#tw: witch hunt

[dr-awkkward]

Slay the Princess text posts, part 17

[part 16] [part 18]

[yellowbugifs]

183/365 days of regina mills

[queen-of-god-above-jeanne]

Saving A Holy Maiden (open rp)

May 30, 1431

Jeanne was to be put to death that day. She was betrayed, being brought to be burned at the stake, being called "a witch" by many. All she did was fight for France, her home, against her enemies. She had traded her ordinary farm life away to fight. What did she get in return?

She was now chained up to the stake as she held onto the cross given to her. She closed her eyes as the flames started at the bottom of her feet. She was praying, trying to block out any noises such as the crackling flames or the priest's speech. Even though she would die here because of her belief, she had no regrets. She was glad she made her decision to protect the ones she loved, even if she got betrayed later.

There may be a chance to actually save her life, you know? Will you save her on time, or will the flames consume her? There's not a lot of time to waste.

[veshialles]

"Change is coming to the world. Many fear change, and will fight it with every fibre of their being. But sometimes, change is what they need most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free." - "My people fell for what I did to strike the Evanuris down. But still, some hope remains for restoration. I will save the Elvhen people, even if it means this world must die."

Transcript:

LEFT COLUMN:

Warden: And is that what you want? To be free? Morrigan: What I want is... is unimportant now. Morrigan: I cannot tarry longer, the time has come for me to go. Warden: Will I see you again? Morrigan: Not if you are fortunate... Goodbye, my friend.

RIGHT COLUMN:

Inquisitor: There's still the matter of the Anchor. It's getting worse... Solas: Yes, I'm sorry. And we are almost out of time. Solas: The Mark will eventually kill you. Drawing you here gave me the chance to save you. At least for now... Inquisitor: You don't need to destroy this world! I'll prove it to you! Solas: I would treasure the chance to be wrong again, my friend.

---

pov your best friend who is a mage leaves you behind and walks through an enchanted mirror.

[sapphicslaylist]

[STP] On Borrowed Paths: Chapter 1

Beginning to submit the chapters for OBP over here as well! I'll also be making an index once the current ones are up.

Prev Next

Life has never been safe for a Borrower in a world governed by humans. Viewed as evil omens, any power-bearing “Fae” find themselves prey to black market circles where their fates are drawn to the highest bidder. And sometimes, the winners prefer to place them into the ring and hedge their bets even higher on a gladiatorial fight against something much, much worse.

As is the fate of a pair of escaped siblings, surviving in the woods by the skin of their teeth. But when evading their opponent proves too challenging, it may take deciding between trusting the owner of a nearby cabin or trying to outrun an enemy that can’t be killed.

But the tenants of that safe haven have one damning condition: they must reveal themselves to him first to be granted shelter. In order to make peace with the present, it may take unraveling the horrors of the past and the entwined destines between them all to save who still remains of all Borrowers, Cryptids, and Fae - and perhaps even the very forest itself.

When on Borrowed paths, some things cannot be returned.

Prev Next

There was a skittering in the undergrowth as a small, feline figure made her way across to the warm stones by the nearby waterway. Leaves bristled along with raised hackles as a tufted tail settled along the riverbank, an elven ear twitching for any sign of danger before she leaned down and began to drink. These woods were dangerous for any creature, but being roughly the size of a mouse, Witch knew better than to trust any sound that she couldn’t pinpoint before giving it a proper indication. But for now, it seemed she was safe enough to catch her breath before meeting back up.

The near-silent approach of a predator from above, however, had been an unsightly interruption to rhe morning’s errand. The shadow of the raven finally betrayed him, as long, jagged talons settled not far from her location and a mocking laugh emanated from deep within his throat.

“Well hello there,” he scoffed, reaching forward with an almost lazy ease. “It seems we meet again. You didn’t really think you could escape so easily, did you?”

Barely a jolt left the small figure as she turned to face him, all vim and vigor as her feline features made way for a widened grin.

“Hah! As if. I knew you’d be following close behind, and I’ve been ready for you.”

“Really, now? Then let’s see about that.”

As the raven’s talons reared in for a swoop, it seemed that the little creature allowed her foe to come forward - only to sink her teeth into his bare legs, stabbing downward with a pair of twin daggers on her legs crafted from the teeth of a shrew. The venom seeping in from the wounds seemed to paralyze him momentarily, enough for her to give a taunt of her own - before the creature flipped over in the water, knocking her down along with it.

