pack in his own coat pocket, left somewhere in the bar. you follow his eyes and laugh a little, holding the half-smoked cigarette out to him. it has a lipstick mark on the filter, but he takes it anyway.

he sucks in a greedy, needy inhale.

the rush of nicotine hits him right away, comforting and familiar. his exhale feels almost rapturous.

he takes another little puff, then extends the cigarette back out to you.

"don't worry about it,"—you wave the gesture off—"you can keep that one on account of the whole... y'know..." your eyes flicker down to the snowbank where geto had just been retching.

oh, right.

"thanks," he mumbles appreciatively, wasting no time before he takes another drag.

the two of you stand side by side in the dingy alley while geto finishes off your cigarette. he crushes it under the heel of his boot, grinding it down into the cracked asphalt, once it's done.

"how'd you know?" he asks after a few more moments of silence. the cold is starting to get to him now—registering in a way that didn't when he first made it outside. the chill bites at his cheeks and his nose, stinging in its frigidity.

"know what?" you feign coyness, tilting your head a little to the side. he sees a flicker of something behind your eyes again that slips through the facade of composure—something mirthful, and maybe a little mean.

he swallows, and tastes tobacco on his tongue. "about the anti-depressants."

you laugh a bit to yourself, but the sound is strained like you're almost trying to bite it back. "don't take this the wrong way, but you just sort of look like the type."

he looks at you—really looks at you—then.

you're pretty.

he supposes he recognized that already, even if he didn't process it properly at the time. your lips look soft, your eyes draw him in, and in any other circumstance he thinks you might have been the type of girl he sidled up alongside in a bar just like the one he just fled and tried to start a conversation with.

but these aren't any other circumstances. you just watched him puke his guts up in a filthy alley and then guessed his SSRI prescription like the world's worst game show. and to make matters worse, his dick hasn't even been working right lately since he started these new pills.

as though life wasn't already cruel enough.

the fire exit flies open again, and all attention turns to it.

"there you are," shoko is standing in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the bar, cringing against the cool evening air. she frowns in suguru's direction. "we've been looking everywhere for you."

suguru watches as she ducks her head back through the doorway, but whatever she calls over her shoulder is lost to the music that's bleeding out into the alley from inside the bar. gojo appears behind her in an instant, his displeased expression brightening immediately upon seeing his friend. he pushes his sunglasses up atop his head, his white hair pinned back underneath them.

"suguru!" he cheers. "we lost you."

"i was just getting some air," suguru smiles blithely, in the way that he's perfected.

gojo shoulders his way out the door towards suguru, dragging him back towards the door with an arm slung around his neck. shoko's eyes flicker over to you.

"oh, hey," she says, nodding in greeting.

"shoko-senpai," you return her greeting politely.

"are you coming back in too?" she asks.

gojo and geto both pause in the doorway, turning to glance back at you.

"no, i'm heading home," you say with an easy smile, not unlike the expression geto had just shown. "you three have a nice night."

"get home safe," she calls after you, a lilt of curiosity in her tone. you lift a hand over your shoulder as you walk away, waggling your fingers in a lazy wave.

"who was that?" gojo asks as the door swings shut behind shoko. he leans in front of suguru so his voice can be heard over the loud music.

"she's a junior in my department at school," shoko explains, "don't you recognize her?"

gojo purses his lips as he contemplates it and then shakes his head definitively. it's not unusual for satoru not to recognize someone, especially a pre-med student instead of a physics student like himself, but suguru is a bit surprised that he can't recall meeting you previously.

satoru tugs suguru's arm back towards the thick of the crowd, and he braces himself for the oncoming barrage of stimulation. he freezes just before he takes his first step, whipping back around to the door.

"what's wrong?" satoru asks him, leaning over his shoulder. he's got his sunglasses on again, and now suguru can't through the lenses in the dim light of the bar, but he knows satoru well enough to picture the wide-eyed look of curiosity that must be behind them.

suguru's brow pinches in a bewildered furrow.

"was she wearing my coat?"

[astermacguffin]

Help me finish my degree

Almost a year has passed and still no justice for my dad and his coworkers who got unjustly fired under the guise of "restructuring" the organization. For those curious, the company's name is Duty Free Philippines, and they're doing everything right now to delay the case that the union filed against them and avoid paying their employees what they're owed.

Although my work is enough to sustain me for everyday living, the big cut in the family budget means that my education is getting compromised. Thankfully due to help from your donations (I cannot stress enough how THANKFUL I am for y'all) I was able to continue my studies the previous year.

I dislike begging for help as much as anyone, but I'm literally in my graduating year and I just need one last help to push through this final stretch for my degree. The breakdown for the expenses is in the cut below, but in total I would need 37,130.50 pesos, or 664.07 US dollars (as of Feb. 2, 2024).

I don't have any means of repaying y'all for your help, but if you're interested, I'm putting in the replies a google drive link of all my major works in philosophy (multiple of which have garnered me invites to various conferences). My main specialization is logic and philosophy of language, but you will also find my works in other branches like art studies, ethics, philosophy of law, Filipino philosophy, and philosophy of religion. Again, thank you so much!

Donation options:

paypal.me/RVAster

2. Remitly:

Send money to: Philippines

Delivery method: Mobile money

GCash/Maya account: 09291580204

Tuition breakdown:

Tuition: 24,630.50

Monthly rent: 2,500 pesos x 5 months = 12,500 pesos

Tuition + Rent = 37,130.50 pesos

[yasscamp]

Scavenger Hunt:

Note for JWCC/JWCT shippers.

1. Yasammy

There's no way I can give a score less than 10, right? They had a chemistry and a relationship since the first season. The way Sammy wanted to be friends with Yas even though she showed to be antisocial is incredible. I'll summarize everything, one day friends.

2. Brookenji

6. I confess that when the ship became canon, I wasn't very into it, you know? They didn't have that relationship that seemed to be lovable, and after the last season and the new series, I could confirm to myself that this ship is bad, just my opinion. But I find them cute, maybe they'll come back in the second season of Chaos Theory? Well, I hope not haha

3. Benrius

8. What to say? This ship is quite unjustly treated, I think the two would have a great relationship as a couple (even knowing that Ben is dating, which I think is a lie 🧐).

4. Darlynn

10. I honestly don't know why they haven't gotten together, they have shown affection for each other for a long time. Their partnership, the way they are, everything makes them good for each other.

5. Yasji

Zero. This ship never had chemistry! The only time they were really together as friends was when Yasmina hurt her leg, and Kenji stayed to help. Other than that, the two have nothing in common! (Not to mention that most of the people who support this ship are hetero-homophobic, who fire at hetero-homophobic 🤌)

Part two?

[mcgnussen]

why k-mag is a walking green flag and you should stan him:

devoted girl dad who puts his daughter over anything else. he said in an interview that he wanted louise, his wife, and laura, his daughter, to be at every race if possible, but they are also very focused on ensuring that laura is happy and healthy and if they feel like it’s too much travelling for laura or that she’s not thriving then they will change plans last minute. and when he got the offer to come back to f1, kev’s only concern was about the time he would lose out on with his daughter.  

is either still vegan or was vegan due to concerns about the environment and as a way to balance his co2 emissions as he admitted that due to his job then he is guilty of higher emission than most people. in the same interview, literally one single interview with a danish newspaper back in 2019, k-mag came up with a few ideas on how f1 could become more green, but also said he was probably not going to talk much about it because he realised that he would be a hypocrite due to his job, so he was very much self-aware which is just another green flag. and he said that people who do not believe in climate change are stupid.  

praises his competitors whether he wins or lose. after austin 2022, kevin lost out on 2 points to sebastian vettel after a heroic stint on his tyres in literally the last few seconds of the race. despite this, he was full of praise for seb in multiple interviews. and after jeddah 2023, he praised yuki for his excellence defence, but this time kevin was the one who came out victorious, but he made a point out of acknowledging yuki’s excellent driving. and both times he sought out his competitors right after the race to shake their hands.  

defends his teammates if they are treated unjustly. both with jolyon and mick, there were times when the criticism was fair, but also times when it was too much and was more bullying. kevin tore renault to shreds for bullying palmer and talking shit behind his back, he said that while palmer was not the best racing driver, he was underestimated because he was so intelligent (and now palmer is an excellent f1 analyst! so k-mag was very right about that). he defended mick against his bosses several times and treated him well. there are also instances during races where he calls out competitors for dirty driving against his teammates.    

got p2 on his debut race for mclaren as a 21-year old rookie. kevin started his f1 career with beating his former world champion teammate with 15 years of experience in f1 and while he lost out to him over the season, he did show great promise especially in qualifying which was considered one of his weaknesses. while qualifying between the two of them were pretty equal, k-mag managed to qualify 0.2 seconds ahead of button on average  ― which is the same time hamilton managed to beat button. kevin did all this... and then mclaren fucked him over, forced him to say no to a seat, but then demoted him to reserve driver, refused to give him a seat in another racing series before finally firing him from mclaren ON HIS FUCKING BIRTHDAY. so danny ric is not the first driver to get screwed over by mclaren.   