There was a gasp as she tried to surface, choking on the sudden inhalation. As the raven struggled to get up, there was the rough pull of another hand dragging her upward -

She didn’t need to meet the gaze to tell whose it was, pulling her begraggled form into her arms and removing them from the fight.

“Witch, I thought I said to stay on the other side of the riverbank.”

“I was watching out; if you’d let me take one more stab at him, I would’ve gotten the bird off our backs for good. And besides, I had it handled.”

“No, you didn’t. I was watching.”

 Throwing her younger sister across her back, the older Borrower steadied herself; while lacking the same wild nature as the scamp, there was no denying the two of them had the same roots. While her tail was shorter and less defined in its tuft, elven ears smaller and narrower, they still came from the same wild blood that this forest had provided. There was a sharp pain from the claws that dug at the tangled briar armor along her arms; unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time that Witch was growing restless in her arms, and it likely wouldn’t be the last, either. But this was no time for the fickle teenager to be having a fit over a lost catch when they needed to survive.

This game of cat and mouse - or, rather, bird and elven being - was all too familiar, and had started almost two years in the past. The chase was scarcely over yet, and this wouldn’t be the last time the ragged fellow turned to chase them.

A creature from beside the riverbank seemed to notice them, rearing their head with a flick of an ear. Feline gaze pricked and a singular horn lowered amidst the growth of two on either side, they knelt down for the arrival of the sisters to clamber along their massive back. Their back talons raked into the dirt for good measure, vestigial wings fluttering impatiently. It seemed that the raven wasn’t far behind.

“You go first,” Thorn barked, handing Witch off to the larger creature. Snagging the fidgety Borrower in careful claws, Beast laid her by her shoulder blades before reaching back. The crack of splintering wood was resounding underfoot.

Reaching back, there was a shrill cry. The sound of the raven was cut off as another bird tore into it, tearing through the wings with deft talons. This allowed Beast enough of a moment to finally grab her second catch, dragging her along with the first as they absconded into the next section of the forest on steady haunches. All the while, Thorn kept one hand along the small saddle they’d kept along her back, another on Witch to keep her close. The Borrower herself had curled inward, tail curled around herself in a mix of unease and anger, trying to mask the former as they bounded onward.

That was too close. And sure enough, once they were in the clear, they knew that would be a stern talking-to by their primary caretaker in this forest.

“You two were late,” Beast growled, her voice gruff and harsh. “And sloppy. I thought I taught you better.” Her gaze narrowed as she paused for a moment, looking over at Witch. “Especially you. I didn’t tell you to go digging up those shrew carcasses for nothing. Didn’t the venom at least stunt the bastard?”

“Oh, it did,” Witch snarled back, “but the wretched thing got back up and pulled me under. I could’ve dragged him down with me, if I had a little more time. It’s not my fault he takes this whole ‘immortality’ thing so unseriously.”

“He is immortal,” Beast emphasized. “He knows he can just come back, and so there’s no point in resisting if he’s bested. Killing him isn’t what matters; it’s that you get away.”

Up ahead, there were the tracks of a cervine creature; his body resembled that of a tiny, tricolored stag, with the haunches and wings of a bird. 

“ He can explain it better than I can.”

Beast gave a trill, and there was an understanding nod as he bounded down.

“Pardon, Beast,” the stag greeted her, giving a small wave of his tail. “You wished to speak?”

“Hunted.” She gestured to her back. “The Prey seek guidance regarding the Raven.”

“Oh, yes.” Hunted lowered his head, looking over them with a note of uncertainty. “Your best chance is to outrun him. But I think we all know that there is only so much space in this forest, and you can’t do this forever. Especially as young as you are.”

“He’s gone for now.”

Emerging from the clearing, the Raven’s bloodstained killer emerged - a small crow named Hero, with messy, unkempt feathers. The crow blew a tuft of his own out of his face before approaching. “Relentless, isn’t he? I’m sorry; I didn’t see him approach sooner or else I would’ve caught him.”

“Your timing was precise. We could use someone who has as sharp a wit around here,” Beast replied, giving the crow a nod.

“He was easier this time than usual; seemed a bit subdued from what I could tell. I think your venom trick might’ve actually worked for something.”

“See?” Witch protested, turning a clawed hand in Hero’s direction. “I could’ve killed him again. I’ve done it before. If I had just dug in a little deeper-“

“And he could’ve killed you this time,” Thorn growled back, nudging Witch back in towards the center of the saddle. “Just because you’ve managed to slit his throat a couple of times or hit the right artery by chance doesn’t mean we can keep this up.”

“How many times has it even been? It seems like it’s been… A while since he’s been on your trail.” Hero took flight just a little above them, giving a tilt of his head.

“This was the twenty-third,” Hunted murmured, not missing a beat. “I remember when you first escaped into the woods and began making your way up towards the hill.” The peryton circled, lowering his ears.

“I think it’s time that you consider the Cabin. We all know the resident there, and I’m sure he’d be happy to take you all in. It’s one of the few places where the raven can’t reach - especially while you’re dealing with these two.” His head tilted from Beast to the borrowers on her back, giving a reluctant sigh. “Now, I understand your hesitancy given it’s with one of the larger beings, but…”

“Yes?”

“We can stand by you as long as we can, but we cannot be in all parts of the woods at once. Even with eleven of us, there’s only so much ground we can cover - and unfortunately, we only have so much life we can give as well. Eventually, he will win,” Hunted urged. “And a life spent ducking and dodging isn’t worth it if there’s one that could be left secure with someone we can trust.”

“How far is it?”

Hunted turned towards the eldest of the sisters, giving a flick of an ear.

“It’s not. If you left now, you’d be there before nightfall. I always thought that was where you were headed - but I understand why you waited, given your past. I assure you I wouldn’t be sending you there if I didn’t know you would be safe. He’s just as wary of the raven as the rest of us.”

There was a pause as Thorn considered it. Thankfully, it seemed for the moment Witch had been distracted by the sharpening of her blades - the distinct sound of shrew enamel on the tiny whetstone chunks confirmed as much. Being smuggled into affairs with the underground trading ring, the idea of being around any of the larger bipeds that roamed these lands wasn’t necessarily pleasant, but if it was somewhere with food, water, and shelter, perhaps it was indeed worth the risk.

“And, about this ‘larger being’ -“

“He’s a cryptid, like you. Like all of us, really.”

That definitely made the choice a little more appealing. This world had enough scorn for magic and mysticism as is, and most weren’t as eager to turn in their wild brethren in fear of becoming the spectacle themselves. Especially when the larger the beast, the higher the cost for their capture, care, or worse. The market worked in dangerous ways, and the group of them knew it all too well as they plodded down the worn trails beneath the howling wind of the afternoon.

“That would mean he’d know we were there, from the sound of it. I don’t know if that’s wise.”

The first rule of survival: don’t be seen. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t socialize; don’t negotiate trade with the larger kin, no matter how nice they seemed. It only ever ended in tragedy. Subconsciously, Thorn ran a hand along the uneven scar jutting across her breastbone; too many close calls came from diving in too soon, or too late.

The soft shink of the whetstone continued in the corner - this time, it seemed that Witch had stolen the blade off her own bag, sharpening it with careful concentration.

“I have worse than the shrew if he even thinks of getting close,” Witch cackled to herself, looking over for a moment. From one pocket, she took a cloth, dipping it into a yellow fluid before going over to polish the sword. “Adder venom should do the trick -“

“Where did you even get that?”

Witch narrowed her eyes, giving a mischievous purr through smiling, sharp-fanged lips as her tail flicked towards their mentor. 

“Where do you think?”

“Personally, I think it’s a good thing that she has a hobby,” Beast replied nonchalantly, knowing well the response would be met at the dismay of her older sister. “It’ll help her study their bites, and build up to a proper immunity to the venoms each carries. In any case, I’ve been making the kills while she learns how to hunt. I wouldn’t be starting her off on anything so dangerous.” 

There was a huff of disapproval as Beast plodded on, as if that should’ve been obvious. “She’s right, though. You may want to take the venom just in case. Better to have something on you than not, isn’t it?”

There was a hesitation as Thorn looked over at Witch, her tail twitching almost impatiently to scrub the surface of the blade in toxins. If they were expected to behave as guests for one of the larger entities, this wasn’t a mannerism they could keep in domestic company - but the same fear was getting the better of the both of them.

Beast was right. Better to have than to do without, especially if they were cornered. Thorn gestured absently for the blade, met with a huff of disappointment - only for the spark of interest to reignite as she ushered her sister forward, venom in hand.

“Why don’t you show me how to do it this time?”

“I had a feeling you’d come around eventually,” Witch beamed, scrambling over to her with items in tow. “We’re going to make that wretched thing beg for mercy if he tries to pull anything. Okay, so, the first thing you want to do is….”