worked as a welder before his big racing break due to lack of funds. as so many before him, kevin ran out of money as the sport got more and more expensive. before he even had the chance to turn professional, it looked like options of getting a seat anywhere would be impossible because no one could help him on his way financially. his dad, while a decorated racing driver, did not earn as much as you’d expect a racing driver to earn and he was super busy with his own career, so kevin got a job as a welder until suddenly a rich man from denmark decided to sponsor him. but this means that kevin knows what “real life” is like and he has continously respected that. his mechanics love him and he hangs out with them more than his fellow racing drivers. during the discussion about the number of races in a season calendar, kevin has refused to complain for himself and has always said that the victims of the long and packed season are the mechanics and engineers who cannot get home to their families as often. while he does admit being away so much is difficult, he also pointed out that he is travelling in business class and can get home between races, something the mechanics cannot.  

raised by a single mother, who was also a teen mother, and he has several tattoos in her honour. when he was a teenager, his mum, britt, got ovarian cancer that unfortunately spread and for several years she battled with it to the point where the doctors did not think she would survive. but luckily they did not give up on her and britt ended up being free of cancer after many years of being plagued by it. in her honour, kevin has a guardian angel on his chest, the one who looked over his mum, and he also has ‘mum’ as a tattoo on his wrist below a tattoo of praying hands. kevin’s dad, jan magnussen, was in his life but is also a racing driver and only really settled down in denmark when kevin was already a grown teenager and had his own career, so kevin barely saw him during his childhood and jan himself has admitted their relationship is a relationship between friends than dad-son due to the lack of day-to-day parenting he did for most of k-mag’s life.   

is a champion for girls. kevin has said the most important people in his life is his mum, his wife and his daughter. he is also personally mentoring a 14-year old female karting talent, alba larsen, to help her with her dream of becoming a professional racing driver. he has praised her devotion, passion and skill. he has gotten his whole family onboard, so now his dad is also helping mentor her while kevin is away, his uncle is a mechanic and helps her with her kart despite the fact that his younger brother, luca, is her competitor as he’s the same age and also does karting (kevin and jan are also training him, of course!)   

managed to get pole last season in a haas. and on paper, it should not have been possible. even in the dry sessions, k-mag had a pace that cannot really be explained. according to f1 own analysis and data, the haas was, at the time, 1.35 second slower than red bull, but even in the dry sessions kevin managed to get within 0.5 second of max verstappen. and not only that, his pole lap was only 0.8 second off the lap max did in q2 despite the track being slippery. while circumstances worked in kevin’s favour, he also managed to beat seemingly impossible odds. the only true explanation for why kevin managed to do what he did is skill. ask yourselves what the time might have been if k-mag had been in the red bull...   

is one of only a handful of drivers not to live in a tax haven. he went back to live in denmark for the first time since he was a teenager in 2020 after his wife got pregnant and will not be moving away from denmark again despite the high income tax for the sake of his family’s comfort and well-being. out of all his seasons in formula 1, he only spent 2 seasons living outside either the uk or denmark and he moved to an area where several danish athletes live due to better weather and better location for international travel.   

is around the same age as his wife and she’s not a model. the bar is literally on the floor for male racing drivers, people. but at least k-mag isn’t one of them ― and by model then i mean the actual profession, there is no doubt that louise is gorgeous. also i have nothing against models, but it’s just such a cliché that rich racing drivers end up with them.  

is a big fan of dinosaurs and space. look, these are the greenest flag interests that i can think of, he really is just a nerd. other drivers have interests like dj’ing, golf, fashion and collector of luxury cars  ― and then you just have kevin being like “idk i like space and dinosaurs” 😂

[lemonhemlock]

i just think it's ironic how critical stark fans are of the targaryens like robb and dany are veryyy similar and the first men are colonizers too lol

i think robb should be criticised more for his lack of policies and political foresight and planning when it comes to his independence project, but robb did not resort to sacrificing people to acquire fire-breathing monsters or to torturing people to get his way. he didn't set out to conquer lands. he became king in the north and king of the trident not because he conquered the north or the riverlands, but because they pledged themselves to him. there IS a difference between them

you can agree with northern independence or not but the reason robb called his banners and rose up in the first place was because the de-facto monarch was unjustly imprisoning his father, then executed him without a fair trial, thus breaking the feudal contract (coincidentally, the same reason the targaryens were rightfully deposed). then ofc came stannis' letter casting doubt on joffrey's paternity

honestly a fair line of questioning that might even betray authorial bias is, in a series that puts so much emphasis on the dangers of magic and the HIGH price associated with it, why does robb (and the rest of the starks) get the luxury of being soul-bonded to a magical fierce beast (that comes to them without making any nefarious trade), but dany can only access dragons via committing horrifying acts? imo this could very well be a weak point in the thematic consistency of the series

as for the first men, yes, they were colonizers. so were the andals. they are also dead. the process of ethnogenesis (an often violent process, yes) resulted in the westerosi people. what are they to do about it now? they're just regular people living their lives, not wanting to be brutalized, too, by other foreign invaders like dany will bring, not wanting to fight in any more pointless wars.

is that not a valid request or desire they might have for themselves or do they have to pay indefinitely for the crimes of their ancestors by having the same thing done to them?* does it just go from invasion to invasion until the end of time? is colonization or conquest ok to do indefinitely because they have historical precedent? when does it stop?

from the westerosi point of view, the children of the forest don't even exist anymore, so even paying reparations is out of the question. though, who knows, maybe the series finale will address the issue of reconciliation, since WE know the children of the forest are still out and about

*and, before targstans come out of the woodwork, no, i do not hold dany accountable for things her ancestors did, i hold her accountable for the things SHE did. is it her fault her father became a tyrant? no. but her dynasty got rightfully deposed and that's that (see this post for a more in-depth answer: yes, even ~medieval political theorists believed there are conditions in which a population can rightfully rid themselves of tyrannical rule).

is that fair for dany on an individual level? well, how do you define 'fair'? is it fair that feudal lords own all the land and hoard the resources? or, better yet, why do you define "fair" only in relation to nobles, their wants and desires, the real or perceived injustices visited upon them. i understand that the series is high-born-focused escapism, ultimately, and that it won't end in this radical re-ordering of society or in a leveling of privileges across social spheres, but, for real, sometimes what's "good" for your favourite high-born character isn't good for the smallfolk! that's a basic enough idea we can stick to

[cosmos-coma]

I know I’m late, but may I request 16 or 30 from the Valentine’s prompts with Eskel, if you’re still taking requests? Thank you 💕 Your writing is the best!

La-Vide

The Need to Get Away

A/N: OF COURSE I CAN, ANYTHING FOR YOU. And you don’t even have to ask, because the only Eskel I write for is game Eskel :) (and hopefully some book Eskel as I read through more). Sorry this took so long! It’s been a WEEK, but I really appreciate the love.

Pairing: Eskel x Reader

Words: 2398

Warning: none! Just some fluff! (oh and absolutely CHAOTIC sibling energy)

Witcher Masterlist

Consider buying me a Ko-fi?

__________

It was nearing the end of winter, teetering on the edge of spring and the holiday of love was right around the corner. Most years Eskel wouldn’t bother to celebrate- the path was ever lonely and if company happened to be found, they barely stayed beyond the night. 

But this year was different.

This year it wasn’t a mocking reminder of his isolating work, But rather a reminder that against all odds, somehow he found you.

When he first met you, you had been a radiant hearth in a house he didn’t even realize had gone dark and cold. No matter the day he had you always smiled and laughed when he came back to you with sticks and monster bits in his hair. You’d pick them out, ask him how his contract was, and spend all night in his tender embrace.

You made him feel normal, and for that, he wanted to give you something special- something he felt was worthy of the love he felt he had so unjustly received. 

First, he tried the library. 

He had set everything up perfectly; the fireplace crackled with the warmth of life, the fragrant petals of your favorite flower lay scattered around the stacks, and the warmest blanket in the entire keep was placed over your favorite loveseat. 

He pulled out a stack of your favorite stories and even a few new ones he’d snagged in town before the bitter cold came. He figured you two could have a relaxing morning side by side in the library before you continued on to the rest of his plans.

… unfortunately, it didn’t last for long.

“Eskel, my love, did you do all of this for us?” You grinned as you opened the heavy wooden door. The pleasant smell of fresh flowers and old books swirled around you, its soothing scent enveloping you along with the warmth coming from the room's large hearth. 

“I thought we could start with a quiet morning…” he said as he took your hand and led you to your seat where there was already a steaming mug just for you.

Your grin was so sweet and genuinely excited that even now, Eskel still lost his breath at the sight of it.

You settled down in your favorite loveseat, your legs thrown over Eskel’s lap as per usual as you settled in. 

It seemed like the perfect way to start the day, book in your lap, mug in your hand, until-

BOOM

You nearly jumped 3 feet in the air when you heard the rumbling explosion beneath you, causing you to spill the contents of your mug into your lap and book.

“Ah!! Hot! Hot!” You shouted as you jumped up to your feet, dropping everything to the floor as you desperately tried to fan yourself. 

Eskel wasted no time jumping up either, trying to pat dry your clothes and blow on them, but there was only so much he could do. Soon enough, thankfully, the entire room let out a relieved sigh as your clothes had finally cooled down, now just leaving you with a soaked, cold lap.

“Well this… could be worse,” you tried to stay positive as you looked at Eskel with a small smile “But What on earth was that? It sounded like it was right below us” 

Eskel sighed, sitting back down as he watched you go stand near the fire to dry your clothes, “it probably came from the alchemy lab… it’s right below us but I don’t know who would be-“

BOOM

A smaller explosion went off. 

“I meant to do that!” You heard Lambert’s voice yell as bits of rock crumbled and fell from the ceiling.

Eskel sighed, “I really should have guessed… It seems he chose today of all days to test his volatile substances…” 

“‘Volatile substances’? You mean—“

BOOM

“Oh, THAT'S NEW” Lambert's voice shouted, a mix of excitement and concern…but mostly excitement.

“Bombs.” Eskel finished for you, “precisely.”

“Right…” you said quietly, seeming to be in thought as you  nodded and fanned your clothes before the fire, “… should we not be here?”

“No probably not…” 

Next, he tried the courtyard.

It was warm for the end of winter and the sun hung happily in the clear sky. Though there were still some weeks of winter left, soft green buds mistakenly peeked out of the twigs and branches above you, giving hope of a soon-to-be spring. 

“So this morning didn’t go as planned, but I thought maybe we could spend some time with Lil Bleater?” Eskel suggested, carrying a small pack under his arm. The aforementioned noisy kid bleated up at her two-legged dad as she followed just half a step behind, urgently asking for everything from cuddles to treats to a sparring partner.

You laughed a bit and nodded, “of course… you know I can never get enough of her.” 

As if sensing his intentions Lil Bleater suddenly ran ahead, bouncing around a large tree jutting out of the courtyard. Its roots had pulled up pieces of the stone walkway its many, many years of watching over the keep, but maintained a little bowl that was perfect for sitting. Landing with as much flare as a goat can she turned back to Eskel, yelling at him to set up right here.

“There? That’s where you wanna be? Alright, you’re the boss, Bleater…” your beloved said with a warm smile, unfolding the small blanket with a satisfying fwoosh. 

The mountain of a man let out a sigh nearly as big as he was as he finally sat on the thin cushion of the blanket, “let’s try this again shall we..?” He offered, his notched lip tugging up at the corner as he reached out to you. 

Practically falling into his lap, you wasted no time before curling into his warm embrace, your head resting pleasantly against his shoulder as you tried to take in the peace of the morning once again. Lil Bleater was quick to follow suit, climbing into your lap and nibbling at your clothes until you finally scratched her just right. 

It seemed like everything was finally going right this time… that is until- 

Clang! Clang clang! Ding! 

Eskel groaned, his head knocking into yours as it hung in defeat again. He swore this day was testing him. 

Geralt and Vesemir came round the corner shortly after, swords clanging viciously as they sparred, their mentor holding nothing back as he came at him again and again. Metal on metal rang incessantly in your ears and even Lil Bleater had to protest the unending noise they made. 

“Baaaaah! “ she cried, pushing off of your lap in a rush as she ran swiftly in the opposite direction. 

“Um… “ you muttered as you watched them keep going, even going so far as to wave at you as they passed. You wanted to say something, but this was still not your home, not technically, and you didn’t want to overstep your bounds.

Eskel sighed, he was a very patient man, but it was wearing thinner with every aggressive clang of metal ringing against the stone walls, “Of course they have to do this now-- Come on… why don’t you go in for lunch?” He suggested, his smile much more tired now as he helped you up, “I’ll be in soon, okay? Hopefully, it’s quieter in the hall.”

And then… it was lunch…

Eskel was hard at work in the kitchen, willingly unbothered by the racquet of his brothers as he put the finishing touches on his meal. He had prepared most of it earlier that morning, having already planned ahead on sharing your favorite lunch. “Okay… it’s done,” Eskel mumbled to himself as he looked out the thin window, “and with any luck, my brothers will still be busy while we eat….” 

As Eskel brought out plates for the both of you, looking cautiously around the hall, he had to sigh in relief; his brothers were still out and about.Maybe he could finally have time for just the two of you.

 Thank any and every god that one of his activities was going right. 

Your smile was gentle and patient as he headed toward you, your whole expression graced with a wash of wonderfully stubborn love. Eskel nearly tripped on a raised tile, his eyes lost in yours instead on the path ahead of him, before quickly recovering his footing. 

“Careful there…,”. You warned with a laugh, “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to lunch after all the trouble you’ve gone through today.” 

Your Witcher huffed a small laugh, but refused to jinx it any further

However…

About four bites in the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. Something didn’t feel right. He stopped and looked around the hall. All was quiet, but something still nagged him.

Hm.. it’s not his Witcher senses bothering him, or his medallion would have gone off. No… what was bothering him was his sibling senses. 

Carefully he put his fork down, the gentle ding clear in his ears. He looked at you, innocent and unaware of what was yet to come, you were too engrossed in your meal to notice the danger looming all too close. 

“It’s too quiet-” he tried to warn, but it was too late. 

Almost as if it was planned, both Lambert and Geralt came in from different doors and their senses were set on Eskel’s premade food. 

“No, no, no, no..!” Eskel started to stand, yellow eyes flaring as Geralt slid in next to you, and Lambert next to him. 

“Oooh, smells good, whatcha got there big guy?” Lambert asked with a grin as he reached over onto Eskel’s plate, taking a bite of the meticulously made dish, “oh shit, this is good!”

Geralt looked over onto your plate, “Hm? Can I try some?” He asked, tone calm and deceivingly gentle, but Eskel knew his brothers. Lambert was brash and didn’t care about the consequences as he reached for what he wanted. Geralt on the other hand was calculated. As a child he learned quickly that he needed his approach to be smart if he was going to skirt the slaps and jabs Lambert got, so he’d stick his foot in the door. He’d ask to try some, complement the work, and then eventually get YOU to offer HIM part of your meal. Eskel had fallen for it many times.

“Oh, of course,” you smiled pleasantly as you offered him a fork, watching him take a politely small bite. 

“Oh it’s good, Eskel you made this?” Geralt complimented, the slightest smile on his lips as he met the blazing eyes of his closest brother. 

“I did…” Eskel gritted out, pushing Lambert away from his plate as he went to reach in again. 

“Huh, you’ve never cooked like this for us…” Geralt remarked, rubbing his ‘aching arms’ “mm, too bad my arms are so sore from training today to make myself something like this…” 

“Oh… well, would you like some more of mine? I’m sure there’s enough to go around.” You said, offering him a few more forkfuls. 

Geralt grinned pointedly at his brother as he lifted his fork again, “Wow, Eskel… you must’ve brought home the most generous person on the continent….” 

You smiled at the compliment, but the pleasant expression quickly fell as Eskel stabbed his fork into the table, dangerously close to Lambert's reaching hand, and wordlessly walked away. His shoulders were tight and arched, like a threatened animal, and you weren’t sure if it was growling or muttering beneath his breath that you heard. 

“Eskel? My love, where are you going?” You asked as he turned the corner wordlessly. 

“Well,” Lambert said, scooting over into Eskel’s seat as he took his plate with a grin, “If he’s not going to finish it then I guess I should.”

All of this Chaos and turmoil had bubbled and stewed and now you hadn’t seen Eskel all afternoon. Sunset was just a few hours away and you were starting to get worried. 

“Where could he be..?” You mused to yourself as you pushed past the front doors.You had just stepped outside to look for him once again when you heard a familiar, yet excited sound. 

“Bahhhh!” Lil Bleater yelled as she ran toward you, her gait quick and determined as she trampled a path straight toward you. 

“Hey, kiddo. Have you- wait, what’s this?” You asked as you quickly snatched the note she was chewing away. 

‘Meet me at the stables? Dress warm. -E’

You grinned as you saw Eskel’s neat handwriting scrawled across the simple note. With all the speed you could manage you rushed to get your warmest clothes on, a grin plastered on your face the entire time as you raced through the keep and down to the stables. What you weren’t expecting though was to see Scorpion saddled up, packed saddle bags bulging with various items. 

“Eskel..? What is this..?” You smiled, nearly out of breath as you slowed to a stop before the stead-fast stallion. “Are you going somewhere?” You asked, petting Scorpion’s dark muzzle as he leaned his nose in to sniff around your pockets.

“We are,” he smiled, looking at ease once again as he came to your side, “I’m sorry today was- sort of a disaster. I had all of these things planned and just… nothing seemed to go right,” he admitted. “But I think I found the perfect solution…. How do you feel about an impromptu road trip? There’s a little clearing up the side of the mountain that has the most amazing sunsets. 

There’s a big tree in the middle that’s perfect to sleep under, and after we eat dinner-” he knocked on a saddle bag, its noise clanking with the sound of a pot and its utensils, “then maybe we can make a fire and stargaze..?”

His large frame was uncharacteristically nervous, his gaze staring down at his rough hands as they came together in front of him. He hoped you’d be willing to try it all again, It hadn’t been a great start, but he was still determined to see it through for you. 

When he finally looked up from his hands the brightness of your toothy grin was contagious, Eskel’s own lips tugging up into a wide smile.

“Oh, my love… you had me at ‘road trip’.”

_________

Witcher Taglist: @writingmysanity @novigrad--dreaming @madamemelancholysstuff @dark-academia-slut @beardedladyqueen

Did I forget to add you? Do you wanna be added to my Witcher Taglist? DM/Ask me to let me know!!