As the siblings rambled on along Beast’s back, there was a small shake of Hunted’s head as he listened in, looking over his partner somewhat worriedly.

“I’m starting to have my doubts about this.”

[alilbatflies]

I took part in @thepenultimateword's song-story writing challenge. It was fun!

My assigned song was Scarborough Fair by Simon and Garfunkel, submitted by @wacko-weirdo.

...

The fire cracks and sways, warm against the cold night. The shadows of those gathered around it dance much like flowers in the wind, swaying calmly without hurry. A unique form of slow dancing.

The hunter watches from further away. They could listen in on the conversation if they wanted to, but the sounds all smudge in their head. They barely manage to thread the waters of their conflicting thoughts. They’re tired.

The tree against their back is grounding. It’s the hunter’s only comfort. They don’t think to ask for more. They couldn’t possibly.

The group seems so calm. As if they’ve forgotten that there are still soldiers hunting them. The conversation is light, flickering with laughter like the dancing flames, all-consuming.

…perhaps they wish to forget for a while.

The hunter would much like to forget, too.

“Are you going to join us?”

The hunter looks at their old friend. Old friend doesn’t quite cut it. Neither does lover. Neither does any other label that the hunter has tried over the years. Their friend is simply always there.

Their witch friend.

The witch meets their eyes. The fire reflects in the deep brown that is so familiar to the hunter. Its familiarity offers comfort—comfort, which the hunter is unable to accept.

The hunter can’t bear to look.

They turn back towards the fire. Staring into the light is a bad idea, the hunter knows, for one cannot monitor the shadows blinded. And yet, they look. The blazing flames seem to swallow their worries, to soothe. The fire gazes right into their soul and warms its darkest corners. It all feels alright for a little while.

The witch gently takes their hand. They tug the hunter along, towards the fire.

The hunter’s arm lifts to follow the movement but they do not budge. The tree they’re leaning against is their anchor then. They fear losing their ground. They fear getting lost entirely.

They want to go. They want to let themselves be pulled along, they want to join everyone, they want to belong. They want to belong, to finally, finally…

“I’ve killed too many.”

On someone else’s orders. Because of someone else’s ideals. They didn’t know better.

The blood is on their hands.

I might have killed you, too.

The witch steps closer to them, interlocking their fingers instead. They examine their hand, the knuckles, callouses and scars. Those little wounds that tell the stories, if one can read them well enough.

They run their fingers over the hunter’s bandaged forearm, a ghost of a touch. They were the one who tended to the hunter’s injury that day.

“You’ve helped us get away.” The witch meets the hunter’s gaze. “You’ll help us still, won’t you?”

“Of course.” For you.

The witch keeps staring into their eyes. They might be trying to look right past, into the hunter’s mind and soul. They might just be able to read each and every of the hunter’s thoughts.

The hunter has thoughts. The hunter has many thoughts, flying around in their head, possibly causing more harm than good. The hunter can’t seem to stop them.

The hunter knows nothing of herbs. They know nothing of healing. With each moment passing by, they learn that they know nothing of witches, either. They try to learn.

They were told witches are dangerous. They were told they were vicious, vile creatures, evil beings beyond salvation. They were told death was a witch’s only comfort.

It used to be their only truth. The only thing that could help them carry the weight of their sword somewhat, when all of the life seeped out of another pair of silver eyes. It was their shield when the weight of taking a life threatened to slit them open.

It has all shattered so easily.

The hunter vividly recalls the moment their friend’s eyes flashed silver. Their friend was pushed to the edge, looking to them for help. The pieces fit together perfectly. The soldier next to them lunged forward. Their blow never landed.

The hunter met the others a little later on. The other not so evil creatures, who just want to live.

The hunter knows a little better now.

Witches are curious about the world much like their friend has always been. They bear their own weight, the magic running silver in their blood. They desire to live. To be safe. To be understood. The hunter can relate perfectly.

They try to learn.

“Thank you,” the hunter says.

“For what?”

Thank you for opening my eyes. For trusting me. For not letting me stay in the clutches of their truth.

“Being such a pain in my ass.”

The witch laughs. The sound wraps over the hunter like a soft blanket. Nobody ever told them that a witch’s laugh could heal.

The witch lifts the hunter’s hand. They press a kiss to it, holding their gaze.

The hunter shivers.

“I should thank you,” the witch whispers, “for protecting us.”

“Always.”