[notmyprey]

Hi! Uhm I’m new, I love your blog! But I’m just nervous I’ll be judged by others that I like this stuff

Hey I am so so sorry about how long it took me to get to this. I have been thinking this over quite a bit, since this is in fact a very serious thing. (I also have been really busy, which hasn't helped in the speed at which I answer asks)

Firstly, thank you! I am always so happy when people find my art/content as entertaining as I do!

Secondly, in regards to the judgment.

Unfortunately, no matter what you do, someone will judge you. But when you want something enough, when you care about something enough, you will find places and groups where that judgment lessens. I have found my place here, a place where, although no one knows my irl name, they know me by a name I answer to. Although no one knows my face, they do know a truer face of myself than many do in real life. People here know me and often know a more freeing part of me.

I think being here, on Tumbler, has been so freeing and overall rewarding. I know you may be scared of the judgment, but there are ways to lessen it. (I will give tips on how to do this later on)

Although our community has its faults, it is kind at heart and truely is trying to do what they think is best to keep others safe. Although many disagree with the methods, it always comes back to the fact that we want to have a safe place to express ourselves. This, our community, in reality, is a decently safe place.

That being said, I know the fear of harassment is very real. So if you guys want my tips on how to avoid harassment, here are some things I've found:

Dont post political views (outside of DNI lists) on your sfw vore blog. This often can lead to people who dont agree with your view on said matter to seek you out for hate. I have seen this time and time again, I whole heartedly recommend a dedicated blog to that stuff, or even creating a new/separate account for it.

Dont spam tags. This is basic, but often overlooked. Make sure you tag your posts right, or people may block you because you did post something triggering and they saw it.

Dont reblog Willy nilly. This can lead to mishaps, such as accidentally rebloging a post from an nsfw blog. Try to make sure you are rebloging from people you know are safe.

Dont threaten, even jokingly, anyone unless you make it 100% clear it is a joke. This goes for your friend, others, and even people who are mean to you. This is often overlooked, but can easily come to bite you in the ass when your words are used to make you look violent and sporadic.

If people criticize you, even unjustly, try to at least think about where those words may be coming from. I have someone call me a pedo in the past, and although I am very ace, I understand it was probably coming from a place of hurt. Whether it was their hurt or someone they knew, it was probably a subject that was important, and if they see any of the same trends as when they/another was hurt, they will point it out. Dont get angry and aggressive, no matter how much you want to. If you need to, step away.

If troll annons start invading your ask box, either turn off annon or stop answering. Answering annons like that too often only fuels the fire, trolls, not haters, but trolls specifically feed off of your reaction. There is nothing for you to often grasp onto in those moments since the face you are talking to is faceless. So, either scarcely answer trolls, or dont answer them at all.

Dont get involved in community discourse when possible. Unless your hand is forced or it is an unavoidable matter, it is best to stay out of discourse. If you still want to know what others thing/help in a muxg safer way, often, I will message others I trust about their views on the matter (or if they are involved asking if they are doing ok), but rarely anything beyond that. Its difficult, seeing people you know be in the rough situations, but often stepping in when not necessary leads to more problems than it does help.

Please note that these are just some of the things I do that help me. Other people may have their own way of keeping harassment away from their blog, but this is mine.

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

LWW dashboard simulator (more coming if interest lol)

🦁 lucylionsdaughter Follow

guys im in a simply enormous wardrobe. there's snow and everything

🐐 notamannotagoatbutasecretthirdthing Follow

i have sardines and toast and a roaring fire

🥶 tree-from-war-drobe Follow

fanart of you two

#fanart#lucylionsdaughter#notamannotagoatbutasecretthirdthing#lucyistherealqueenofnarnia#antijadis#fledgetruther#tree-from-war-drobe#myart

🐐 notamannotagoatbutasecretthirdthing Follow

met up with one of my mutuals!! @lucylionsdaughter

EDIT: if you see my earlier post about sardines please don't click on it @tree-from-war-drobe LITERALLY drew fanart with my ACTUAL FACE this is harassment

❄️ that-winter-queen Follow

turkish delight anyone?

🍭 turkish-delight-enjoyer

YES

❄️ that-winter-queen Follow

meet you by the lamppost?

🍭 turkish-delight-enjoyer

I'll be there!

#mightbedoxxedforthis#worthit#turkishdelight

🐐 notamannotagoatbutasecretthirdthing Follow

#lucy for queen#lucyistherealqueenofnarnia#antijadis#fledgetruther

🦫 the-missises-mister reblogged

🦫 the-missis Follow

makin a marmalade roll

🦫 the-missises-mister

why

🦫 the-missis Follow

i wanted to bake

#i love it when you bake#fledgetruther#the beavers

Blazed by @the-missises-mister

🥶 tree-from-war-drobe Follow

ASLAN IS ON THE MOVE. THIS IS NOT A FALSE ALARM. HE HAS BEEN SEEN.

#fledgetruther#lucyistherealqueenofnarnia#antijadis

❄️ that-winter-queen Follow

just got an email that someone I reported has been removed ❄️ keep on reporting the #fledgetruther tag, it's a dogwhistle for anti-royalist sentiments!! without me you won't have anything

#keep up the good work#jadis for queen#that-winter-queen#i put in a flag for @notamannotagoatbutasecretthirdthing as well#he's spreading propaganda

🦀 aslanisonthemove

Help me find my mutuals!

I was unjustly removed by @/that-winter-queen for 'anti-Jadis sentiments' but I'm here again! previous username @aslanisthetrueking and I posted in #fledgetruther a lot. tagging @lucylionsdaughter and @notamannotagoatbutasecretthirdthing for visibility.

#fledgetruther#lucyistherealqueenofnarnia

[doctorgeekery]

One thing that is so refreshing about Andor is its takes on antifascism and the far left. So often in media, there’s always the morally pure heroes who fight evil - and then there’s the radical groups are also fighting, but are judged to be morally wrong. There’s literally hundreds of examples of this, but the first one that comes to mind is Jet in Avatar: The Last Airbender. Jet fights against the fire nation, and Aang determines that he is too extreme.

This is not the case in Andor, which is a fresh of breath air. We see Saw Gerrara, the one who was the paranoid, radical person in Rogue One, in a good light. We see Luthen, who does very morally questionable things, chief among them sacrificing Kreegyr and his entire crew, portrayed in a sympathetic light as well. And there is Andor, who shoots first and asks questions later. None of them are shaped like “the enemy” or "just as bad as the enemy". Why? Because we see throughout the show that no matter how bad characters such as Luthen and Saw get, it will NEVER come even CLOSE to the atrocities of the Empire.

In episode 7, our most morally pure character, Mon Mothma, is horrified when she realizes what Luthen has done on Aldhani. She argues that it will make things worse, and Luthen takes the pragmatic approach and seemingly doesnt care about the lives he is ruining in the process. It makes you question how “right” he is. But during that same episode, you see the horror of Bix's torture. You hear the account of the whole planet that the Empire slaughtered, delivered in an unbothered tone. You see Cassian unjustly imprisoned, and the following few episodes you are gaping in horror at the dystopian prison system.

When you are fighting against something that evil, there is no morally good way to do it. Not fighting has more consequences than fighting. Saw, Luthen, Mothma, Cassian - they all have the same goal, regardless of methods. I was cheering whenever imperials were shot in the chest. In the season finale, I screeched with joy when the pipe bomb was finally thrown, and was also cheering when Dedra was trampled to the ground.

[kurithedweeb]

With a few cheery goodbyes for such dreary weather, Coty and Dale went on their way. Garroth watched them go until the rain had completely eaten away at their feeble light.

Just above the rain, Zenix said, “When are you going to tell them?”

Coty and Dale had circled around the Eastern side of town, covered the docks and along the river, so they’d circle back around near the end of patrol. They’d do a loop through the housing district and skirt along the forest to the West first.

“Are you going to tell them?” Zenix asked. He fell into lockstep with Garroth as he set out, following the fences.

“About what?”

“About how bad everything’s getting.”

“We’re not quite so desperate that we cannot spare a little peace of mind,” Garroth told him.

“‘Peace of mind’ won’t be something we can afford to spare for long.” Zenix stepped forward and turned on his heel, facing Garroth as they walked. The meek orange light of the lantern made his eyes seem oddly red sometimes. “Garroth, our situation has yet to improve any, and winter is right around the corner. Will you not tell even Sir Dale?”

“Sir Dale worries enough with his son away at the academy. Everyone has been stretched thin enough already, they need not bear the weight of this and the accusations of the townspeople.”

“And your bearing it alone is better? The way they speak of you, of all of us, Garroth, it–it’s unfair!”

“Perhaps.” Garroth stopped his apprentice before he stumbled into a hole in the road and redirected him. How high up was fixing the roads on his list of priorities? “Consider it from their perspective. A mysterious fire contained to the Lord’s house, his family gone in the night without a trace, only discovered with the dawn. Who else is there to blame but the guards, whose duty it is to prevent such disasters?”

“I c-can understand that b-but,” he faltered, coughed, and cleared his throat. “But it’s . . . upsetting, that the guards are forced to handle being accused of crimes they never committed. Isn’t it?”

“We’ll do our best to prove our innocence,” Garroth assured him.

He would prove Zenix’s innocence, at the very least. Garroth could handle the abuse. No one had even started to get violent. Whatever words they could think to throw his way, he was sure to have weathered worse before. His apprentice though, he was just a boy. He didn’t deserve to have such unjustly cruel words thrown in his face.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Sixty

Reality crashed over Maera the following morning with the weight of Jaehaerys' funeral. The day loomed, forcing her to confront the harsh truth that the sweet boy she had witnessed being born into this world was gone, his life unjustly taken. The grief, suppressed in the embrace of the night before, resurfaced, raw and unyielding. The somber occasion demanded acceptance, and the funeral became an unwelcome gateway to a world where not even children were spared in times of war.

Yet, amid the nerves and sorrow, there was a flicker of relief at the prospect of seeing her dear friend and sister-in-law, Helaena. Maera knew the Queen was not faring well, but what mother would be if this happened to her child? Her spies had reported that the Queen ate little and slept even less, but that the daily mutterings at the window were not as frequent. Maera had not spoken to Helaena properly since the day her friend had miscarried. Uncertain of the nature of their interaction, the simple act of laying eyes on Helaena offered a semblance of comfort.

As expected, Aemond remained distant in the wake of the funeral day, his struggle with his emotions evident in his reticence. Maera observed his silent demeanor, noting the lack of communication between them from the moment they woke. Aemond, allowing Thena to dress him in deep black robes adorned with intricate dark green detailing, exuded an air of somber formality. Black trousers and polished boots completed the mourning ensemble; a beautiful, regal attire for a dark day.

Maera, watching him, couldn't help but notice the sharp contours of his face—the angular nose, high cheekbones, and a jaw that seemed more tense than usual. The weight of grief hung in the air, creating an unspoken tension that mirrored the heaviness within her own heart. The looming task of sharing her news with Aemond added an extra layer of complexity to the already somber atmosphere, leaving her grappling with the delicate balance between mourning their nephew and navigating the uncharted territory of their shared future.

As Thena dressed Maera for the funeral, a discerning look in the red-headed maid's eyes suggested an acute awareness that something more than grief lingered in the air. She searched Maera's eyes, her expression a silent plea to understand and help her mistress navigate the unspoken turmoil.“Are you well, Princess?” The maid gently enquired.

Attempting to shield the depth of her emotions, Maera mustered a strained smile and replied, “It is just a tumultuous day, Thena. I will be fine once it is over.”

The red-headed maid, not fully convinced, continued with her task, dressing Maera in a modest black mourning dress. Buttons aligned on the back and sleeves were meticulously fastened, and the dress was tied together at the front with a golden ribbon—a somber yet dignified attire for the occasion. In the quiet moments between each fastened button, the unspoken exchange revealed the bond between maid and mistress, a shared understanding that transcended words.

Guiding Maera to the dressing table, Thena skillfully began the task of pinning her hair into a formal and beautifully intricate braided half-updo. The silver streak in Maera's hair, intertwined in the braid atop her head, served as a visual homage to her Targaryen lineage. The remaining curls, a cascade of rich dark brown, were left to gracefully flow down her back.

Concern still etched on her face as she pinned up the last of Maera’s braids, Thena pressed further, “Have you eaten this morning?”

Maera opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Aemond answered for her, stating matter-of-factly, “No, she has not.” His intrusion caused Maera to frown, a subtle tension weaving through the room. Maera looked at his reflection in the mirror, scowling his unnecessary interjection. Seated at his writing desk, seemingly engrossed in reports, his sharp comment hung in the air, a manifestation of his emotional struggle. While she knew she should let it slide given the circumstances, she found it increasingly difficult to do so, the weight of unspoken words adding to the growing strain between them.

Maera scowled at Aemond's reflection in the mirror, but she cleared her throat and confronted her husband, stating, "Thena knows that at times of stress, I cannot eat."

Aemond, adopting a sterner tone, interjected, "Daor se jāhor daor issi arlintan mirre.” Cannot and will not are not the same thing.

As Thena finished crafting Maera's intricate hairstyle, the princess rose from the dressing table. Her long black skirts flowed elegantly as she approached Aemond with measured steps, attempting to convey control by calmly but firmly stating, "Ābrar laehurlion rūsīr qūvir arlintan.” Everyone deals with grief differently.

However, Aemond, not satisfied with her answer, rose from his seat and loomed over her. What began as a battle of words quickly escalated into a confrontation as the one-eyed Prince scoffed, asking his wife with a sarcastic tone, “Gaomagon ao pendagon merbutan qrīdrughagon iksos nykeā giēñilare ñuhoso hen laehurlion rūsīr ziry?” Do you think wasting away is an effective way of dealing with it?

Maera, quite sick of baring the brunt of her husband’s frustration, snarled in response, “Gaomagon ao pendagon qilōnario aōha ābrazȳrys hae lo ziry istan nykeā riñnykeā iksos nykeā giēñilare ñuhoso hen laehurlion rūsīr ziry?” Do you think reprimanding your wife as if she were a child is an effective way to deal with it?

Standing a short distance away, they faced off against each other, tension palpable in the defiant stare of green and violet eyes. Jawlines were set, brows furrowed, and the room became a battleground for unspoken grievances. The verbal lashings exchanged echoed in the confined space, each word carrying the weight of unresolved emotions.

Sensing the escalating tension, Thena wisely declared, “I think I will go and check with the guards if the carriages are ready,” and discreetly exited the room, leaving the two Targaryens to confront their feelings, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of a dispute that seemed to transcend the immediate circumstances of the funeral day.

Yet after a moment, Thena returned, her announcement cutting through the charged air. “Maester Orwyle to see you, Princess,” the maid informed her mistress as her brown eyes darted between the couple. Still toe to toe with her husband, Maera noticed his eyebrow raise in confusion. Gritting her teeth, she tore her gaze away from the Prince to acknowledge Thena with a subtle nod, granting permission for the Maester to enter.

Thena promptly opened the door for Orwyle, who stepped into the chambers. As Thena excused herself, leaving the room, the Maester, clad in beige robes with a heavy iron chain around his waist, bore a solemn look. His dark skin and eyes reflected a sense of gravity as he bowed his head in respect of the couple. In his hands, he held a small black box, the contents of which remained a mystery. Alongside it, a vial of liquid hinted at a purpose that weighed heavily on Maera’s mind. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken as Maester Orwyle awaited acknowledgment, and the unspoken tension between Maera and Aemond lingered beneath the surface.

As Aemond stepped away from his wife with a disgruntled hum, the room seemed to absorb his frustration. He made his way to a nearby window to overlook the courtyard, his towering figure silhouetted against the outside light as he rose his arm to lean against the stone wall. The tension in his jaw and the subtle furrow of his brow spoke volumes about the inner turmoil he grappled with, leaving an uneasy atmosphere in his wake.

With a subtle roll of her eyes at Aemond's brooding retreat to the window, she presented a facade of composure, masking the complexity of emotions that churned beneath the surface as she approached the Maester with a soft smile.

“What brings you to us this morning, Maester Orwyle?” Maera asked with a forced smile to hide the annoyance at her husband.

“I have brought you a few things, Princess, that may ease your troubles,” the man explained, holding up the dark wooden box. “Ginger root and wormwood. To be boiled in water and drank first thing in the morning. It should help with any sickness and loss of appetite.” Holding up the vial, he continued, “And here’s a blend of dark ale, aniseed, radish, garlic, and crop leek. Just a teaspoon a day should make a significant difference in relation to those dizzy spells you have been experiencing.”

Maera’s expressive face couldn’t hide her distaste at the description of the concoction. A chuckle escaped the Maester’s lips, and he added, “I know it’s not the most pleasant taste, but it’s effective.”

Despite her initial reaction, Maera accepted the box and vial. “Thank you, Maester Orwyle, for going to such trouble for me.”

The dark-skinned man then glanced across the room to the Prince, whose solitary focus remained fixed on the courtyard below. A moment of silent acknowledgment passed before the maester directed his attention back to Maera. “I know today’s funeral will be difficult for everyone,” the Maester conveyed with genuine empathy. His gaze flicked to Aemond once more before settling on Maera. “But hopefully, after the funeral, everyone will be able to celebrate with you both properly.”

Aemond, confusion etched across his contoured features, whipped his head around and questioned, “Celebrate?”

Maera, caught off guard, widened her eyes, jaw tensing at the sudden revelation. She gave a dagger-like stare to the Maester, who quickly realised that he had just inadvertently revealed her news to her husband. Sensing the shift in atmosphere, Maester Orwyle discreetly bowed, stating, “I’ll see you both at the Sept.”

As the Maester departed, Maera sighed deeply and defeatedly, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Aemond leaving the window and approaching her. Concern in his eyes, he asked, “What was he talking about?”

Maera, turning to face him with a defeated expression, opened her mouth to respond, but the words did not come out. When no answer came, Aemond tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, his silver hair tumbling over his shoulder as he awaited her response. The room pulsed with a fast heartbeat and inner anxiety, Maera struggling to articulate the revelation. Despite her attempts to speak, the words remained lodged in her throat, making communication impossible.