The witch pulls them along again. Towards the fire. Towards their family.

This time, the hunter lets them.

[princesssarisa]

I am honestly surprised that nobody thought of using the German fairy tale Hänsel und Gretel today to talk about the real historical violence caused by Witch Hunts and Witch Trials.

I suppose any fairy tale with an evil witch could be used to talk about historic witch hunts and witch trials. But maybe Hansel and Gretel would suit that purpose especially well. Accusations of harming children were always a powerful tool against "witches" (and Jews and other minorities, for that matter), and the witch in the story dies by burning, which was the common method of execution.

Still, people probably don't want to look at Hansel and Gretel that way because they love the story. It's a nostalgic childhood favorite and they don't want to think of how it might perpetuate tropes that historically killed people.

[lostbrazilian]

Ok so, apologies in advance for ranting, this isnt supposed to be a callout post or shit like that, it's just that this kind of racist bullshit really, REALLY grinds my gears

Because I feel like in general the prevalent view of Brazil outside of South America is of this stereotyped, tropical hellhole of crime and poverty with a thin layer of Samba on top, and I shouldn't have to say that it's really fucking NOT

Yeah, my country has many problems: violence, massive inequality, underfunded and overwhelmed public services, etc. But it's also a place of incredible natural beauty, of warm and good-natured people and of massive cultural diversity much beyond just Samba and Favelas, and I'm frankly tired of seeing all that reduced to just jokes about oh-how-awful it must be to live here

The drawing above is particularly grating because, at its core, the Brazillian Miku trend is all about showcasing and appreciating the cultures of Brazil and of countless other countries/regions through the downright universal symbol that Miku is. It's a funny and wholesome meme that OP twisted into a downright hateful message

As if there wasn't enough bigotry out there already

Edit: I have a small but important update so I'm editing this post instead of reblogging. Earlier I had left an admittedly rather mean comment on the original post, and OP (which I'm not identifying) did respond and apologize as they just worded their post badly and didn't intend to come off as racist, so kudos to them for apologizing and being a good sport about the whole thing even though I got rather heated with them

That said, I think my point still stands. There's nothing wrong with poking fun at real-world issues, but seeing your place of birth be majorly mentioned only in mocking or mindlessly negative ways does get to you after a while

[bodhrancomedy]

So, uh. I don’t know how up Tumblr is up on The Dreaded Place (Tiktok), but every couple of months (usually 3) a new openly, usually flamboyantly queer person is singled out and pursued as a “groomer” and every time there’s no real evidence, just out of context ten seconds clips and then people start screaming “would you prefer to wait until something happens?!?” and, I’d prefer to wait until you have evidence. Like, I’d prefer to wait until you have evidence and go to the authorities with said evidence because trying to incite mob justice on Tiktok because you don’t like someone’s vibes since that actually does nothing to “protect” the people you think need protecting.

“Would you prefer to wait until something happens.” You do know that trying to get someone hurt/arrested/killed because you think they’re icky without any actual evidence is fascist, right? You do know you’re just repeating Nazi propaganda?

“Would you prefer to wait until something happens.” I would prefer to wait until something exists? Until there is an actual reason to act because otherwise would be the Thought Police you’re so fond of throwing out.

If there is actual evidence that this person is a threat to children, take it to the police. They’re queer. The police will investigate in the way they won’t investigate conservative politicians, conservative beloved entertainers, and priests. Or the police themselves.

[emuanon34]

[dr-awkkward]

Slay the Princess text posts, part 19

[part 18] [part 20]

[grabby-smitten]

The urge to write for Caleb… he’s so “we shouldn’t be doing this,” as they’re doing it coded. The desire for one another is so strong that they don’t care about anyone or anything except each other.

[fic-dumpster]

It’s so… fascinating how some ppl get triggered when an author writes a character slightly bit OOC or with a trope they don’t like. They have such a visceral and enraged reaction… like it was meant for them directly. A personal offense.

I’m just at a loss of words. Speechless. This needs to be studied.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

this is so fucking stupid it kind of circles back to funny.

[newtafterdark]

Hmmm... what if it's 2023 and I make another VTM OC but it's a Nos' this time? 👀

[art-culture-philosophy-and-media]

You don't have to agree with me with this meme, but in my opinion , Rama isn't only one to blame…

It's funny how we make him a scapegoat instead of attacking on that man who made the whole human society doubted on both Rama and Sita. What a shame!

Humanity doesn't change at all, I guess…