In the face of the verbal impasse, Maera, with a sense of resignation, simply brought her hand to her lower stomach. It served as a silent declaration, a physical acknowledgment of the news she had yet to verbalize. He seemed to take a moment to process what she was telling him, and Maera watched as his facial expressions underwent a subtle yet profound transformation. The initial confusion etched across his features gave way to surprise, and beneath it lingered an emotion that eluded clear definition, leaving Maera uncertain and anxious.

“You’re sure?” The Prince asked her, a steady tone in his voice yet a sense of hesitation in his single violet eye. Words evaded her again, so Maera just nodded, still not knowing what the look across his face was conveying.

Aemond stood right in front of her, his hand reaching up and gently cradling Maera's cheek. She initially flinched, anticipating a storm of emotions as she was still unable to read him. However, instead of expressing anger or confusion, Aemond surprised her by slowly leaning in, his breath fanning over her mouth before placing a tender and loving kiss on her lips. The slow and deliberate nature of the kiss carried a reassurance that began to slowly unravel the layers of tension that had gripped Maera.

As his lips journeyed to her forehead and hair, muttering the word “thank you” over and over again between kisses, Maera's carefully crafted facade, the shield against vulnerability, began to crumble. The walls around her heart, built to protect her from this new reality, started to crack open. Aemond's loving gestures created a sanctuary where she felt safe enough to break down. Tears, long held back, flowed freely, marking the release of emotions that had been held in check. The room, once charged with tension, now held a different atmosphere—a shared moment of understanding, acceptance, and the intimacy that transcended the complexities of the revelations they faced together.

After a moment of shared understanding, Aemond ceased his affectionate kisses and pressed his forehead to Maera's, a gesture that she welcomed with a sense of connection. Feeling his hand gently wiping away the tears that had streamed down her face, the touch became a soothing balm, reaffirming their shared vulnerability. As Aemond withdrew his hand from her cheek, there was a moment of hesitation before he almost tentatively rested it on her lower stomach. Maera instinctively covered his hand with her own, creating an intimate connection that transcended the unspoken complexities of the revelation.

A deep and steadying breath from Aemond resonated in the room, the subsequent exhale sounding almost shaky. The air of uncertainty surrounding him stunned Maera. She had never witnessed this side of him before, an acknowledgment that the unexpected news had introduced an element of vulnerability, both in their shared future and in the emotions they were navigating together.

Aemond gazed down at Maera's stomach with a slight smile, expressing gratitude for what seemed like a divine intervention. "Truly, this has been foretold by the Gods," he remarked, his voice carrying a note of hope. "They have not forsaken us after all."

Maera scoffed at his optimism. “You have lost just one eye, yet clearly you are completely blind,” she said with a bitter edge to her voice. As Maera pulled away from Aemond’s touch, a surge of frustration coursed through her veins. Beneath the weight of House Targaryen’s tragedies, she grappled with a vulnerability that seemed to elude his optimism.

“We were forsaken the minute those murderers crept into our home, undetected, and slaughtered your nephew,” she reminded her husband, the shadow of the day remaining ever present in this moment.

Caught off guard by Maera's reaction, Aemond looked at her with a puzzled expression, finding himself at a loss for words and unsure of how to navigate the emotionally-charged atmosphere. His gaze followed her as she moved to sit in a chair, seeking a moment of stability before looking up at him, her green eyes widened, conveying a complex blend of emotions.

“I am frightened, Aemond,” she admitted, eyes welling with tears once more. “Many women are claimed by the Stranger when they are with child or give birth. Including my own mother.” Maera turned her head to look at him from across the room. The usually unwavering gaze of his single violet eye now held a softer edge, mirroring the complexities of the moment. Lines of worry appeared on his forehead as he watched his wife crumbling before him whilst trying to understand her negative reaction to such joyous news.

“We are also at war,” Maera continued, furrowing her brow. Her bottom lip began to tremble as she voiced her final fear. “‘A son for a son.’ Is that not what the Rogue Prince promised? We are even more vulnerable now, the Blacks have more to take from us. What if Jaehaerys was not enough? What if-?”

“Do not say it,” Aemond growled, shaking his head with a tense jaw. He then stormed towards her before reaching her side, kneeling beside the chair, and rested his hand on her forearm. With a reassuring and firm squeeze, he sought to anchor her in his presence, his face a canvas of determination and care.

“You are a Princess of House Targaryen. My wife,” Aemond conveyed with a measured tone, causing Maera to turn her tearful gaze toward him. His sharp-featured face bore an expression of sincerity and earnestness as he continued. “You are not weak. There is darkness surrounding us to be sure, but this child…our child,” he emphasised the last two words with a slight smile, “will be a beacon of hope through this.”

Maera, tearing her eyes away from his face as they welled up at the mention of their future, fixed her gaze on a distant point, sighed deeply. "Hope," she murmured, "hope seems like a fragile thing now."

In response, Aemond reached out and wiped a tear that had fallen down her rounded cheeks, catching her gaze once more. "We will prevail, Maera. I know this to be true. And I will do everything in my power to protect you and our child."

Maera, listening tentatively, felt the weight of Aemond’s words slowly beginning to ease the grip of her fears. His presence and the sincerity in his eyes provided a temporary respite, creating a space where, for the moment, she could find solace. As she absorbed his reassurances, a sense of calm settled over her, however fleeting it might be, allowing her to believe, if only momentarily, in the comfort he sought to provide.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted the tender moment between Aemond and Maera, prompting Aemond to stand, huffing with frustration before commanding the person to enter. As the door swung open, Ser Arryk, Maera’s sworn protector, stepped into the room. Clad in his Kingsguard armor, his mousey brown hair was tied back, and a thick beard framed his face. Hazel eyes, typically vigilant, softened with concern as they fell upon Maera’s tear-stained features.

“Prince Aemond, Princess Maera,” the knight began, his gaze remaining fixed on her face. “The carriage is ready.” Aemond, still stood beside his wife, dismissed the knight with a firm command, yet Ser Arryk lingered for a moment more. Maera, sensing Ser Arryk's protective gaze upon her, looked up and met his eyes. She offered him a sad smile, a silent reassurance that she would navigate the complexities of her emotions. In that exchange, unspoken understanding passed between them, acknowledging the connection forged through shared duty and concern.

As Aemond cleared his throat, a silent yet firm indication to Ser Arryk to leave their chambers, the knight quickly took the hint, departing with a last, lingering look of concern cast towards Maera. With Ser Arryk gone, Aemond extended his arm towards Maera, palm up, offering her assistance out of her chair. She gracefully accepted his hand, allowing him to guide her to her feet. Yet, when Aemond didn't release her hand, Maera gazed up at him, her green eyes boring into his face.

The firm yet gentle touch of his hand on hers spoke volumes, an uncharted space where vulnerability and connection coexisted. As they stood with their fingers intertwined, two dragons of House Targaryen, the weight of their shared history and unknown future pressed upon them. War loomed on the horizon, and the echoes of murder reverberated through their ancestral halls. Amidst the darkness, the revelation of new life brought a flicker of hope.

Notes: I am slowly but surely recovering from flu so writing may take a while. But we’ve had our happy moment between them… And now *cracks knuckles* let the drama commence

Tags: @blue-serendipity @watercolorskyy @abecerra611 @marvelescvpe @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[astermacguffin]

UPDATE: Due to the increasing prices of Everything lately, the money I previously saved that initially would have lasted me the rest of the semester is now running thin.

Job market is rough and my dad still hasn't found a new job after being unjustly fired (their union's lawsuit against the company is still in progress). Thankfully I can keep myself afloat weekly through student assistant work and tutoring, but the other costs (e.g. rent and utilities) are a bit harder to meet. From my computation, I won't be in trouble until late November to early December.

If you have even just a dollar to spare, that would already be a huge help. 22,000 pesos, or 387.33 USD (as of Oct. 24, 2023) would be enough to last me until the end of the semester. Thank you so much for your help.

paypal.me/RVAster

Remitly:

Send money to: Philippines

Delivery method: Mobile money

GCash/Maya account: 09291580204

[muffinlance]

Look, Aang, I know it’s upsetting to come in second place, but noble Appa was unjustly imprisoned while steadfastly, loyally waiting for his companions, fighting to his last, whereas YOU were captured while flailing around after frogs. FROGS, Aang.

- says Zuko.

Appa rumbles in agreement, or possibly with indigestion at that probably poisoned fruit he ate earlier. 

Sokka sips his own probably poisoned tea, and keeps watching the Fire Prince berate the world’s last hope for peace. He does not interfere. Nor does Katara. 

Those frogs were awful.

[writing-yarn-goblin]

It’s November but I’ll do whatever the [redacted] I want!

Eustass KidxReader

Relationship: not established

Fairytale AU

Word count: 4K and up.

Warning: violence, gore, mentions of religion, trauma and blood (plus Kid’s killer grin.).

Enjoy! ❤️

“Gotta run, gotta run, gotta RUN!”

Was the only thing you could whisper to yourself as you were running through the forest. Your village had sent you out to die when they noticed that your remedies for illness were a little too effective and blamed you for witchcraft.

This had been going to days. You barely ate or drank anything in order to survive the ordeal.

You had no choice but to run. The forest was dark but the lit torches were closer and closer with every sprint you took.

The red cloak you were wearing was rushing behind you like a phoenix in flight as you kept running.

You knew that the forest was dangerous, it harbored fearsome creatures of the night that could rip you to pieces.

But you didn’t care.

You’d rather die trying than die unjustly in the hands of an angry man who condemned you with promises of the water trial and, if found more guilty, purification by fire.

This was not the way you intended to go out. Just because you refused to marry a man twice your age, unhappy and enslave those whose sole purpose is making babies to ensure his bloodline will continue.

That is a hell on earth only reserved for those with the ability to create children.

Your legs were wobbly, your chest was tight and the bite of the cold was nipping at your tear stained cheeks.

You kept running as fast as your bare feet would take you. You could with scratches and infections later- right now, you were running.

You spotted a tree with a hollow cavity underneath, dark enough to hide and big enough to be put for a few hours. You had grabbed branches and swept the floor, hiding your footprints and carefully went inside the cave.

“Be still, my beating heart.” You whispered to yourself, trying to comfort yourself as the villagers came to a stop to where you were.

When the chatter of the villagers was gone and the soft glow of torches was far, you peaked out of your hole.

Presumably safe from the terrors that your kind was promising you.

You dusted yourself from the ground and sticks on your clothes and continued running away. You didn’t want to give them the benefit of catching up.

The middle of the night had finally descended upon the forest and patches of moonlight were your only guide. The clearing in the middle of the woods seemed to be lonesome as you finally took a drink of water.

You ripped a bit of the dress you were wearing in order to make a makeshift rag to clean your face, arms and legs to check for scrapes.

Thankfully, nothing too severe.

The crickets stopped singing, however. You felt your skin rise and prickle up, goosebumps they called it. The feeling of being watched was looming in your brain and like a skittish animal: you were ready to flee.

“Won’t do ya any good, witch.”

You heard the dark say, amber eyes only glowing between the thickness of the trees.

“If you sprint: the villagers will catch ya, and they’ll kill ya thrice if you try.”

You gulped.

“Can you help me?”

“Can I? Maybe.”

You could hear the sadistic laugh that came from the foliage.

“You’d better be off dead than being helped by me. I’ll work ya to the bone, break you till you beg me to stop and I’ll make sure that everyone can see who you belong to now.”

This posed a problem. You didn’t escape a mob that wanted to marry you into servitude just to be enslaved by someone else.

“You’re better off kik-killing me.” You stuttered, eyes watering and getting ready to flee once again. “ I didn’t run from that man just to be treated with less freedom than he offered.”

The voice cooed.

“Well, how about a wager? You run as fast as your little legs can. And if I find you by the end of the witching hour- You’re mine to do as I please. If I don’t, then you’re free.”

You didn’t answer, your legs just sprung to to life as you ran away as fast as you could. The red cloak still fluttering behind you as you ran. Mouth shut, eyes focused and thoughts long gone.

You were tired, running out of pure fear once more and now- you were hunted down by something far worse. You skipped, hopped, climbed and dodged the forest and its creatures, you weren’t a stranger of it’s dangers.

The chase was almost reaching its end as the witching hour was drawing to a close.

You felt relief washing over you.

Mere minutes from closing the wager, you heard a howl in the distance and the squeak that left your lips was more pitched than you thought. You tried to run but your legs have out, the exhaustion was making its way to you and now- tired.

The howls kept crawling closer as you tried to hide. Crawling down a hole underneath a tree, tucking your knees under your chin- you were finally succumbing to your desires to rest.

“Aww, the pretty thing is tired.” You heard from outside. You couldn’t care anymore. If this was going to be your life then so be it.

You could always escape again.

Or at least die trying.

“It’ll all be over soon, sweetheart.”

You hoped. You felt the exhaustion win, eyes fully closed and deep in slumber.

You dreamt of a void. It was quiet and warm, then forest was tuned out. The sounds of crickets lulled you to sleep and the soft rise and fall of your breath was the only noise remotely human.

~*~

It was calm.

The smell of burning wood seemed to gear your senses into overdrive as you woke up violently. The beating of your heart was so fast you thought you’d have a heart attack.

“You’re a heavy sleeper, witch.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. It took you a few moments to notice that you were on a hay and goose feathers bed, covered with a heavy red blanket and the scent of smoke & pine were blowing your senses away. From scared to relax, but still deeply disturbed.

You turned your head towards that voice’s proprietor and couldn’t help but blush.

Toothy grin, sharp amber eyes and, most importantly, half naked torso. Sitting in front of you as he saw you cover yourself more for some reason.

His dwelling was just a hut and it was very decorated with what you thought were trophies of previous struggles.

“W-Where’s the wolf?”

“I am the wolf, witch.”

“But you look nothing like a wolf!”

You regret those words escaping your mouth.

“Really? I have eyes to see you better, sharp nose to smell you better and a big Ol’ mouth to taste ya better- and you say I don’t look like a wolf?”

You felt the blush creep up to your face.

“Werewolves are supposed to be horrid creatures. Not pretty men with red hair.”

You swore you could see the man before you blush momentarily.

“Witches are supposed to be ugly old women. Not a pretty thing in a red cape.”

This baffled you.

“I’m no witch. I’m just (Y/N).”

You felt a little weird saying it.

The tension rose when your captor rose from his seat, eyes almost pinning you to bed.

“Get to sleep. I need you up an’ runnin’ later.” And with that he left the hut. It was probably mid afternoon by the way the dark hut was illuminated and then back to dark.

“I’m not a witch…” you mumbled once more as you felt the tug of sleep pull at your body. This nameless man promised that you’ll be worked to the bone later.

Although this is still captivity, for some reason, this felt like okay.

~*~

As days went by, you fell into habit little by little.

He didn’t say his name, but you’ve heard others say it.

You would only call him ‘Sir’.

The others in this makeshift village seemed to be wary of you at first, but they quickly warmed up to you and you to them. They were just a band of misfits and you seemed to be able to blend into their own culture without a problem.

Everything was going well until full moon, which was tomorrow.

You were sitting on the floor of your captor’s hut as you were weaving a few of the tattered clothes he gave you to fix.

You were pretty decent at it, too.

“Witch.”

“Sir?”

You saw how the man came back into the hut with what looked like his second in command.

“I need you to stay inside and whatever you do- don’t go outside tonight if you can avoid it. Need to piss? Here’s a bucket.” You didn’t say anything as you accepted the surprisingly clean bucket. “If you get in trouble, throw them the bucket.”

“C’mon, Kid. Leave the girl a knife or something.” You heard the blonde, Killer, say to the red headed brute. The red head just growled and stabbed a small knife on the little table he had by the hay bed.

“Fine. But if she escapes, it’s on your head.”

“I won’t escape.” You mumbled, you could see from the corner of your eye how the scruffy blonde was more amused than annoyed.

“Whatever, let’s go. Remember: piss bucket, throw the bucket if you get attacked. And DO NOT GO OUTSIDE. Got it, Witch?”

You didn’t answer as fast as you’d like as you felt rough fingers grasp your cheeks as you jaw rested in the palm.

“I said something. TALK.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, WHAT?” you felt him squeeze you harder.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, the grip on your face loosened and felt his face come up extremely close to yours.

Only to hear him whisper- “Good girl.”

And with that he left the hut.

Killer saw how your eyes started to water and coughed awkwardly.

“You know how to use a knife?” Killer asked.

You nodded.

“Good. If you get attacked, dip the knife in the bucket if you used it and stab them with it. If it’s shit, it’ll infect the wound faster.“ you nodded as he explained. “Don’t die on us, girly. Good luck.”

With that you were left to your devices for the night.

The whole night you were on your guard. You heard noises in the dark and growls that raised the skin into bumpy roads for your anxiety to manifest. The urge to scream was muted when you kept repeating to your heart to be still.

As dawn came, you just warily stared at the entrance.

Nervous for your captor and his people.

Nervous that someone else might come back.

Nervous for a villager to steal you to your doom.

You felt your eyes drop for a moment, the exhaustion was high on your mind and you decided that you could still be aware and just rest your eyes for a minute.

“If you sleep, the big bad wolf will eat you whole.” You heard a whisper, tickling your brain slightly, taking a few seconds to jump start and the feeling of your heart jumping out of your body through your mouth was the only thing you react to.

You gave the man responsible a glare. But sadly, he just found it funny and laughed in your face.

“Were you up all night waiting for me or were you scared shitless?”

“The latter…” you whispered, stretching your neck a little. “I just closed my eyes for ten minutes.” You mumbled, earning a hum from him and you sighed.

“Enough to never wake up, witch.”

You glared at him, only making him smirk and fall down the haybed.

“Let’s go to sleep, it’s been a long night.”

And to sleep you went, fleeting nightmares still plaguing your head as you just tried to succumb to the void.

However, the red beast noticed that you calm down every time he places his hand against your head. It worked like a charm with the nightmares that got you fidgety

~*~

As the months kept passing, the more used to you were to the camp, and the more welcomed you felt. The women took a liking to you and seemed to be interested in what you could do. After all- this was a place where everyone was useful somehow. Let it be with fighting or something more domestic.

You were currently helping a few of the girls manage their moon-cycles. Thankfully, you had permission to leave the area with someone chaperoning you so you were able to get the herbs you needed to help with the pain.

Your own cycles were manageable most of the time so you had no problem sucking up the pain it brought just so you could help someone worse-off.

This made your current master interested on what else you could do.

“So tell me, witch-“

“Not a witch.” You mumbled, earning a hard tap to your head. You were sitting inside the hut by the bed as you tied your newly acquired boots. A kindness by the guise of ‘it’s Fuckin’ cold’.

“What else you can do?”

This took you a little by surprise.

“I can help cure most common illnesses, I can provide care to those wounded, I can do most domestic activities without a flaw.” You said softly, straightening your skirt a little as you fiddled with your coat.

“Do you know how to make poison?”

This struck a cord, for some reason, your eyes went wide and you looked to the side a little, flustered.

“You do?”

You nodded.

“That’s good.”

A few moments of silence passed and you seemed to perk up a little and decided it wasn’t bad to share with him.

“I can also make explosives, make people sleepy and with the right herb, cause them to hallucinate.”

Interest was fully peaked, but that came a price.

“Would you use it against me?”

“No.”

“Prove it.”

You groaned, getting up from the bed with a defeated look on your eyes.

“If I did, I would’ve been dead months ago.” You whispered, earning a delighted hum from him. “May I please be excused?”

“Aye’.”

And you scurried off.

~*~

As days grew shorter, winter was at its peak and you were given almost complete freedom. You didn’t need a chaperone anymore, always had the knife your captor had given you and, currently, you were foraging winter greens and herbs.

All was going great until you heard the cock of a rifle.

“Well, what do you know- a pretty little thing.”

You could swear you could hear your heartbeat by how loud it was.

You recognized this man.

He was from the village.

“Come along now, poppet. These woods are dangerous. Far too brutal for a pretty thing like you.” You heard him sweet talk you. His voice dropped with want and you wanted nothing from him.

“Y’know- ya look familiar…OH- You’re the witch!” You could see the maniacal look he was giving you and the intentions he had with you grew darker.

“I’ll get a pretty penny if I bring you with me. More so alive.”

You were starting to live the nightmares again.

Those full of fire.

Full of dread.

The only thing you could do at this moment was get up and sprint.

And you did.

You ran as fast as you could. You thought you were gaining an advantage until you felt the bullets graze close to you. You ran in zigzags in order to evade the barrage, and made as less sound as possible.

If you took your cloak off you’d catch hypothermia and possibly die under these conditions.

You were doing so well, camp was so close- the moment you stepped inside the grounds, you felt how the white noise took helm of your senses as you felt something hot impact your left leg.

You were so close. Another shot ran and it was down on your right thigh.

“C’mere, wench. Let’s go back home.” You heard him say, roughly picking you up and throwing you to the sled he had trudged. Happy to have found something so valuable.

The bullets were driving you nuts but the need to survive was bigger. You had to find a way to tell the man that stole you away from the evils of that village to come and find you. As macabre as it was, it seemed like your blood made good ink against the snow. That could help you for a few hours.

~*~

The day was a brutal as it started. Once you were at the village, they had you displayed to the public in just bare tatters. Barely covering your body with nothing but cheap rags and badly fixed wounds.

You didn’t know what you preferred more.

The trial by water or purification by fire.

The scorching iron branding or the tongue piercing.

Now the only thing that you could do was not give them the satisfaction of your misery as you were being lashed down ruthlessly minutes after you were brought into the village.

“You haven’t died yet, obviously you have bewitched the forest and fucked the wolves in order to give yourself sanctuary. But your time is up, wench.” You heard as you were roughly manhandled into a dark room. “Stay put. Enjoy your little time before we take you back down to hell where you belong.” An older man said to you. Gloating on how the fire was going to burn hot when it scorched your skin.

You felt as the cold bit against your skin.

The time for your execution came faster than you thought that Your relationship with your current master was improving as you would. He still called you a witch, but you came to appreciate the way he said it. It was heartwarming for you when he would share his stories with you. How he’d still be an ass but had somewhat your best interest at heart. Taking the time to sit with you and learn new things.

But now it was useless to reminisce about the good times. The stage was propped up, the hay and wood was ready for your departure as you stood on top of the stage, tied again a pole with your arms backwards as the villagers just screamed and hollered for your death.

“Any last words?”

“Sir…” you mumbled, not using his name. Because even if things were going well, you still didn’t have permission to use his name. Or at least you thought you didn’t have the right to do so.

Just as they were going to ignite your death bed, they heard several howls surrounding the village.

The villagers were quiet as they saw what could be the most terrifying sight for them and the most beautiful sight for you.

There he was.

2.03 meters of bulging muscles, body built for fighting and a scowl that seemed to be permanently tattooed on his face. His torso was bare but his legs were covered by what you could consider maybe fur. His eyes and ears looked a little different, sharper and pointer. Hands were like claws and his canines were poking out of his mouth. To finish him- he was covered by a massive red fur cloak.

“Wolves!” A hag screeched, causing the village to panic and flail against its new predicament.

“We want the girl.” You heard the red menace say, making you struggle against pole you were tied to. You saw how the torch holder was slowly pushing the fire in his hands against the hay and you struggled harder.

“She’s better off dead.” You heard the village’s judge say- “She is an aberration! Heretic! A witch!” He spat, making the master of your existence laugh.

“Heretic? What happened to love thy neighbor?”

“She’s a witch! A bride of Satan!”

The fire was licking your feet now and the smoke was going up to your face.

“Let her perish!” The hag wailed.

With a swift command, Killer had you in his arms. Legs just slightly burned but you’ll live.

“Thank you…” you mumbled, earning a nod from the messy haired blonde. It didn’t take Killer much to noticed just how bad they left your body. Down to where the bullets were ripped off and treated as badly as possible.

The tattered clothes showed bits of the lashes you received when you stepped into the village, and the man at fault was none other than the man you denied your hand to.

“Kid, we need to get her back now. Those wounds are going to start festering.” Killer mumbled to his leader as he arrived next to him.

“Wounds?” You felt as he lifted your rags carefully and saw how your gashes were just getting worse with the cold. “Fuck.”

“Eustass?” You mumbled, quickly being shushed as they gave you a once over.

“Yeah?”

“Not one person is worth saving in this death trap.” You whispered, earning a grin from the giant before you. Teeth big and menacing with his hands clenching and unclenching.

“You said my name. Pretty ballsy, witch.”

You grinned at him, earning you a soft pet of your hair. You heard him whisper softly to you ‘We need to have a talk when I get back home’.

“Killer, take her back.” And he did. Killer had escorted you in his arms towards their camp grounds and the redhead couldn’t do anything else but smile at the villagers.

“You heard the lady. Not one of you are worth saving.”

The screams the werewolf heard were music to his ears. The sound of ripping, gashing, gnashing, thrashing and bashing. The way he slipped, sloped, crashed and burn skin and houses were a symphony of loud nightmares and cruel punishments resounded in the village tonight.

They took something of him, and gave it back broken.

He might as well return the favor.

~*~

Back in the camp, he did a Beeline towards your hut. He thought you were dependable enough to have your own private quarters so he built a small space next to him- for you. He used the best textiles to build and the best commodities to better suit your needs. Along with a chest to store herbs and valuables, with a crafting space for biological weaponry for whenever he asked.

Your red cloak was in bad shape, but he

Could ask one of the women in the camp to patch it up together for you.

He knew Killer plopped you in after getting you checked and looked over. The blonde mentioned that you had fallen asleep, too exhausted from your trials of the day and the harrowing event he so gladly ended.

No one would hurt you again.

No one would call you a witch when not warranted.

But he can’t shake off the feeling of he himself being bewitched by the pretty woman he rescued almost a year ago.

“(Y/N)?” He whispered, entering the hut and sighing when he saw that you weren’t asleep.

Just merely resting your eyes for a few minutes.

“Sir?” You mumbled, stirring from your warm confines and sitting up with much difficulty.

“To you, moving forward, it’s Kid. Eustass Kid. The red snow helped. It was pretty smart.”

“Okay…” you mumbled, now a little more aware that he sat down on your bed and you were partially naked, all bandaged up everywhere. “Is the village…?”

“No more village.”

“Good. They don’t need to put another person through that whole ordeal.” You mumbled. “What now? I’m not very useful in my current state.”

“You get better. We need to train you up and I think you’d be great with long distance firearms. Rifles should be a good start.” Eustass explained.

“You want me around?”

“Always- if you want.” He said without skipping a beat. He asked for your hand, which you gave to him no questions asked. He had wrapped something around your wrist and noticed that he too was wearing one.

It was a bracelet with a wolf’s paw engraved.

“The whole group here has one. Everyone’s different. Except this one-“ he stopped, showing you his, “this one has a twin.”

You decided to look at yours carefully and almost gasped at how similar the two are.

“Why?”

The pleased growl that ripped from his throat was something you found yourself wanting to hear again and again moving forward.

“Don’t you remember our little wager?”

You nodded, finally understanding him.

He fought for his prizes and now he was reclaiming what he won a year ago. With a grin, he got closer to you in bed. Pinning your body against the hay as he dipped you further in.

Making you melt. Your heart was leaping everywhere. You should be terrified.

As any sane person should be.

But your heart just somersaults and chirped happily when he was close to your jaw. His lips dragged up your cheek slowly until he got to your ear.

“You’re mine, little witch. And you’re going to be mine forever.”

The end